The book is opened by the time Daenys come to her sister's room. She simply throws her bag on the bed and takes her shoes off. Maega looks up from her homework and offers a smile. "I'm almost done," she says, shaking the pen she's writing with.
The leaves outside are still green, but there is a change in the air. The winds blow harder and harder everyday. Winter is coming. "Well go on." Daenys is glad her own work is done. "Slow poke."
Maega ignores her, burying her head in the notebook. "I found the page on my own."
"One would think you able to, sis. I know I keep saying otherwise, but you do possess a brain. No need to worry unduly." This one Maega can't forgive, so she turns to Daenys with a glare.
"What is wrong with you today?" Has she left toothpaste on one of her shirts again, Maega wonders. "You don't actually have to come read with me. I can do it alone."
Her peave offering is turned into an insult. "You know, I have just as much right to read that book as you do. So I'm going to keep coming here to read."
"Or you could go to the library," the other notes with a wry smile. "But perhaps you shouldn't. You're going to scare people witless with the way you look."
"Maega you're impossible," Daenys croaks. But she's smiling.
"I know. It's a talent." And she's back to solving this math problem that just won't figure itself out. Why is life so hard? Why is math so difficult?
"Leave that," Daenys order. "I'll help you with it tomorrow, if you go down and bring some snacks."
Happy enough to be unburdened, Maega shoots down the stairs straight into the kitchen. She grabs the cookie jar and whatever else she think worth their while and speeds back up, arms full of offerings.
280AL
King's Landing was everything and nothing like Lyanna had expected. The architecture was something one could not help but appreciate. Or at least Baelor's Sept gave the two women that impression. It was to be admired, looked at with appropriate awe and wonder. Probably one of the few monuments that deserved the attention it garnered; an impressive giant built out of marble, white as the bark of her weirwood trees, and crystal, with seven towers that seemed to breach the heavens with their pointy ends. Lyanna had heard it said that each tower had a bell and that they only rung together on special occasions.
But no matter the beauty of the holiest of Septs, Lyanna could not deny the stench turned her stomach. King's Landing was heavily populated from what she understood. The great number of living souls crammed together produced the smell, no doubt. And there was not much to be said for the cleanliness of the streets. However the surroundings of Baelor's Sept were cleaner than the extremities of the city.
"Would you like to visit the Sept?" Robert asked, as they stopped to admire the monster of a building. "Every Targaryen King and Crown Prince has been wedded here since it was built."
Lyanna nodded stiffly. "What say you, Lady Frey. Would you like to join me?" Tyta was happy enough to nod her answer and gather the bulk of her skirts in one hand in order to exit the wheelhouse intact.
They walked arm in arm to the entrance, Robert and Stevron a few paces in front of them. Together they marvelled at the globes of leaded coloured glass and the stained glass windows. The dome came to life as light played on its glass, gold and crystal. The seven altars reminded one of the seven aspects of divinity. Towering statues, seven in number, stood in a circle.
The Father was a tall bearded man, holding a pair of scales for better judging of the souls. There was a certain strength about him. Not a bulky sort like Robert, but rather a subtle power which held one bound and waiting. The Mother was portrayed as a smiling woman with a babe in her arms. She sported a full figure, soft and rounded, a sign of fertility and motherhood. Despite the whiteness of her marble skin there was warmth to her smile which Lyanna could not help but mirror. The Warrior wore his battle armour and held a long sword with firm fingers. His features were hidden under his helm, but Lyanna rather imagined him as having Robert's features and battle lust. All gods were to be respected and feared, but not necessarily liked. She turned to the Maiden, young and pretty, with flowers in her arms. She was of slighter built than the Mother, but just as tall and twice as pretty. The Smith held his hammer and surveyed his work proudly. There was an art to emotion as well. Following the Smith, stood, slightly stooped, the Crone. Her cloaked figure made it impossible to make out her features, only a white hand greeted the light, holding a lantern. The last was the Stranger, feared by all. His was the only statue not of white marble, but of jet-black material. The light did not touch the surface of the cloaked figure that showed no signs of being anthropomorphic but the outline of his body.
"Are they not marvellous?" Tyta asked, a whisper against her cheek, as they knelt to the altar of the Maiden. It was only appropriate.
Despite the fact that her gods were of the old, Lyanna found some comfort in the beautiful face of the Maiden. Prayers would not save her from Robert for long though. So instead she asked for protection and for her father to come soon for her.
The return to the wheelhouse found Lyanna in good spirits. The Sept was a thing of beauty, she had to agree. But her gods were still the ones she worshipped. "Where shall you be staying, my dear?"
"The Maidenvault is sued to hold the unmarried visitors of the Red Keep. Or so my sisters told me last I asked." Tyta seemed excited at the prospect. Lyanna wondered how she might escape Robert should they be given an apartment, but as it was not customary for Lord and Lady to share a room, they would probably be given separate rooms.
The Red Keep loomed before them soon enough. Lyanna thought it was not bigger than Storm's End but it looked more imposing all the same. It was made of pale red stone, hence its name. It boasted seven drum-towers, impressive both in size and breadth. What would the city look like seem from up there, Lyanna wondered as they neared the gates and she lost sight of all towers but the one closest to them.
Since many lords and ladies made their way into the Red Keep as of late, servants were prepared to greet them. Lyanna took in the clean skin and slightly prod look on the face of the maid assigned to care for her needs during her stay. Robert barely managed to protest as she was told that rooms in the women's quarters had been prepared for her.
"It is the word of our King. He wants the men in their best form at the tourney," the manservant explained, his young face scrunching with worry.
"Then we shall obey," Lyanna assured the pale faced man, who was by his looks a few years older than her."His Majesty has commanded, my lord. I shall see you later no doubt."
Her dismissal brooked no arguments. Lyanna picked up her skirts, so the hem would not end up brushing all the dust left behind by carriages and horses. The maid in her service and Alys gathered the train. Old Nan walked behind them, complaining of stiff joints and long journeys. Lyanna simply gave the old woman a slight smile and promised her a cup of ale to take some of the pain. Nan was placated with the offering, enough to turn her voice down into a slow murmur.
The sight of his daughter and her companion had Rickard Stark sigh in relief. Her normally straight, flowing hair had been pinned up in braids with combs and a golden net. She looked well, smiling at the young girl to her right as two women carefully protected her train.
He could not quite reconcile this vision with the daughter who had cried for full days and refused food in hopes of making him change his mind. He had loved her dark hair billowing about her. She looked much like her mother in those instances. Now she looked a lady of the South.
"My daughter," he greeted her, walking towards both ladies who stopped to bow at him. Rickard took her face between his hands and kissed both her cheeks. She hadn't lost the scent of the North yet. He could still smell the snow in her cold in her hair. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and spin her around. He had missed her.
"My lord father," she replied. If her voice wasn't quite as warm as he had expected of her, Rickard remembered what the hostility had been born of. "May I present to you Lady Tyta Frey, daughter of Lord Walder Frey."
"Lady Frey." Rickard took her slightly raised hand and ghosted a kiss atop her fingers, curt and polite, without any warmth. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My dear daughter, may I visit with you at a later time?"
"To be sure, father, I shall await your visit. Tyta, do you mind if I linger awhile longer. I have not seen my father is a rather long time." She dismissed the servants about her with a nod, and smiled when Tyta promised to find her when time came for them to sup.
"Take a walk with me, Lyanna. The gardens are lovely this time of the year." He offered his arm to her. She took it without hesitation and they walked in silence. It was not uncomfortable. The familiar weight of a woman leaning into him made him think of his late wife.
He had not lied. The flowers were in bloom and their fragrant scent permeated every corner of the gardens. The colourful petals stretched n hopes of catching a drop of light and a smidge of warmth. The buds rested in the shades. Which were more magnificent? Rickard could not make up his mind. It was a pity blue roses did not grow in such a climate. There was a variety of red, salmon, and golden roses, but not blue.
Lyanna leaned her face close to a tall bush of bright red flowers which he did not know the name of. "They are so colourful," she noted, her finger touching a soft petal. The whole garden was bathed in all the colours imaginable. Rickard said nothing, content to allow her the time she needed for now. "I have received your letter."
"Something else of importance has transpired. I fear it involves your brother Brandon." He could feel her tense, so Rickard patted her hand gently. "He has it in his head to marry Barbrey Ryswell."
Not one to deny her father's intellect was superior to many others, Lyanna did, on the other hand, think that he had no business as a matchmaker. What did it matter if Brandon took the Ryswell girl to wife or not? So long as he was happy. "My brother deserves the life he wishes for."
"Aye, but your brother is promised to Catelyn Tully. They will not simply be cast aside," Rickrad explained. "What am I to do with this wayward son of mine?"
"Lock him in his rooms until good Lady Tully comes for him," she answered wryly, but not without humour. "Why do you tell me this?" If it had been any other of her brothers she might have had a hope at talking to them, but Brandon, she was not so sure she could get through to him. He was by far the most reckless of them all, and rues to him had always been meant to be broken.
"Because you could help him, should you will it. And even help yourself." It was a gift of her father's to leave her baffled. "Or is it that you have already given your heart to that husband of yours?"
"I pleaded with you not to give me to him. I begged you. I swore that I would take any other man but him if you spared me." Her eyes flashed coldly. "If anyone is to shoulder the blame here, it is not me."
"Are you still a maiden? Answer me truthfully." His own eyes had turned the colour of steel. "If he has not touched you, the two of you may yet part amiably." Robert would refuse. Lyanna was sure of that. The man was enamoured enough with her that it mattered very little what her wishes were. "What sort of man is he?"
"Determined and foolishly fearless," Lyanna replied after considering the question for a short time."He will not set me free." Her warning made her father smile, a wolfish grin of sorts.
"Even better that he does not agree. I have little doubt I shall see you in the coming days. Take care of yourself and keep away from Baratheon." He kissed her forehead and bid her a good days, leaving her in the gardens.
As if in a stupor, Lyanna walked to a bench and sat down. Her father had more or less promised that should Robert not allow her to go free, he would rid him of something far more valuable than his wife. How did she feel about that? For a second shame filled her. The potential death of her husband did not even bother her. What sort of person was she, to be this indifferent? Lyanna covered her face wit her hands, frightened by feelings and thoughts that were her own.
"Why are you crying?" a small voice asked, startling Lyanna out of her thoughts. She looked up to see a dark haired child with a black cat in her arms. The girl regarded her curiously, her green dress dusted, the golden hems a little torn. "Are you hurt?"
Shaking her head, Lyanna wiped her tears away, feeling foolish. "I am fine, little lady. Thank you for asking though." The girl beamed at her. Lyanna was sure her face was still slightly flushed, as it always became when she was distressed.
"Here," she pushed the cat in Lyanna's lap, and she instinctively caught the pet fearing it would run and the girl would be upset. "You can pet him. I promise it will make everything better." The child's face was a serious as Ned's face when they were little.
To demonstrate she reached for the cat and stroked the black fur back and forth. Lyanna decided to please her and brushed the feline too. "Does he have a name?" It felt nice, the soft fur under her fingers.
"Balerion." Dark eyes watched her intently. "He is not very fearsome though, is he?"
She smiled. "And does his pretty mistress have a name?" Lyanna tried to give the girl an encouraging smile. and wondered if she was doing a good job of it or if it looked like a grimace.
Biting her lip the girl shook her head. "If I tell you'll no longer want to play with me." She frowned. "It happens every time." The corners of her mouth dragged downwards.
"How can that be? You're such a sweet child." Still she shook her head. "Fine, I swear by the old gods and the new that I will still play with you after you tell me my name." Poor darling. She was probably some lord's natural born daughter and the other looked down on her for that. "I'm Lyanna Stark," she said before she was able to think better.
Eyes lighting up, the little girl grabbed Lyanna's knees so suddenly that Balerion, startled by the sudden movement and the high-pitched sound of joy, jumped from Lyanna's lap and ran somewhere into the bushes. "You promised," she reminded Lyanna one more time before taking a deep breath. "Rhaenys Targaryen of House Targaryen," she said and curtsied in a clumsy manner, not unexpected for a child.
The shock registered first. But Lyanna had not been raised as badly as that. She climbed to her feet and fell in a curtsy of her own. Years of practicing made her almost naturally graceful. "Forgive me, I did not realise…"
"No! You promised," the Princess yelled stamping her foot on the ground. "You promised," she whined.
"Have I left your company?" Lyanna asked, hoping to calm the child. Rhaenys gave her a pointed look. "I swore an oath, my Princess. To prove I am in earnest, let us play a game. Whichever, of your choosing."
Seeming to consider those words, Rhaenys stepped closer to Lyanna and grabbed two fistfuls of her skirts. Lyanna hesitated a moment but she gathered her courage enough to stroke the top of the child's head. A bird in a cage, Lyanna thought absently. Even with all the benefits of being the Princess, this child only wanted someone to be close to her. Surrounded by people, but utterly alone. Exactly like Lyanna in Robert's home. They were alike in their different sorrows.
"Eye spy," Rhaenys said suddenly, looking up at Lyanna with a smile. "Let us play that game." Her fingers released their grip on her dress, and Lyanna carefully brushed the creases away with one hand, offering the other to the girl to hold when she saw Rhaenys was preparing to remove them somewhere else.
Had she ever been like this, Lyanna wondered, walking behind the now excited girl. Nay, if she remembered it well. Benjen had not allowed her to sink into despair, not even after their mother's death. She had to care for him, and that had taken up too much time for her to give herself over to the sadness. It had helped, of course, that Benjen dealt easier with his own grief. Lyanna had been more attached to her mother, having spent so much time in the woman's company. She had taught Lyanna how to sew and paint, although her talent for both was limited.
Princess Rhaenys had lost her mother too soon to know her. Lyanna was willing to bet the poor dear did not even remember the sound of her voice. How did one fill such an emptiness? With sweets and present and septas and servant? Did that work? "Where are you taking us?"
"To the perfect place. They won't find us there. Only father and I know of it." As she said those words they passed a small artificial lake, a few fish leaping about. The gardens seemed to hold no interest to the Princess, but Lyanna accounted that to daily walks in the place. For herself it was all wonderful, a paradise of sort that she could only enjoy for a brief spell before returning to her inferno.
No matter, she would enjoy the present, for who knew what the future brought. Lyanna picked Rhaenys up in her arms, for a second staggering under her weight. She helped the Princess up to her place of choice and sat at her feet on a boulder until the child urged her up. "What do you see?" Lyanna asked, their game at a start.
"I see something white!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
Pursing her lips, Lyanna looked around her trying to figure out what Rhaenys had seen. "Is it the clouds?" The answer was a quick shake of the head. Not the clouds then. "Is it the apple blossoms?" Rhaenys denied. "I know, I know, it is that white pigeon there, isn't it?"
"Nay, 'tis no pigeon," Rhaenys giggled. "Try again."
"I do not know. Is it those white leaves?" Lyanna was afraid she would never guess. "I simply cannot tell, my Princess. You have outwitted me. Won't you be merciful and tell what it is?"
"That tiny baby bird," Rhaenys pointed to a small bundle of twigs and dried grass nestled between some branches up high. Indeed, a little white bird twittered cheerfully up there.
Cersei Lannister had many attributes. She was beautiful beyond a shadow of doubt, she was clever and witty. Rhaegar would go so far as to say she was politically gifted, but no matter her graces, he would never make a queen out of her. As it was, she found her way in his intimate presence all too often.
At the moment, Cersei was busy inspecting his harp, wilfully ignoring the amused looks Arthur sent her way. His friend did enjoy riling her. "My lady, won't you play something for us?" Arthur asked, knowing fully well what her answer would be.
She was passable with the flute, but Cersei could not wield the harp and even worse for her voice when she sang. If she spoke it was almost pleasant. But when she was quiet and away, then Rhaegar was truly happiest.
"I shan't," Cersei answered, narrowing green eyes at the man. Her brazen attitude earned her a simple flick of Dayne's hand."I am here to bring His Majesty a message."
Oh, what desperation made out of men! Rhaegar would have laughed had it been his usual way of dealing with his court. "The Lord Hand goes too far in this." Tywin Lannister had overstepped himself. For the past few years, Rhaegar had put up with the man's daughter and her flirtations, knowing that his Hand thought to wed her into the royal family. Yet he had made it clear he had no wish to take her to wife. "My lady, should your father have any more messages for me, he is welcomed to give them through one of the servants. Or come himself, if needs must. I would not have you endangering yourself, running through the castle like this."
The young woman whirled around, her face white as a ghost's. She looked at him as if he had just delivered her a blow, one painful enough to bring tears to her eyes. But Rhaegar would not allow himself to be moved. Cersei Lannister needed to learn that he was King and his word was law. "Arthur, see the lady to the women's quarter." She could drive anyone insane, that stubborn woman. "You are dismissed," he said at last, turning his attention back to the document on his desk. This would be the final one he signed before going to see Rgaenys.
Arthur, not a man to shy away from his duties, offered the young lady his hand, preparing some barbs to make their journey entertaining. "You mustn't look so forlorn, my lady. That is just the way Kings show affection," he told her as they walked down the hall.
"When I find myself in need of advice from an insolent Dornish lord, I shall ask you to speak. Until then, pray be gallant and spare me," she hissed back at him, nails digging into his arm. She was not pleased to see a smile blooming on his face.
"Insolent Dornish lord? I'm afraid you are on the wrong arm then. Prince Oberyn Martell is the one you seek." He did so enjoy vexing her. Lord Tywin's daughter lacked the one thing Rhaegar enjoyed in women. And she did not even know it.
Poor Cersei Lannister, chasing a man she could not hope to catch the eye of as something for serious than a few moments of flirtation. Arthur felt a wave of sympathy crash into him, until he remembered that walls had ears – and occasionally eyes. One day she would understand that Rhaegar knew his subjects better than they thought. Arthur, by virtue of being a close friend, often found out more than he would like to know about some peers of the realm.
"Have a care, Lord Dayne." Cersei's sneers held a certain sort of cruelty. What a wonder she would be in ten year's time. "The Lion does not take to being teased."
Lannisters were ever fond of saying which included lions. If Arthur went around talking about falling stars, Rhaegar would probably have him examined by the Grand Maester just to be sure his visits to the brothels hadn't landed him in real trouble. But however bad lions took to teasing, lords were even worse when little impertinent children thought themselves above them.
Lilac eyes glazed over, a coolness taking over. "I believe our road ends here." They stood before a statue of the Maiden. "A word of advice, my lady. A lion may still burn." With that he turned around and left behind a fuming young lady.
Perhaps it was dangerous for him too to take such liberties, but everyone had their limits. If Tywin Lannister wanted to force the King's hand, he would find himself back on his Rock, with no position to speak of and without an heir.
It sometimes happened that the Kingsguard took new knights in, and as Arthur had heard Jaime Lannister was shaping up to be quite a good one. And everyone knew he held his second son in disdain. A pity that, for they whispered that Tyrion Lannister was as witty as he was small, and DAybe recalled him being rather small.
Politics made his head ache. Arthur decided against going back to Rhaegar. No doubt the King would see himself free of his work and visit little Rhaenys. It had always been his deepest regret, that his work took him so much away from his daughter.
Elia would have been delighted to know the depth of the King's feelings for the Princess. "Do you know, Elia, I should have listened and found a wife of my own."
Rhaegar would allow him to take to wife any woman he wanted, and his place on the Small Council would ensure that fathers threw their daughters his way. Yet Arthur had never felt he wanted any of them for more than a brief spell. Elia had been the only one, and she had never been his to have and to hold, for all Rhaegar turned a blind eye to his romancing of the Queen. But she had never allowed him more than a kiss to her palm. Such had been she, Rhaegar's first wife.
"I hate Cersei. Do you think the author could hurry up and get rid of her already?" Ever impatient Maega jumps up and down the bed posing her oh so philosophical question.
Daenys shakes her head. "Where would the fun be in that. Lyanna has to have some rivals, otherwise the whole story would be pointless." She stops and thinks. "And boring. Do you like boring?"
"No." Maega shifts into a more comfortable position. "But she has to disappear sometime soon, or I'll kill her myself."
"Maega, you cannot kill a character."
Title from E. A. Poe's "The Raven".