CHAPTER 1
(Royal Progress)
ROBB STARK
Lyarra Snow - his beautiful bastard sister - was singing again. They were in Winterfell's great hall, half the keep had turned up to hear her sing and play the high harp. She had a silky voice that charmed your ears and heart, it was a voice that could make even his Mother weep. His Mother - Lady Stark - was not fond of Lyarra, she maintained a dignified air of indifference towards her, she avoided Lyarra and Lyarra avoided her.
Robb could forgive his Mother of her petty indifference, but when her mother tried to encourage him and his other siblings to act like her, he put his foot down. As did his other siblings, with the exception of Sansa, but her dislike of Lyarra was due to jealously of Lya's ethereal beauty and musical talent. Arya clung to Lyarra like she would melt into thin air if she let go, and Bran and Rickon followed her everywhere as her sworn shields, wielding wooden swords.
Lyarra's hair was as silky as her voice. Her black hair cascaded down like a waterfall down to her waist. Her face - like her name - was snow white, not pallid, it was pure and smooth. Her lips were like stuffed pillows, and her eyes were purple and haunting. Her nose was as cute as a button, and when she smiled it was like the Old Gods were blessing you.
Robb knew he loved her. No! Robb knew he was in love with her. Every night in bed, he wished he was sharing it with Lyarra, like when they were little. He wanted her head tucked beneath his chin, nuzzled in the crook his neck. He wanted to feel her lithe body draped naked over him, like a blanket. Those were the tame fantasies. Other scenarios would follow. Scenes of Lyarra bouncing up and down on his cock, her melodic voice begging him to never stop. He wanted to take her in every position, he wanted to take her like a bitch, to drive her into the bed, to make her scream that she was his. Alerting anyone that was listening, that Lyarra was his mate.
Then he remembered how futile those dreams were. He was going to be Lord of Winterfell, and the rest of the Lords of the North would not stand Robb marrying and bedding his sister. They were not Targaryen's. He would marry a nice Northern girl - Alys Karstark if his Father had his way - and Lyarra would marry ... the thought of Lyarra in another's arms filled him with an ugly rage and venomous jealously. Lyarra was HIS!
If only everyone else realized that. Whenever neighbouring Lords came to Winterfell to beseech his Lord Father for aid, or for any business, they would bring their young sons with them. And they all wanted Lyarra.
He could see it in the glint in their eyes, their slacked jaw expressions whenever she looked at them. Torrhen Karstark had made the mistake of asking her to dance, when they came last year for a feast, and to push their sister Alys onto him, as if she could compare to Lyarra ... Robb had watched them dance like a hawk, refusing all dance partners, he had almost beaten Torrhen right there and then, when he dared put both his hands on her lower waist. Instead, he kept his cool, and waited until they sparred then next day. He hoped Torrhen still hurt even then.
Almost every few months a raven would arrive in rookery, proposing a marriage between some Lords some and Lyarra - Robb made sure to burn those scrolls. However, the ravens were so frequent he couldn't destroy them all and some proposal invariably reached his Lord Father.
It was an open secret in the north, that the only person more protective of Lyarra than Robb Stark, was his father Lord Eddard. Lord Stark never let Lyarra outside the castle walls alone, she had at least a couple guards with her. She never came with them to visit other keeps, and whenever any Southern Lords visited, she was hidden away for their entire visits.
When Robb wasn't swatting away potential suitors from outside Winterfell, he was fending off men - and a few women - from inside Winterfell. He had seen Theon - his best friend - stare a little too long at Lyarra recently, no doubt hoping his father would make them a match. Then there was Arya. Arya was about twelve - almost thirteen - and Robb was pretty sure she was in love with Lyarra too. She spent half her nights in Lyarra's bed (lucky bitch) and half her days coming up with excuses to touch her.
Robb was brought out of his brooding as Lyarra stopped her singing. The Great Hall rang with clapping and sobbing.
Robb raced over to wear Lyarra sat - in the middle of the hall, knocking Arya out the way as he did.
"Beautiful as always little sister." I said kissing her chastely on the cheek.
"Thank you, big brother, it was a new song, I wasn't sure if you'd like it." She replied looking up at me with those wide purple eyes, in that coy way of hers, that drove me insane with lust and love.
"I wasn't talking about the song Lyarra." I said quietly
She blushed and was saved from responding by the arrival of Maestar Luwin. He shuffled quickly through the crowd and up to the dais towards my Lord Father. In his hand was a scroll. Not another bloody marriage proposal! It wasn't.
The scroll was sealed with three dragons in red wax. It was a Royal Seal! What did the Targaryen's want?
The hall went deadly quiet as my Lord father took the scroll. The North was quite removed from all the other kingdoms, we were afforded more independence, therefore it was always something serious when the King sent a raven.
We all watched with bated breath, as my father read the contents. When he finished, he looked down at us all from the high table.
He cleared his throat and spoke. "King Rhaegar Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Rhoynar and The First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm, is glad to announce his first royal progress since the Greyjoy Rebellion. The progress shall culminate in the North, at Winterfell, where a Tourney shall be held in honour of the event."
Silence followed the proclamation. I looked around the room, My Father was stoic, but I could see a flicker of anger in his cold grey eyes. It was no secret my father hated Rhaegar Targaryen, he blamed him for seducing his sister, my aunt Lyanna Stark, and setting off a chain of events that would see his father, brother murdered, and his sister dead in childbirth, the child dead with her. They were all buried in the crypts.
My Mother, once she got over the initial shock looked delighted, clasping Sansa's hands, sharing a conspiratorial look, it was common knowledge that Sansa wanted to be a Queen. And Prince Aegon was currently unmarried.
Arya looked excited too. Though not for the same reasons. She was no doubt relishing meeting famous knights and watching them hack at each other in the melee. Bran and Rickon were of the same mind.
I looked at Lyarra wondering what she made of the news. She looked sad.
It was often said that she bore a great resemblance to my aunt Lyanna, which meant she would be kept under lock and key, away from the Targaryen's for their entire visit. Two weeks trapped in doors, away from her horse (Winter), her harp, and her swords. Lyarra loved sword fighting, and I only assented to help train her, so she could protect herself from other men. She was getting quite good, a sharp little thing, fiendishly quick and difficult to catch.
I felt sorry for Lyarra, it was not fair that she should be cooped up, while everyone else had fun. But then I remembered, how many young unattached Lords would be there, I realized it was all for the best. Lyarra was mine. And mine alone.
KING RHAEGAR
Gods, why did everything remind him of Lyanna?
They had just past the twins and had just paid an awful toll - not gold, no, they had to spend the night with that old lech Walder Frey- and were making their way to the neck, their destination The North. He deliberately left the north last, in his Royal Progress, putting off the pilgrimage to his great loves homeland to the last moment.
A familiar face received them. Howland Reed. He was the small Cranogman that used to tag along with Lyanna at Harrenhal.
Along with Howland's small entourage he brought with him memories. Good memories made painful by tragedy.
Gods, why did everything remind him of Lyanna?
FLASHBACK:
Giggling. Galloping. The wind.
"Come back Sir! In the name of your prince" Shouted Rhaegar at the famous and mysterious Knight of the Laughing Tree.
All he wanted to do was was talk to the man, to tell him to disappear. His father had bid him find the knight and kill him, fearing he was traitor who meant to mock and kill him.
He was going to have to do something about his father soon. The coo he was planning was beginning to pick up steam. He didn't want to kill his father, he loved him, for the man he used to be, no, King Aery's would gently be removed from power, and deposited at Dragon Stone where he could do no harm.
Rhaegar held no malice for the short scraggly Knight, in fact he had rather admired his ability to sit a horse. Even now the Knight was running rings around him, his Kings-guard Sir Arther Dane and his small group of loyal guards.
The Knight was laughing at us. Which only spurred us on to greater anger and failed attempts to catch him.
However, the end of the chase was near. We were no longer in open fields, but a dense woodland. I bid my men spread out in a net and soon the Knight was in grasping distance. His horse got stuck in some brambles, and I took my chance.
I leaned forward and tugged the man off the horse. He was surprisingly light.
He clattered to the floor and tried to hobble away. I took notice then how feminine the Knight looked in his armor, his hips were wide and his hobble/run, a tad girly.
I cornered him by a tree and stalked towards him, Sir Arther by my side, sword at the ready.
Towering over him, I saw the Knight had no weapons on him, there was no need for caution.
"Please don't hurt me your grace, I was just having a bit of fun"
His voice was softer than it had any right to be, and I detected from her accent that the knight was northern.
"We're not going to hurt you sir. "I assured him. "I just need to know who you are, warn you, then send you on your way."
"Warn me?"
"My Lord Father has bid me kill you on sight." That was the wrong thing to say. The man tried to break free, but he didn't get far, I put my hands on his shoulders, restraining him.
"I'm not going to kill you! Calm down sir. I just need to know who you are, to check you're not a threat, and then you're free to leave, provided you don't come back." With that statement I pulled off the man's helmet, revealing ...
A girl.
A beautiful young girl, who's beauty was not diminished by her dishevelled appearance. Her eyes were like shimmering grey stars, set in a long face, that on anyone else might look like a horse, but it suited her. Her hair was inky blank and matted from rubbing against her helmet.
The moonlight (for it was night) chose that point to emerge from the clouds and put its ethereal spotlight on Lyanna, subliming her beauty to empyreal grace.
"You're the Stark girl." I said in surprise, remembering her from when they paid homage to my father earlier.
She nodded meekly, her lips in a slight pout.
"Why? Why ... this? I said, gesturing to her get-up.
"Because some stupid squires assaulted my father's banner-men, Howland Reed, I taught them better. Just because you come from a great house, doesn't mean you can treat people like dirt. Rich or Poor, we still shit, all the same!" She said this very quickly, and very angrily. "Sorry for saying shit your grace." She added. Then she realized she said it again and covered her mouth in embarrassment.
She was adorable. The girl had no filter. She didn't have a deceitful bone in her body, so different from everyone he knew in Kings Landing.
Elia would love her. And she did.
Later that night, Arther smuggled her into our quarter's at Harrenhal, while I informed my father that the mystery Knight had slipped away.
I returned to my room to my find that my wife had dressed Lyanna up in some of her less revealing dresses. It was a pretty blue number, that left her sleeves and neck exposed.
Elia was laughing at something Lyanna had presumably said and was touching her arm with one hand, while her other hand revelled in Lyanna's hair.
When Elia saw me arrive, she grinned. "Hello husband, what a wonderful anniversary gift you have given me." She said in her Dornish drawl.
Lyanna flushed, and Elia pinched her cheek winking. I walked over to kiss my wife; it was a long and passionate kiss. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lyanna flush again and try to pull away.
My wife was having none of it, she kept a hold of Lyanna keeping her in close proximity.
"Can you too stop bloody kissing?!" Lyanna said finally.
Elia laughed and pulled me in for another quick smooch.
"You're such a prude Lyanna, honestly. You'll have to get used to watching me kiss the prince, when we go back to Kings Landing." Elia exclaimed.
My ears pricked up at this. Lyanna in Kings Landing? Lyanna looked confused too. "I can't come with you to Kings Landing!" She said confused.
"Well of course you must. I need a new lady in waiting, and all the other applicants are boring. You're simply perfect, my dear"
"I can't go - my Father - "
"Lord Stark will let you come; it would be political suicide not too."
"But -"
"No but's." Elia said, silencing her with a kiss on the cheek.
"But, I'm betrothed."
"What?" As quick as flash, my wife's dornish temper reared its head. Jealously and outrage flooding her features. "That's absurd, you're not betrothed."
"Well I am."
"To whom?"
"Robert Baratheon."
"That Pig!? He beds a different wench every night, you'd never be happy with that oaf!
"He's not - well - maybe - he might change - he's -"
Lyanna then burst out sobbing. "I know! I know what he is. I don't want to marry him. But my father -"
"Shh. Shh. Put away those tears. Don't waste them on Robert Baratheon" said Elia, pulling her into a hug. Lyanna nuzzled into her breasts - she was a small thing compared to Elia - like a puppy, like the direwolf on her sigil.
Elia led Lyanna over to our bed, and nodded to me to join her, we sat either side of Lyanna, sand-witching her in comfort.
"I know (sob) there's no point (sob) crying. It's hopeless!" Lyanna cried; sound muffled by Elia's ample bosom.
"Not as hopeless as you might think, my little she-wolf." I said, finally speaking. Lyanna looked up; tears wet on her face.
"What do you mean?" She said.
"You forget who you're talking to ... I'm The crown prince of the seven kingdoms, if I say you shan't marry Robert Baratheon. Then you won't."
"But I must marry someone, Father will insist."
"The Dragon must have three heads Lyanna." I said. Lyanna squinted at me in confusion. Elia however caught my eye. Her eyes brimmed with hope, passion and love.
She knew that Aegon would be her last baby, but she desperately wanted me to help fulfil the prophecy. She was also Dornish, which meant she had certain appetites that men alone could not satisfy. So, we had decided on finding me a second wife.
It had to be someone we both liked, who was pure of heart, and someone we could grow to love. We had scoured the realm for potential candidates. There was Cersei Lannister - but she was too covetous and vain, Lysa Tully - she was mad. Her Sister Catlyn Tully - nice enough, but she was happily betrothed to Brandon Stark. All the woman we looked at just felt wrong. We were beginning to think we would never find anyone.
And here -the answers to all prayers - sat. A gorgeous, exotic beauty, wild, un-pretentious, non-duplicitous, kind, brave, strong, loyal, and an exciting young woman. Lyanna Stark was everything we ever wanted and more.
END OF FLASHBACK.
Howland Reed bowed and shook my hand, bringing me out of my reverie. The requisite homage and small talk was made, and then we go to the point of our meeting. Before I visited every major lords keep, I made sure I knew everything about their family, their names and temperament, beforehand, it made my subjects feel valued and important.
"Lord Reed I was hoping you could brief me on the Stark family."
"Of course, your grace." Said Howland in his quiet rasp. "What do you know about them so far?"
"I know Lord Stark of course. Through Lya - I know he married Catelyn Tully and has three ... four children?"
"Six. Five true born. One bastard your grace. "Said Howland quickly.
"And their names and ages?"
"The heir. Robb Stark - "
"Named after Robert Baratheon." I stated cooly.
"Yes ... he's a good lad. A man grown now, about Sixteen. He's as honourable as his Lord Father, a devil with a broad sword, and has a good mind for war. He will make an excellent Warden of The North one day. "
"It's good to my son will have competent Stark in Winterfell, when I'm gone."
"Indeed. The next oldest is Sansa Stark. She's fourteen, a lovely creature, enamoured with tales of courtly chivalry. Sensible, polite. Well versed in the womanly arts. She'll make a great wife one day." Howland said.
Make a great wife. Was he hinting at a betrothal between Aegon and Sansa?
"Continue."
"Next, we have Arya Stark, she's got the wolfs blood that one. A total tomboy and would rather role around in the mud than dance. She's twelve, almost thirteen now, I think."
I smiled at that. There was echoes of Lyanna in her.
"And lastly, we have Bran and Rickon. Brans ten. A curious and kind child. Less martial than his brother, but smarter, I think. He's not a bad shot with a bow and arrow, he is amiable, and terrifies his mother with his penchant for climbing. Rickon ... Rickon's not anything yet, a boy of four, he like's fighting and loves his family."
"An admiral trait." I observed. "What about the bastard?" Was it my imagination or was there a flicker of disquiet in his eyes, every time the 'bastard' was mentioned. It was understandable, his Lord was known for his honour, which was stainless with one exception, one small smudge marred it. Not the rebellion, all the Lords agreed, his revolt was justified, no, his stain was in human form. A bastard child, sired in the war, after just marrying his wife.
He remembered how odd it was hearing that Eddard Stark had a bastard, it was around the time Stark returned to the capital with Lyanna's coffin - and the tiny coffin for Visenya - his dead child - her coffin was no bigger than a shoe box.
STOP IT! Don't think about that now. You can't tear up in front of your subjects.
"Her names Lyarra Snow, your grace, she's fifteen, she's treated well, a nice girl, very shy, so you might not see her much during your stay."
That's it? He was liberal with information about the true-born Starks, why stint on the bastard? Perhaps he was ashamed of his Lord's child. That would be a shame, he had thought in the North people were more accepting of children born on the wrong side of the sheets.
Exposure to his brother in laws bastards had shown him that children born out of wedlock were no different from true-borns, it was only how they were treated that differentiated them.
So, Lyarra was fifteen. The same age Visenya would have been. Lyanna would be ...
Gods, why did everything remind him of Lyanna?
