...Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms
Maega jumps up and down on the bed, clapping her hands excitedly. "Hurry up already!" she yells after her older sister who is still brushing her hair. "Old Nan is faster than you." Her complaint is met with silence. Maega snorts. "I'll start reading without you."
"If you can find the page," Daenys teases in a sing-song voice that she knows annoys Maega. "Have you brushed your teeth? Washed behind the ears and all that?"
Appalled at her sister's stalling, Maega picks the tome up. "Yes, I can," she protest to those first words, ignoring the questions, which frankly she finds offensive.
Unfortunately her task is harder than it seems. The writing is awfully small and Daenys has not marked any of the pages. How does she remember exactly where they have left off, the younger sister wonders, frantically turning page after page. But she won't give up without a proper fight. "I'll show you that I can." There must be something, some kind of sign. She can hear Daenys giggling but it only makes her resolve stronger.
"Come on, Maega. I'll show you," Daenys offers, coming closer to her.
"But I can do it." Again with the protests. In spite of her words she does allow Daenys to pull the book and search for the page on her own. Admittedly her sister is much better and quicker too. "How can you remember that?"
"Unlike you, I pay attention," the older sister replies. "Shall we begin or would you rather that go to sleep?"
"Just start reading!" The command is accompanied by a pillow thrown Daenys' way.
280 AL
"My lady, I have news of a nature to sweeten your disposition," Robert told her, a smile blooming on his handsome face.
Wiping the excess of food from her lips, Lyanna gave him a cold stare. "My mood is perfectly amiable, my lord." She hesitated over using the word 'husband' for the sole reason that it would seem like acceptance on her part. And Lyanna would sooner drink poison than accept Robert for a husband.
"Even so," Robert laughed, "hear what I have to say. The King holds a tourney to honour his Hand. As if Lannister needs his ego stroked."
Politics had never been Lyanna's strong point. Up in the North she'd had little need of it. But now she had moved South. Perhaps it was time to learn. "I am sure he does an admirable job of it. What of this tourney?"
"I would join in the mirth, my lady, and would see you happy. King's Landing will surely agree with you." He took her hand in his. "I know you miss your home. I know you are not ready, but I will be patient for you."
The gall of him, acting as if she was doing her a favour. Lyanna nodded nonetheless. "Then let us away to the tourney." Hopefully the gods would take on her and have a sword or a lance make her a widow. A merry widow to be sure.
"About the other night," he began, eyes lowering. "Do not feel slighted, my Lyanna. I would not wound your heart. I know 'tis no excuse, yet I was in my cups and the wench offered herself to me. I was not thinking straight."
"My heart is not wounded, my lord," she replied woodenly. Revulsion struck her. This was not her. She should have thrown the wine in his face and make for the stables and head away, anywhere but where she was. And she would have just that were it not for the unexpected blessing of the tourney.
Feeling slightly dizzy, Lyanna excused herself. "I would lie down awhile. It must be the heat getting to me."
"Of course. I shall help you to your room," Robert offered.
"Nay, there is no need. I am sure once I have rested I shell be better." Brushing him off had become one of her favourite activities, besides avoiding him that was."Nan and Alys will suffice."
Lyanna saw herself to her room, clutching her middle. A sort of nagging pain has settled there. "By the gods!" She hurried into her chambers.
Alys looked at her as she entered, fussing over a dress. She was about to comment on the fine skirt when she noticed Lyanna's pallor. "My lady!" she rushed to the younger woman. "Are you unwell?"
Pushing against her middle, Lyanna looked at Alys. "It hurts."
"Into bed then," Alys instructed. "I'll send for some tea to settle you. Try to close tour eyes. Old Nan, won't you help the poor darling out of her dress?"
Lyanna fell asleep with relative ease. She could not even wait for the tea to be brought up. Nan covered her, whilst giving her a searching stare. Unbothered, the young girl slept on. Whether she dreamed or not, who was to tell? Yet she looks as if she dreamed. The crone hopes her dreams were sweet. She deserved dreams of a sweet kind. Many a maiden deserved such dreams.
Waking with a start Lyanna barely caught the last vestiges of light caressing a dying sky. There was something poignant about the sun setting. It felt like a goodbye. The day that had passed she would never see again. It was time she would never get back. The day was ended. Some found this moment in time beautiful. Lyanna was filled with nostalgia. In most stories the darkness that followed brought death. Sleep was a kind of death, only without the permanence or finality of the latter.
Yet the night also paved the way for a new day. One had to admire the sun's persistence. No matter how many times it fell from its perch high in the sky, it always came back to offer light and warmth. It was little wonder that people considered it a hero of sorts; in songs anyway. The first people were said to have worshipped the sun before the learned on the old gods. Had the last of the Stark kings remembered to pray to this invincible god as well as the old ones? Lyanna wondered at that a few moments longer.
"You are awake," Nan observed from her place in the doorway. "The gods are good."
"Good? Had they been good they would've ended my suffering," Lyanna murmured under her breath. "What has happened?"
"You caught a chill." Nan had imparted the information on Lyanna as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to catch chills.
"Me?" Lyanna laughed. "I haven't been ill since…" She hadn't been ill since her mother's death. That was the last time Lyanna had been sick. She survived; her mother hadn't been quite as lucky. "I've no chill."
"But you do," the elder insisted, moving towards the bed. She gently lifted the covers and a bit of her skirts, and Lyanna grasped. Underneath her was a bloodstained piece of cloth. "For the next few days, my lady, you are feverish." The old woman drew the coverings over her. "Such a pity, child. This cold."
"It is the sudden change of climate," Alys commented entering the room with a tray laden with food. "Same thing happened to my boy. Must have caught it at the beach, my lady. You ought to take more care of yourself," she spoke softly.
Lyanna had a few questions to ask. But they would have to wait, for the sound of footsteps could he heard outside. The heavy footfalls of a large man. Robert looked inside her room.
"My lady." He entered, brushing past the other two without any acknowledgement of their presence whatsoever. "Tell me you feel fine."
"I am as fine as it may be expected," Lyanna spoke quietly, adding a series of coughs just to be sure the ruse worked. It wouldn't do to be caught so soon.
"What do you mean the King intends to search for a wife?" Rickard Stark growled. "You told me he was not of a mind to take another to his Queen."
"Because he was not." Varys calmly sipped his wine. "And now he is." The eunuch seemed unfazed by the Wolf. "Might I remind you, my lord, that House Baratheon is just as respectable. They share blood with the Targaryens."
"Aye, but they are not Targaryens." It seemed that only then did Rickard realise the mistake in making haste of his daughter's marriage. "My daughter's marriage has yet to be consumed."
"You would seek to divorce the poor girl?" the bald man asked, astonishment seeping into his features."It would be quite a scandal. I am certain her situation would be further complicated. Besides, my lord, Lord Baratheon is not exactly known for being chaste and in control of his passions. How are we to know he has not taken his rights of her?" Therein lay the crux of the matter.
Cursing, Rickard jumped to his feet. Why couldn't the King have stopped his mourning earlier? Now Lyanna was married to that oaf. Only the High Septon could separate them. Or death. Struck by the thought, the man leaned against his desk. "But a widow? A young, healthy widow? Sure that would be acceptable."
"Provided that she does not carry another man's child," Varys opinionated. "Alas, Robert Baratheon is in good health."
Woe to him. He had only thought to provide the girl with the highest position he could find for her. Had he known the King would come out of mourning he would have refused Baratheon's suit. Lyanna had been too young anyway.
"The Hand of the King also vies for the position of good-father. Cersei Lannister is quite a beautiful young lady." The eunuch rose from his seat gently. "If your daughter were to attend the tourney, surely she could capture his attention, move him enough."
But Rickard already had his own plans. Robert Baratheon would need to be removed somehow. Fortunately the man was known for his wild ways. He wenched and caroused and had more bastards than Rickard had fingers. True, his father had been a different sort of man; the son was a poor reflection. Ah, he needed his daughter back. One way or another he would see her safely back in his hold.
One way or another he would have her. "How old is the King's daughter?" Rickard asked.
"Not old enough to remember her mother," Varys replied. "At her age she would need a kind, gentle hand. She would need a mother. And who better to know than a girl who has grown up without a mother and understands her pain. Does Lady Lyanna like children?"
"She always took great care of her younger brother after my wife's death."
Nodding his head, Varys held back a smile. "I hope we meet again soon, my lord." He bowed and made his exit, leaving Rickard behind.
A knock on the door pulled the man from his thoughts. "Enter!" Rickard ordered softly.
Brandon, his eldest, came in. "Father, you wished to see me?" Tall and broad shouldered, he was the first child Rickard had with his wife. The pride of his father, and the eventual heir to Winterfell. Unlike Lyanna and Eddard, Brandon and his youngest son had the blue eyes of their mother, a watered- down cerulean colour. The hair too was somewhat different from Rickard's own, a shade darker; darker than Lyanna's and Eddard's. His mother would have been proud.
"Indeed. Sit down, boy. We need to talk." He paced in front of the hearth. "What's this I hear about you and Ryswell's daughter?"
Straightening his posture, Brandon blinks up at his father."I wish to take her to wife."
As of late his children seemed to have developed better judgement than him. Rickard seriously considered his son's statement. "Ryswell will be only too glad." And there was the heart of the matter. Little could be gained from the marriage for the Starks. "Have you given this matter serious thought?"
"My wording must have been wrong," the boy said then. "I'm not asking for approval. I am telling you what I intend to do."
Throw any possibility of advancing them all into the dirt. All of it, everything for a woman. Rickard's hand itched strangely. "Your sister had the grace to submit when it came her time to do her duty by the family."
"My sister spent days praying her groom would fall off his horse and break his neck." Brandon's eyes got a haunted look. "But I am not like her, father. Should you push a marriage onto me, I will make it so that no maiden will ever wish to marry into House Stark."
"Barbrey Ryswell, then. Go through with this and I disown you. See if she wants you then." He hadn't yelled the words, but his face had gone livid all the same. "See if your love keeps fed, warm and clothed. You are young and foolish. You think it is all a big game."
"All the same, my lord. I have made up my mind." For a brief moment he looked like he might say something else, but in the end he shook his head. "I suppose I shan't see you again. Farewell then."
"As you wish." Hopefully after a while the boy would see the error of his ways. Rickard waved him away. "Just know that despite your obstinacy, my door is always open to you."
Something like pity made its way to his son's eyes. The boy gave him a sad smile. "As I said, farewell, father. For a short while I thought you were the greatest man alive."
Such did the mind of youths work, Rickard assured himself. The boy would come back with his tail tucked between his legs. He only needed a bit of patience.
The doors closed silently, and it felt more permanent than Rickard would have liked it to.
Employing her guile Lyanna was still pretending her sudden illness when a letter came from her father. She hadn't expected this, not after their conflict when she left. Alys had came running with it in her hands, barely bobbing a curtsy.
"Thank you, Alys. You may leave," she said.
Unfolding it gently, Lyanna did not know what to expect of him. She wondered if he would ask after her well-being or if he should find more interest in knowing whether she'd done her duty by Robert. Had she any brains she would have burnt the thing. Yet she couldn't bring herself to do so. She sat in her bed for a short while admiring the man's penmanship. But she could not put off reading the letter forever.
'To my daughter,' the letter begun and went on to describe the most tedious things Lyanna had ever read in her life. There were questions about her health as well as about the general state of Robert's domain. She read on hoping to find some sign of remorse, some contrition. There was none. Lyanna fairly seethed. Yet as she neared the end of the letter something caught her eye. A corner of the thick paper was folded slightly.
Her father was a neat person. In fact he would not send a letter if the paper was not perfectly smooth and the writing even. Her fingers touched the paper again and rubbed it gently. It was thicker than what he normally used. Making a soft sound of desperation she fiddled the paper with a sharp nail. This time, to her surprise, it came apart, revealing underneath another paper, this one written in a smaller script.
'You will forgive the guise, my dear daughter, and if you have wits about you this message of mine will have been destroyed by the end of you reading it. A mistake has been made.' Lyanna read the starting lines and gave a snort. He evaded the blame, as always. 'Your marriage was a grave miscalculation, indeed; I cannot bring myself to call it anything but. I shall explain when we see one another again. Until then make sure your husband takes you to the tourney, and do not share his bed. Do what you must to preserve your innocence.'
Insufferable! Lyanna raged at her father's curt note. How dare he? He forced her to wed a man she held in contempt, then changed his mind? As if she could take her word back. There had been witnesses. Her brothers, some men of Robert's, a septon. Gods! She would not get out of the marriage just by speaking to her father. For pity's sake, she had lived with Roberts for three moon-turns. Who would believe her a maiden still?
He called her marriage a mistake, which promoted the young woman to wonder just how much thought he'd given to this union.
Had he listened, she would have been free to follow any instruction of his. Any man other than Robert would have been bearable.
That was not honest though. There were men worse than Robert, Lyanna thought a moment later. He had been kind to her. But even that fact did not stop her from wanting a way out of her current marriage. Enydae had escaped an unwanted marriage by prickling her finger on the tip of a poisonous bramble. Lyanna doubted she would find such flora in these parts. In lieu of natural remedies to her heartache and existential problems she would have to make due with the, uncertain at best, help of her father and her own luck – which she never bothered to ask the gods if it was good or bad.
On top of all she was now truly a woman, and had to keep her husband from discovering it, else she'd forfeit her maidenhead to him. Her worry for her virtue was far suppressed by the utter disgust Robert's touch provoked her. Why it should be so, Lyanna could not rightly tell. Was it spite? Was it the hope that love was somewhere out there?
Nay, not that. Songs and stories had their charm. But Lyanna was well aware that only few creatures were fortunate enough to find love within their own marriage.
Pushing those thought away, she tried to search for a valid reason for her father's sudden change of mind. While not an apparent active figure in the struggle for power within the realm, his attention was never far from the capital. Lyanna remembered that after the Queen's death, when she had been but a child, her father had held hopes of an alliance with the ruling House of Westeros. Yet the King had claimed he would take no bride, for he needed to mourn the passing of his wife and child. Lyanna had been touched by his decision. He must have loved his wife. She had wanted that, a man like that to be clear.
The former Queen had been a Princess of Dorne. From the talk of people she had been a gracious, witty woman with a face as fair as her character. A Princess and her Prince. Had she loved her husband? She must have. At the very least she had been a good wife to him. Princess Elia had died giving birth to an heir. It was unfortunate that the babe had not survived. To lose both his beloved and his child, Lyanna did not want to think of the King's pain. A double blow. A lesser man would not have recovered. But she supposed that a man responsible for a realm ad not been given much choice.
Lyanna took her father's note and read it again. She could not say she trusted his word, yet curiosity would not let her bed. She would need to make sure Robert took her to the tournament.
Nan assured her the flux would not hold more than a few days after it settled, and her pains had receded somewhat since the first day. Alys had said it was the first few times that were longer and more painful, that her body needed time to adjust.
Lyanna thanked whichever gods had been watching over her when the day finally came for them to begin their journey. It had taken her some persuading to convince Robert she was much better, and that she did wish to make it to the tourney. Her husband had been of a mind to leave her at Storm's End and go by himself. Lyanna would hear none of it. She insisted and perhaps because he imagined himself so fond of her Robert allowed it in the end.
This affection Robert presented her with bothered Lyanna. Alys had comforted her, saying that the Lord of Storm's End did indeed like her truly and that she should give him the chance to prove himself. She went on to remind the young woman that he had been gracious and proper, and he had not bothered her. "You needn't act as if you were made of ice, m'lady."
It stood on the tip of her tongue to retort that it was no act. But Lyanna calmed herself enough to manage a thin smile. "I am yet shy of him, I confess. What girl would not be?" He was handsome and could certainly act charming when he wished to. If she had been the sort to be taken in by good features and a bit of attention Lyanna supposed she would have found it herself to disregard the aspects she disliked. But she was not, and she could not bring herself to like the man, least of all to love him.
Alys nodded serenely. She changed the topic to something more comfortable. "You are to see your brothers again, no? And your lord father. You must be excited."
Folding her hands in her lap, Lyanna blinked in the following silence. "Yes, I have. My youngest brother most of all." A memory flashed before her eyes. "We were very close, the two of us, in age and in almost everything else. And my mother's death brought us even closer."
"Were you very young when your lady mother passed away?" Alys asked, interest painted on her face.
"Indeed I was. After Benjen's death mother was rather weak and sickly. The maester said she could get better provided that no complications appeared." Lyanna wringed her fingers. She remembered quite vividly the dark lines under her mother's eyes and the wane smiles."It had been snowing then. Mother loved the snow. I was excited about it too." Her smile had been so pretty that day, full of life. "She took me out despite the maester's protests. It was nowhere near as cold as our winters are, but apparently it was cold enough." Something like tears blurred her vision.
"You poor dear." Alys patted her hand in a gesture of comfort. "She would have been so proud of the lady you are now."
"Thank you," she replied, brushing the tears away. Of course she did not quite believe those words. "I keep wishing that I hadn't been so eager to go outside that day. Perhaps she might have lived today to see me as I am."
"You cannot blame yourself, m'lady. 'Tis for the gods to decide how long we have on this earth," the maid observed in that manner simple people were so fond of.
Knowing that she meant well, Lyanna nodded. "Perhaps," the she-wolf sighed. Either way her mother was long gone. "After her death Benjen and I were inseparable. He was so attached to me that for a few years we shared a bed. He was so very frightened of snowstorms."
But they had grown apart. Lyanna did not know the reason but soon after she reached her eight nameday Benjen quit her company for the more interesting one of the village boys and squires. She hadn't understood then. But now that she thought about it, it came as a certainty that her father had persuaded his youngest to do so.
Brandon and Eddard were good enough brothers to have. The first very jovial and always open to spending some time with his siblings, Brandon had once taught her how to properly swing a sword and she had taken to the lesson. But never more than that for he lacked the patience. Eddard was quieter and like her he was fond of riding. It was he who taught her and Benjen to ride properly. Unlike Brandon he was constant and meticulous. Lyanna loved both her older brothers, but her absolute favourite had to be Benjen in the face of their bond.
The journey to King's Landing would take awhile, Robert had told her. While being confined in a wheelhouse was not something Lyanna relished, the thought of it separating her and Robert more than made up for it. Besides she had grown quite used to having Alys and Nan as company and little Renly, who now slept in her arms. Stannis had chosen to ride with his brother. Combing her fingers through the short hair of the child, Lyanna could not help the surge of adoration that shot through her. If her father's plan did succeed, Renly would be the one she missed most. It seemed such a pity she would not be able to see him as she did now. And yet if she could bring about her separation from Robert, Lyanna would endure.
In regards to Rickard Stark, Lyanna hardly knew what to make of him. A good night's sleep hadn't cleared her mind, nor did it make her father's intentions easier to understand. Without much hope of making out his plan, Lyanna allowed her head to fall back again the cushions. She would deal with it when it came. And likely have more reason to be upset with her father. Why could he not ask her, just once, what it was that she wanted? It would not be such a sacrifice, nor such a burden, she reckoned.
The quiet soothed her. She allowed her thoughts to run free. She needn't yet look for trouble where there was none to be had.
By the time she has finished the last sentence, Maega's tiny eyes have already closed. Daenys contemplates reading further on her own. She could do it. Maega would never know. Her fingers reach out to turn the page. She catches the paper between her thumb and her finger. Her lips purse. And she gives a sigh. Now that she thinks better of it, Maega would know and she would not like it. But she is so curious.
Will Lord Rickard do away with his good-son? Will Lyanna help her father? And when will she meet Rhaegar? Indecision gnaws at her for a few moments.
Wrinkling her nose, Daenys puts the book down. She tucks her sister under the covers. She didn't think either of them would like this story as much as they do. There is something about it. Daenys cannot quite put her finger on it. It's almost like one of grandma's fairytales, only more real and probably with a lot more blood and intrigue. It's definitely not something Maega should be reading. But Daenys is willing to compromise. Just this once. After all, her sister won't tell a soul. Of that she's sure.
Climbing out of the bed, Daenys sneaks out the door. A floorboard creeks and she freezes. It's way past her bed time already. She takes another step, then another, and another. Before long she's in her own room and out of danger.
Breathing out a sign of relief, she snuggles under the covers in her own bed. Finally, she falls asleep.
Title from Lord Alfred Tennyson's "Lady Clara Vere de Vere".