Rickard nudges Sara gently. "What are you doing?" he asked his wife. She has been standing in the doorway for the past five minutes. "Are you feeling well?" It is not like her to sit so still. "Sara, hello!"
"Hush," she chides him with a small smile. "Look at them." Sara points to their daughter bent together over that tome that has so taken their attention these past few weeks. "Don't they look like a pair of angels?" Like any mother, Sara can not go a few minutes without saying this or that about her dear daughters. Mentioning them is a habit.
Allowing her to guide his sight, Rickard observes the two of them. Their relationship has improved ever since they have started the story of Lyanna Stark. "I am glad they found the book. Though I wonder how. I had forgotten all about it."
Raising an eyebrow, Sara gives him an odd look. "Of course you have. I was dusting the library and I found it next to some history books." Sara herself remembers enjoying the story when she read it. "I miss that story. Do you think they would mind if I sat with them?" The mother took a step forward.
Daenys breakes off mid-sentence and looks up. "Mom!" she greets with a smile. "Dad!"
"We were wondering if you would have us over in your little club." Rickard sits in his favourite chair and Sara next to Maega.
"I thought you would never ask," the youngest replies.
280 AL
"There now," Tyta said, happily applying the last of the stitches to her piece of embroidery. She looked at her work in the light coming from the window. It was pleasing. "What think you of this, Lyanna?" she asked the young woman sitting next to her.
Busy with her own embroidery, Lyanna glanced. "Oh, it's beautiful!" She beamed at the girl. "I wish I had half your talent in the tips of my fingers." Her own work was passable, but nothing extraordinary. An appropriate trinity of frost-blue roses decorated the white material, in a way that spoke of care and attention, but not fondness.
Tyta's piece showed a lovely gray wolf on a darker cloths, almost pitch black. The eyes were a brilliant golden colour, the details very fine indeed. "I realised I have not had the opportunity to properly thank you, my friend. So I have made this for you. I hope you accept it."
"You shouldn't have," Lyanna said with pleasure, a rosy blush colouring her cheeks. Many gifts have found their way into her hands over the years. Dolls, dresses, combs and the occasional piece of jewellery; all have at some point been offered to her to placate, to impress, to please, to persuade. If she had ever believed them to be anything but an attempt to cloud her judgement, Lyanna did not rightly remember. Yet from a fairly young age she had learned to look upon them with suspicion. Thought it pleased her to be paid attention to. She fingered the heavy material. "It is lovely." She looked at her own work. "I wish I had something better to give to you, but I'm afraid I am not a talent with the needle."
"You need not trouble yourself," the other protested, her hands lifting in the air to strengthen her words. "I have already extracted a promise of horse riding instructions. But in the end Lyanna prevailed and she was forced to accept the blue roses. "If you insist, I shall be happy to hand this in my room."
"I should be equally happy if you tossed it in some chest and never had to look upon it again," the she-wolf joked. "Perhaps if the good weather holds, we shall have out first lesson on this very day. Would that suit you?"
"Very much indeed," Tyta agreed enthusiastically. Then, as if remembering something unpleasant, she frowned. "I have no clothes fitting for such an exploit," she explained, her shoulders dropping.
Just as Lyanna was about to tell her she had some garments that had been her second-oldest brother's, the door opened with a loud bang. Other women in the room grasped and glared at the intruder. Lyanna naturally turned to see who had dared break the King's hospitality by breaking in the women's sanctuary. Unfortunately for her, she was met with the image of her furious husband, red-faced and fuming. He stood there in the doorway, fixing her with a glare that could have frozen a whole sea. Instinctively her hand gripped Tyta's.
Robert stepped over the threshold, deaf to the murmur of disapproval the other ladies produced. He did not even have the decency to say a word to the ones he pushed out of his way. Reaching Lyanna, he grabbed her by the shoulder. "Get up," he ordered, voice reverberating through the room. He had not yelled, but Lyanna was frozen in her place all the same. Fear paralysed her. "Have you gone deaf!" he roared, hauling he r to her feet. When she refused to move still, he threw her over his shoulder like one would a sack of grain.
Breaking through her panic at last, Lyanna yelled back to Tyta, "Find my father, Lady Frey! I beg you, make haste!" She could not fathom what the brute would do to her; he was in such a temper.
Still in her chair, Tyta took a few moments to realise what had happened. Snapping out of her stupor, she dashed to her feet, and ran after them. But her short legs could not keep up well with Lord Baratheon's wide steps. "Hold on, my lady. I shall be as quick as I can," she whispered, finally falling behind.
Tearing herself away from the image of Lyanna being stolen by her brutish husband, Tyta scrambled down to the inner court, where she knew the men to be. It was Stevron she found first, but the state she was in did not allow for a clear explanation, Her brother seeing that the girl kept asking for Lord Stark was obliged to see her to where the Warden of The North had seated himself at the shadow of a tall tree, deep in conversation with Arthur Dayne and a man whose name Stevron could not recall.
"Lord Stark, forgive the interruption," Stevron cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him and his sister. He had half expected Tyta to hide behind him, but her anxiety had made her uninhibited. She stepped before him and bowed, but did not wait for the lord's leave to speak.
"Your daughter had been taken," she said without preamble. Small hands crossed over her lap, fingers wringing nervously. "He burst and grabbed her before any one us could stop him, my lord. She begged me to come and find you. Please, my lord, she was frightened, and I admit the look in Lord Baratheon's eyes did not promise lenience." She had spoken much and fast, her breath had left her. Tyta dragged air in her lungs, her throat burning.
Rickard Stark paled. "That whoreson!" he cursed, uncaring of who might hear him. "Begging your pardon, my lady." He had broken the marriage of his daughter to the man, stating that as their union was unconsummated he stood to lose nothing. In fact, he had not even paid her bridal price. It stood to reason he would not make a fuss and the High Septon would annul the marriage. "My lady, I thank you for being so quick on this. Lord Dayne, I trust this proves my earlier point.
Lord Dayne looked at the pallid little creature trembling in front of her audience. "Indeed, Lord Stark." But he would conduct an investigation of his own. "Lord Frey, may I have a few words with your sister?" Visibly surprised, Stevron Frey murmured a soft agreement. "Come then, child. Sit by me." Her brother had to push the poor lamb towards him. Turning his head to a servant he called for a glass of wine to be brought.
The dainty maiden had been lowered to her knees, and her dress fluffed around her. It was such an odd piece, yet it did its job of covering her legs. Tyta pulled on the hem. Her eyes stung and her heart was still beating loudly. She felt her head might split in two.
"There, there, pet," Arthur consoled the young girl gently. "You need not work yourself into a frenzy. I only need to know a few more details, so I may help the good Lady Lyanna." He would try his best to spare her tender feelings.
Dark brown eyes looked at him hopefully. "My lord." There was something in her gaze, Arthur thought. But it was then that the drink arrives and whatever contact was between them broke. Taking the proffered cup, he passed it in the female's hands. Her eyes widened almost comically. "I do not drink, my lord. Never."
"Just a few sips, child. You will feel better," he assured her. Seeming to trust his words, she drank a mouthful, and her nose scrunched in a most adorable gesture. "You do not like wine?"
"Ale is worse," was her reply.
"Has Lady Lyanna ever spoken to you of herself?" he asked. Arthur hoped that in her innocence the pretty chit would let slip the information he needed. Rickard Stark could swear up and down that his daughter was untouched, but other proof was needed too.
"I have not knows her long, my lord," Tyta confided in the man for some unknown reason. She just knew that if there was anyone who could help and protect Lyanna he must be a strong man. "I know just that she is two years my senior, and has not been married long enough for her husband to endear himself to her." She lowered her gaze. "May I speak freely?"
"Please do so." Putting on the best open face he could muster, Arthur prayed it would be enough to embolden the little lady.
Leaning as close to him as she felt was proper, Tyta whispered, "I think she fears him, my lord. And I blame her not. The first I met Lord Baratheon I thought he meant to kill my brother and myself. I do believe him to be sane, and whatever ruse he made use of in convincing my lady to wed him, I am certain it was ill-conceived."
"Ah," Arthur exclaimed in a manner so soft she might have imagined it. "I thank you for your forthrightness, Lady Frey. You have been of much help." He lifted her hand to his lips and then picked himself up, helping her rise too. She had been most helpful, indeed. A plan had already started forming in Arthur's mind.
"What is the meaning of this?" Lyanna yelled at Robert, hoping to convince him to put her down. "I will not be treated with such impertinence!"
"Shut that mouth of yours, woman," Robert replied tersely. He had brought in into the stables and signalled for two horses to be brought forward. "Get in that saddle."
"I will not," she refused, throwing her head back haughtily. "You have no right to command me."
In his haste to get her to cooperate, Robert did not stop to think of what the implications of forcing her to go along with him would bring to fruit. His hand came hard across her cheek, the sound of the slap ringing through the place. "Get on the horse, or I'll put you up there and break both your legs, you bitch." A rope tired her hands to the horse's bridle.
"Bastard," she hissed in return, but did nor have the courage to oppose him. Her cheek stung and her lip was split. Blood dribbled down her chin. She though to escape him when he started galloping ahead of her, yet not even he was that stupid. Robert tied her horse's reins to his own horse's.
The beasts broke into a run at the sharp blow dealt to Robert's horse. Lyanna had the presence of mind to look behind her every now and then. For a time they rode unbothered. The horses were of good stock, fast and strong. They'd been made to run. A sort of sinking feeling bloomed in the pit of her stomach. Why would he not release her? Hadn't her father offered to part with a handsome sum of money if case her released her from her vows without making a fuss of it?
When she thought all hope was lost, behind them the sound of hooves beating the ground made her whirl around. The banner of the direwolf floated in the air and behind it she could see some other banner sworn to her father. Domeric Bolton's flayed man was there, Lord Karstark's banner and the Glover's too. Relief coursed through her.
In a desperate bid to but the riders some time, Lyanna flung herself from the saddle. Her body instinctively prepared for the crash, knowing it would bring her much pain. Yet even in her wildest dreams she could not have imagined the hellish agony upon impact. A ragged scream tore itself from her throat as her dress caught in the horse's leg and her leg came in contact with the uneven ground. Flesh tore itself on the sharp rock embedded in the road, and the muscles in her arms became rigid with tautness. Her cry of anguish prompted Robert to glance behind him. His eyes spoke of terror at the sight of her unsaddled. Her horse faltered under the effect of the impediment and her added weight.
But by the time he managed to stop his beast, Lyanna's leg was in shambles and the rope had cut deeply into her wrists.
Her vision blurred, Lyanna could barely make out the form of her husband approaching her, yet she felt him, the scent of him. "Leave me alone," she begged, reduced to tears of pain and fright. "I want my father! Leave me alone! Papa! Save me, papa!" Though she had yelled the loudest she could, the sounds were faint to her own ears, covered in the roaring of her blood. "Papa!" Luminous eyes closed, and she gave in to her exhaustion and the pull of the darkness.
His daughter's body hanging from her horse's bridle brought a wave of fury over Lord Stark. "Baratheon!" he howled, much like the wolf of his house. The sound was feral, cutting through the bones of his opponent.
Having jumped down from his horse, Robert cut the bindings and Lyanna slumped to the ground in an undignified heap. Rickard did not give him the opportunity to prepare himself. He jumped at the assailant of his daughter, sword drawn. Steel met steel, the clash repeating the chorus of any warrior's song.
He thought that all the men would scare Baratheon into submission, but it seemed his opponent was not quite so dim. He had called upon men of his own. They appeared from behind the tree line, a dozen or so, strong swordsmen. His own people joined the fray. Rickard feared for his daughter's safety. "Bolton!" he called to the young Domeric.
The boy understood without him having to elaborate, but so did Baratheon. Robert lunged for Domeric, sword coming down in an arc. Rickard juxtaposed himself between them. They fought against one another, each trying to wear the other out. Baratheon was strong, and he knew it. But Rickard was more skilled and more experienced. He feinted, and came at Robert from the other side. Though his blow was blocked, he managed to make Robert's feet unsure. With a well-placed kick he brought the younger man to his knees. Rickard was about to plunge his sword through his opponent's chest. "Vermin, how dare you lay your hands on my daughter to strike her, to bloody her face!" The words were spoken chillingly low.
"Halt!" came the cry of Barristan Selmy. "Lord Stark, stay your hand! In the name of the King!"
Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, Robert sprang to his feet and in true warrior fashion, knocked Rickard back. He dashed to his horse and climbed in the saddle despite being warned against it. He jammed his foot in the animal's flank and it could do naught but come alive under him. Some of the men gave chase after Robert and his company. They were lost in the thick concentration of trees in a matter of seconds.
"Is this your daughter?" Arthur Dayne questioned, picking in his arms the young woman that had lain forgotten on the hard ground. He looked her over, trying to assess the damage. Damn Baratheon for destroying her. She looked young enough that some would still name her child. A shudder ran along Arthur's spine. What kind of sick man would take a child to wed and bed? Her face was white, but blood ran down her chin and temple. Arthur bit back a curse. The little Frey had been right to warn them of Robert's hostility.
"Lyanna!" Rickard Stark rasped, heading towards the girl on unsteady feet. He took her from Arthur's hold. "My poor darling." Kissing her dusted forehead, Rickard steeled himself against the onslaught of sadness which overtook him. He was to blame.
Though a victor he could taste but ashes in his mouth. His sweet Lyanna. The ride to the Red Keep seemed to drag on as the horses trotted gently, but swiftly. His daughter kept loosing blood; it soaked into her dress and dripped down her leg into her father's lap as he held her. "Hold on, my little wolf." The gates could not appear fast enough.
Always a good child, Lyanna had not made it a habit to worry him or her mother when Lyarra had lived. Yet they shared a stubborn streak, the two women, and Rickard could do little but worry. Had Lyarra lived, he would not have escaped unbruised from this incident. His wife had loved her children fiercely and she would have torn any man who dared bring them harm. But Rickard had thought as a lord, not as a father, and his daughter paid the price; her small body bent, flesh mangled. Her pain registered in his breast tenfold grown. And just when he though he might crumble under its effect, the gates came in view, opened and waiting to receive them inside the safety of the keep's walls.
Lyanna was pressed in the care of a group of Maesters, their chains heavy around their necks, and the Septas accompanying them. Rickard could only watch as they took his daughter away. Lyanna had not woken up. Her scream still ringed through his eras. Resolve breaking, Rickard made to follow them.
"Lord Stark!" Arthur Dayne called him over. "You must allow the Maesters to do what they must in order to heal Lady Stark." He had opted for her maiden name, as he did not think it wise to pronounce Baratheon in the presence of the crazed wolf. Even so, Arthur was appalled. How could a man claim to love a woman and then put her through such pain? If Baratheon had possessed even a shred of humanity, he would have not done what he had.
"Do you have children, Lord Dayne?" Rickard asked him coldly.
"Nay," Arthur answered in an equally frosty manner. "I cannot imagine your pain, Lord Stark. But the King's orders were clear. We rescue your daughter, and then we are to speak to him. His Majesty wishes for an explanation."
"Then he can hear it from you, my lord." Rickard turned around and headed after the Maesters and their helpers. The King could wait. He would be a father first and only after a lord.
Rhaegar paced the floor of his office, irritation clearly written across his face. "You mean to tell me he escaped?" he demanded as the captain of the guards he had sent after the disturbed of their peace returned empty handed. "You will search every nook and cranny of the Seven Kingdoms until you have found him. And you will not return to face me unless Baratheon is chained and in your possession." Waving the man away, Rhaegar turned to glare at Arthur. "What have you done?"
"Nothing," his friend assured him. "Rhaegar, the bastard wed himself to a child. The very laws of your realm forbid it." He proceeded to name said laws. "You are a just, righteous king. Should I have turned a blind eye to the girl's misfortune?"
"You should have brought the problem to me." Slumping in his chair, the King sighed deeply. "How is Lady Stark?"
The existence of Lady Stark was brought to his attention before this incident, courtesy of his daughter. The Princess had apparently met the sweetest, most charming lady at court in the gardens. So taken had Rhaenys been with Lyanna Stark that she told her father all the games the two of them had played – some of which Rhaegar did not even know existed. He could not in good conscience turn away when he heard that she was in trouble, even more so when she had been attacked on his domain. How would he look as a King if he could not protect his subjects? Rhaegar would see this situation resolved.
"Pycelle is certain that she will make a good recovery," Arthur claimed as he too sat down.
"I am asking you how she is, Arthur. If I wanted Pycelle's opinion I would have asked him here." Rhaegar never did trust the old master. "Tell me."
"Her leg is the worst of it. The wrists will heal in a couple of months, I grant, and her lip and face in a few weeks." Different shades of violet met, conferring in silence. Arthur nodded. "As I said, 'tis her leg I worry about. That wound is not only deep, but it is also wide. An infection could kill her." Such a young woman, such a tragic death it would be.
"One of these days you will have to tell me the full story," Rhaegar said soberly. He stood from his seat and took of a heavy robe with the dragon seal on it. "But until that day, you too are responsible for the apprehension of Robert Baratheon. See that Jon Arryn names the man a wanted criminal for his deeds on this day."
And with that he left Arthur where he sat, strolling down the halls to where Lyanna Stark had been placed. Rhaegar would hear it straight from the horse's mouth, as the saying went. When he reached the room given to the injured woman, a Septa stepped out and bowed deeply to him. "What is her current state? Has she come about?"
"Yes, Your Highness, she is awake now." The star necklace at her neck dangled as she leaned forward. "The Lady is lucid and coherent, not a small feat by any means. But her spirit has been cast in the shadows. I would counsel care when approaching her, if Your Majesty would hear it."
"Be at peace, I shall not keep her long. I just wish to see her a short while." Rhaegar left the woman without. He entered the antechamber and waved away the other two Septas, shushing them with a stern glance. "You may leave and take some refreshments, I shall call you back when you are needed."
Lyanna Stark sat against the bed's headboard, her back cushioned by pillows. Her wrists, clearly visible on her lap were bandaged in wide strips of material up until her fingers. That had attracted his eyes first, being in contrast with the darkness of the sheets. His eyes rose to meets hers, and his breath left him a moment at what he witnessed. In her confusion, Lady Stark must have though him an enemy for her stare spoke of loathing so strong it nearly made him stagger.
Yet it did not hold. Seeming to gain control of herself, the lady's eyes widened."Your Majesty," she greeted him first, fumbling with the sheets.
"Lady Stark!" Rhaegar exclaimed, startling even himself. "You must not strain yourself. There is no need for a formal greeting. Stay as you are." Then her eyes softened on him. Even with a split lip and a livid cheek, she still boasted a kind of prettiness that took one by surprise.
"Your Majesty is too kind, to visit me as I am." Men, in her experience, ran from ugliness. She inclined her head in sincere recognition of his superiority.
He couldn't find a thing to say to her. "My daughter wanted to come and see you. She was distraught at the news of your misfortune." He folded his hands behind his back and watched her reaction.
One hand came to her cheek, the one not marred, and her lips formed a round shape, though it had to hurt with that cut. "You mustn't allow that, Your Highness. I would scare the little darling and I should hate that. Perhaps after the bruises have faded a bit."
"You are hardly the stuff of night terrors, my lady." Yet Rhaegar would not expose Rhaenys to the cruelty of the world yet.
"Perhaps not to a grown man," she responded, "but to a child? I dare say she is yet young to see the world through our eyes."
Rhaegar wanted to tell her she was a child herself. But gazing at her now, he could not bring himself to do it. The eyes staring back at his did not belong to a child. What had been done to her? "You marriage to Lord Baratheon, speak to me of that. And pray tell me the truth of it."
She licked her lower lip, the tongue lingering a fraction longer over the red split. "I did not wish to become wife to Robert Baratheon," she said after a moment of silent consideration. "But I suppose that does not much matter. Like any woman on my station I am bound to obey my father and his wishes. I was told I must marry, and when I attempted to change my fate, I was lodged in my rooms, the door locked." At the look of consternation of his face Lyanna broke off. "The North is a harsh place, my liege, but this practice is not only ours. I would lie if I claimed it was. Or has Your Majesty not heard of it before?"
Blinking slowly, Rhaegar fixed her with a hard stare. "Go on, Lady Stark."
"My husband came two weeks into my captivity. He was a man on a mission, bent on wedding me. Despite my many, frequent and loud protests, I was dressed in my finery and sent before a Septon. I muddled through my vows and any man with a little brain to him could have figured out my feelings on that occasion." She stopped and looked about her. Locating the object she sought, Lyanna made to take the water pitcher.
Quicker, Rhaegar poured her a cup himself and held it to her lips. She drank without protest. "Your consent is needed for your own wedding, my lady. If you were forced into it, then your vows would not hold before the High Septon. Unless, of course, you are a wife in deed, and well as in word."
"That I am not!" she protested fiercely. "I would have rather drowned myself in the sea." And with that – a most intimate thought brought to light in front of a virtual stranger – Lyanna allowed herself to cry. Her body convulsed with every sob. "I prayed every night that he would not come. I begged and I begged, and no one would listen. I asked my father, and I tried to obtain the help of my older brothers. But I am just a woman. I am not important enough for my voice to matter."
Bringing one arm around her tenderly, Rhaegar attempted to control his shock at her breakdown. "You do matter, my lady." His experience with grieving women was slight. He did not know if his touch would offend this girl with steely eyes and quivering lips. Her tears ran down her face, reddened skin and bruised flesh alike.
By the gods! She was just a child, and they'd married her to a man who could not understand that. It was not Baratheon's love that made him a monster – it was the violence of it Matters could not continue as they were.
Rhaegar's mind was made up.
"I actually cried the first time I read that," Sara reminisces. "And about this time I fell madly in love with Rhaegar Targaryen." The admission brings a scowl on Rickard's face. Sara laughs. "I still married you, Rickard."
"Only because marrying literature characters was not legal at that time," Rickard replies sullenly, obtaining a few giggles from his daughters who know very well he is feigning.
"Partly," Sara mock-admits. She spends a few more minutes speaking about the reign of the real Rhaegar Targaryen. "This book is fairly close to reality, at least according to historians."
"But it all sounds like some sort of fairy tale," Daenys says. She knows there was a real Rhaegar and that at some point he married a Lyanna. Even so, the credibility factor of the story they are reading is not exactly the highest, what with all the lore and myths woven through the fabric of the text.
"They should have made a move out of this," Maega offers excitedly. "Or a series. I would have watched it faithfully."
"More faithfully than you'd do your homework," Daenys pokes fun at her little sister. After a short staring match the two dissolve into peels of laughter. "I would have not been any better, probably."
"I do believe it is time for bed," Rickard interrupted their musings. He kissed both his daughter goodnight and then escorted them to their respective rooms. "Sara, do I need to carry you too?"
"If you wouldn't mind," his wife answers, laughter still in her voice.
A/N: Title from Homer's Illiad.