Chapter 11: A Star's Boldness, a Star's Regret

Summary:

A wolf escorts a star, while another star struggles with words and regrets.

Notes:

Another Friday, and another update. Belated happy Thanksgiving for those who celebrated it.

We get more characterization, as the intrigue begins to pick up in earnest.

The discord server has been pretty well accepted so far, we will start posting a teaser of the next chapter every Monday.

You can join under: discord.gg/9a7fJmThG9

Chapter Text

Eddard III

Stark Camp, Market at Harrenhal

Ned had been pleasantly surprised when a guard had informed him he had visitors. He'd barely stepped out of his tent when he'd been hit by a princess-shaped missile and felt a familiar black kitten pressing into him. He'd been very confused when Princess Rhaenys greeted him as 'Nappa.' What sort of name was that? It was only when he'd thought about it that he'd realized it must have been a child's way of combining 'Ned' and 'papa.' Ned had smiled warmly at the princess as he cradled her against him, but inwardly he'd been even more confused than before. The princess already had a real father in Rhaegar Targaryen. Why would she have been calling another man anything close to 'papa?' A question for another time, perhaps; Ned had retreated from his thoughts.

It had brightened Ned's day to learn the little princess had come to see him. She truly was a Little Sun, brightening and warming all those around her. He'd cradled her against his chest — Balerion on his shoulder nuzzling into his neck — as introductions were made. Both Rhaenys's escorts had been surprising in their own ways. Prince Oberyn Martell had quite the reputation; he was a deadly warrior, a notorious womanizer with four bastard daughters, and was rumored to be capricious, charming, and deadly. He was also rumored to be adept in the use of poisons as his epithet — the Red Viper — would suggest. However, it was his female companion that surprised Ned more, his eyes widening in recognition when he saw her.

He'd prevented two beautiful ladies from falling earlier that day. He'd first been introduced to Lady Cersei, at the prompting of her mother Lady Joanna. He'd been pleasantly surprised how kind Lady Joanna was, and how… normal… Lady Cersei seemed, at least in her mother's presence. He was due to attend a dinner with the Lannister family later, and while he was still apprehensive about it — for after all, he was only a second son, and Lord Tywin had a reputation for many things that would put a fright in any man of sound mind — the pleasant time he'd spent with Lady Joanna and Lady Cersei helped to blunt his unease somewhat. Still, he had other concerns more pressing than his pending dinner plans with the Lannisters.

The other lady had introduced herself as Lady Ashara Dayne. Both she and Lady Cersei were renowned for their beauty throughout Westeros, but after having met each of them, Ned could confidently assert the rumors he'd heard did neither of them justice. Ned felt like a bumbling buffoon whenever he was in the presence of either lady, as if the path he trod upon was narrow and treacherous, overlooking an endless abyss. He felt the slightest misstep would have him fall to his death — or make a fool of himself and bring shame to House Stark, if he were being less melodramatic. Ned supposed all he could do was his best. He was only a second son — never meant to be interacting with such beautiful ladies — but it seemed the gods had a sense of humor, even if at times like those Ned felt it was at his expense.

Ned had been pulled from his thoughts as Rhaenys squirmed against his chest, calling him to put her down for the play she'd requested. Ned hadn't been able to hold back a smile, but he'd held back amusement as the princess effortlessly sucked he and Ashara into her game. Lady Ashara Dayne might be a renowned beauty, but it was evident Rhaenys had no fear of her, and also that Lady Ashara loved Rhaenys as if she were her own daughter — though Ned supposed he had no room to talk, as he doted on Rhaenys just as much if not more. The three of them had played for a while, and it wasn't until Prince Oberyn had returned that Ned had realized he'd been gone at all. He'd watched the princess hug her uncle, and Prince Oberyn had announced his departure. Ned had felt his heart breaking as he'd had to refuse the princess her request and he'd seen the disappointment upon her face, but him suggesting tomorrow night to dine with her family if they'd have him seemed to perk her up and she hugged him tightly.

The three of them had resumed their play, and it wasn't until he heard his father's voice that Ned was pulled from his thoughts. He'd heard his father's exclamation, and had seen his father approaching Lady Ashara. He'd seen the fear on Lady Ashara's face, and on instinct he'd placed himself in front of her, taking her smaller hand within his. He'd squeezed her hand gently, tracing small circles with his thumb on the back of it, trying to reassure her and encourage her. Ned hadn't known what possessed his father, but Lady Ashara had done nothing wrong, and Ned would never have let any harm come to her: he would have fought his father if it had come to it. His father had cleared the air when he'd made it known his acquaintance with Lady Ashara's father.

The smile on Ned's face had widened when he'd witnessed Princess Rhaenys instantly take to — and take in — his parents. Ned had watched as his father was called away, Rhaenys's goodbye warming his heart. His eyes had widened and he'd blinked in surprise as his mother had suggested he and Ashara spend some time together alone. Despite Ashara's protest, his mother had made it clear she was having none of it, and so Ned found himself alone with Lady Ashara Dayne. Ned nearly froze in panic. He had no experience entertaining ladies, and he had no idea what to suggest to occupy a lady's time.

Ned offered her his left arm, saying softly, "Would you like a tour of our camp, my lady?" He felt it was an incredibly weak offering, but he couldn't think of anything else. Ashara smiled, and his heart began to race at the sight of a smile on her face and those enchanting purple eyes. She took his arm, "It would be a pleasure my lord," she said. The two of them walked at a steady pace through the camp, Ned feeling out of place and awkward accompanying a lady of such beauty and grace. "I wish to apologize to you my lady. I know I'm only a second son — and not the most comely man besides — but my mother can be very stubborn, and she tends to get what she wants. I'm sorry you got roped into one of her whims," he finished.

Ned kept his gaze straight ahead of them, afraid of what reaction he might see on her lovely face: pity, contempt, amusement… any of them may cause a grievous wound. It was a few moments before he heard her mellifluous voice. "Think nothing of it my lord. Thus far, you've made for delightful company, and I have no objection at all to your mother's… whim… as you called it," she said. This brought Ned some relief, and as they walked through the camp, he attempted to make conversation. "You've met my mother and father. There is also my older brother, Brandon, my younger brother, Benjen, and my sister, Lyanna. What about your family, my lady?"

Ashara remained silent for a few moments before she finally responded, "My father is Lord Uther Dayne, my mother is Lady Adara Dayne, and my brother is Arthur Dayne." Ned's eyes widened, turning to her, "The Sword of the Morning?" Ashara rolled her eyes and smiled good naturedly; Ned supposed she must get that question a lot, and he felt some chagrin. "You men and your swords. Yes, my brother Arthur is the Sword of the Morning: the wielder of my family's ancestral sword, Dawn, and he's a Kingsguard now," she said, seeming unhappy as she added the last bit. Ned supposed it might be a decision everyone in House Dayne wasn't happy with.

A breeze blew through the camp, and Ashara pressed herself more snugly against Ned's arm. He smiled reassuringly at her as they continued walking through the Stark camp. Ned fumbled for something else to ask her, but it was Lady Ashara who broke the silence, "What's it like living in Winterfell and the North, my lord?" Ned inwardly heaved a sigh of relief, as her question was one he was capable of answering comfortably. "The North is a hard place, and I like to believe it forges strong people. Northerners are more gruff, honest, opinionated — and often very blunt — but we're also genuine and straightforward. Southern politics is practically anathema to the northern way of life. Southerners might call us barbarians, but is punching someone in the face really worse than politically scheming to stab them in the back?" he asked.

Before she could answer, he continued, "Winterfell is a very old, very large castle, and I'm proud to call it my home. The North can be very cold, but Winterfell was built atop hot springs, and the water from the hot springs is channeled through pipes inside the walls, so the castle is actually quite warm. The godswood is my favorite place in Winterfell; it's ancient — and I'll admit quite eerie at times — but I always feel at peace when I'm there," he finished, raising his free hand to rub the back of his head, slightly abashed, "I'm sorry for babbling my lady, but I do love my home," he said as the two of them walked more around the perimeter of the camp. Despite the whole incident stemming from one of his mother's whims, Ned found Lady Ashara's company pleasant, and he found himself relaxing more as he talked about his home.

They walked in silence for a few moments, before he felt Lady Ashara squeeze his hand reassuringly. "You've done nothing for which you should apologize, my lord. You only answered my question, and I found your answers fascinating. Dorne is likewise a harsh place, and I likewise like to believe it forges hard people. Those of my House are Stony Dornish, and I grew up in Starfall, in the western Red Mountains, on an isle in the Torrentine. We also have a lovely godswood at Starfall, and as we are descended from the First Men and Andals, we still worship the old gods, at least privately. The culture of much of Dorne is more… liberal… than the rest of Westeros, but Stony Dornish largely share the cultural norms of Westeros at large," she concluded.

The two of them continued their circle, approaching their starting point, as Lady Ashara began, "Lord Eddard—" but she was interrupted, "Ned. My friends and family call me Ned," he interjected. She smiled at him, purple eyes meeting grey ones, and he felt his heart skip a beat once again. She continued, "Only if you'll call me Ashara," only for him to nod in response. "The North does sound cold, but I imagine your people have found ways to keep warm," pressing more firmly against his arm, and he wondered if southerners thought it was cold here and now… surely not, could they? Still, what other reason would a woman like Ashara have to press into a second son like Ned?

They completed their circuit of the Stark camp and started approaching the center once more. The sun was starting to sink into the western sky as they reached the lord's tent. Ashara released Ned's arm, and he turned toward her, gently taking her right hand in his. "It has been lovely meeting you, Ashara," he said. "The feeling is mutual, Ned. I am thankful for your mother's whims," she said as she smiled up at him. He smiled back, eyes on hers. "As enjoyable as your company has been, I have a prior engagement I must attend," he said as he bowed, raising her hand and placing a gentle kiss upon the backs of her knuckles. "Goodnight, Ashara," he said, smiling warmly at her. "Goodnight, Ned," she replied, as he turned and made his way to his tent to make himself ready for dinner.

When he entered his tent, he found that a tub had already been carried into his tent. Many servants followed him inside, carrying buckets full of hot water, and they poured enough water to bathe before bowing and taking their leave. Ned removed his clothes, carefully laying them on an empty chair, before he collected a washing cloth, a scrubbing brush, a bar of soap, a razor, a mirror, and a shaving bowl complete with a brush made from badger hair. He sank into the tub, washing himself thoroughly, and trying to keep his thoughts from drifting to a certain purple-eyed beauty: it wouldn't be proper to think of her while having dinner with the Lannisters, and was liable to cause him embarrassment besides. After washing and rinsing, he used his brush to build a lather of soap, before lathering his beard using the brush and using the razor to try and groom his beard, giving it as neat a trim as he could, before rinsing his face. He soaked in the tub for a few minutes before getting up and drying himself with a large towel.

He pulled on a pair of black breeches, slipped into a pair of stockings, and pulled his nicest pair of black boots onto his feet. He looped his black leather belt through the loops on the breeches, and was about to pull on a shirt when he heard the rustling of cloth. He turned to the entrance of his tent, his eyes widening as they landed on Ashara. He flushed a bit at the thought of her seeing him not fully dressed, but managed to choke out, "Ashara? What are you doing here?" while he turned away from her and hastily pulled on a white shirt, tucking it into his breeches before buckling his belt, finally turning to face her. Ashara looked nervous, but she finally responded, "I came to say goodbye; your mother insisted." Ned shook his head before smiling ruefully. "I don't know what I'm going to do with her. It's hardly appropriate… but I'm glad I get to say goodbye to you as well, Ashara."

He pulled on his finest black coat to go over his shirt, then his finest cloak in the colors of House Stark. He offered her his left arm, intending to escort her to his horse. It seemed Ashara had other plans, as she gripped his arm and pulled him down toward her, brushing her lips lightly over his before pulling away. It was difficult to tell in the dim light of his tent, but he thought he saw a flush on her cheeks to match the one he was sure he wore on his own, and her purple eyes seemed to glow. Before he could say anything, she quickly rushed out, "Goodnight and goodbye, Ned," and turned to leave rapidly. Ned stood stunned for a few moments, and by the time he collected himself and made his way outside the tent, she was gone, and he had no idea in which direction.

Ned walked through the camp toward his horse, his thoughts on Ashara and what had transpired between them. He was incredibly confused. Perhaps she'd tripped, and he hadn't seen it? He couldn't think of a reason she'd want to initiate a kiss with a second son like him — especially after knowing one another so short a time. His thoughts were in turmoil, as he felt he'd brought shame to House Stark, and arguably dishonored a noble lady. He mounted his horse before turning toward the entrance of their camp, trying to banish Ashara from his mind. He had a dinner to attend, and he only hoped he came out of it in one piece. He felt that what Ashara had just done would make it even more difficult for him to survive.

Arthur I

Chamber of the Kingsguard

Finally, his shift as guard was over and he could sit down and eat something. When Arthur had been a little boy, he hadn't been able to imagine a greater honor than being a member of the Kingsguard. Since he'd become one of them, his thoughts had drastically changed. It was not the life in celibacy; Arthur really didn't care about it, as so far he hadn't met a woman or a man that woke any feelings inside of him besides friendship, unlike some of his sworn brothers. He couldn't stop his thoughts traveling to Ser Barristan Selmy, a man celebrated as a hero by most people in Westeros. At first Arthur hadn't been any different: it had been an honor to serve besides Barristan the Bold, to spar with him and learn from his skills. Ser Barristan really was one of the finest swordsmen in Westeros — probably one of the few who would be a challenge for Arthur himself.

Still, all the respect Arthur had held for the older knight had vanished when Ashara had come to King's Landing. At first Arthur really had thought he'd only imagined things, but with every shift he'd had to spend with Barristan it became clearer and clearer that the man was lusting after his younger sister — a girl who was not even half his age. Many men would call Arthur a hypocrite — telling him an older man should be allowed to have a young girl that made him happy — but he was simply disgusted by it. Really, if a man was three to five years older than a woman it was fine, but Barristan was nearly 30 name days older than Ashara; what sane man would be okay with that fate for his sister? The old knight had even had the balls to ask him about Ashara — not only normal things, but also private ones — as if he really believed he had a chance with her and wanted to court her. It had taken all of Arthur's self-control to keep from drawing Dawn and killing the man that day.

A sigh escaped Arthur's lips while he shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. Since he'd joined the Kingsguard he'd changed a lot; maybe he'd been too young when he'd taken his vow. He'd just become an adult, and he'd thought he knew everything about the world — that the battles would harden him and make him a man — but if he was honest, he'd still been green behind his ears. Joining the Kingsguard at such a young age, it had felt as if he was finally getting the respect he felt he deserved for everything he'd done. He could still remember the argument he'd had with his father, thinking that his father was just jealous because he'd never been asked to join the Kingsguard — because he was not the Sword of the Morning — but now Arthur understood that his father had only wanted to be a good father, to warn him and stop him from making a stupid decision. Arthur had left the next day, and he hadn't spoken with his father since. He'd ignored the letters his father had sent him.

"It's time to change that," Arthur thought to himself as he got up from the chair to search for parchment, a quill, and some ink. It was time to apologize to his father, to ask the man to forgive the stupidity of a child who'd thought himself a man. Arthur also wanted to slap himself; they were a family, and he'd practicaly spat on it.

After a few minutes, Arthur sat down at the small table in the shared chamber and looked at the blank parchment. He looked at it for what felt like an eternity without writing a single word. As gifted as Arthur was with a sword, he had no talent for words.

"Dear Father,

I know too much time has passed since we last spoke. With all my heart I ask you to forgive me for the lack of communication. As your son, I hope that you can forgive me for a young man's stupidity. Right now I have a break, and I've been thinking back to better times. Do you still remember the time when you taught me how to write? I was never very skilled with words — somehow it didn't come to me as naturally as handling a sword — but you didn't give up. Not once did you get angry at or annoyed with me, you always sat down with me again and tried a different approach to the subject. To this day I can't thank you enough for never giving up on me.

As a young boy I didn't understand how hard it must be to not give up. I was a boy full of energy, dreams, and hopes. Weren't those beautiful times in Starfall? When you chased after me and little Ashara while mother watched and couldn't hold back her laughter whenever you nearly caught us, but we escaped again. It was just a game, but I'm so thankful you played it with us.

I like to think back to those times, you and mother have gifted us with so many wonderful memories: memories that will brighten up every darkness that may come into our lives.

While I'm at it, Ashara is doing well, and she's taking her duties very seriously. So far I haven't once heard a complaint from Princess Elia. She really has grown up into a beautiful young woman — so beautiful that I'm sure you and mother will be speechless when you finally see her again. Still, she's not just beautiful. She's well-mannered and respectful, perfectly prepared for the next step in her life. Have you and mother already begun to look for a husband for her? I think she's now at the right age to find a suitable husband and marry.

Forgive me, I know this is none of my business; I'm sure you and mother will make the right decision on this matter.

Give mother a hug and kiss from me, and tell her that I miss her; I miss both of you.

I hope that I'll be able to send you another letter soon, but you know I take my duties very seriously, and moments of spare time are rare.

Your Son,

Arthur"

Arthur sighed when he finished the letter; writing it was harder than any exercise he'd ever done. He supposed he could have gone to Ashara or Elia, but he couldn't get them involved in this. He couldn't risk either of them getting hurt because of his decision. All he could hope was that his father understood the message.

With a small smile he folded the letter — sealing it with his personal seal — before slipping it into a hidden pocket of his Kingsguard armor, mere seconds before the chamber's door opened and Lewyn Martell stepped inside. "Arthur," the older man greeted him with a nod, and moved to the pitcher of water that servants had brought them earlier. "Were you able to rest a bit during your break? It really is surprisingly hot for this time of the year," as if to prove his words the former prince of Dorne took a huge gulp from a cup he'd filled with water. "I mean, we're both Dornish and can handle this, but I can't imagine how it must feel for the people from the North," now this caught Arthur's attention, and he looked at the other men with interest. "People from the North? Northerners have come to the tourney?" That really was a surprise for Arthur; his father had told him Rickard Stark didn't think highly of tournaments, calling them 'playing at war' — and Uther Dayne completely agreed on that matter.

Maybe both men agreed on that matter because they'd seen war, seen the blood spill and the families destroyed. His father rarely talked about the war, but once he'd overheard how the guards had talked about his father, how he'd saved one of them during a battle. As soon as the guards had noticed him they'd stopped talking and continued on their patrol, not answering when he'd asked them to tell him more.

"Yes, I saw multiple banners of houses from the North; the Starks really have gotten a lot of their bannermen to follow them here," Lewyn told him after another gulp, and Arthur was pulled from his thoughts. "I met Lord Eddard Stark earlier, he is Lord Rickard's second son," Lewyn began as he sat down, "a good lad, respectful and kind. Balerion and Rhaenys seemed to like him a lot." A sigh escaped Lewyn's lips before he laughed. "He actually reminded me of his father back when we were young; he just looked so similar to him, even the eyes were of the same shade of grey — a grey I've never before and never again seen." Arthur blinked then, "You know Lord Stark?" he asked in a really surprised tone. "Yes," it was clear to hear that Lewyn thought Arthur would know that, "Your father, Rickard, and I served together in the war; we fought side by side and even shared a tent." Arthur was speechless, only capable of nodding. "We were very young back then; Rickard was not the lord of House Stark, as his father was still alive. People were surprised about the three of us, but we just got along very well."

Just as Lewyn finished the door opened again and the White Bull came inside. "Hellish weather outside," the Lord Commander said in a gruff tone before sitting down. "Rhaegar is looking for you Arthur; he's waiting in his solar," it was information and an order at the same time; Arthur knew that delaying would cause trouble with Ser Hightower. "I'm already on my way to the prince," he answered and got up, straightening his uniform and armor before taking Dawn and leaving the room. The letter rested safely in the hidden pocket, waiting to be sent to his father later.