Howland

The boy's next kick hit under his ribs, and he cried out in pain. That only made him laugh. The second one kicked him in the face, and the third kicked at his legs. He curled up smaller, hoping that would make them leave, but they didn't. Why? was all he could think Why are they doing this? He had just been walking across the field, minding his own business, and then these squires had apparently decided he needed to be mocked, attacked, and kicked all over. He had done nothing to provoke them. The shame of it all rose up in him. He was seventeen, a man grown, and they were just boys, yet here they had him on the ground, helpless. The next kick hit him in the head, and he started to feel dizzy. He was hopeless. He was going to die here, he thought miserably.

Then... "Hey!" the voice shouted, clear and loud and ringing across the clearing. A girl's voice, Howland thought. He tried to look up, but felt another kick to the nose and the stickiness of blood. "That's my father's man you're kicking!" the girl said.

There was silence for a second, then he heard one of the boys chuckle. Finally able to look up, he saw a girl of around fifteen with a tourney sword in her hand. She ran at the three squires, slashing at them until they scattered. One of them was too slow, and the sword nicked his arm. She gave a little smirk at having drawn blood, then turned to him. "Are you alright?" she asked.

He tried to respond, but only managed a weak sort of groan.

She knelt beside him. "I'll take that as a no. I'm Lyanna."

Finally he found his voice. "Lyanna... Stark." He remembered the words. My father's man.

"That's me," she said. She was pretty, with long dark brown hair and a fierce look in her eyes. She wore riding leathers. "And you're Howland Reed, aren't you? The lord of Greywater Watch?"

"That's me," he said. "Thank you."

"Of course," she replied. "You are my father's bannerman. It is the duty of House Stark to protect our vassals from attacks."

"I was pathetic," he muttered. "Those boys... squires... getting the best of me."

"It was three on one," she said. "Not a fair fight. Do you think you can get up?"

"I think so."

She took his hand and pulled him to his feet. He was unsteady, and had to lean on her, which made him ever more ashamed. She led him to a group of tents with the direwolf of Stark hanging above them, and brought him inside. "Here, sit," she said, gesturing to a chair. "I'll be right back." She exited the tent and came back a few moments later with a cloth and a bucket of water. She wet the cloth and began to clean out the wounds where the squires had drawn blood.

"I can do that myself," he said. "Really, I'm alright."

"I'm good at dressing wounds," she replied. "I can't tell you the number of times I've had to clean up mine or Benjen's scrapes when we've been out in the godswood or the Wolfswood without our lord father's approval, and couldn't dare risk going to Maester Walys in case he found out what we were up to." There was a mischievous glint in her eyes as she talked about it.

Howland smiled. "Sounds adventurous."

"I'd go on many more adventures if I could." She finished cleaning the wounds and began to dress them in linen.

"You weren't bad with that tourney sword," he said. "Do you practice?"

"When my father's out of the castle, I'll sneak into the armory and practice stances with the swords," she admitted. "That way I can know what they feel like. But I only get to practice technique with wooden sticks. Maybe one day, though."

"Impressive," he said.

She smiled at that. When she had finished dressing his wounds, she said, "Come, you should meet my brothers."

"Oh," he said, suddenly a bit nervous. "I don't know about that."

"Come on," she said, her voice leaving little room for argument. "I'm sure they'll love to meet you."

He got up and followed her out of the tent, and she led him a few feet away to where a tall man hacked away at a practice dummy. "Brandon!" she called.

He turned around to face them. "Hi. Who's this?"

"Lord Howland Reed."

"Ah." He gave a polite nod. "Nice to meet you."

"You're entering the lists?" Howland asked, with a nod at the sword in his hand.

"Of course," Brandon said. "I'm going to win."

"I'm sure you will," he said with a smile.

A young boy, no older than thirteen, in armor slightly too big for him, ran up to them with a sword in hand. "I'm ready to practice," he said with a grin. He stopped short and looked at them. "Hi Lya," he said.

She smiled. "Lord Howland, this is my younger brother, Benjen. Ben, this is Lord Howland Reed, of Greywater Watch."

Ben Stark smiled at him. "Nice to meet you. Are you entering the lists?"

"Oh, most certainly not," he said, shaking his head. "I'm no tourney-level fighter. I just got attacked by three squires and would have been killed if your sister here hadn't saved me."

Brandon frowned. "Squires attacked you? Why?"

Howland shrugged. "Suppose I'm an easy target."

Lyanna's eyes flashed with anger. "They had him on the ground and were kicking him. Disgusting behavior. Nobody should be allowed to attack our father's bannermen like that."

"Agreed," Brandon said. "Do you know who they were?"

Howland shook his head. "Didn't get the chance to see them."

"We can look for them at the feast tonight," Lyanna suggested.

"Oh, I'm not going to the feast," he said.

"You should," Lyanna said. "You're a lord, you've as much right to be there as anyone."

"I don't know..."

"It'll be such fun," she said. "You can sit with us."

He thought about it for a moment. "Well, I suppose."

"Good. Now, why don't we leave these two to their practice. I still have one brother left to introduce you to."

She waved goodbye to Brandon and Benjen and led him to another tent. A man who looked very much like Lyanna sat reading. "Ned?"

He looked up. "Lyanna. And... who are you?"

"Howland Reed," he said, giving a small smile.

"Nice to meet you," Ned Stark said, smiling back at him.