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.
Thanks to RhaenysB for mentioning the matter of Ashara's hair colour. I have to admit that when I started writing this I hadn't read A Dance With Dragons and all the way through I had it in my head that she was a lot like Amalthea in The Last Unicorn (showing my age now). Because her hair plays a part in this story, I'm going to keep this deviation from canon.
~X~
Chapter Thirty Five – Joy
With the glaring sun beating down on her armour, Lyanna avoided blow after blow from Oswell. Yet with the effort she put into defending, she struggled to find the chance to swing an offensive swing herself. Finally, both out of breath and weary, the exchange came to a halt when Ser Oswell's blade paused inches from her neck, and Lyanna roared in frustration.
But this was good. How many times had she fought Benjen and felt as if she wasn't tested? Now her training was in full flow, and facing three celebrated knights a test was certainly what she was receiving.
Lyanna was pleased when Oswell removed his helm, and his red face told that he hadn't found her an easy match. Nothing was more frustrating than giving it her all only to see that Ser Arthur, the famed Sword of the Morning, hadn't broken a sweat, and still managed to speak calmly and evenly whilst pointing out what she was doing wrong.
She was a privileged girl, not only to have such a fine teacher but to be in this position in the first place. All her life she'd cursed the fact she'd been born a girl, but now she had everything she'd ever wanted regardless of her femininity. After years of fighting her predetermined place in society, Lyanna found that she no longer had any cause to rebel against. Now she had truly found her place in the world, she was able to be at ease with being of the "fairer sex".
Not that she was ever able to forget despite the fact she'd now forgone gowns for the male clothing Rhaegar had provided her with. For all his instruction was second to none, Ser Arthur held back when he fought her, and not just because of the vast gulf in their swordsmanship.
Oswell reminded her in a different way. When they crossed swords he didn't hold back—Lyanna imagined that he treated her much as he would any trainee he might face on this sandy courtyard, and she was thankful for it. She didn't want special treatment, only the chance to be the best knight she could.
No, he had taken over Brandon's role, teasing her and embarrassing her in much the same way as her older brother would. Although Oswell's cynical humour was much darker, and there was often something in the way he looked at her that felt less than brotherly. But she was already spoken for, he often said, and in a tone that implied it wasn't Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End he was referring to.
The reminders of the family and responsibilities she'd left behind always stung, but there was no doubt in Lyanna's mind that this had always been meant to happen. This was her place, in a simple tower hidden in the Dornish mountains, being trained by the greatest swordsman on earth, the crown prince, Oswell...her new family and friends.
At other times her surrogate brother wasn't so subtle with his teasing. Like the time she'd rushed downstairs, excited after receiving her second instalment of plate—a sleeve made of the most highly polished metal and a matching breast plate, studded with sapphire and metal flowers to match her blade. The breast plate had been made to fit her form exactly, and as she proudly displayed her armoured form to her three tutors, Oswell had been the one to burst her bubble by smirking and commenting, "Nice teats," much to the embarrassment of everyone else.
And then there was the day Rhaegar had been supervising her archery lesson. Already capable, the targets had been moved a considerable distance away, and after falling just short of hitting dead centre, Rhaegar had attempted to improve her positioning. With his hand on her shoulder, his face so close that wisps of white blonde hair caught on the wind tickled her face as he whispered instructions, Lyanna had felt herself grow red; the next three arrows landed far wide of the target.
Later, Oswell brought up the matter during their evening meal and had gotten a cupful of wine in his face in return. His constant innuendo with regard to the prince's motivations for bringing her here were a sore point, and the fact that her moon's blood had come upon her the next day certainly hadn't helped her temper.
Rhaegar had been nothing but completely honourable toward her. At times his generosity made Lyanna wonder. The obviously expensive custom made suit of armour that was almost complete, the Valyrian steel sword, the opportunity he'd laid at her feet, he'd asked for nothing in return for any of it.
The only time he came closer than across the wooden table where they dined was to help her with her swordsmanship, her archery, to give her advice on how she might reposition her lance on the rare occasions it wasn't him she was jousting against. There was absolutely no reason to doubt that she was truly here to learn to be a great knight.
As thrilled as she should be about it, there was the mortifying fact that the day of the disastrous archery session, the reason she'd been so distracted had been that she was remembering the time she'd stumbled into his arms under the oak tree at Harrenhal. And that most nights, despite the exhaustion of training every day, she fell asleep musing over the perfection that was Rhaegar Targaryen's face.
She'd become that which she'd held so much in disdain—a silly young girl fawning over the handsome, fairytale prince, though it wasn't really the prince that she'd become infatuated with. The more the Dornish sun browned his skin, and the more weathered his black jerkin stitched in red, embroidered with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, became, the more the prince resembled the man in the brown hood from Harrenhal. The man that had been Lyanna Stark's first kiss so many times over in her dreams.
It was a stupid thing to dream. After all, the prince was married to Princess Elia, who was back in King's Landing looking after their son and daughter, Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. Still, it was hard to ignore the fact that her entire body, from the top of her head right down to her toes, felt alive whenever he was in sight.
It tingled now as Rhaegar in his ornate black armour, the rubies on his breastplate glittering, stepped up. Oswell shot Lyanna a quick look before nodding his head respectfully and stepping over to the shade to watch.
Lyanna tucked her braid back inside her helm, putting it back on her head and hiding her blushes behind the visor, only her eyes visible through the slit in the ornate polished metal.
Rhaegar regarded her for a moment. "You will usually be physically weaker than your opponent, but what is your advantage?"
"I can be faster. If my opponent is wearing standard plate they will almost always be slower and less manoeuvrable." The range of movement in her custom armour had been pointed out to her at great length, as well as cautioning her over the fact that also gave her more weak spots to target. Lyanna swung her sword twice to demonstrate her point.
"Good. Remember, even Valyrian steel will struggle against metal plate. Make the most of your speed to find the chance for a good thrust at the joints at my neck, my waist, under my arm..."
Rhaegar pushed his own helm down and drew his sword.
He was a good swordsman, although not quite a match for Ser Arthur. Lyanna couldn't think of anyone who would be a match for Ser Arthur in a fair swordfight. The Prince was textbook perfect, and Lyanna knew that he'd read almost every word written on how to best kill with a weapon—he had loaned her a number of books on the subject, which Lyanna read on an evening to try and eradicate Rhaegar's face from her mind before falling asleep.
But that wasn't how Lyanna learned best. Every time Oswell, Rhaegar, and Arthur beat her, she made sure that she had taught herself something new. I will beat Oswell one day, she told herself, and sooner rather than later. Then another day it will be the prince. Lyanna stopped short of adding Arthur to her list, at least at sword fighting, as she had the feeling she could best him at jousting for sure.
As expected, Rhaegar won the exchange, but a defeated Lyanna dissected his fighting style in her mind afterwards. The prince had a habit of leaving his ruby encrusted chest unprotected, and theoretically, if she had an armour piercing blade then she would have a clear shot at his heart.
"Tomorrow, my lady, we'll pit you against Oswell with a war hammer. It is a very different weapon and it takes a different approach to defend against. Did you read the book...the one with the red binding?"
"Yes," Lyanna answered quickly as both she and Rhaegar left the training courtyard, removing helms, gauntlets and greaves. "Greater reach and capable of devastating blows, but slow."
Rhaegar gave a wide smile, and as always Lyanna melted inside. The prince had been smiling more often of late, and the effect was just as forceful as any blow from a war hammer.
~X~
Later, once the sun was long gone and the plates from their evening meal cleared away, Lyanna had undressed for bed. Wandering her cosy room in just her shirt, her braid unfastened and her hair falling in even waves about her shoulders, she searched fruitlessly for the book she'd discussed with Rhaegar earlier.
Finally, Lyanna decided that she must have returned it. Eager to please her tutors, she cursed the fact that she'd be unable to revise its contents before falling asleep.
She paused for a short while, looking down at her bare legs and soiled shirt, before reaching for her previously discarded breeches. Hastily tugging a few fingers through her long hair and tucking her shirt in, Lyanna grabbed a candle and tentatively opened the door.
Maybe it was more than a little appropriate, but she was sure that the prince, with the lack of formality and protocol that had developed, wouldn't mind if she quickly stopped by his room and asked to borrow the book once more. After all, it would demonstrate how seriously she was taking her training. It had almost nothing at all to do with the fact that the thought of seeing him once more before bedtime made her stomach skip up the winding staircase a few steps ahead of her feet.
Standing before the wooden door, Lyanna dried her palms on her hips before rapping gently with her knuckles. There was a brief rustle from within before the door opened,
"Thank you, Atos, that will be...all..."
Lyanna's eyes dropped as she saw that the prince had removed his shirt and stood there bare-chested. Feeling her cheeks grow red, she looked to the left as Rhaegar, equally taken aback, stammered a choked "my lady" in greeting.
"Forgive the intrusion, my prince, but the book you spoke of earlier, I was wondering if I might borrow it once more."
"Yes...of course." Rhaegar opened the door wide and gestured to the bookshelf. As Lyanna hesitantly stepped inside, he rushed over to the other side of the room, and to her dismay he quickly pulled his black shirt. It pleased Lyanna that he did not bother to fasten it, and the garment showed much of his milky-skinned bare chest.
Their gazes met and a thick atmosphere grew in the room. To diffuse the moment, Lyanna turned back to the books and her eyes grew wide. "So many..."
The room was disorganised, strewn with candles, and various opened books and scrolls on every flat surface, including the bed.
The prince stepped forward, a solemn look on his face. "Yes, and I haven't read half as much as I should since we arrived here."
Lyanna's eyebrows rose. "Is that so? Well, appearances would say otherwise. I would say you read too much."
Her pulse thrummed as he grew closer and then reached upwards to a high shelf. In such close proximity, and without armour concealing him, she noted that her recollection of the way he smelled under the oak tree at Harrenhal hadn't done him justice at all, although she had been holding Howland's disguise at the time.
The prince looked down at her, and then she realised that he was holding out the red bound book she'd come for.
She took it with a smile and a thank you, and as she reluctantly stepped away her eyes found a ladder leading up through a small trap door in the ceiling. His eyes followed hers.
"Sorry, you've discovered my secret hideaway, where I avoid all the books I try so hard to neglect." He smiled just a little.
"What's up there?" Lyanna asked before remembering herself. She was an improperly attired girl invading the private quarters of the crown prince of the seven kingdoms when he was less than dressed himself.
Rhaegar crossed the room to the ladders and put a foot on the bottom run. "Would you like to see?"
Lyanna did not have to be asked twice, and abandoning the book, she eagerly climbed up after the prince, gasping a little as she passed through the wooden-framed square into the night air.
Above, countless stars littered the black velvet sky above, slightly lightening to darkest blue around the edges, where if you squinted you could just make out the jagged black mountains. The moon, low in the sky, subtly highlighted parts of the hidden scenery in silver, the view the same on all sides of the round tower.
"I can see why you'd come up here so often." Lyanna continued to look around, trying not to be too aware of Rhaegar watching her reactions.
At the base of the tower, there was the orange glow of torchlight and the sound of the servants preparing for the next day. Lyanna realised that voices in the courtyard below were easily heard, and felt her stomach twist as she recalled some of the things she and Oswell had discussed after the prince had seemingly gone to bed.
Looking to the side sheepishly, she caught a glimpse of a small yellow light far in the distance.
"What is that?"
Rhaegar came and stood mere inches from her, and it wasn't just the evening chill in the air that gave Lyanna goosebumps.
"A traveller's torch. The Tower of Joy was originally built as a watch tower. During the day you can see for miles, but it's possibly even more effective at night. No one with the sense they were born with would attempt to come through those mountain passes without a torch, and if there's a light, well then you're guaranteed to see it from here."
Lyanna made a noise to show that she approved, and continued to look around. Her gaze travelled upwards to the stars. Rhaegar pointed out a few constellations, informing Lyanna that the Warrior was in fact known as the Warrioress in another eastern culture, and that being immortalised in the stars was her reward for proving that she was as great if not greater than any male fighter that walked the earth.
Having a few moments pause, Lyanna finally turned to the prince and said what was on her mind. "Why did you bring me here? Why me?"
Rhaegar looked her straight in the eye and for a short while he said nothing, though it was obvious that he was working through what he wanted to say.
Eventually, in a quiet voice he asked, "Do you believe in prophecies, my lady?"
Brushing a strand of hair away from her face, Lyanna's brow furrowed. "I've never given them much thought. I've certainly never been one of those women who goes running off to alleged seers to ask if and when they'll be married, and to whom."
The breeze whipped up a few strands of silver across the prince's face. "Well, I do believe in prophecies. Very much so. In fact you could say I am consumed by them." He turned away and looked far into the distance, but Lyanna couldn't tell what it was he was so focused on. "I live my life by them, and if I didn't believe in what I'd read down the years so strongly, then no doubt I'd have grown to be a very different man. They have shaped me, moulded me, and I aspire to be the type of man—the type of king—that could rise to the challenges I believe the future holds."
Taking a few breaths, Lyanna thought before saying, "What do prophecies have to do with me?"
With a serious expression, Rhaegar turned around. "Everything and nothing." Lyanna gave him a few seconds to elaborate on his cryptic statement. "At Harrenhal I had a dream. I dreamt that I was here, at the Tower of Joy, and that I was a black dragon. I was felled by a knight in ice armour riding a direwolf.
"At first I thought the direwolf knight was your brother, Ser Brandon, and that's why I accepted his challenge, but then I realised that was not the case. I had almost dismissed it as just a dream when I discovered you were the Knight of the Laughing Tree—"
"One of the Knights of the Laughing Tree," Lyanna corrected. "I only jousted once."
"True, but as I saw you on the field after jousting against your brother, I knew there was a touch of destiny about you. Discovering that it was you, a young woman with minimal training that had done so well against Ser Aenys, I knew then that it was you. In my dream, with my final breath I burned you alive, and after the snows came, a blue rose grew amongst our bones—a flower much like the ones in the crown I was to give to the Queen of Love and Beauty."
Lyanna felt herself flush, but then a warmth spread across her chest. Even then, had she won the opportunity to come to this place, to be trained by such famous knights? It made the moment much more of a victory and less of an embarrassment to all involved.
"But many people misunderstood the gesture. I'm sorry if it caused you any trouble."
Rhaegar gave a laugh that was more of a scoff than a sound of humour. "Well, if they did think ill of me then I confirmed it when I took you."
Lyanna went to speak but Rhaegar stopped her by lifting his finger to her lips.
"Only your family and your crannogman friend know you were the mystery knight. I have heard Ser Oswell's opinions, and it grieves me to know that they are not entirely baseless. No doubt his opinion is the same as many others'." Rhaegar removed his finger from her lips and cupped her jaw with his hand.
"I don't know if it was the prophecy or my thinking of you that came first, all I know is that I am more consumed by thoughts of you than any other prophecy I have come to believe in down the years. It feels as if you are the prophecy, the destiny I have been heading for all this time."
Lyanna felt her heart skip a beat, but then tried to understand exactly what it was the prince was telling her. "So, you are obsessed with me because you think I'm the ice knight on the direwolf?" Her voice was dubious and unsure.
Rhaegar shook his head. "No. Not just because of that. That was the spark that fired my imagination, and I do think that you will be a great knight once your training is over, but there were other motivations." The prince choked over his next sentence. "I didn't ask to become infatuated with you. Maybe there is as much truth in what people think as in the reasoning I use to convince myself that I did this to fulfil a prophecy. I brought you here for me. To rescue you from a life you didn't want, and in hope that you might be with me instead."
Lyanna felt drunk, as if the only thing holding her up was the hand at the side of her face. Her legs threatened to give out underneath her at any time.
She had been in love with the prince since Harrenhal. He knew who she was and accepted her for it, and now it seemed that it was more than just acceptance he felt towards her. Dizzy and disorientated, the only way she could will herself to move was forward, and she did so with vigour, planting her mouth on Rhaegar's with force.
At first he held himself stiff, but he soon kissed her back with almost as much enthusiasm. At first they stood there, feeling the wind swirling around them, as arms wound around each other's torsos, and hips and mouths tried to fuse together.
Unsure of what she was doing or how to control it, Lyanna pressed her body against his, and it seemed that she was doing the right thing as she found herself lying on the cold stone that paved the top of the tower.
Scrambling, Lyanna tugged at Rhaegar's shirt, and soon after she'd finally succeeded in removing it, she found her own chest exposed to the night air. When a hand found her breast, Lyanna found it impossible to breathe, but then resumed the frantic process of removing her clothes by awkwardly reaching down to remove her boots.
Rhaegar sat up and she was about to protest until he unfastened the laces and tugged her breeches down over her thighs. As fingers found the apex at the top of her legs, Lyanna thought she was about to melt, but then leant up a little wondering if he was checking to see if she was a virgin. Long ago, Lyanna had realised that the innocent act of horse riding had robbed her of her maidenhead without the intervention of a man.
She almost opened her mouth to explain when a brief look at Rhaegar's face told her that was the last thing on his mind. His usually violet eyes were black, and his expression mirrored the intense and unfamiliar need that now burned through her. One thing was sure, every shred of the handsome prince in all of his finery was gone, and to Lyanna's delight it was only the man under the oak tree at Harrenhal that remained.
Tangling her fingers in the laces at his crotch, he assisted her in removing his final item of clothing, and as Lyanna laid flat and wrapped her legs around him, Rhaegar pushed forward with his hips and Lyanna's entire body clamped around him.
As she relaxed, Rhaegar withdrew, and with one hand tangled in Lyanna's hair and another on her hip, he found a rhythm. Looking up at an intense Rhaegar, naked and framed by stars in the night sky, his skin white in the moonlight, Lyanna decided that it was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen, until he finally collapsed with a whimper.
Afterwards, he led her down into the room below, pushing books off the bed to allow them to climb under the blankets. Kissing and exploring each other, Lyanna felt a burst of euphoria that she could only compare to the moment she spurred her horse into a gallop across the tourney field, to the moment lance clashed against shield.
Soon after, Rhaegar had her again, this time encouraging her to sit astride him as if she was a horse. And then after they'd drifted away into sleep, she was woken as he took her once more, Rhaegar pressing his body close behind her as they both lay on their sides.
Tired, sore, but with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, Lyanna finally lost consciousness and drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.
~X~
Rhaegar did not sleep so well. Racked with guilt as to whether he'd done the right thing, he found himself climbing out of the warm bed that tried it's hardest to plead that this was entirely right and up the ladders once more. Retrieving his breeches and shirt, he looked into the darkness, battling the demons that waged war in his mind.
It was a relief to have finally unloaded how he felt to Lyanna, but now images of his wife and family tortured him, as well as the mocking voice of Ser Oswell, reminding him of how low Rhaegar's intentions were despite his attempts to wrap them in chivalry.
Now he'd taken her, he'd proven right all the gossips that had no doubt lapped up the story of the prince and the kidnapped beauty of the north. But what he'd just done, hadn't that been the intention all along? To fill Lyanna Stark with his seed so she might bear him the third dragon.
On some level, yes. As well as on another level he truly did mean to train her to be a great knight, just as she wanted. But wasn't that because in giving Lyanna her dream, he'd hoped that she might grow to want him?
If that had been the plan, then it had worked perfectly.
Rhaegar hunched into himself as his mind caused him real physical pain, ideas whirring round in round in circles but still coming to a final judgment and finding him guilty on all counts.
The torchlight in the distance grow ever closer, and by focusing on this, Rhaegar found at least a small way of grounding himself to the world outside of his mental torture chamber. As he realised that the traveller was heading directly for the Tower of Joy once he'd found a straight path, Rhaegar panicked, until he recognised the plain white cloak of the kings guard.
It could only be Arthur, but why had he returned from his visit to Starfall, his family home, so soon?
Grabbing his Targaryen jerkin and his boots, Rhaegar paused to view Lyanna, tangled in his bed sheets, before descending the winding stairs. By the time he was fully dressed and had made his way to the gate, Rhaegar met his friend, weary and drawn.
"My prince...news." Arthur said seriously. "Grave news."