280 AL
Catelyn looked at the selection of materials that had been brought far her to inspect. Lysa touched the red wool, looking almost wistful. Her younger sister had made no secret of her admiration for the position Catelyn would be afforded after her marriage. "Brandon Stark is so handsome and his house so important. You are so lucky that father arranged for you to wed him. I wish he would find me a man just like that," Lysa confided in her sister, picking a bolt of fine, deep red wool. "Although I should like it better if I did not turn into an icicle before my wedding night is out," she went on with a wide smile.
"I am sure he will," Catelyn replied with a smile of her own. She took a piece of blue gossamer and held it up in the light. "Perhaps he will broker an alliance with House Lannister for you, my dear little sister. Would you not like that, Lysa?" Catelyn was counting on the fact that her sister desired a handsome man for her husband. "You could be the next lady of Casterly Rock. Lysa Lannister sound very fine to my ears."
"To mine too," the younger sister agreed heartily. "I have heard that Jaime Lannister is a most handsome young man. They say his sister if the most beautiful creature to have ever graced the Seven Kingdoms. Then Jaime must surely be the best looking man in the realm. He is of an age with you, is he not?"
"A year my senior, I believe. Cersei Lannister too." Catelyn had never really spent that much time thinking about suitors and marriage. Since the death of her mother it fell to her to care for her younger siblings. As Lysa was close in age to her she had always been expected to help; yet her sister had always been a dreamer. Catelyn was the true mistress of the house. Lysa helped when she wished to and only in the amount that she wished to.
One day her father simply told her she was to wed the heir to Winterfell, Brandon Stark. Her reaction had been to thank him for such a good match and think nothing more of it. It was the duty of any father to find a spouse for his children, even more so where dynastic reasons were concerned. House Stark was among the oldest, strongest and proudest of the realm. Even more, The Starks of Winterfell had been kings at once. Their blood was as noble as the Targaryens', sitting the Iron Throne. What was there not to like about such a match. Furthermore, Catelyn had always and always would like by the words of her house: Family, Duty, Honour. She would wed for her family's prosperity as was her duty to her father, and her honour would be satisfied by entering such an important house.
On her deathbed her mother had asked that she do in all things so that she may be able to hold her head up and have no regrets nor be ashamed of her actions. Catelyn had taken that vow to heart and she strove to live by it. That was perhaps the reason for which she was the favourite daughter of her father's, and not her flightier sister. But Catelyn loved Lysa despite her shortcomings, and the both of them loved little Edmure.
And in truth, Brandon Stark was a very amiable young man. She had met him on two occasions before. The first time she ever saw him was at a tourney. They were not yet betrothed and had not exchanged so much as a greeting, but she had noted, even then, that he was a handsome fellow. He had been tall and broad for his age, with an open sort of face and an inviting smile. More than one lady had turned her head after him though he'd barely been a man grown then.
The second time they had been was shortly after the intention to wed them was announced. Catelyn had not seen him in some years and his features had changed some but not enough to make him unrecognisable. She, in contrast, had grown a head taller and had gained the appearance of a woman. Brandon had been all that a lady could ever ask for, gallant and attentive, but not at all give to courting. He looked at her with kind eyes, yet held no true interest; Catelyn had gathered that much by the way she later witnessed him staring at a buxom serving girl. That had made her feel inadequate.
Yet Brandon was not unkind even after that. Not once during his stay did he slight her. In fact, he seemed to be trying his best to make her smile. He would compliment her on her dress and hair, on the flowers she and Lysa gathered and on the neatness of her brother and the way the household was run. Half of those compliments had more to do with circumstances than with her. Lysa had simply cooed at the man and reminded her sister all that he had said after he was gone.
"Do you think you are to be wedded soon?" Lysa asked, breaking the silence that had settled over them.
"Soon enough, I am sure," Catelyn answered. "Anxious to have your own maiden's cloak replaced?"
"Red and gold would look very well on me," she murmured in a dreamy voice.
The Seven help them all if Lysa took it into her head to pursue Jaime Lannister. Only too late did Catelyn realise the potential danger she had exposed them to with her encouraging comments. She laughed softly at the elation her sister exhibited. What a happy bride she might make someday to a fortunate lord. Even Jaime Lannister should be happy to hold her attention.
"Is there no other man you would wed but the Lannister heir?" Catelyn goaded the younger girl with an impish grin.
Lysa blushed and stammered and tried to hide behind her hands. "I should like any man so long as I love him."
Catelyn knew well enough what her sister was not telling her. She had seen the looks Lysa sneaked to Petyr Baelish, their father's ward, whenever she thought no one was looking. It was a fact that Lysa was not at all subtle. A bit younger than herself, Petyr was one of Catelyn's truest friends. He was always around when she or her sister needed his help and he had made it a sort of personal missions to make sure they were safe and sound. Petyr was a sweet boy, a kind boy, the sort of boy Lysa ought to wed some day.
Petyr would have been the perfect match for either sister had he not been of a house so much beneath them. It was a true pity, for he was smart and gallant. But that was the situation. Catelyn was glad to have him as her friend nonetheless and, who knew, perhaps father might make an exception for Lysa and allow her to take Petyr to be her husband.
The door opened suddenly and a happy, yet exceedingly dusty, Edmure burst in, Petry only a step behind. Lysa shrieked in indignation as Edmure jumped in her lap. The boy laughed and climbed off, eyes turning to Catelyn.
"Do not even attempt it," the eldest sister warned. Edmure pouted and gave Lysa an apologetic look, which only earned him a scowl and a rebuke. Catelyn watched the unfolding scene with growing amusement. "There now, Lysa, go and change your gown and Edmure shall give you his apology after you come back." Grumbling, Lysa hurried past Petyr, and Catelyn gave her little brother a hard stare. "And you, my little lordling, shall go straight to your room and have the Septa give you a good scrub and fresh clothing." Her brother does not offer any resistance despite the look of pure horror on his face.
"You are always in charge of things, are you not, my lady?" Petyr asked, a compliment hiding somewhere in there. He held in his hands two bouquets of wild flowers. "The little lordling insisted that we pick these for you ladies, although I told him it shan't excuse his appearance."
"I am certain that the one who did the collecting was you, Petyr. Here, give them to me and I shall find some water to put them in." She held her hands out. "They are very pretty. I apologise for Edmure, but you needn't feel obliged to indulge him."
"I mind it not at all, Cat. Your brother is like a sibling to me too," he replied, sitting down next to her. "I enjoy spending time with you."
His familiarity did not bother her, as Petyr had made himself liked from the very start. Even more so to Edmure. As the only son of Lord Tully he found a shortage of amenable game partners. Before Petyr he had been a lonely, coddled boy, surrounded by two too many sisters and not enough boys his age to get in trouble with. It was good to see him run around and get in all sort of scrapes. It was even better to know that Petyr watched over him.
"Still,it means a lot to me," she confessed.
"I know." He nodded his head and turned to look at the door just in time to see Lysa stepping in, a new dress covering her in a fetching shade of light blue. "Well, at least something good came out of your brother's shenanigans. You look very pretty, Lysa."
"Thank you," she chirruped, her cheeks growing red under the scrutiny of his stare. The dress was very similar to what Catelyn herself was wearing. It complemented their hair rather well. "Now where is that little urchin?"
"There is no need for name calling," Catelyn cut in, knowing that if Lysa got too excited, Edmure was likely to end up in tears. "He is just a child."
"A very spoiled child," Lysa complained, sitting herself as close to Petyr at it was possible without it being improper. "You ought to tell father, Cat."
Yet father would do nothing at all. Lysa knew that, so why she was suggesting that Cat take the problem to their father, she could not possibly fathom. It was not untrue that Edmure was a bit spoiled, but Catelyn rather thought he deserved it. Having to grow up with no mother was hard enough; she did not wish to subject him to other deprivations. Father was unconcerned so long as his son did enough by the maester's lessons and learned to sit a horse properly. And even if she went to father with the story, he was sure to laugh and pet her head while stating that she was making a mountain out of a molehill.
"You should be glad he no longer finds it amusing to throw food around at supper," Petyr tried to lighten the mood. "I am sure he meant you no harm, Lysa. But boys will be boys. Make a concession for him, won't you?" His genial manner seemed to work best with Lysa. Catelyn sent him a thankful look as Lysa's sullen cast transformed in a small smile.
"I suppose that you were equally rambunctious at his age." The second Tully girl gave a full-fledged smile to her collocutors. "Or were you better behaved?"
"Oh, I was much worse. A lady could consider herself lucky if she escaped my clutched with just a stained dress," he laughed merrily. "In fact, I shall show you exactly what I used to do." His lips curved in a predatory smile and before Catelyn could utter a word of protest, Lysa was on the ground caught somewhere between amusement and outrage.
This was not at all proper behaviour, but for the life of her Catelyn could not bring herself to stop them. If only the Septa would deign to take a little longer with the cleansing of her brother. Unfortunately it seemed that luck was not to be had.
"What is the meaning of this?" the woman exclaimed from the doorway. "Young Petyr, you are not supposed to be here. Off with you!"
Catelyn sighed as Lysa picked herself up, brushing tears away from her eyes.
Lyanna gave a sharp start as something brushed against her leg. She swallowed her scream when looking down she saw a familiar black tomcat that the lithe Princess had held in her arms. It was a scrawny thing, and since she'd last seen the cat it had lost half its ear. "Why, gods! Whatever happened to you, beast?" she asked jokingly, bending down to catch the tom about its middle. The cat did not thank her for it. "There now, little monster," she admonished, dropping the devil.
Balerion hissed at her and jumped atop her bed. It walked to her pillows and Lyanna watched on with suspicions. Claws came out swiftly and the creature started scratched at the silk and feathers, tearing it apart. Lyanna threw a small slipper at it, but her aim had been too wide. Feather flew about like fat snowflakes of the purest white. "Balerion!" Lyanna protested at the tom's treatment of the pillow. Balerion ignored her well enough and nestled in the remnants of the cushion. Lyanna sighed. It was no doubt dangerous for her health to try prying her guest away from the leftover of its spoils. She wondered if she should call one of the guards.
Suddenly she was attacked by a vision of one of those knights in their shining armours running about the rooms, bumbling and awkward, in their attempt to catch the cat. She laughed and sat down on the bed. She didn't dare come close to the cat, but she watched with attention as it looked at her. Its golden eyes bore into her; it showed little interest in anything but the bed it had made for itself.
Her leg no longer bothered her as it had before. Lyanna could walk about her rooms as she pleased without pains attacking her and making her crumple. She only wished then trail would take place sooner. The young woman was anxious to defend herself against the accusation brought before her. It would have surely been nothing less than embarrassing to use a cane when walking in the throne room, even worse should someone carry her in. Aye, she was glad that her leg no pained her with every step she took, though she hadn't yet the chance to test it on a longer walk. Her hands too were better – her wrists in particular – yet they sometimes ached. Thin red lines still lingered on her skin.
Looking at the small mirror that had been left for her, Lyanna noticed that even the bruises on her face were less visible. There was some discolouring, or rather a yellow tint near her temple, but the rest of her skin looked soft and unblemished. She could appear before a king like this, and it made no difference really as the King has been her raw and bloodied and he'd made no comment on it, nor caused her to feel disgruntled with too curious looks and pity. He'd worked to have her treated as normal as possible in her circumstances.
Had nothing of this nightmare happened, Lyanna wondered if her father would have brought her to King's Landing anyway. She would have not been tied to Robert. Would the King have waited then to wed her? Lyanna knew that she was young, though a maiden flowered, yet she also knew that maidens younger than her had been wedded. Why, several decades back, a five years old Blackwood maiden had been given to a man six times her age. The marriage, of course, remained unconsumed until the girl first bled on her white linens. The man might have been a Frey, which explained the taste for the young. It didn't matter though. Rhaegar Targaryen would wed her if all went well and Lyanna found herself praying the nights away that nothing would go wrong. Her only hope was that.
It mattered little to her that her father had planned it, for Lyanna did not seek a crown. She wanted the man, not the King. While the King was righteous and regal, the she-wolf wished for the man who had showed her kindness. It was the man that made her heart flutter and her head grow lighter. It was the man she wished to speak to, and less the king.
A few nights past she had had a dream. It was a strange thing that had made her stomach grow tight. Her temperature had risen something frightening and she had woken up in a sweat. Lyanna did not remember what the dream had been, not even tiny bits. Yet, all the same, she had found it difficult to find sleep once more. Something had kept bothering her and no matter how she shifted it would not go away. In the end, sheet tangled about her body. Sleep eluded her and morning found her tired and with a prayer on her lips still. Why should she spend her nights like that, Lyanna couldn't figure out and it bothered her. Yet she hadn't dared ask for fear it would cost her dignity.
Balerion whined for attention, paws slapping against her thigh as the tom crawled in her lap. Lyanna scratched behind its ear. "Your mistress must be wondering where you've run off to. You ought to keep close to her heels." Little Rhaenys must have been horrified when she saw the slashed ear. Lyanna rubbed the edge lightly. "Got in a fight for food, I'd wager."
Cats were cats. They had no honour to speak of, nor goals, nor egos. They were content to sleep away their time and get up for food or attention. An easy life to be sure. Lyanna rather envied the tiny fellow nestled in her lap. He could do as he wished, while she had a thousand and one rules to follow, none of which were likely to bring her happiness sooner rather than later.
"I should give you to the guards," she said a moment later. "The Princess must really be worried at your absence, my fearsome Black Dread."
Holding the cat in her arms, Lyanna stood to her feet and walked unsteadily to the first couple of doors. She pushed one open. Most on the time she was alone in her rooms. There were servants who brought her food and drink, and once or twice a maester would come to give her ointments. Lyanna spoke to none of them. She had no need, nor desire to do so. The she-wolf knew well enough that they would try to pry if she gave them the chance. Only the maester ever exchanged words with her. And even then it was only to ask how she fared and if she had need on anything to dull her pain. Lyanna had to admit he'd done well by her, and she rather liked his round homely face. There was honesty about him. And the gods knew honesty was scarce enough in her life for it to be treasured.
The antechamber was somewhat cooler than her sleeping chamber, and Lyanna could see there was no fire in the hearth. Balerion purred in her arms. She could see the tom's eyes had closed and she breathed lightly. "Fell asleep, have you?" She had spoken quietly so as to not startle the cat. She nestles the beast to her chest in the soft wool of her shawl. She prayed the little devil would not see fit to sharpen its claws on her clothing. That was the last thing she needed.
In the evening there remained only one guard at her door. Lyanna opened the last set and Leyton Leygood turned her way promptly. He was an older knight, standing well over Lyanna's height and with a brawny built. He made an imposing figure that was certain. Ser Leyton had streaks of grey among a heedful of brown curls that farmed a large face with a square chin. Lyanna would not call him handsome, yet he could be charming. It was those blue eyes of his that did it though. The blue was not a deep, Tully blue, but rather a lighter shade, closer to that of a clear sky. He also sported a moustache, which the she-wolf found hilarious for some reason.
"Lady Stark!" He looked her up and down. "You should not be out of your chambers."
"I wouldn't need to if this little troublemaker hadn't snuck into my bed." She held the cat out. "I was hoping we could take him back to the Princess." Of course, it was well known that Rhaenys kept the hatful cat as a pet. All servants lived in fear of Balerion, his sneaky ways and sharp claws.
Leygood sighed. "My lady, you are not to wander the halls alone."
"I needn't go alone, Ser. I only ask that you join me on a short trip. We can leave Balerion with one of the Kingsguards at the Princess' door," she pointed out, stepping out of the room fully.
"Or, I could take the cat," Leygood offered with a grin. His had reached for the tom in her arms, but Balerion turned on him, teeth and claws striking at the large hand looming above him. Leygood yelped and pulled his hand back. "Aye, then, 'tis best we go together, else it might be that I flatten him."
The Princess would not enjoy that. Lyanna nodded her agreement and tightened her grip on Balerion just enough so that the cat wouldn't jump out of her arms. Balerion, though, seemed at home in her grasp and returned to purring and nuzzling his head in the wool of her shawl.
It was both strange and exhilarating to be walking down the halls again. Lyanna had missed the motion. While she could complain of nothing, held in her spacious rooms as she was, the young woman had longed to go out on a real walk. She understood the need for security, more than anyone mayhap, as she'd been the one attacked, yet sealed behind closed doors she was likely to loose what grace she possessed.
"Ser, do you know anything about the tourney?" she asked, wondering if they had held it after all. Lyanna would have liked to see it.
"Current circumstances have delayed the event some," the man replied, giving her his arm for support. "I must say, though, that none have raised complaints so far. It is unknown if the King will hold the event after all, but most say he should for there is already the food and the drink gathered."
Of course none had raised complaints. They were far too entertained by her personal tragedy for that. Lyanna soured at the thought. By no means did she wish to be the centre of attention. And yet here they were, all of them, trying to make the best out of an ugly situation. The only consolation was the unexpected luck. She refrained from making a comment though. Leygood had done nothing to deserve her ire, although she might feel entitled to snap at the world. Lyanna understood well enough where she stood.
Distracted by her grimmer thoughts by a dull ache, the she-wolf realised her leg was not quite as well she thought it might be. There was no spear of pain shooting through her, but she could feel the muscles burning – and she was only walking. Well, the Valyrian Empire did not rise in one day, she told herself. It was not that she hadn't known recuperating would take time, Lyanna was just suffering from a mild case of impatience. Unhelpful as that was, it was still a burden she would try to bear with dignity.
"Are you feeling well, my lady?" Leygood asked, halting their progress. "You look pale."
"I am well," Lyanna assured him. But she wasn't feeling quite right truth be told. "If we could just stand here awhile." She took a deep breath.
Leygood helped her to the wall and Lyanna leaned back into it. Balerion purred and rubbed against her. That felt nice. There was a certain calming effect to having a pet to caress.
"If my lady wishes to return, I shall take the cat," the knight offered, this time his mien serious. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but you shouldn't force yourself just now."
"I am fine, Ser. Just a bit overwhelmed." She tried for a smile, but couldn't rightly tell if she did a good job or not. She would ask for some milk of the poppy or dreamwine. "We should go on now."
"As my lady commands," Leygood said in an agreeable manner, lending her his arm once more.
Eddard rode through the gates, his gelding's hooves beating against the cracked earth. The other riders followed close behind. Dust rose in the air in their wake. The streets were blessedly empty, as he suspected they would be. People generally did not raise this early unless their need was great. Dawn had not quite broken yet, but the pinkish light of morning was visible. It bled into the darker tones of night's remnants, indigos, violets and blacks. It was a beautiful sight. Or it would have been had Ned deigned to take notice of it. As it was, he was too busy tormenting his horse with a rapid pace.
Both beasts and men were tired. Ned was not certain why he hurried as he did. It was not likely that his sister had suffered any other injuries, and yet he could not linger at the Eyrie any longer. Jon Arryn had tried staying his mad dash for the Capitol. The only thing Ned knew was that a man he had trusted – a man in whom he had placed his faith, a man who had been more a brother than a friend – that very man had harmed his sister. Hadn't he told her that Robert would bring her happiness? For half a heartbeat Ned thought he might be sick. He had all but promised his sister safety, and what she had was humiliation and pain. By the old gods and the new!
"Easy, easy," he murmured, caressing the gelding's neck as his speed slowed. "Easy now." He could see the Red Keep up on Aegon's Hill. From the distance, the red was deep as blood. The colour of his sister's blood, Ned thought with a grimace. The colour of Lyanna's blood as it had dripped onto the ground. The Others take Robert. The gelding shook its head and slowed even more.
Ned did not rightly know what his father planned to do. It had been part of Lord Stark's plan to make advantageous allegiances with the South. Lyanna had been just a marble. Brandon was supposed to wed Catelyn Tully, and Eddard himself was to take the younger Tully sister if his father had his way. Benjen would claim a maid from the North to appease father's bannermen. It was a cleverly crafted plan, if anything pleasant could be said of such machinations. Even that praise was dubious at best and not given with a light heart.
Robert had wanted Lyanna, and Ned was partly responsible for that. He and Robert had served together at Lord Arryn's home. Being of the same age, they were forced in each other's company much of the time, and in the end it became a habit. After a time he spoke to Robert of his sister. It had been just words, for he knew that his friend had a sort of contract with another lady. Yet it seemed to have planted some desire for Lyanna in Robert's mind.
To Ned, Lyanna was the sweetest girl, though he has pulled on her plaits when they were small and she had bit his arm in retaliation. To Robert the girl was already half-woman and very soon his. Before long he'd started asking Ned a thousand questions about her. There was nothing he did not want to know, and he found charming even the tales of her climbing trees and chasing squirrels. If Ned had found it strange, he'd failed to say anything of it then.
Robert had written to Rickard Stark at some point, Ned knew not when, and a deal had been struck between them. Ned found out about it only when they were already en route to Winterfell. Lyanna was one-and-ten at that time. She'd been little more than a child, not even having the slightest suggestion of woman about her chest and hips. Those who had known Lyarra Stark were sure the girl took after her mother in body. Ned did not remember his mother very well, but he could still picture her slender form in the door of his bedchamber. Lyanna looked much like her to be sure; they had the same hair and face, but not the same eyes. Nay, mother's eyes had been blue. Lyanna had their father's eyes, dark and stormy.
The Quiet Wolf wondered what mother would have made of their father's actions. Lyarra had loved all her children, that he knew. Yet Lyarra had been a hard woman. Aye, for all the affection she held for her pups, Lyarra – a true Northerner woman to her bones – would do what she must to preserve the good name of her house. Then again, mother had been a Stark even before wedding their father. The wolves bred within their own house if it could be helped.
"Just a little longer," Ned whispered to the wind and darkness, thinking about Lyanna. He wondered if her wounds gave her trouble. "Wait for me, little sister." He would protect her, Ned swore to himself. He would do what he should have done in the first place. Lyanna had begged for his aid and he'd turned her away. His mistake had been grave and the price had been paid in blood by an innocent. But no more. Nay, Lyanna would be well protected if he had to sleep beside her bed with a sword in his hand and an eye perpetually open. If only Benjen were old enough to lend a hand.
Finally he reached the Red Keep's gates. The guards only looked at his banner before they pulled the gates open and allowed him entrance. His host came behind him, no doubt each of them relieved to have a bed to sleep in and food to feast upon after their long ride. Ned himself would not protest to a cup of wine and some meat. He dismounted and watched a man run towards them. It was one of the stable boys who had come to guide them and their horses to the stables.
"Come with me, my lord, sers," the boy called, taking two pairs of reins in his hands.
They had been expected. Ned was startled with the realisation, though not deeply unsettled. His father must have expected his actions to match the commands given, and made the fitting preparations. Ned did not stay to see to his horse, he just gave of the boy three copper coins to do that.
What he wanted was to take two steps at a time and find his sister wherever she was. He imagined her a scared, little thing, quivering under her coverlet as she'd done whenever night terrors found her in her bed. Benjen had been a bedmate to her for a time, and they comforted one another as they could, yet many times had they crawled into Ned's own bed, one on each side of him.
No doubt, his sister was in the Maidenvault. It was a good choice. It was a safe choice. Lyanna would suffer no harm there. He could not barge in the Maidenvault, no matter how much he wished to do so. Nay, it was his father he would see first.
"Eddard!" the familiar voice of his father called. "You are arrived." Rickard Stark came out of the shadow, and Ned took the time to observed him. Since last he'd seen the Lord of Winterfell, the man seemed to have aged a decade at least. The silver in his hair had turned white, and his eyes no longer shone. "Come, some." The father held his arms open.
Feeling much like a child, Ned walked to him on wooden feet. He embraced his father and felt a knot settle in his throat. "Father, I am come," he replied in kind. "I trust all is well."
"As well as we can expect," Rickard offered gently. "Come, have wine and meat with me," he invited.
Suddenly the wine and meat did not sound quite so pleasant. "My lord father, what about my sister?"
Rickard gave him a hard stare. "We shall talk of your sister, aye, and your brother too." He turned and walked further away.
Ned had little choice but to follow. His men would be cared for well enough, he was certain. His father settled on a brisk pace, though he'd seemed made of stone that one instant in the yard. And what meant he that they would speak of his brother. It could not be Benjen, he knew, for Benjen was as much a follower of rules as he. That only left Brandon. If it involved Brandon, then Ned half feared the news. Brandon had never known when to exercise caution and he was not in the habit of following orders. The slightest chance of mischief would attract his brother and he would not rest until he'd gotten himself in some sort of mischief. Ned could only hope it was not the kind that would end up killing him. They already had too much to worry over. Ned cursed softly.
He was made to sit in front of the heart as servants brought in food and drink. Silence enveloped them until they were alone. It seemed his father had little trust. Ned inclined towards the same attitude.
"My sister," he started again, this time his voice edged with steel. "I want to know how Lyanna is."
"Well enough, Rickard answered. "Her wounds are healing nicely, at least that is what the maesters tell me. Last I saw her she was about ready to jump out of bed."
"And Robert?" Had they caught him yet? Ned thought not. He hadn't seen any signs of it, a head mounted on the walls or a man hanged.
"Baratheon is still at large. His brothers, of course, are here, and the eldest has become Lord of Storm's End in name." He would not be given freedom until after the trial, Eddard knew. "I have another reason for calling you here. Your sister, you know, must undergo an examination. I want you to add your word to hers. Both of Robert's brothers are yet young. Who knows what their brother might have said to them. They will no doubt think Lyanna would have been willing to bed their brother."
Add his word to Lyanna's. "I was not there, father. For all I know, Lya might have changed her mind. Or that is nearest to what these lord and ladies will think. And more to the point you gave her away."
"So I did," the older man grunted. "And I take her back now. It was a mistake. And I am sorry to have caused her pain. She is mine too, Eddard. She is my girl, my only daughter." By which the man meant to say he was fond of her, Ned though.
"And she is my sister. Yet I did nothing for her. Blood counts for little, doesn't it?" Ned crossed his arms over his chest. "She will have anything she needs of me, though it comes late." Aye, there was little he could do to help his sister, save give those vows his father asked him for.
"Then I can ask no more of you, my son. You are dutiful and it is more than enough." Rickard stood and poured himself another cup of wine.
Duty. Ned wondered at the word. It felt foreign. Duty. How cold a word. "Aye," he replied absently. His duty, his sister's duty and the duty of their brothers. Their father's duty. It all revolved around that, didn't it? "And Brandon? What of him?"
"Brandon does as he's always done," Rickard answered. "My heir seems to have vanished with that Ryswell girl he's been so enamoured with as of late." His brother loved swift and often. One day he swore he loved a fair maiden of the mountains and the next he loved some lady of the marshes. "Her father wants her back."
"If she is with Brandon, then he'd best pray she returns without a natural child to show for the love my brother has for her." Brandon was no stranger, after all, to natural children. They were not many for most women knew how to protect themselves against fatherless children.
Rickard looked ready to groan at that. "That is my worry exactly, Eddard." And for that there was no cure.
Title from Richard Lovelace's "To Lucasta, Going to the Wars"