Ned I

282 AC

Ned felt his back hit the dirt, and the wind burst out through his mouth. There was a pain in his shoulder, the armor had only been able to slightly soften the blow of the lance. His helmet was slightly knocked upward, and he was barely able to see out the front, with the visor having been knocked off balance, and lying far too low for him to see out of the opening easily. And yet he could hear the shouts and cheers of the crowd as he laid on the mud. And as he absorbed the sounds of tourney around him, Ned could do nothing but lay in the mud, as he attempted to regain his bearings.

'I hate jousting,' the teen thought, as he finally managed to push up the visor enough to allow him to stare into the sky, 'Just a way for hot blooded Southrons to smash each other's heads in. Stupid waste of time and money.'

Ned slowly pushed himself to his side, and then over so that he was prostrate. He pushed himself upward with his hands to where he was on his knees, and then, once he was secure, reached a hand up, and pulled himself upward from the muddy track. It took a moment, but he pulled himself up fully, and it was only then, as he was in the process of being able to walk away on his own legs, did he feel the hands and arms of his "squire".

"Ned, are you well?" Benjen, both he and their older brother's squire for the tourney, pushed himself up to his second eldest brother, and helped steady Ned as he wobbled after the impact.

Ned curled his right arm around Benjen's shoulders, and looked around the lists, and saw that it was clearly already over. The hedge knight from the Westerlands was dismounting in good order, an older man catching the foot of the knight as he dismounted from his dapple gray horse. The armor was mediocre, even less polished and fitted than Ned's thrown together set. The shield was unremarkable, a yellow lion on a blue background, yet as this was a knight of the Westerlands, one could imagine it as a somewhat misplaced tribute to the Lords of the Westerlands, the mighty Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The only thing unusual about this knight was that he'd never actually given his name.

'Not that it matters,' Ned shook his head, 'This hedge knight has likely already won some fame. He will have unseated the second son of the Starks of Winterfell on the second pass of his first tourney. That will surely be enough to get some amount of coin."

"I am fine," Ned coughed to his brother, and Benjen nodded, "I think it would be best to make our way from the lists. I would like to be out of this."

Surely, as the crowd continued to cheer when the next two nights made their way to their ends of the lists, the two made their way off, and were soon out of the notice of the stands. It was better to be away from all that, away from the gazing eyes of his family, friends and peers. Ned could almost hear the sounds of mockery for his undeniable failure at his joust.

Before long, they had made their way to the tent Ned had emerged from not half a moment ago. The massive tent was part armory, and part stable. Ned, still having trouble seeing out of this helmet due to the stuck visor, was able to tell by the distinct smell of horse excrement. Just as they passed the first set of stalls, Benjen twisted Ned around, and pushed him downward. With that, Ned was able to rest against a armor around him creaked, as he sat there for a moment to try and regain his bearings.

"Thank the Gods your helmet didn't catch," Benjen said, and Ned could feel his hands wrapping around the back of the helmet, "A bit different landing, and the thing might have caved in on you. Or at least broken enough for us to have to call in a blacksmith."

Benjen then grabbed at the helm, and with all his strength, lifted it up. Ned felt a pulling on his head and upper body as the helmet was being pulled away, but soon, he felt a release on the back of his head, and suddenly, he felt a rush of air hit the back of his neck as the helmet disconnected from the top of his armor. Then, with a final pull, Benjen nearly fell backward as he pulled the whole of the helmet from Ned's head, though he managed to right himself and stand with the hunk of metal in his hands. Benjen then looked down, and tried to move the visor, and when it held in place, he shook his head.

"Just imagine instead of the visor's hinge, it was the joint on the back of your helm," he said, and Ned groaned as he imagined the steel piercing into the back of his neck. Honestly, that a relatively common mishap like this could have so easily badly hurt him was more than enough reason for him to never joust again, as far as Ned was concerned. Like he had known previously, nothing but a Southron trifle.

"NED!" Ned turned, and saw a familiar, tall, young man, with a wild amount of deep black hair and a massive stag rearing up on a gold background, shooting his way through the many different knights, squires, stablekeepers, and other servants that filled the tents nearly to the brim. He was outwardly smiling, and yet Ned could see from the man's face that his teeth were clinched a bit too tightly and his eyes were a bit too wide for him to be as happy as his face appeared. Though he could also tell that these features were becoming lesser as his charge seemed to lessen in propulsion.

"Robert," Ned waved at Robert Baratheon, heir to the Stormlands, as his foster mate came to a stop not a half dozen paces from the bench he had managed to find for himself, his eyes quickly moving back and forth over Ned. He then seemed to lose a bit of his house's fury, and let out a great sigh, placing his hand on Ned's shoulder.

"Thank the Gods you are okay Ned," he said, at the same time that Benjen began to release the straps that were holding the breastplate to Ned, "I thought he'd managed to get you in the head with that fall," apparently the crowd had seen the damage that had been done to Ned's visor, "I needed to make sure you weren't…well."

"Brain bruised," Ned offered, and Robert waved him off, a small chuckle beneath his lips. Ned had been pretty sure that no one would have been able to mistake him for a corpse, after all, he had picked himself up. Though even at this point, this was probably the closest thing to a real injury that Robert had ever seen him take.

"Aye," Robert nodded, "Brain bruised," they'd both taken hits to the head during their time in the Eyrie, Robert more than Ned, but it had all been good fun. They'd slam into a wall or fall down one of the many flights of stairs, and by the next day, they were as good as new. At least, that's how Robert always put it. Ned had always seemed to have a harder time recovering from such injuries, but that wasn't an excuse not to go off exploring.

"Ah," Ned sighed, as the breastplate finally came loose. He felt the air finally hit the linens he had beneath the metal, and he began to cool as the air hit his sweaty shirt. Ned quickly also felt the armor holding his right hand fall away, and adjusted his fingers as he felt the air on that skin again. He looked over at his friend, "So how much a fool did I make myself out on the lists?"

"Oh, you were…it wasn't," Robert seemed to try and look away from Ned, but that was enough to confirm what he thought. The second son of the mighty Starks, laid low by a hedge knight. Not the sort of performance that southron singers would start their new tales with. A part of him said that it was foolish to worry about such things. Another part thought that he had been sent below the neck so that he might make a good impression for his family in the south.

Being humiliated in a joust would not improve his or his family's reputation.

"You made it through the first pass well enough," Robert finally settled on, and Ned let out a groan. The first of the greaves around his legs was now off, and he could feel his body begin to breathe, "The second pass…well, at least it was a clear hit. No one could say you fell from your own clumsiness. There will be some in the crowds who will give you some japes, but nothing so humiliating it will become a story for the fools."

"If that is the best I can hope for, mayhaps it would be better for me to ride back to the Eyrie, and let the crowds find another fool to jape on," Ned was happy to have his armor off, and more than ready to twist his body in the free air, "Though," he shook his head, "It might only make the mockery more earned. To run and hide after a simple fall," he pushed himself to his feet, his body now free of the armor that had been constraining him, "I suppose, I must go out, and face my failure."

Robert, eyes a mix of worry and relief, nodded. Robert had been joyous when he'd announced he was going to get a chance to show Ned around a real Tourney, and the thought of his best friend leaving after less than a full day had likely hurt him. Robert had not only his own jousts to prepare for, but for the great melee to take place half way through the rest of the tourney. Ned couldn't leave him, especially when Robert had other plans besides battle for this tournament. The larger man smiled then, and placed his helmet on, and turned to return to his horse. He would have to ride out soon for his first bout.

"Come on," Benjen placed a hand on Ned's arm, and pulled him towards an opening in the tent, "Let's head back to the box. Lyanna and Brandon will be there," and Ned nearly groaned as he thought about sitting in the Stark's viewing box with his elder brother, but quickly pushed down that feeling. Brandon was the eldest, and he should be shown respect, "If we hurry, we will be able to see Robert's first pass."

"Of course," Ned bowed, and followed his younger brother out into the open.

It took only a few minutes to climb the stairs on the stand that had been set up for the Starks and other Northern nobles. It was the smallest of the stands, as the North had still sent the fewest of its aristocracy to the Tourney, though it was by far the largest gathering of them south of the Neck in generations. So, while it was far smaller than even the second smallest, the stands for Dorne, it was still larger than any sort of temporary construction that Ned had seen before. An inner part of him shook his head at the waste of gold being spent on all this finery, but he had to simply accept it was how Southron men behaved. Besides, who was he, the second son of a foreigner, to judge the customs of these people? If they wanted to use their money this way, well they certainly seemed to have enough of it to do as they pleased.

As he ascended into the stands, he looked around and saw sigils of most of the houses of the North, with only the farthest not having at least one appearance here. But, alongside the wolf of Stark, he saw the sigils for Manderly, Dustin, Bolton, Tallhart, Glover, Cerwyn, Flint, Ryswell, Mormont and a half dozen other minor houses that he had learned while still at Winterfell. They all had the decency to not stare directly at him, though it didn't help him hold down his shame.

"Ned! Benjen!" he nearly winced as he heard his name called, and looked over, and saw a young man, bursting with life, with a handsome smile waving his hand from the front of the box. His full beard never truly hid his pure white teeth, and he waved his hand, beckoning him towards the front. Ned moved forward, quickly followed by Benjen, making sure not to collide with any of the many nobles watching the current joust, which was on a sixth pass between a Bracken and a Fossaway, the red stallion against the green apple.

"Have I missed anything Brandon," he said to the tall man, before turning his head, to the young woman sitting next to Brandon, "Lyanna?"

"Nothing worth commenting," Brandon said, when suddenly he heard a crack, and turned to see that the lance of the Fossaway had broken, and the Bracken was in the process of falling off his horse. Brandon laughed, "That was the only joust to have occurred in your absence."

"I suppose there is something good in that," Ned admitted, but then he heard a cough, and returned his attention to Lyanna, who was resting her head in her hand as she gazed lazily down at the sight of the Bracken being pulled off the ground by his squire, "What did you think of the joust Lyanna?"

"That neither of them are as good a rider as you are," Lyanna shook her head, "The Bracken boy never really had control of his horse, he was always bouncing a bit with each pass," she then looked over the shattered lance, "And that Fossaway was only able to take advantage of it after six passes meant he barely has any control of his lance," her mouth only seemed to deepen it's frown, "Had you been riding against either of them, you would have knocked either of them off their chargers swiftly."

"Really Lyanna," Brandon laughed, looking past Ned at their younger sister, "I know you are trying to lift Ned's spirits, and I agree that "Grim Ned" might need it," Ned again had to press down his natural reflex to wince at the nickname, "But he was knocked from his horse by a nameless hedge knight."

"Who is the best jouster we've seen so far," she then looked down at the lists, as they further cleaned up the mud and shattered lance, "Though we haven't seen any of the favorites yet," she shook her head, "Do they simply want to wet our appetites with these uninteresting matches first?"

"Possibly," Ned turned back, and saw Willam Dustin, the eldest son and heir to the Barrowlands, sitting there, eyes watching the other stands, "Though there has only been a few hours or so since they began, so likely the most interesting matches are to be coming soon, if only to finish the day with something to spark some excitement for the rest of the tourney."

"Of course Willam," Brandon laughed, not even looking back at his fostermate. William's face twisted for a moment, but Ned's attention was quickly back to Brandon, "I believe that today will finish in a dozen or so matches, and then there will be the great feast in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths," he looked over towards the sprawling mass that was the Castle Harrenhal, "and then, we shall all retire for the evening, to our what entertainments we may amuse ourselves with."

Ned and Lyanna looked at one another, and while Ned was able to keep control of himself, Lyanna could not help but roll her eyes at her eldest sibling. More than likely, Brandon would be looking for a "strapping" girl to spend the evening with. Ned had managed to avoid most of the details of his elder brother's exploits since he had gone to foster with Jon Arryn, but he knew that the Wolf's Blood flowed thick through Brandon's veins. He just had to hope it wouldn't be with a girl that might cause too much of a scandal. Robert had been embarrassed enough after getting a one of the smallfolk pregnant, to dishonor a noble lady with a bastard would be far more scandalous.

"Look!" Benjen's voice pulled Ned out of his ruminations, and fixed his eyes on the tourney ground. The Darry knight, one of Jorathor of the Kingsguard's younger brothers, was already at his end of the lists, and on the other, out from the paddock, rode Robert Baratheon. And with one look at his foster mate, Ned knew why his younger brother had been so excited.

His foster mate was covered in the bright gold of his house, the mighty stag standing on it's hind legs, bucking in a fury. The armor was far heavier than what Ned had just had removed from his body, with pauldrons that were nearly the size of Ned's helmet. But not the size of Robert's helmet, which was adorned with a full twelve-point rack. The antlers certainly had their desired effect, as the crowd was shouting and gasping at the giant of a man that appeared to have stepped out of a legend of old.

This God Of War galloped his mighty destrier down into the lists. He came to a stop at his end, and pointed the lance down the wooden fence towards his opponent. The crowd erupted at the sight of the mighty knight, and within a moment, they began their first pass. Robert, titan of a man that he was, did not care for any hesitation his horse may have had, and kept it close to the fence. And he aimed his lance directly at the shield of the Darry knight.

CRACCKKKK

And then shattered his lance as he sent the man tumbling from his horse.

"YYYYYHAHAHAHAHYYYYYAAHHHHHH!"

The crowd erupted like nothing Ned had heard before. Robert had dispatched his opponent in his first pass. The Darry knight had almost seemed to bounce off of Robert's strike, and as the sputtering Riverlander attempted to make it to his feet, Robert wheeled his horse around, and then charged past the lists, his victory already assured.

"What's he do-" Ned asked, before sighing, as Robert finally stopped, as he saw the Robert was riding straight towards the Northern Stands. He watched as Robert came to a stop, not a three horse lengths away from where he and his family were seated, and then, making sure he was directly in front of Lyanna, he bowed, and then turned his horse, to ride back to his paddock. This only caused another yell of recognition from the rest of the nobles, realizing exactly what Robert had done.

"He's already promising to make you his queen of love and beauty," Brandon began to hold their younger sister's shoulder, "And he is doing it on the first day. Not just confidence, but some arrogance too," he was laughing every word, "I like him. I might have done the same to my dear Cat," Brandon waved his hand over towards the center of the Riverland's box, though the Tullys had not made their way to the tourney, "A curse she isn't here for that, I'd dare say my little trout would find it a wonderful gift."

"Don't make plans for victories you can't know of yet," Lyanna said. It was flat, and cold. Ned looked at her for a moment, and saw in her thin face a look of cold fear. It was though winter had come for her, and with it all the death of the first frost. Ned leaned over, and placed a hand on Lyanna's shoulder. He made sure that unlike Brandon, it was gentle, enough to fully pull her attention to Ned.

"Lyanna, what did you think?" he asked, hoping to at least keep her from twisting into one of her foul moods, "How would you judge Robert in the joust."

"...," Lyanna looked over towards the tent into which Robert had disappeared, "He's the second best knight I've seen ride today," it was an admission that did not please her, but she would always be honest with her thoughts with Ned, "Your opponent was better, but Robert is a fine warrior," she then shook her head, "Though clearly, he was not used to the lance. The melee is likely the event he is best in."

"Right as ever," Ned laughed. It was always good to hear his little sister's observation was still as sharp as it had ever been, "He actually wasn't going to joust at this. Finds the whole thing too controlled," Robert had always preferred to swing his hammer, rather than simply charge, "He decided to participate in both however, when he heard that you were coming."

"When he heard I was coming?"

"Yes," Ned continued, "Once he knew you were coming. He thinks that an appropriate gift for your betrothal would be the crown of winter roses and the title of the queen of love and beauty," he turned when he heard a short snort beside him, and turned to look at Benjen, who then winced under Ned's gaze.

"I'm just," Benjen then twisted his hand towards Lyanna, "She just, I mean…"

"Benjen, respect your sister," Ned warned aloud, and Benjen nodded.

"What a brilliant idea," Brandon was rubbing his bearded chin, his smile wider than ever, "A gift like that, from the largest tourney ever held, why, that might be the more priceless than the title of Lady of Storm's End," he then again looked over at the Riverlanders box, "Though I believe our future good-brother is going to have competition Ned. I just wish I could have the chance to give the crown to my Catelyn."

Ned groaned, and began to rub the bridge of his nose. He then looked over at Lyanna, who was still staring at the tent Robert had just entered, though, at the same time, he could also tell she was sneaking a glance at Brandon. And as she did so, he saw that her shoulders began to quake.

"Oh Come they Said- Oh come to the fair!"

Ned's head was still spinning from all that had occurred from earlier in the day. After the first set of matches was over, with the rest of the first round to be finished the next day, they crowd had dispersed from the lists. The Starks had originally planned to meet with Robert Baratheon right after the match, though Lyanna had wandered off for a while. Robert, disappointed, but still elated from his victory, had quickly fallen in with Brandon and Robert, and soon over two dozen lords from the Vale, Riverlands and North were japing and laughing about whatever was crossed their minds.

More than enough of it was about Ned's own tumble out early in the tourney, but Ned had dealt with more than enough of those sorts of jabs from his brother. Robert being there had helped, as any time the words became a bit too pointed, Robert would be quick to pull the conversation back towards himself, but the words undeniably hurt. Yet soon Robert and most of the other nobles besides the Starks themselves were called to their own tents, to prepare for the great feast about to take place.

"The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear!"

Just as they were returning to their tent, the Stark brothers had then run into their sister, and a guest, one Howland Reed. The short, spindly crannogman, dressed in all green, had been accosted by three squires of Southorn houses, and only been saved by Lyanna's arrival. He had said he had been on the Isle of Faces, on the God's Eye, and had said he was only passing by, and should continue on his way.

"You should stay for the feast," Lyanna had insisted, and the spindly man had simply agreed. Ned, the only one besides Brandon who had his own tent, took him as tentmate, and Ned was able to find some clothes that would allow the swamp dweller to join in with little problem.

And soon, Ned and the rest of the Starks had made their way up into the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, and there they had ate and drank to their heart's content. Ned had managed to meet Robert, and had reminded the Stormlander to be on his best behavior for Lyanna's sake. A suggestion the black haired man had held to, as he had even managed to restrain his eyes from the serving girls…mostly had managed. For Robert, it had been an impressive display of his willpower.

"All black and brown, and covered with hair!"

Lyanna hadn't noticed, she'd been too busy staring off into the distance. The only time she'd managed to not appear to be distracted had been when Prince Rheagar appeared.

Or rather, when Prince Rhaegar had sung. When he had only been passing by, a great many of the noble ladies of the realm had turned their attention to the gallant prince, far more than should have with knowledge the very common knowledge that he was a married father of two. Rhaegar had pulled out a harp, and had begun to sing a song about birds and golden cages. It had not seemed to be a song that would normally be sung at a tourney, especially one as grand and joyous as this, but it had managed to bring Lyanna to tears.

Then, after the prince had finished, Benjen had made a jape about Lyanna crying, and Lyanna, with her wolf's blood flowing freely, grabbed up a cup and poured it over her younger brother's head. She had then retired for the evening, claiming sickness, and had retreated from the hall. It had been Ned's responsibility to again inform Robert that his betrothed had left early. He had expected Robert to be disappointed that he would not be able to see her, but by this point he had been too glad to have drank Ser Lonmouth under the table to care too much. Still, even in that state, Robert kept his hands and eyes to himself, and Ned had managed to lift Robert back to his tent, so he might be ready for the next day's events. Jon Arryan, the man who fostered Ned and Robert, had assisted in the task, and then retired himself, claiming that old age meant he would require more sleep to keep up with the youths around him.

"Oh, I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair!

I'll never dance with a hairy bear!

A bear! A bear!

I'll never dance with a hairy bear!"

As he returned, Ned had managed to see that the nobles who were still able to keep their feet began to march towards one of the many cavernous halls that dotted the castle. Ned had slipped into the crowd as they were about to begin the dancing, and he had managed to find himself next to his brother. The first song had been the Dance of the Dragons, and it had only one pair of dancers, Rhaegar and his wife Elia. Despite her recent pregnancy, Elia Martell had kept her feet, and waltzed her way through the long, laborious song. Ned had thought that by the end the poor woman looked used up, but Rheagar had then taken her by the hand, and guided her out of the hall.

Ned actually hadn't seen the prince return, so he supposed he was tending to his wife. He appreciated that honor in Rhaegar, and even more, he appreciated that Rhaegar's father hadn't been seen since the jousting itself. Aerys the second, "The Mad King" as some called him, had been a sight. His hair and beard were matted, and he was constantly scratching at himself, with his eyes always darting across all around him, most likely looking for traitors to burn. That he had focused so much on Rhaegar honestly made the king's madness only more apparent. That Aerys had stolen Tywin Lannister's eldest son, a move that even someone as ignorant of politics as Ned knew as a bad idea, only enforced it.

"She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,

But he licked the honey from her hair.

Her hair! Her hair!

He licked the honey from her hair!"

Yet Ned had pushed the Dragons from his mind, and focused instead on the dances that were occurring. And one particular dancer in particular. It had been Howland Reed who had pointed out the strangeness of a white cloak dancing with a girl, but it had become quickly apparent that there was no risk of broken chastity. For Arthur Dayne had decided to take this chance to dance with his sister. And that sister was perhaps the most beautiful woman Ned Stark had ever laid his eyes on, Ashara Dayne.

Her hair was a wave of coal, her eyes were purple as amethyst. She carried herself with dignity and grace, and perfectly matched her feet to the notes and words of the Fair Maids of Summer, the song that had been chosen as the first dance for all the nobles to participate. Her brother, the greatest living knight in the realm, matched her step for step. They were in some ways magical in their movement, and despite many other dancing partners crowding the floor, they were clearly the brightest pair.

And then, with that song done, for her second song, she would be joined by another handsome man. This time the infamous brother of Princess Elia, Oberyn Martell was Ashara's partner, and once again she lead a dance that dominated the whole of the room. Just as the second verse of "The Dornishman's Wife" began, Ned felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked backward, and saw Brandon's smiling face.

"Grim Ned, I see even your blood can run hot," Ned felt his face grow warm, as Brandon began to pat his shoulder, his smile becoming ever wider, "A lady like Ashara Dayne," he seemed to stop and think as he looked at the beauty that was dancing at the center of the hall. This time, her movement was different. Where with her brother she had been delicate but precise, here, with Oberyn, she was dancing fire. The heat and the closeness of their bodies would almost seems scandalous, were it not for the almost clear way that whenever it seemed the were about to come too close, Ashara would glide off, almost seeming to dance out of the danger to her honor from the fiery serpent in her arms. The sight of her movement caused Ned's face to become even warmer, and he then felt a drop of shame as he felt other parts of him react as well. He was only fully brought back to the conversation, when he felt one final slap on the back from Brandon.

"I'll get you a dance with Lady Dayne," Brandon pointed back at Ned, "Stay here, and it shall be a night to remember," the elder Stark then began to push through the crowd, as the last lines of the "Bear and Maiden Fair" ended.

"Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air!

My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!

And off they went, from here to there,

The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair."

"Wai-" Ned watched as his brother disappeared into the crowd, getting closer to Ashara as she finished with her second partner of the night. The minstrels and bards at the end of the pavilion seemed to be taking a moment to breathe, though it looked like Brandon was having a slow go of arriving for a dancing request. He could see a red-headed gentleman coming up to Ashara, a griffon on his coat, and bowing. Ashara seemed to bow back.

"Looks like you'll have to wait a song Ned," Willam Dustin came up to his side, and soon Ned also noticed Howland Reed there as well, "Though I understand why you would like a dance with Lady Ashara," he used his two hands, spaced slightly apart, and seemed to form a shape while saving them downward, "curves like that aren't a common thing."

"Tha-" Ned felt his blush return, and stared down at the ground. It would only lead to more japes if he pushed it any farther, "I'd rather not dance with her," though a part of him was screaming at his mind for making such an incorrect declaration. Willam looked down at Howland, who looked back up at the taller man, and then they both looked at Ned.

"Why?" Howland asked. Ned's voice caught himself from immediately yelling at the Crannogman. He was his guest, and this was an honest question, not an attempt to pull him into embarrassing himself like Brandon had at times done while he was a boy.

"Do you see her," Ned waved his hand in a circle in Ashara's general direction, her still waiting for the next song to begin, as it appeared that the bards were downing cups of wine, "I would only be an embarrassment against her. To have me as her partner would just lead to me being left on my ass," and his mind flashed back to the muddy lists, "Again."

"Ned," Willam said, "There have been many worse things that have happened to people at tourneys than a quick exit on the grounds and tripping on one's own feet in a dance with a pretty girl," he then raised his eyebrow, "Besides, she might take pity on you, and nurse you back to health if you make a sweet impression."

Ned, already thinking far too much with his second head, immediately recognized the implication and felt his jaw open wide, before stammering, "That would be a scandal."

"Oh come off it," Willam crossed his arms, looking a bit peeved, "Like there aren't a dozen of the "noblest" men of the realm sowing their oats in the most "chaste" ladies in this entire festival. She wouldn't even mind, she's Dornish!"

"It doesn't matter if she wouldn't mind," Ned took in a breath, and then began to speak clearly, "It would not just dishonor her if I were to take her to my chambers," Ned shook his head, "But it will dishonor my wife as well, whoever she may be."

When William's eyebrow raised again, and was joined in unison by the eyebrow of Howland Reed, Ned continued, "A lady who is caught having lost their maidenhood is seen as a disgrace. As unworthy of her station," he then looked over at Ashara, "If I were to take fall for the that temptation, when my wife could not, then what honor would I have. How could she look at me, and trust me to honor her after we take our vows."

A silence, well, besides the background chatter that filled the hall, hung in the air. Then, Willam Dustin burst out laughing, and wrapped his arms around Ned's shoulders. Ned the looked at Howland, who was shaking his head, but with a soft smile on his face. Then Willam pulled back, and looked Ned in his eye.

"You are a good man, Ned Stark," he seemed to look off into the distance for a moment. In particular, he seemed to be looking at the crowd near where Ashara was waiting to begin to dance again, and for a second Ned thought he caught sight of Brandon. He saw Willam's face develop into a small scowl, and then he shook his head, before repeating once more, "A very good man."

"I-"

"Well," Willam then rubbed his chin, and looked, and saw that the minstrels were still preparing for the next song, "I'd say the best way to keep you from having to go out there with Ashara Dayne," he began to look around, "Would be to find you another dance partner."

"Another partner," Ned leaned forward, trying to keep his voice low, "I'm trying to avoid dancing at all. I don't have any experience."

"And your brother is probably going to actually get to Ashara soon," Willam didn't even look back at Ned as he surveyed the crowd, "And with both his station and his personality, he's probably going to get you a dance with Ashara Dayne. And Ned," he didn't look back, but there was a certain bluntness in his voice, "We can't let you get in a dance with Lady Dayne. That woman would eat you alive."

"Wha-"

"Probably right," Howland added, and then Ned turned his head down to the shorter man, who shrugged, when Ned looked down at him "Sorry Ned. Have to tell the truth when I see it."

"Eat me ali-"

"You'd like it while it occurs, but probably think about meeting that Sworn Brother and heading for the Wall afterward," Willam continued, still gazing, "If we find you another dance partner, you can be doing that, and then get in between Brandon and Ashara, and hopefully keep your elder brother from pushing you into something that's only going to hurt."

"But I can't dance," Ned groaned, feeling as though he had two elder brothers now pulling him along by the arms, forcing him to pursue their own plans for him, "I don't want to fall over like a fool once again."

"Not if we find you a partner who won't tax your abilities too great-there!" Willam pointed, and suddenly Ned felt his back being pushed by Howland, who joined Dustin in pulling him to the edge of the spectators. For a moment, Ned couldn't see who he was being pushed towards, until the finally reached the edge, and Ned realized why he hadn't been able to see the girl Willam had before.

She was a short girl, perhaps her head only coming up to his chin, with a thin frame, likely indicating she was only perhaps fourteen. She in fact looked like a very standard highborn girl going through the onset of adulthood. Her blue dress was still beginning to be pushed out, with signs of her flowering, but it was still likely early in the process. As he and his captors approached the girl, Ned could see a look of confusion across her green eyes and rather pretty, though plain without any of the flush or other skin fineries, face, a mix of perplexion and disbeleif. Atop her head, was a tight braided knot of blonde hair, almost perfectly arranged to sit together despite any movement. Though it was almost perfectly arranged, there was a stray strand of blonde hair sticking out into the middle of the air, right above the girl's forehead.

"Good lady," Willam began, bowing slightly, "We were hoping that we might ask you to give the honor of a dance with our good friend here," he motioned his head towards Ned, who almost felt the need to speak out against this, "The poor man's shy, so we were hoping to get him out on the dance floor, and you seemed to be without a partner yourself."

"Oh," her voice was soft, and yet it had this strange command to it. Almost like she was at of one of the Great Houses, though the strange blue dress was not a match for any of them, "I actually wasn't planning on danci-."

"Well you see," Willam continued, forcing his way past her refusal, "Our friend here, Ned Stark," he emphasized Ned's last name, and Ned nearly told him off for using his status to push the poor girl, "Wasn't planning on dancing either. BUT-" he interjected quickly, before either Ned or the girl could speak up, "He also is acting too shy for his own good. And so are you," he pointed out to the dancing pairs, "You both seem to be in need of some relief of your grim moods. So why not just go out for one dance, and see if you like it?"

The girl blinked for a second, before looking up at Ned, and staring her green eyes into his gray. She then blinked, and said aloud, "Eddard Stark," and then sighed, before offering her hand out to Ned, "I suppose it would not be so great a burden. As long as it is merely one dance."

"All you both will need," Ned suddenly found the girl's hand within his own, and then felt himself be pushed onto the floor, the girl barely keeping control of herself as he accidently pulled her along. He managed to catch himself, and then caught her as well. He helped right her, and then watched as she glared back into the crowd where Willam and Howland were still standing.

"I'm sorry for this," Ned offered. His embarrassment was at least now because of the behavior of his friends, rather than his own base desires. The girl looked back up at him, and shook her head, the wayward clump of hairs nearly hitting his chin.

"This does not seem to be your doing," she answered honestly. Slowly, Ned and her began to move into the larger gathering of dancing pairs, and Ned and her found themselves on the outer ring, "Though I must warn you," she looked up at him, and for the first time, instead of pure command of herself, he saw a bit of worry, "I don't have much practice as a dance partner."

"Well," Ned nodded down at her, "I suppose we are a match then, because neither do I," he then added, as they prepared to begin the dance, "I hope I do not embarrass you tonight."

"Nor I you."

The bards had returned to their instruments, and were looking at the crowd once more. As they picked them up, the first focused again on Ashara Dayne, and her new partner, Jon Connington, one of Prince Rheagar's confidants. Then, they surveyed the rest of the crowd, before their eyes settled on Ned and his partner. For a second it looked like they would pass over them, but then they stopped, and for an instant, a strange trance seemed to come over them. Then, before they seemed to know what they were doing, they began to play their instruments.

"Ho, ro, the rattlin' bog

The bog down in the valley-o

Real Bog, the rattlin' bog

The bog down in the valley-o"

It wasn't a song that Ned knew, and for the moment, he could tell that none of the other dancers knew it either. They were attempting to find a way for the dance to match the song…but it was too low, it wasn't like any of the other songs, as the bards and singers seemed to be pushing themselves.

Except one, as it happened, one person did know what they were doing.

"Well in the bog there was a hole

A rare hole and a rattlin' hole

And the hole in the bog

And the bog down in the valley-o"

"Hold my arm," he looked at the girl beneath him, and then she pulled him in a circle, dancing together until they arrived at the third time the singer said hole. Then he saw her take his arm, and hold it over her head. Ned held it, and allowed her to twirl beneath him from the words hole to the word bog, before swinging behind him once the final and of the verse passed. He was pulled along, and she was still in front of him, ending at a stop at the O.

"What?" he asked himself, and yet he could see a look of shock on her face too. It was almost as if she was acting only on instinct, or some long lost memory. And yet, Ned could see some of the crowd and some of the other dancing pairs following their movements. A few seemed to nod as the chorus was halfway through, and the men held their hands out and allowed their ladies to take a similar position.

"Well in that hole there was a tree

A rare tree and a rattlin' tree

And the tree in the hole

And the hole in the bog

And the bog down in the valley-o"

Again, Ned allowed the girl to lead him in the dance, and again the girl began to twist around him. And it was a good thing he allowed her to do so, because she would twirl not once, but twice, for both the "tree in the hole" and "hole in the bog", while several other pairs seemed to miss one another, swinging the girls behind too early. Ned and the girl held the perfect position, and that allowed them to hit their marks.

As the chorus began again, somehow, dancing pairs began to move around them, pushing both he and the girl into the center. As they did so, Ned suddenly recognized Ashara Dayne pulling Connington out into the outer square, her eyes watching he and the girl as they danced, clearly trying to memorize what to do.

"On that tree there was a branch

A rare branch and a rattlin' branch

And the branch on the tree

And the tree in the hole

And the hole in the bog

And the bog down in the valley-o"

Once again, there was an added line, but only now did Ned realize that the singer was increasing the speed of his voice through each addition. As he watched the girl twirl, he began to consider that despite having far more words, this verse only took as much time as the first. ANd that meant that the girls had to twirl fast as they could, while also to keep from falling down, and that it took the men to keep them grounded. Ned, trusting the girl, did as she lead, and the maintained control of the dance.

And it continued for several more minutes, and after a certain point, Ned had to wonder if the song would ever end. The constant swings and twirls were beginning to wear him down, and he could not imagine the small girl dancing alongside him was feeling any better. He could see that most of the pairs were barely keeping up, with only Ashara and Connington appearing to hold their own.

And then-

"In that egg there was a bird

A rare bird and a rattlin' bird

And the bird on the egg

And the egg on the bird

And the bird in the nest

And the nest on the limb

And the limb on the branch

And the branch on the tree

And the tree in the hole

And the hole in the bog

And the bog down in the valley-o"

The music then stopped, with his and the girl's hands holding one another, their upper bodies bent over, as though they were almost bowing to one another, thanking each other for the other's effort. They stopped, and stared at one another, both having a small film of sweat over their foreheads. And yet the girl seemed to be pristine, her hair only having the original tuft still out of place, though it seemed in that moment to Ned that even that her hair was designed to have that stray flick, standing tall above her forehead.

The two then pushed their way back upward, and then, after a second, Ned felt his face flush, realizing he had touched this girl than any woman outside his family or wet nurse, and released her hand. The sudden release was mutual, however, as the girl herself seemed to blush, and pull her hand away. The girl then held up her hand, staring at it, before turning, and bolting from the center of the dancing hall, disappearing into the crowd of onlookers. Ned blinked, and then nearly fell over when he felt a push of force on his back.

"Ned," it was Brandon, laughing up a storm, "Why didn't you tell me you could dance. I never thought you had feet for such a thing," Ned's older brother began to shake him, and soon Ned was pulled out of his daze by the movement. He then shook his head, and stared where the girl had been not a few moments ago.

"I don't," Ned said, and he could feel Brandon's shaking stop. Ned, a strange feeling coming over himself, suddenly pulled away from his brother, and pushed into the crowd.

"Where are you going Ned!" Brandon shouted, but Ned didn't care to look back, and charged past the onlookers and guests.

He twisted his head around, and tried to spot the girl. Yet the girl's height, or lack thereof, hid her now like it had hidden her when Willam had pulled him to dance with her. He continued to twist and turn, before he suddenly saw one of the doors at the back of the hall open, and then quickly shut. Ned, feeling a strange sensation in his chest, pushed forward towards the door, and was soon into a sparser region of the crowd. Just as he arrived at the door, he heard a cough.

"You probably won't find her tonight," it was the voice of an older man, though there was a jolly sound beneath it's condescension, "that girl is probably flying to her tent right now, and you entering it to confront her about a dance, when she is in this state, would do you no good, Stark."

Ned turned his head, and saw a blonde man slouching against the wall next to the door. He had rich red clothes, and a finely combed beard. Along his fingers were a set of golden rings, a they were matched by a set of earrings along both sets of his ears, though they were almost hidden by his the flowing blonde mane along the back of his neck, that seemed to be far more pristine than a man with that much hair normally would allow their hair to be. In his hand was a golden cup, though it appeared it was mostly empty. Finally, he recognized that on the red background, in the center of the man's chest, was a golden lion.

"Lord Lannister," Ned said aloud, his hand still on the handle for the door.

"Lord Lannister is my brother boy," the older man declared, "You should just call me Gerion. Makes me less want to toss myself from the Tower of Dread…or the Widow's tower," the man blinked, and for a second, Ned realized that Gerion had been affected by the empty cup, "Whichever Is taller…or shorter, now that I think about it. Would it be better to jump from the tallest tower, to make sure the job is done, or from the shortest, to make sure you don't have too much time to fall?"

"Lo-Gerion Lannister," Ned said.

"Right, right," Gerion shook his head, "you best let that girl go, she is in no mood to talk about that dance you just gave her," he seemed to shake his head.

"I'm sorry," Ned then bowed his head, "If I did anything to make her unha-"

"Unhappy?" the older man laughed, slapping his hand onto his leg, "You gave her the most fun she's had all night," he shook his head, "Poor girl's always been a bit too willing to just stay in one spot. But," he then pointed at Ned, without really looking at him, "You got her out and got her to have fun. That girl needs to learn to have fun, or else she's going to chisel an eternal frown into her face," Gerion then stopped, and his mouth became flat, "Like her father. But you tonight got her to enjoy herself in something frivolous, and," Gerion made to slam his hands into his belly, "As a frivolous man myself, I cannot thank you enough for your assistance."

"Wait," Ned shook his head, "You aren't her fath-"

"Of course not," Gerion stepped back, his hand on his chest, "Do I look so old that I'd have a girl that old?" he shook his head, "No, no, that girl you danced with, well Stark you might say you two have something in common," he lifted up the cup, only to groan when he realized there was no more wine in it, "Bah. You are both children of the Heads of two of the most powerful houses in all of Westeros. You are the second son of the Lord of Winterfell," he waved his hand behind his head, "And she is the second daughter of the Lord of Casterly Rock."

Ned felt the sweat on the back of his neck turn cold. To his dying day, he would swear at that moment he heard "The Rains of Castamere" play as soon as he thought of the former Lord Hand. Gerion, clearly not caring about Ned's fear, continued.

"Yes, you just danced with the daughter of Tywin Lannister," his smile was still there, but quite sad now, "You danced with Artoria Lannister."