Chapter Text
i. When Lyarra Stark hears that her daughter is going to King's Landing the cup of mead in her hands crashes to the floor. Her reaction would've been made more understandable if she'd followed with a small exclamation of joy. Instead dread is etched on her features. "Why?" she asks hurriedly, hands gripping her husband's arm. "Why would you send our little blue rose there?"
Rickard shrugs her hands away. "It is time for her to let go of her mother's skirts." He sits down. "She can familiarise herself with the other houses and perhaps even find prospective matches."
"Prospective matches?" the woman parrots. "Rickard, she is not at all interested in making matches."
"Not now, but she will be," he assures her with an ease which baffles Lyarra. "By making friends among these other girls, she will be recommended to brothers, cousins, heads of houses. All that with as little expense to us as possible."
"Well, it does make sense, I suppose." Except she still doesn't want her daughter to go. "But we could always find her a husband here."
"The King orders it, we must obey." And that is that, so Lyarra calls for a new cup of mead and sits down by the fire.
ii. Far from displaying her mother's grace when taking the news, Lyanna chokes on her water. Benjen laughs at her so hard that he falls off the bed. Despite knowing the pain he must be feeling, Lyanna throws one of her slippers at him. "But Nan, I do not want to go!" She looks at her caregiver for help.
"Your father has already made up his mind," her mother interferes. "You are to go to King's Landing and that is the end of it. It shan't be bad, Lyanna. There will be a lot of ladies your age, and I dare say you will be making many friends."
Friends indeed, the young woman thinks. Friends who will be talking and sewing and marriage and whatever it is that ladies talk about all day long. She'll go insane. Or at the very least she'll commit murder. That would serve her parents well.
"Is this because I refused Baratheon's offer?" She almost wishes she had accepted. But then again, she doesn't. Indeed, King's Landing is infinitely better than Robert's bed.
"Why do you ask? Have you changed your mind?" Her mother looks – dare Lyanna say it – hopeful.
"Not at all," she replies.
"Then King's Landing it is," Lyarra settles the argument.
iii. "If you want me to, I'll come there too," Benjen tells her quite seriously when he takes the time to between shoving cold meats and fresh bread in his mouth.
"Not with manners like yours," Lyanna mutters under her breath, daintily taking a bite out of her own food. But she is touched by his offer, so she gives him a smile, thanking the gods his hearing is not all that good. "You would?"
Benjen gives her a sidelong look and nods his head enthusiastically. "I could see the Kingsguards and become a squire."
And just like that Lyanna's elation deflates. The Kingsguards. She should have knows her brother wouldn't offer to come with her from the goodness of his heart. "I'm sure it would break our mother's heart, little brother. Nay, you must stay, and in the absence of Brandon and Eddard, be of help to our father and of comfort to our mother." Her little speech attracts the looks of their parents who are probably wondering if some sort of charm had been placed upon their daughter. Lyanna grimaces. She can be mature when the situation calls for it.
Sliding a piece of meat in her apron, Lyanna excuses herself from the table. She is no longer hungry. The meat she throws to the dogs when no one is looking.
iv. Nan is sent out of her room before she has finished braiding her hair, and Lyanna cannot help but give her mother a mildly irritated look. Lyarra, who knows her daughter all too well, ignores the glare and sits on the edge of the bed. "Let me finish that for you," she says softly, taking the braid and continuing the work. "Do you have anything you wish to ask of me, daughter?"
"Have you ever been there?" Lyanna grudgingly accepts her fate by now. "Is it very different from the North?"
"Not as much as you would expect," the mother replies. "It is certainly warmer, and there is a greater variety of flowers to be seen, if you care for those." Which her daughter doesn't, by the small sound she makes. "There are of course the Knights and Maesters that can be found there, not even mentioning the visitors from Essos."
That gets Lyanna's interest. "And they bring with them all sorts of wonders, don't they?"
"Ah, for sure. The market is always full there. But you shall find out when you get there." For which reason she hands her daughter a small purse of coins. "I have saved these for another occasion, but I think they will be better used in this one."
v. Lyanna is not the only girl going South. But she might as well have been, because she won't keep company with the Ryswell girls if she can help it. They are older than her and not particularly friendly. There are others she does not know. Lyanna hardly pays any mind to them. The Ryswells she knows simply because the younger sister – Barbrey she is called – has a fondness for her eldest brother, Brandon. She is almost sorry for then as Brandon is not the most constant of men. She would have done better to set her eyes on Ned. But then again, all the females tend to flock to Bradon for some reason that is still unclear to Lyanna – she can only presume they are desperate for a higher position, or otherwise blind to the quieter, but of much better quality charms of her second brother.
But she is stopped from further contemplating the advantages of a match with Ned – any woman would be lucky to have his love, for his heart once gives, is not likely to change – by a violent shaking of the wheelhouse. They must be stopping for a short rest. Finally; there is only so much a woman can take.
vi. Catelyn Tully is one of the few intelligent beings Lyanna is fortunate in finding amongst all the featherbrains she is forced to socialise with. Her sister though, is not so lucky. But Lyanna puts up with her from the moment Catelyn introduces them. "I do not mean to be rude," Lyanna says as they are stretching their feet near a small river, "nay, actually, I do mean to be rude; why exactly is your sister so very fond of speaking of this Petyr Baelish?"
The redhead shrugs. "She says she loves him, but father won't allow them to court."
"Then she should've ran away with him," Lyanna points out. Catelyn laughs at that. "You don't agree?"
"It is not that simple," she manages to get out. "Do you not know why we are going to King's Landing?"
It does occur to Lyanna that there is more to the situation than what her parents had told her, but she never did think they would send her into the fray without proper protection. Unfortunately that is exactly what they seem to have done. Lyanna looks at Catelyn and tries to calm her wildly beating heart, but even as the words leave her mouth, she can already taste the bitterness, "Why exactly are we going to King's landing?"
vii. There are gentle ways of breaking delicate news to maidens; ways that won't send them spiralling into a catatonic state for at least five minutes, but people with little experience are hardly suspected to possess such knowledge. So Catelyn is nothing but straightforward. "How can you not know that the Prince is looking for a wife?"
"How can I be expected to know anything like that?" Lyanna complains as she enters the wheelhouse that hold Catelyn and some other ladies of the Riverlands. "I though Targaryen married within their own House."
"Normally they do, but there are times when they venture past the limits of their extended family. I suppose the Prince just did not find someone," Catelyn offers with an enigmatic smile. "This is an opportunity."
"A curse, more likely," Lyanna murmurs. "But surely he does not need all the noble ladies of the realm to be presented before him."
"I'm sure he doesn't, but his father seems of another opinion," Cat counters. "My lord father told me it was actually King Aerys who pushed to have us all in the Capitol."
As if that helps Lyanna any. "Ah, I see," she says for lack of anything better. "Then we can do naught but comply."
viii. "This is ridiculous!" Lyanna exclaims as she spies a girl of thirteen climbing out of a wheelhouse. "You weren't joking when you said all the noble maidens of Westeros were invited." And she uses the term invited loosely. "Look at her. I bet she's not had her moon's blood for longer than a couple of moon turns."
Catelyn nods her head in sympathy. At nine-and-ten she is ready for marriage. Lyanna at her six-and-ten can too be considered a candidate, but some of the girl here are probably not past the time when a doll is an appreciated gift. "He is not likely to choose any of them."
Lyanna almost rolls her eyes. Catelyn is good-looking, tall and slender, with a river of flaming hair and big blue eyes, and she is genuinely sweet, if a bit forceful when she makes her arguments. If she were a man, Lyanna is sure she would be conquered by the eldest Tully sister's charms. As it is, the two of them are on good terms, on the way to becoming fast friends. "Nay, he isn't." The better she think on it the more it makes sense that the Prince would wed someone like Catelyn Tully.
ix. King's Landing is the kind of place that impacts one strongly upon first viewing it; by which Lyanna means that one either loves the Capitol or hates it. "It is not as bad as you expected, is it?" Catelyn asks as they pass Baelor's Sept.
"It is certainly impressive," Lyanna confesses. She is in awe of it. "But what I really want to see is the market."
Lyanna is content to admire whatever they pass. The North is big, true, but it does not boast the elegance of the Sothern courts. The North is old and grand, but sometimes the new and beautiful is a welcomed sight. Not that Lyanna means to be at all enchanted by this life. She just finds that some aspects appeal to her – and it might not be a bad thing. She thinks of her mother's words. It seems Lyarra Stark was right about something – not that Lyanna does want to admit it, even in her own mind.
But beautiful or not, she will return to her own home. Determination burns inside of her. Her parents must have been aware that she has little chance of catching the prince's attention, which is why they did not even mention anything to her.
x. Is it possible for one's head to implode from anger? Lyanna certainly thinks so. The reason stands a few feet away from her. The creature is apparently named Cersei Lannister. She is the daughter of the Lord of Casterly Rock – the same man who us the King's hand. Of course that is no excuse for her behaviour, despite what the she seems to think.
"You could leave the poor girl alone," Lyanna comments, coming between the lioness and her prey. "She certainly didn't do anything to you." She doesn't want to have to bare her fangs on the first day, but the Lannister girl can't really seem to care about the wishes of others.
What Lyanna doesn't know is that if on her little brother scratching and biting works, it doesn't on ladies. Here the weapons are smiles and eyes and jewels and pretended coyness. But she find out soon enough. Cersei huffs and crosses her arms over her – ample, to Lyanna's chagrin; the other is only a year older in age, but many more in body – chest. "Just keep out of my way, and I won't have you flogged."
"That shouldn't be difficult at all," Lyanna returns, taking the other girl's hand – because the one she protects is really just a child – and departs, Catelyn following them with Lysa in tow.
xi. Rhaegar is not sure if he should be amused or horrified at his parents' latest scheme. He opts for the former, if only because the latter would make him run back to Dorne – and that is never a good sign; if he, a warrior, tucks tail and runs from a few young ladies, what exactly does that say about him.
Oberyn grins. He finds this much too amusing to keep quiet. "So, are you still of a mind that you should not have taken that ship to Pentos when you had the chance?"
The Prince rolls his eyes. "Coming from you, Oberyn, that sounds a lot like you rather want to assume my responsibilities. I am sure you family can do something similar for you if you ask them." The Seven know Rhaegar didn't even have to ask his. He gives the laughing man to his right a withering look. "I just cannot believe they would do something like this."
"Well, you're not exactly getting any younger," Arthur points out. "And you do need an heir."
"I have Viserys," Rhaegar replies.
"I mean an heir of your own. Or at least a wife. It's a simple matter of public image."
xii. There are times when Rhaegar wonders why he didn't marry Elia Martell when he had the chance. This is one of those many times. His mother gives him a winning smile, which Rhaegar feels obliged to returns. "How was Dorne, my son?" she asks, embracing him. Unfortunately, Elia is happily married and in no position to offer him any help with avoiding his mother's tricks – because he cannot imagine his father coming up with this on his own.
"Dorne was wonderful," he answers in a short manner. He doesn't dare question her yet about the abundance of women that seem to have appeared out of nowhere. "How have you been?"
"Very lonely without you." The Queen gives him another smile. "I have taken the liberty of gathering some noteworthy maidens here. I hope I need not elaborate. You know your duty, my son." Which is to say she does not wish to have to force his hand, but if the need arises she'll not hold back. "Have I made myself clear?" His parents do love him, and Rhaegar is sure they mean well, but he is not exactly thrilled. "At least don't run away like last time."
"That I can do," he promises.
xiii. Promises are double-edged swords. Unfortunately for him, Rhaegar can already feel the blade piercing his skin. It seems he cannot walk anywhere around the Red Keep without coming upon a couple or two of tittering young women. It doesn't bother him that they are here, only that they can't seem to do anything intelligent – because no one will ever convince him that he can fall in love with a pretty face and an empty head.
How can his mother not see they are mere baubles to a man like him? He needs a woman he can talk to, not an ornament.
A more religious man would look for salvation in the Sept, Rhaegar merely asks his mother how soon he can start actually looking at these women. Aye, he is that eager to send them back home. Hopefully it can he achieved in a short time, or he might go insane.
"You should look at this like the opportunity it is," Arthur tries to help him see the good in the situation.
"The opportunity to learn more about stitching, you mean?" He receives an annoyed look for that. "Would you feel any more comfortable than me?"
"Probably not," his friend acquiesces.
xiv. He does try to pay attention, he really does. Rhaegar cannot seem to follow the decidedly one-sided conversation lady this or that carries on by sheer force of will it would seem. He nods his head and smiles – it would be rude not to. Who is she again? A Duskendale? A Westerling? A Spicer? He has no idea. He must be coming off as shy because the girl actually slides this much closer to him. Rhaegar barely manages not to let his smile slip. He halts her process by distracting her attention. "And you do not miss your family, my lady? Coming from such a loving environment, you must find their absence a bit perplexing."
"I suppose I do, my lord" the blonde replies with an easy smile. "But I am very happy to be here."
"Indeed?" he hopes to make her talk and forget about coming closer.
It works marvellously, but his eardrums are not thanking him. His head won't either by the time he is through. This is what the circle of the damned must feel like; he resolves to have more food the next time around. A lady wouldn't eat and speak at the same time – at least he hopes so.
xv. As it turns out he doesn't need the food. The next lady he meets is a child. He looks at the slight – he can't call her woman – girl and smiles. He does not need to dissuade her from trying her seduction skills on him, the child can barely string two words together in his presence, so he somehow steers the conversation to a topic she is sure to be comfortable with.
This one he doesn't even seriously consider and wonders if his mother had spent too much time in the sun. He will have a word with her about trying to get him to wed girl old enough to be his daughters. But for now he smiles at the enthusiasm with which his guest recounts her adventures shared with older brother and younger sisters.
By the end of this meeting he is in a better mood and confident that he can face the other candidates without whishing to slam his head into a wall, repeatedly. He is sure she will find a good man one day, the little lady who now smiles shyly at him from behind a glass of iced milk. He barely manages to swallow his laughter at the thought of marrying someone like her.
xvi. The stables are one of the few places in which he is in no danger of meeting potential brides. Or at least so Rhaegar thought up until today. He hasn't exactly been counting on the fact that some of the young ladies might be interesting in the horses – not because it is impossible, but he just assumed they were keeping the company of one another and not really allowed to go wherever they want. The woman looks over her shoulder, but at first seems to miss him even as her eyes pass over him. She hums softly – a song Rhaegar is not familiar with. But her mistake is short-lived, just like his elation.
She turns around with a sharp move. Her mouth opens as if she wants to say something, but she cannot seem to make a sound. She stands there frozen. Rhaegar mirrors her. And so they remain until somehow the woman finds enough of her voice to let out a shriek.
Rhaegar's confusion is quickly to be removed. The horse seems to hold a fondness for its mistress' hair. "Does this look like straw to you?" she yells at the animal, trying to pull away. But by raising her voice she seems to have startled it.
xvii. Rhaegar helps her because it is the right thing to do – but not before taking the time to let himself be amused. It's not an easy task as he isn't all that great with horses, especially untrained ones like the colt who has developed such an affection for the maiden's hair. Yet Rhaegar cannot figure out just how he could've confused wit with straw. It may be straight, but the colour is dark and it is not at all rough.
By the time he manages to convince the animal to let go, the lady has stopped shaking and seems to have retreated into a space all of her own. She barely even notices when her hair is free. Rhaegar actually has to call her attention.
He expects to be thanked, or at least given a name – and right so, he has spent the better part of an hour helping her. But it seems the maiden is of another opinion for her eyes widen, her face turns – a rather fetching – shade of red and she turns around and bounds away. She is fast on her feet, he'll give her that.
The Prince looks after her and blinks slowly. "What in the name of the Seven?" He looks at the horse. "I don't think she likes you very much."
xviii. He will not think about the mysterious lady from the stables, Rhaegar tells himself as he waits to meet the next woman his mother wants him to consider. But Rhaegar has always liked a good mystery. He cannot help it that his mind itches to know who that woman is. The evening is a struggle. He wants nothing more than to send this girl back to her rooms, pretend an illness or a sudden bout of anything. How can women talk so much and yet say so little? She is good looking, aye, but her conversation leaves something to be desired.
There are flowers in her hair. She is blonde, a light shade, and the flowers are white. He should compliment her on those. If he can pitch a word in that is. The woman hardly seems to mind his silence, but thankfully she keep well away from him. He thinks that she rather had someone waiting for her already.
"You should have refused the invitation," he says. "It could have hardly been expected of you to break a contract of long standing. Even an unspoken one."
"My parents certainly seemed to be of a different opinion." But she thanks him profusely for his understanding and benevolence – and Rhaegar is baffled, because such qualities should not be an exception.
xix. Arthur tries to act like he is not interested. "And why exactly are we standing here?" He sits on a lump of hay, not at all bothered by Rhaegar's pacing. "You should probably slow down, and the stable hands are starting to stare."
"Let them," Rhaegar responds. "So you haven't been able to find out anything at all?"
"Nay. It would surprise even you to know how many dark haired women pass through here." The sarcasm is not lost on Rhaegar, but he chooses not to retaliate, which only leaves Arthur the option of going on. "She is one of the ladies, so you'll eventually meet her. Why are you in such a hurry?"
"So you could ask me." This makes his friend pause. "I do not like not knowing."
"Aye, that is quite clear. But she is not likely to be back here. Didn't you say she ran from you as if the hounds of hell were chasing her?" Arthur laughs much to Rhaegar's vexation.
"If you weren't one of my oldest friends, I would have you flogged," he tells the other man. They both know those are empty words.
"If I didn't know you any better, I might just think you would."
xx. Rhaella seems to have a special talent of knowing when her children try to hide something from her. Matters are no different when it comes to her firstborn. "Have you met anyone you would consider acceptable?"
Rhaegar chews slowly – perhaps ever slower, just so he can have a few more moments to think. Rhaella allows him this short moment s of peace. "They are all of them accomplished young ladies. I am quite unable to say anything concrete."
"Then why exactly do I hear you are looking for a particular young lady among them?" She's caught him. By the look on his face he hadn't expected this. Even when they think they are subtle, men aren't.
"I have my reasons," her son finally says. "And I won't be discussing them anytime soon, lady mother."
So she allows him to keep his secrets awhile longer. This interest of his in a young lady is nothing short of encouraging. Content for now, she return to the food on her plate. But she does give her husband a triumphant look. Aerys looks decidedly uncomfortable. No doubt he is once more disconcerted by his wife's scheming. He should've known her by now. He looks just about ready to give up on her.
xxi. Rhaella considers herself a bright women – if not downright smart, but she has always been told that modesty is appreciated in a woman, for which reason she won't boast – and rather reasonable. She cannot be anything but, what with her three children – four even if she counts her husband – and their constant need for supervision.
"Viserys, don't pull your sister's hair!" she says over the racket of a vase crashing to the floor. "If the two of you don't behave, you'll get no lemon cakes." A look of pure, unadulterated horror crosses the faces of her younger children, followed by disbelief. "I mean it." She doesn't actually, but it's the only way she'll ever get them to stop. Rhaella, for all that she pretends to be a hard taskmaster, hasn't ever even struck her children.
Perhaps that is why they find it so easy to eschew her directions and do exactly as they please. Rhaella is left with no alternative but to call on her hidden weapon. "Put an end to this tomfoolery or your father shall hear about this!" Time stands still and two pairs of violet eyes are fixed on her in dismay.
Finally, some well deserved peace and quiet.
xxii. The Queen congratulates herself on the well-thought out plan. At the same time she keeps her hopes in check. Ah, her son may be cooperating for now, but who can tell when Rhaegar will find it all too much and flee on the first ship to Essos. She is violently attacked by images of her son in ratty clothing, forced to win his bread by selling his sword – the gods know he is good enough to pull it off. But before the full horrifying future can settle in her mind, Rhaella remembers that Rhaegar did promise he will stay until the end.
How very good for her. The mother wonders if she ought to catch a sudden chill or complain of a weak heart – Rhaegar is a loving boy, despite the frequency with which he finds it compulsory to leave once she so much as hints at settling down or grandchildren.
She can hardly wait until it comes Viserys' turn and then her daughter's. Who would do for little Daenerys? Someone young and handsome, and brave. And loving and gentle. Realising that the moment won't come for some time, Rhaella curbs her excitement. "Rhaegar first, and after that we'll see."
xxiii. The marriage between herself and the King was not of her choosing. But Rhaella has learned to live with it, and she is quite comfortable where she is. After three children and almost thirty years between them, it would be foolish to long for anything but what is. So when Aerys enters her rooms, silent as a shadow, she can do little but shiver at his approach. It is not a bad shiver – it's just her body signalling her husband's presence. She greets him cheerfully. His reply is a grunt.
"Now what could have put you in such a foul mood?" she asks, taking him by the hand. "Don't tell me Viserys has been playing with the quills again."
"Nay, the quills are – or rather were in good condition the last I saw them," he answers shortly. Rhaella waits for him to continue. He doesn't.
"I would like to pint out that while we may be close, we are not yet of one mind. I cannot tell what you are thinking if you won't speak to me." Her words are accompanied by a glare. There are times when she thinks he is just as bad as his sons and can only pray Daenerys resembles her alter on.
xxiv. A point of contention between the two of them, her eldest son's marriage crops up again. "Must you be so insistent? He will wed when he feels the need to."
"He will never feel the need to," she replies crossly. "When the likes of Oberyn Martell and Arthur Dayne stand by his side and pull him into all sorts of Dornish pursuits, one can hardly be surprised." There has always been something she didn't quite like about those two, but Oberyn Martell holds a special place in her dislike ever since he dared express a very lewd and inappropriate wish as pertaining to her somewhere in the vicinity of the court ladies. She knows that rules differ from region to region but a little decorum would be most welcome even from such free lovers as the Dornish.
"Not that long ago you were quite adamant that he wed a Dornish bride, need I remind you?" Pointing out her past positions never really makes her any more amenable to letting go of a matter, so the only result it all yields is Rhaella's growing red in the face and quite vocal in her complaints of her son's choice accomplices. "There, there, woman."
xxv. When a woman starts speaking she stops only for two reasons; generally they are: either she has finally made her point or she has worn her victim down as she takes a moment to savour the victory. Rhaella stops the very moment Aerys' lips touch hers. She was in the middle of pointing out the nefarious influence those so called friends have on her son, when her dearest husband sees fit to interrupt her. This one time she will put up with it – only because she quite likes being kissed.
"Why that was the single most rudest thing you have –" she is interrupted yet again.
"I have all night," Aerys tells her with a small smirk, "and if you insist on being difficult even some on the next morning. Our son is a grown man, my dear. Isn't it time you allowed him his freedom of choice?"
"He'll squander it." This time she is the one to initiate the kiss. "I am simply trying to put him on the right path."
"And a wife will accomplish that how?" Aerys questions, clearly not seeing her point.
"You would ask me that?" She is needled, but amused at the same time.
xxvi. Aerys takes his time calming down his wife. He wishes at times that she displayed more maturity – and is rather put out when an image of Joanna Lannister springs to mind – but he does confess there are some advantages to her plotting brilliant mind.
There is certainly never a dull day spent at her side. He wonders where she gets all her energy from. "Somehow, I don't think out son appreciates your meddling as much as you think he does."
"He'll thank me later," his wife assures him, nails scarping gently at his back as she sits on his lap in the chair by the fire. Her fingers take a piece of blood orange and hold it up to his lips. He accepts the morsel. "I don't expect him to fall to his knees and thank his maker-"
"You don't? How interesting." His comment is not appreciated. Rhaella eats the next piece of blood orange – though she doesn't like this fruit all that much.
"Nay, I don't." She is silent for a few moments and just when Aerys was getting ready to think himself the victor she turns the situation around. "You encourage him. If only you would take a firm hand with the boy, he wouldn't act like he does."
xxvii. He should have just chosen a woman to wed his son to, Aerys realises as the sun comes up. Rhaegar would have been much happier. Rhaella would have been ecstatic. And Aerys himself thinks that indeed he would have slept all the better for it. But he hasn't. So now he must watch his son struggle through endless interweaves with lady and after lady, no doubt wishing for salvation.
"How will you ever meet the suitable lady if you lock yourself in the library?" the King asks his son, who is startled slight by the sudden appearance. "You do realise your mother will hunt you down and drag you out herself if you are not down by the time she has finished breaking her fast, do you not?"
"Ah, of course." He is no stranger to his mother's handling, after all, and not at all stupid. "I was just hoping for a few more moments of silence." Rhaegar stares at his father. "Could you not have stopped her?"
"Think you I did not try?" When has anything been able to stop his wife? "Nay, my son, 'tis best we comply and do as she bids." Or face her wrath, which Aerys doesn't want to do."
xxviii. It seems that no one is inclined to take pity on him today, Aerys thinks as even Tywin Lannister hints subtly at matches. "It would benefit us both." And Joanna Lannister smiles somewhere at Casterly Rock, no doubt glad that she has put her husband up to this.
"Indeed," Aerys agrees lightly. Don't they know it is his son that will make the choice and not him? He would laugh if he didn't worry that it would shock Tywin into an early grave. "Is there anything else we should discuss, or have made quite enough decisions for today, my lords?"
They don't exactly look like they don't have anything to say. No doubt all of them have daughters of marriageable age and are willing to foist them upon his oldest son – even the younger one if it doesn't work on the first; let it not be said that the lords of the realm are greedy. While it is commendable that they hold the fate of the realm in such high regard, but Aerys does whish they would show some discretion.
He stands from his seat and leaves the small council with a headache coming on. He dearly hopes his son hurries.
xxix. "Ladies," he murmurs as he passes three young woman. They giggle and Aerys barely holds himself from pointing out that a greeting curtsy should be lower.
The next lady he finds in crouching on the ground, seemingly very interested in the grass. Either that, or she is quite simply out of her mind. "Are you looking for something, my lady?" he asks, signalling for Gerold Hightower to offer her a hand should the need arise.
The young woman looks up and flushes immediately. She jumps to her feet and curtsies – an exemplary demonstration. "Your Majesty." Her voice shakes. "Is he that terrifying?"
"Well, my lady, do you require aid?" he questions again when she fails to answer.
Bright eyes regard him curiously. "I seem to have misplaced my brooch, Your Majesty. It is hardly fair that I detain your valiant guards for so small a trifle."
It is settled. Gerold steps over the low bushes and it occurs to the King that the woman is quite uncomfortable. And how could her brooch have ended all the way down here. Ladies usually prefer the rose garden. Abashed the woman allows Ser Gerold to kneels next to her and describes the lost object to him. Ah, she is a Stark then.
xxx. "I am not certain I should be asking, but why exactly does our daughter have to accompany her brother?" Aerys is reluctant to hand Daenerys over to the Septa, and his daughter even more so to let go of her father. Rhaella is determined to have her way. "Rhaella, why?"
"Because Daenerys hardly ever manages to spend much time in her older brother's company," his wife tells him, mouth pinching in a thin line. "And it would be nice to spend an evening with Viserys and not have them trying to outdo one another in causing mischief. Rhaegar, please!"
"Very well, mother." Daenerys is glad for his acceptance and is well pleased to e taken in her brother's arms. Aerys rather thinks she would go to the arms of anyone that is not her Septa – except for maybe Viserys on account of pulling her hair.
"What are you planning?" he finally gathers the courage to question her after they are alone. "Rhaegar must entertain the lady he meets, not have her watch his sister."
"I merely want to know how the ladies react to children," the Queen offers.
Aerys can do little but beg the gods that the woman his son meets will take good care of his daughter.
xxxi. "Don't do it," Catelyn tells Lyanna seriously as the younger woman takes aim. The mashed peas in her spoon are about to drip over. "She more trouble than she's worth. Is there anything to be won by it?"
"Only revenge," Lyanna replies, her eyes going back to the target. "She threw my brooch out the window. It was my grandmother's." The distraction makes her hand slip and the green food falls on her dress. Lyanna mutters something under her breath and fills another spoon with the substance. "Don't even try to speak to me about mercy; this is far less than she deserves."
She did trip that poor Tyrell girl down the stairs. She could have broken her neck. Lyanna thinks it would be a real pity if no one tried to put the blonde witch in her place. The food flies from its temporary container. As it turns out her aim is not quite perfect. But the green stuff ends up smeared on Cersei's shoulder, and that's good enough for Lyanna. "And that's not even mentioning the straw she dumped on me. Do you know a horse actually started feeding on my hair?" She is still irritated by that episode.
xxxii. Cersei comes rather like a storm. She stomps her way to Lyanna's table, cheeks red and dress stained. "How dare you?" she spews, grabbing Lyanna by the shoulders. Her sharp nails sink into the other's skin despite the protective layer her clothing offers. "If you cannot behave in distinguished company then perhaps you should stay in the stables with your brethrens, you Northern mare!"
But Lyanna is not easily intimidated; she knocks her plate in Cersei's direction, spilling even more food on what looks to be an expensive dress. "My hand slipped," she says without any real apology in her voice. "Are you aware of how thieves are punished, Lady Lannister? Or has your father not told you, yet?"
"You cannot prove anything," Cersei hisses even as her face turns pallid.
"Then don't make me search for proof. I told you I do not want to get in your way, and I won't, so long as you stay out of mine." This is the last truce Lyanna offers. "Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."
The lioness bares her teeth, but she accepts the terms – albeit grudgingly. Yet she still gives Lyanna a chilling glare.
xxxiii. A yelp leaves Cersei's mouth as her leg collides with the edge of Catelyn's chair. "I am so sorry!" the Tully girl offers her sincerest apology. "I hope you are not hurt." Cersei simply glares at her too and stomps away, followed by two girls that seems to be her shadows. "Now she won't leave you alone."
"I know." Yet Lyanna does not seem bothered even when admitting to it. "But how long can we be here for. It's been only a couple of weeks and almost half of us have seen the Prince by now. What is half a moon, anyway?"
"With Cersei, probably unbearable," Catelyn appreciates with a sly smile. The girls at the table laugh. Most of them have suffered some slight or another at the hands of the lioness. "I would watch my back."
"She's already embarrassed me in front of all the persons that mattered. The only thing I have to do is endure a few hours in the Prince's company and then I'll be free to go home and I shall not have to see her face again." Lyanna smiles sweetly at the thought.
It all seems very reasonable. A pity fate has other plan in store.
xxxiv. Catelyn smiles sympathetically when Lyanna finds her bed has been doused in water. She does not mean to tell Lyanna that she knew this would happen, and by the look on her face Lyanna will not appreciate her pointing it out. "You can share with me and Lysa if you do not mind." Her offer is met with a ridiculously thankful smile. She doesn't think Cersei will stop here, but the very least she can do id offer Lyanna some help. "What will you do to her this time?"
The Stark closes her eyes for a moment. "Nothing," is her reply. "I shall let her enjoy this victory of hers. I don't exactly mean to start a war here." It must be killing her, Catelyn decides. "Besides, I wouldn't wish for her to turn on you too. She could do some real damage and I would feel very bad indeed if I ruined your chance at queenship."
"You are quite convinced he will choose me." But the rumour is the Prince is looking for a certain someone amongst them. Catelyn wonders who he is searching for. "You should mind the other candidates too. You could actually impress him if you tried."
xxxv. Lyanna doesn't want to impress anyone. She shifts under the covers, pushing Lysa's hand away. Good gods, she even dreams of Baelish. This is getting out of control. Shoving her towards her sister, Lyanna turns around hoping she won't be taken for the elusive lover – which has quite gotten on her nerves by now, so much so that she hopes he remains elusive. She will drag them to a Septon herself if she has to; anything to stop Lysa from talking in her sleep anymore.
The cover leaves her body quite abruptly. Lyanna yelps at that and turns around once more to recover what is her due. She elbows the younger Tully – albeit gently – and thinks the girl could sleep through an attack led by the barbarians of Essos. The corner finally happens in her hands.
This night is not going to be an easy one, Lyanna can tell. But she grits her teeth and moves closer to Lysa. As if this is the moment she had been waiting for, Lysa's arm shoots over Lyanna's waist and pulls her uncomfortably close. She whispers something nonsensically about sweet Petyr Baelish whom Lyanna is going to kill when she finally meets him.
xxxvi. Rhaegar is happily taking in the woman before his eyes. She is not a wit, but he is having fun. The lady entertains him with the difficulties of court life. "I do not understand how the lady could do something so unladylike. But her aim was not off."
"And who exactly was her unfortunate target?" he asks, taking a sip of his wine so as to not seem to eager. He is certainly sorry to have missed the event. He should convince his mother that they ought to hold a small ball – or something of the like – just to see the dynamics.
Janney Whent smiles. "Cersei Lannister. That much I do know." The perpetrator is unknown to the lady much to Rhaegar's disappointment, but to hear that Cersei Lannister was the target of such an assault makes him temporarily forget that. He lets out a sift chuckle. "I'm afraid Lady Cersei was not half amused, my lord." He gives a curious look and Janney continues, "I've heard her retaliation was not long in the making. There are many rumours of what exactly it entailed; alas I am not certain just how horrible it was. But I shall yet discover it."
xxxvii.A flurry of forgettable faces parade before him for the days to come, and Rhaegar starts despairing of ever finding the lady that hasn't quite left his mind yet. He has noticed that the more important houses have been left towards the end. So he naturally comes to the conclusion that she is indeed of an elevated status. Of course, that in itself means very little to him.
He wonder when he will finally meet her. She is more elusive than dragons, he swears – and he might be happier to find her than to find those fire breathing beasts, anyway. He has been visiting the stables regularly in hopes of catching even a glimpse of her. It's so bad that even Arthur is at a loss by now. Oberyn tries to make light of the situation and earns himself a glare or two and an irritated monologue from the Prince he calls friend. They are quite baffled by his impatience as Rhaegar is arguably the more even tempered out of the three of them and the least likely to show his emotions.
"I bet he won't wait longer than the end of the month before he finally gives up and just looks for her on his own."
xxxviii. Catelyn Tully wonders what has the man before her so distracted. She perceives that the stream of conversation is held more by her than by him. He is not at all impolite, yet not interested either. Her pride smarts, but she recognises a lost cause when she sees one. "If I do not speak out of line, who is she, my lord?"
"I beg your pardon?" He is startled by her frankness, violet eyes burning into hers. "Lady Tully, what are you speaking of?"
"About the lady on you mind, my lord," she replies simply.
"I do not know. She did not give her name." And Catelyn is struck by Lyanna's story about meeting the current Lord of Dragonstone at the stables. "I am usually not this distracted."
"I am certain you are not, my lord." She is quite at a loss. Should she say something? Lyanna would not want her to, but then again Lyanna doesn't know what's good for her. She wrestles with her doubts and tries to find a good way to reveal her knowledge. She doesn't know how to proceed. And what if it is not Lyanna he is thinking about?
Catelyn waits for a sign.
xxxix. Oberyn is this close to taking his friend's harp and throwing it into the path of stomping aurochs. Rhaegar is melancholy. He understands. Actually he doesn't understand, as he doesn't dwell of matters that are beyond his helping. If there is something he cannot have he simply moves on to something that he has access to. "Dayne, make him stop, or I won't be held responsible for my reaction."
Arthur wisely keeps his mouth shut – at least as far as Rhaegar's behaviour is concerned. "He'll get over it." There are not so many ladies left, two dozens at most. "Bear it a while longer, Oberyn." The apathy of his friend's doesn't worry him nearly as much as Oberyn's threats. Rhaegar will eventually find his s mile again when he sees this mysterious woman of his, or he'll run away in search of her if she isn't anywhere among those ladies.
"Play something that doesn't make me want to have my own coffin made," Oberyn explodes, no longer able to take it.
Rhaegar ignores him. It's a useful enough skill when one deals with stubborn Dornishmen, yet something tells Arthur that Oberyn is a notch above others of his own kingdom. Arthur closes his eyes and tries not to be amused at the suffering of others.
He fails miserably.
xl. "I think you're scared," Barbrey accuses Lyanna as she creeps back under the covers. "And rightly so, that Lannister girl could crush you." There is something spiteful about the way she says it. Lyanna rolls her eyes and pulls the covers over her head, hoping to block her voice. "It doesn't really matter even if you stuff wool up your ears, little she-wolf, the threat won't go away." She can hear the older woman chuckle.
Why did she return to his room again, Lyanna wonders. Her legs stretch out. Ah, that's why. At least she won't have to share the bed with Lysa – nay, Lyanna will happily leave the sisters to share the bed and she will take this one here, even if she does have to listen to Barbrey Ryswell's talk. She takes comfort in the knowledge that she won't have to endure all these persons she never likes. The Prince is bound to find himself a woman he liked enough so that he may wed and the rest of them may go home.
But before she sees Winterfell again, Lyanna really wants to pay Cersei back for her latest trick. Her mind searches for the perfect revenge. So many ideas, so little time.