Early 290 AC - Lannisport
The preparations for the grand tourney at Lannisport were nearly complete. The city buzzed with activity as knights practiced their jousting and archery, lords and ladies socialized, and merchants peddled their wares. In a quieter corner of the sprawling encampment outside the city walls, Eddard Stark stood with his wife, Ashara Dayne. The soft evening light cast a golden glow over them as they reminisced about the last grand tourney they attended, the Tourney of Harrenhal.
Ashara looked at Eddard with a wistful smile, her violet eyes reflecting the fading light. "Do you remember the Tourney of Harrenhal, Ned?"
Eddard nodded, his gray eyes thoughtful. "I do. It was a grand affair, filled with moments that I will never forget."
The Tourney of Harrenhal had been the largest and most splendid event of its time. Lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms gathered at the ancient, crumbling castle of Harrenhal. The vast expanse of the Gods Eye Lake reflected the towering stone walls, creating an atmosphere of awe and history.
On the first day of the tourney, a young Lord Howland Reed, a diminutive man from the Neck, was assaulted by squires from Houses Frey, Haigh, and Blount. Lyanna Stark, fierce and willful, stepped in to defend him. With her long, dark hair and fiery spirit, she was a force to be reckoned with.
"She always had a way of surprising people," Eddard said, a hint of sadness in his voice as he remembered his sister.
Ashara smiled. "She was remarkable. I remember the feast that evening. Howland Reed attended with Lyanna and her brothers, Brandon, you, and Benjen."
Eddard chuckled softly. "Yes, and there was that brother of the Night's Watch trying to recruit knights. He was met with snickers and smiles."
"And Rhaegar played his harp," Ashara continued, her voice softening. "His song was so sad it brought tears to Lyanna's eyes."
Eddard nodded, his expression somber. "I remember Benjen teasing her about it, and she poured a cup of wine over his head."
The great hall of Harrenhal was filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. Lord Robert Baratheon, larger than life and full of good cheer, defeated Ser Richard Lonmouth in a wine-drinking contest. His booming laughter echoed through the hall as he celebrated his victory.
Across the room, Ashara Dayne danced with grace and elegance. Her dark hair flowed around her, and her violet eyes sparkled with delight. She danced with several knights that evening, including Ser Barristan Selmy, who was honored to hold her hand for a dance.
"But it was you I remember most," Ashara said, looking at Eddard with a gentle smile. "You were so shy. Brandon had to ask for the last dance on your behalf."
Eddard's cheeks reddened slightly. "I was never as bold as Brandon. But I'm glad he did. That dance changed everything."
The Tourney of Harrenhal was filled with many memorable moments, both joyous and sorrowful. Eddard missed his brother Benjen, who had taken the black and now served at the Wall. The memory of their time together at the tourney was bittersweet.
"Benjen was always full of life," Eddard said quietly. "I miss him."
Ashara placed a comforting hand on his arm. "He serves with honor at the Wall. You should be proud."
Eddard nodded. "I am. But I wish he were here with us."
The Tourney of Harrenhal also brought back memories of Rhaegar Targaryen, who named his wife, Elia Martell, the Queen of Love and Beauty, instead of Lyanna. This act had averted the scandal that would have ensued if he had chosen otherwise.
The sounds of the tourney preparations brought Eddard back to the present. He looked around at the bustling encampment, filled with knights and nobles preparing for the days ahead.
"We should focus on the present," Eddard said, turning to Ashara. "This tourney is a chance for the realm to come together, to celebrate our victory and our unity."
Ashara nodded. "Yes, and to create new memories for our children and the realm."
Eddard looked towards the horizon, where the sun was beginning to set. "Let's make this tourney one to remember."
Ashara smiled, her eyes filled with love and hope. "We will, Ned. Together."
Eddard Stark's thoughts lingered on the past, but the weight of the present and future pulled him back to reality. As the preparations for the tourney continued around him, he found himself yearning for the quiet, familiar comfort of the North. He missed his keep, the Wolf's Den, and the simple, honest life it represented.
The Wolf's Den, also called the Den, was an ancient castle along the White Knife in White Harbor. Its crumbling black walls loomed over the inner harbor, housing the bustling life of White Harbor. Eddard missed the Den's barracks, its solid stone walls, and the oak and iron doors that spoke of strength and resilience. The memories of his time there, the sense of duty and honor, filled him with a deep sense of longing.
The ground floor of the Wolf's Den contained a barracks, a place of camaraderie and brotherhood. One of the castle's cells, unexpectedly comfortable and possibly once a lordling's bedchamber, had been a sanctuary of sorts. Eddard remembered the hearth large enough to hold a kettle, the privy in a corner nook, and the floor of warped planks. It was a place of history, of roots deeply embedded in the land and its people.
"The Wolf's Den feels like it's a part of me," Eddard said softly to Ashara as they walked. "I miss it terribly. After all this is over, I wish to return to the North. It's where I belong."
Ashara looked at him with understanding in her eyes. "I know, Ned. The North is in your blood. But for now, let's make the best of this time. It's important for our children and for the realm."
Eddard nodded, his thoughts turning to their son, Jon. "I hope for a good future for Jon. He deserves a life of honor and purpose."
The Wolf's Den was more than just a castle; it was a symbol of the Starks' enduring legacy. The godswood of White Harbor, located within the Den, was a place of reflection and reverence. Its heart tree, a massive weirwood with limbs that passed through walls and windows, stood as a testament to the ancient faith of the North.
A door in the godswood led to a barrel-vaulted cellar with walls covered in salt and a floor sloshing with seawater. Past other cellars were rows of smaller, foul-smelling cells. Pushing on a certain blank wall led to a long tunnel that ran below the Castle Stair, secretly connecting the Wolf's Den with the New Castle. The history and mystery of the place were deeply ingrained in Eddard's soul.
As they walked through the encampment, Eddard spoke of his home with a mixture of longing and pride. "The Wolf's Den has always been a place of strength. Its walls have seen countless winters and still stand strong. It's a reminder of who we are and where we come from."
Ashara listened, her heart warming to his words. "One day, we will return there, Ned. And Jon will grow up knowing the true strength of the North."
Eddard and Ashara stopped by a quiet spot overlooking the bustling preparations. The sounds of laughter and excitement filled the air, but their thoughts were with their family and the future.
"I want Jon to grow up with a sense of honor and duty," Eddard said. "To know what it means to be a Stark of the North. The world is changing, but some things must remain constant."
Ashara nodded. "He will, Ned. He has your strength and my spirit. He will be a fine man, one the North can be proud of."
Eddard smiled, his heart lifting. "Yes, he will. And we will guide him every step of the way."
The evening settled in, casting a soft glow over Lannisport. Eddard and Ashara returned to their tent, ready to face the days ahead with the strength and unity that had always defined their bond. The memories of the past would always be with them, but it was the future they looked to now, with hope and determination.
As the final preparations were completed, the stage was set for a grand celebration. The tourney at Lannisport promised to be a spectacle of valor, skill, and camaraderie. The lords and ladies of the realm were gathered, ready to honor their king and celebrate their unity.
Rhaegar stood with his family, looking out over the bustling city. "This tourney will be a testament to our strength and unity," he said, his voice filled with determination. "Let us celebrate our victory and look to the future with hope and pride."
Rhaella nodded, her eyes shining with pride and love. "Together, we will build a stronger realm."
And so, with the preparations complete and the stage set, the Targaryen family and the lords and ladies of the realm prepared to celebrate their victory. The song of ice and fire continued, its next verses yet to be written.