Chapter Text
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings;
How some have been deposed; some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;
Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd;
All murder'd: for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court.
(William Shakespeare, Richard II, 3.2.155-62)
It is a story from a song--a fair maid stolen in the dead of night, and her brothers and her betrothed riding to her rescue. They will tear a kingdom apart, pull a king from his throne, and crown another in his place, all in the name of the fair, stolen maid.
It is a tale that comforts men and reassures them. Even though the knight is too late to save his lady, he gains a kingdom and a queen even fairer than the maid he lost. But the truth is not so simple. A war is not one story; it is thousands speaking at once. We do not know what the maid thought, or the prince’s wife, herself a princess by birth. And other ladies too, whose parts in this tale are further obscured, as often happens when histories are written by men.
This is their story. This was their war.
***
Chapter 1. Lyanna
Lyanna Stark never expected to feel a pang of regret as she passed through the gates of Harrenhal for what she could only imagine was the last time. Lord and Lady Whent had all but bankrupted themselves for their tournament, she'd heard, but they could rest assured it would be remembered. All her disdain for courtly entertainments aside, it had been a thrill to see the knights of the stories at first hand--the Sword of the Morning, Barristan the Bold, and of course the Prince of Dragonstone. Who was another story altogether.
"Lya?" Ned's voice jolted her out of her thoughts. He had drawn up beside her, close enough for her to see the yellowing bruise on his temple from his turn in the lists a few days earlier. "I was hoping to find you."
"And found me, you have," she replied, smiling. "I had hoped to have more time with you, Ned, before you hare off to the Eyrie again. It's a pity you didn't join the masque, while it still existed." When Ned didn't respond, Lyanna studied his face for a moment, trying to remember something she'd wondered about during the feast on the first night. "Why didn't you, Ned? Surely one learns those things in the Vale."
The Eyrie might be a strange castle perched upon a mountainside, but it was nonetheless in the south. If Lord Arryn or the late Lord Baratheon had had any daughters, Lyanna may have found her way there or to Storm's End, but her father had instead kept her at Winterfell with Brandon and Benjen. Besides, the Stormlands bordered the Reach, and everyone knew the Reach was famed for beauty and chivalry.
Ned's ears had gone red. "Not really. Not with Robert around."
"What, dancing is only for girls and eunuchs?" She rolled her eyes.
"Lyanna!"
"What? I know about eunuchs. Really, you're as bad as Brandon."
Ned turned to her, sudden anger in his face, and snapped, "Oh, that I'm not. I can promise you that."
Lyanna frowned. "What has he done?" Ned had hero-worshipped Brandon as a boy, but his years under Lord Arryn's tutelage had made him more critical of faults he'd never noticed before that Benjen excused and that Lyanna did not remark upon. No doubt being around Robert all the time--who was not unlike Brandon in his wilder moods--did not help matters. And yet he won't understand why I might not prefer Robert to be my husband. Trying to explain to Ned that his blindness to Robert's faults was no different than Lyanna's acceptance of Brandon's was as effective and as short-lived as teaching the stable cats not to bring mice into the Great Hall.
Ned just shook his head. "Brandon's a bloody fool, that's all. Nothing to concern you, Lya, I promise."
"Ned, you know I won't stop asking until you tell me."
"Stubborn as ever, Lya." That earned her a smile. "Very well. If you tell me why you and Robert are quarrelling."
Of course he knew about that. "Oh, gods above--"
"Lyanna, did you threaten to break your engagement?"
"He was being unreasonable!" she protested. "Tell me, did you notice anything amiss between me and the prince of Dragonstone?"
"He crowned you the Queen of Love and Beauty?"
He had a point. Even she had not expected that to happen.
She remembered the moment when she realised Prince Rhaegar was coming to her--not to his wife or Ashara Dayne or Cersei Lannister or some other reputed beauty. For a second, she'd wanted to kill him for calling attention to her like this. If Princess Elia had recognised her so easily in armour three days earlier, who else might have guessed? But then he'd held out the crown of blue roses with a smile that made Lyanna's insides twist and, before she knew it, she was taking it from him. Not very discreet, my lord, she'd murmured, and his lips twitched with laughter. Nothing about this tourney has been discreet, Lady Lyanna. Pray forgive me this mummery. It seemed he would never say anything to her that made any sense whatsoever.
But Ned was staring at her now. "I think I can see why Robert was jealous."
"Not you too!" Lyanna could feel her cheeks grow hot. "That's not fair, Ned. I never even wanted to come to this tournament, but it was the only way I would see you, and now you're being hateful." It was a white lie of sorts--of course she'd wanted to come to the tournament just to see all the knights from the stories that had made their way north along the Kingsroad. But she had also wanted to see Ned. It had been far too long since his last visit to Winterfell.
He winced, and Lyanna felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe Ned was right and she did fancy the prince a little, but what red-blooded girl wouldn't? Cersei Lannister had made no secret of it, boasting to her ladies that her father would see her fitted with a royal husband sooner or later and that she--unlike others she might name--was in perfect health. It wouldn't have occurred to Lyanna to even contemplate that. "It isn't fair that Robert fathers bastards in every corner of the Seven Kingdoms--"
"One girl in the Vale and a boy in King's Landing. That's hardly every corner."
"Don't forget the maid in Maidenpool. Besides, you haven't got any, have you?"
Ned's face turned bright red and he suddenly became very interested in his horse's mane.
"As I said," Lyanna went on. "And yet, when one man--a man who, unlike Robert, shows some interest in being faithful to his wife--pays even the slightest speck of attention to me, Robert flies into a rage. Explain to me how that's fair, Ned. Please."
"It isn't, I know, but that's the world, sis."
"Now you really sound like Brandon," she muttered. "A pox on all of you. Stupid men."
"Why did he give you the crown, Lya?" Ned was not quite meeting her eyes and he still looked somewhat ashamed of himself. Though it was unladylike to gloat, Lyanna couldn't help it. "Did he say anything?"
"What?" Lyanna batted her eyelashes at him. "You don't think he just found my wild Northern beauty irresistible?" It was, after all, what he'd announced to the crowd. For the fairest of the northern roses. The thought made her cheeks grow warm again, though she told herself it was stupid.
"Don't be silly, Lya. Father will hear about it and you know he'll have questions." Of course, Ned was right. Ned, rather to her annoyance, was usually right. Even Brandon listened to him sometimes, which was more than could be said for anyone who wasn't their lord father.
Lyanna sighed. "I don't know. He didn't say anything to me." It was a white lie; he hadn't said anything useful. "Well, something about mummers."
"Mummers?" Ned blinked.
"Mummers, mummery, something like that. He's a Targaryen, Ned. Nobody ever claimed they made sense."
Ned was frowning down at his horse's mane. "You saw what King Aerys did to Jaime Lannister, Lya."
"Of course I did. It was rankest injustice and I don't care who hears me say it. Even the rest of the Kingsguard didn't like it, and they of all people obey the king without question."
It was as though they'd silently agreed not to speak of the king himself--his tangled, uncut beard, the yellowed fingernails, and the darting, suspicious eyes. Lyanna remembered feeling those eyes on her as Benjen's borrowed horse stirred restlessly beneath her and her sweat-soaked skin grew cold with terror. The king would have found no humour in her little adventure; that much was certain. And it was the prince who spared me that. A little mummery and a crown of blue roses seemed a small price to pay.
She'd seen the expression on Ser Jaime's face when he realised he wasn't to joust--like a lost little boy--and recalled that he was the same age as his sister, and therefore no older than Lyanna. Too young to have given up his life to a king who clearly cared nothing for him. "And it was all to lesson Lord Tywin, who isn't even here. The more I see of court, the less I care for it."
"I agree. But we'll neither of us need to spend much time there, thank the gods. Storm's End may not be far from King's Landing, but Robert won't tolerate court for more than a few weeks at a time." He smiled, as though at some secret jest. "He's not a bad man, Lyanna. And he cares for you."
"So you all keep telling me," she muttered. "Well, except for Father. Father tells me it is my duty as countless other Starks have done before me, but he doesn't seem to understand that countless other Starks before me never went to Storm's End." To her dismay, she was close to tears. As much to stave them off as anything else, she asked, "And what of you, Ned? Has Father given you your marriage orders?"
"Not yet. I think he wants Brandon wedded first." Again, Ned spat his brother's name like an epithet. "Not that Brandon cares for vows."
"Enough, Ned. Tell me what he did."
"Not what. Who." That startled Lyanna; Ned was not usually vulgar. Perhaps Robert is rubbing off on him. The ensuing blush as he met her eyes mollified her a little. "He's betrothed, Lya. He should have a care for his reputation. And the lady's."
"Ashara Dayne, I assume?" Lyanna rolled her eyes. "You needn't worry about her, Ned. From what I saw, she had Brandon well in hand."
Indeed, the Dornish lady had occupied all of Brandon's attention from the first day's feast to the final joust. He hadn't even noticed when Prince Rhaegar crowned Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty, too caught up in staring across the lists at the royal pavilion where the Lady Ashara was accompanying Princess Elia. Confusing the matter further, Lyanna had also heard Ned's name mentioned once or twice in connection with Lady Ashara but she had assumed that southron ladies who gossiped simply couldn't tell one Stark from the other. It seemed she might have assumed too much.
"Brandon is behaving like a child, and I don't doubt Lady Ashara is treating him like one." She kept her eyes on Ned, though she pretended interest in the reins. "Why do you care so much about who Brandon flirts with? You never cared before. Poor Barbrey Ryswell was pining for him when you visited Winterfell for Father's last name day and you barely noticed. Unless..."
"Lya--"
"Oh, Ned!" She couldn't help but smile at the thought of her oh-so-serious brother and the Dornish girl who made it a point to laugh at everything. "Of course you must be the one to fall in love with a maid Father would be ever so pleased to have you marry. Why must you make us all look bad by comparison?"
"Lyanna, stop it!" Ned's ears had gone red and the blush was inching up his cheeks. "It's not what you think. I've barely spoken to her."
Instead, he'd watched his elder brother do as Brandon had done since he was old enough to notice women. Lyanna reached over and took Ned's hand. "She's a fool to choose him over you. I pity Catelyn Tully; she'll have to put up with him for the rest of her days."
"There are worse things than being a flirt," Ned allowed. He did not speak further, but Lyanna knew that he too was thinking of Robert and the trail of black-haired Baratheon bastards from Storm's End to the Vale. "Robert--"
"--will not give up his whoring when he marries me. I told you that when first I was betrothed, and I tell you again." The only difference is that I care, but not in the way I ought to.
A recollection sprang to mind of the final time the motley group of courtiers and guests met under the Queen of Thorns' eagle eye. She'd caught sight of Princess Elia and the prince deep in conversation, the prince whispering something in his wife's ear that sent her into peals of laughter. The way they looked at one another, they might have been the only two people in the room. Even as Lyanna watched them, she knew she would never have that with Robert. Now, she sighed. "The whoring would trouble me less, I admit, if I believed he listened to a single word I said."
"He listens," Ned said without conviction. "I'll speak to him, Lya. I'll make him understand."
"Dearest Ned," she said, unsure whether to laugh or to cry, "I'm afraid that misses the point."
To please him, she listened to Robert's halting, awkward apology and murmured meaningless words of forgiveness. "After your brother marries the Lady Catelyn, we should make arrangements for you to sail to Storm's End," Robert told her. "We'll be married there."
"I will do as my lord father wishes," she replied, and bid him farewell, even allowing him to kiss her. All the while, she felt nothing--only a gnawing guilt at that lack of feeling.
Robert had even made a jape as he drew away from Lyanna. "I suppose I ought to thank the prince of Dragonstone. He's made it clear to all the realm that the future lady of Storm's End is the fairest in the land."
Lyanna had to fight not to grimace at that. Instead, she forced a smile and said nothing.
Brandon drew to a halt beside her as she watched Ned and Robert disappear round the corner of the eastward road. "Made peace with him, have you? He means well."
"You would think so," Lyanna said. "I didn't even think you'd noticed I'd quarrelled with him."
"Lyanna, the man has a voice like a hunting horn. You could have heard him in Winterfell." They made their way back to the kingsroad, where hundreds of leagues stretched between them and home. "You're angry with me too," Brandon finally said. "I can tell."
"Not angry. Disappointed." Truth be told, she had barely thought of Brandon in the past few days. "Were you trying to make Catelyn Tully jealous? If so, it was childish and you owe both her and the Lady Ashara an apology."
"Oh, the Lady Ashara got exactly what she wanted, I promise," he said with a grimace. "I suppose I deserve no better, you're right."
"So quickly?" Some part of Lyanna was disappointed; she'd had a speech planned. "This might be a record."
"I'm choosing my battles, sis. But you and Robert are reconciled?"
"As much as we're likely to be." She eyed him suspiciously. "So you admit you've been a cad, then?" At her brother's groan, she smiled. "You really are hopeless, Brandon Stark."
"And you, Queen Lyanna of Love and Beauty." He made it most of the way through the title before dissolving into laughter. "I can't imagine what the prince was thinking."
"Nor I," she admitted. "Maybe you gave him a knock on the head when you jousted."
"I don't doubt the Sword of the Morning gave me a knock on the head. I think he must have seen me with his sister."
"Everyone in Harrenhal saw you with his sister, Brandon," was Benjen's contribution as their horses caught up to his. "Your odds against Ser Arthur were awful."
"They may have seen him, Ben, but I overheard two girls from the Westerlands chattering about Ned and Lady Ashara, so at least the sillier sort can't even tell us Starks apart," Lyanna remarked, rolling her eyes. "At least you're too young to be mixed up in any of it."
Benjen grimaced. "Girls are too much trouble."
"You'll learn," Brandon told him, "or we'll send you to the Wall where it doesn't matter." He looked both relieved and slightly guilty. It was an expression Lyanna was used to seeing on him and on those rare occasions when she caught a glimpse of her face in the pool of water beneath the heart tree. "I suppose I ought to apologise to Ned. Tell him nothing happened. Not for lack of trying," he added sheepishly.
"I'd leave out that part if I were you," Lyanna advised.
Perhaps she too would write to Ned about Ashara Dayne. What she had told him was true; it would be a fine match for both of them. And he would be nearby. Dorne and the Stormlands bordered one another, after all. Even Robert would be pleased about that. She wished now that she'd spoken further with the Dornish lady when she had the chance, although Lady Ashara had spent most of her time either waiting on Princess Elia or sneaking off with Brandon. There had been the masque, of course, but that had all come to naught.
It seemed some careless servant had left a candle unattended and all the preparations for the masque had gone up in flames. It was an uncomfortable reminder of Harrenhal's history and whispers abounded about Black Harren's vengeful ghost, but thankfully no one had been hurt. Lyanna had been less enthused than she might have anticipated about the masque being cancelled. Any connection it might have had to the presence of a certain prince was her own business.
But that was all over now. The air in Winterfell would clear her head soon enough, and she had Robert to worry about. Rather to her disappointment, Brandon had decided not to return north with them and instead spend several weeks at Seagard with Jeffory Mallister and two knights from Lord Arryn's party who had befriended him during the tourney. They had all lost to Ser Arthur Dayne on the same day and, according to Brandon, had spent several hours dissecting every move the Sword of the Morning had made--or at least the ones they could remember, considering how much ale they'd had.
Ned had assured her that it was in Brandon's interests to become better known to the lords of the Riverlands. They think all Northmen are mad. Lyanna had laughed and replied that if he expected Brandon to change anybody's mind, he was doomed to disappointment.
Behind them, the Riverlands began to recede; and before them the northern road stretched ever onward. Lyanna did not look back.