Work Text:
Catelyn shifted beside him, restless. She had been warm in bed, as usual, affectionate, but Ned could sense that something was bothering her by the way her eyes slid away from his, the tension she still held in her body despite their lovemaking. "Is something wrong?"
"No," she said, rolling to face him, her rich auburn hair spilling over his arm. "It's only…"
"What?" He hoped it was nothing serious, but the sinking feeling in his heart told him otherwise.
She took a deep breath, as if gathering her courage. "Is it true that… that Jon's mother was Ashara Dayne?" she asked in a rush, as if hurrying to get it out before her nerve failed her.
Ned sat up, the cool air prickling his skin, but not half so much as the fear that surged up inside him. "Never ask me about Jon," he said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. "He is my blood, and that is all you need to know."
Catelyn drew away from him, but still pressed on. "But…"
"No!" he said, so sharply that she flinched, cutting her off before he would have to lie to her any more than he already had. These veiled half-truths hurt so deeply, he couldn't bear the thought of looking his wife in the eye and speaking the words that would cut them both to the quick. Better that she never ask, and never have to know. "And now I will learn where you heard that name, my lady."
Her voice quavering, she named two of her maids, and their sweethearts among the soldiers. Though he regretted the fear he'd put in her, Ned was relieved, at least, that the rumours hadn't yet spread more widely. A few gossiping servants he could silence easily enough. "We'll speak no more of this," he told her, trying to soothe her as best as he was able, knowing how her doubt would settle under her skin like a grain of sand in an open wound. He hoped it would do no worse than itch from time to time, and not fester there.
"I'll not ask again," Catelyn agreed, though her soft, sullen tone indicated she was far from satisfied with this state of affairs. As they settled back down into bed, she turned her back to him and drew the covers up until they almost swallowed her entirely, still not accustomed to the cold that forever found ways to seep in despite the castle's warmth. Ned, more than ever at that moment, wished that this burden of lies had never come upon him.
Sometimes you have to do something wrong, because it's the right thing to do, he reminded himself before he fell asleep.
***
"Ashara Dayne's looking at you again," Brandon murmured with a smirk.
Ned would have squirmed away from his older brother and gone somewhere quiet to hide, but there were too many people around and he didn't wish to look the fool. It was striking – he and Brandon could be apart for months at a time, and yet when they saw each other again, they always fell back into the same old patterns. "How do you know she's not looking at you?" he retorted.
"Because unlike some people I could mention, I'm willing to meet her eyes. There's no particular warmth there for me, I assure you, nothing but politeness. You ought to ask her to dance when the time comes."
Ned took a swallow of his wine and tried to control the blush that was already making his ears go red. "She'll have more offers than the musicians know songs," he muttered.
"So? The way she's eyeing you, I'd wager my horse, armor, and sword that she'll say yes, no matter how many others might ask her first." Brandon clapped his brother on the back, even as he skewered a chunk of roasted boar off his trencher with the tip of his knife. "Or would you rather stand against the wall all evening?"
"Yes," said Ned crossly. "I'll only trip over her feet if I try to dance."
Brandon laughed. "Oh, you will not, no more than you trip over mine when we're sparring."
"I'm not intending to spar with her."
"It's much the same, in principle," Brandon replied, an infuriating smirk on his face. "You advance, she retreats… or maybe the other way around, in this case."
"Now, don't tease him, Brandon," Lyanna interjected from across the table. "You know Ned's shy. If he'd rather spend the dance sitting by himself, that's his choice." Her tone might have been taken for sisterly concern, but Ned couldn't miss the subtle teasing, the glint in her eye.
"If you won't ask her," said Brandon, "maybe I will. Even if she's not interested in me now, I've always thought that my charms were best displayed up close – she might yet come around." Ned tried to ignore him, bending over his meal as if engrossed, his ears burning.
"Look, Howland," said Lyanna brightly, "the musicians are up there already." She nudged the young crannogman beside her and pointed with her chin to the minstrels' gallery, one of two levels above the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. Ned was a bit bemused by the shine she'd immediately taken to the strange little fellow, but then, Lyanna had always had a soft heart for strays, and Howland Reed seemed to be a decent type, if somewhat peculiar and unrefined. His green eyes, already large in his fine-boned face, had been wide and amazed ever since they'd set foot in the great hall, and he'd hardly touched his food.
"So, there will be dancing soon?" Howland asked innocently.
"Oh, not you too!" Ned groaned. "Can't you all just leave it be?"
Lyanna and Brandon laughed, though Howland looked a little puzzled. "Do not worry, Ned," he said, "I doubt I'll be doing any dancing either. We can sit and talk if you would prefer."
"You can dance one with me, Howland," Lyanna said cheerfully, "I'll show you the steps."
"Fine," said Ned, "but can we just …stop talking about it now, please?"
"Ohh," breathed Lyanna, and all of their eyes turned to her. She was looking up to the gallery, from which music had just begun to drift down over the assembled guests. Ned craned his neck and saw what she was looking at. Prince Rhaegar was there, among the common musicians, and it was his voice that soared out above the instruments, strong and clear. Ned recognized the song at once – Jenny of Oldstones. Not an auspicious choice, he thought, but it was beautiful nevertheless, full of sadness and, he thought, regret.
When the song ended, Lyanna remained transfixed, and her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "Are you crying over a song?" Benjen teased, for he was at the age where mockery came as easy as breathing.
Lyanna turned on him, frowning, and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I wasn't, but what would it matter? You always cried when Old Nan told the story about the Rat King – and not just when you were little, either!"
Benjen shrugged, embarrassed. "That's different, it's scary. Jenny of Oldstones is just a love story – it's silly to cry over love."
"As silly as you look?" Quick as a flash she upturned her goblet over her little brother's head. Fortunately there wasn't much wine left in it, but still enough that he was left blinking and wiping at his face with his sleeve, and they all had to chuckle – even, after a minute or two of wounded dignity, Benjen.
"Now, now," said Robert Baratheon cheerfully, coming over to join them, "no need to waste perfectly good wine!" He made as if to wring out Benjen's tunic and catch the drops in his goblet, making the men laugh. Lyanna smiled, but Ned noticed how her lips were just slightly tight and her eyes were flat. She'd perfected that look even before he'd left for the Eyrie, to bestow it upon her brothers when they were being particularly stupid.
The servants were beginning to push back the benches now, in order to make a larger space for the dancing. Guests mingled, young men (and some no longer young) beginning to approach maids and ladies and asking if they might have their company for a dance later. Ned couldn't help noticing that several knights and lords were already clustered around Ashara Dayne. He wouldn't stand a chance, not against the likes of Oberyn Martell and Jon Connington. He refilled his cup with wine and readied himself for a depressing evening. Even Lyanna, whom Ned still envisioned as a girl-child rather than the woman near-grown she had become, would have partners to dance with, judging by the way Robert – and others as well – were looking at her. At least he would have Howland Reed to keep him company, though somehow the thought wasn't much consolation.
Brandon had gone off to find his own partners for the dancing. Ned envied his brother's skill, not just with women but with people in general. It was so easy for everyone to like Brandon, for despite his occasional outbursts of temper, he somehow always managed to say the right thing, the words that would bring everybody to his side. It made it very hard to be his younger brother, even thought they saw each other but rarely. It wasn't that Ned wanted Brandon out of the way, by any means, but he did wish that people would stop comparing them quite so much – and that he could stop drawing the comparisons himself. I'm too shy, not bold enough, I can't make people laugh the way he does…
"Are all tourneys as grand as this?" asked Howland Reed, interrupting Ned's black musings.
"Oh. No, not all. Some are quite small. It all depends on who's hosting the tourney, and who shows up. They don't all have, ah, dancing and such, either. But everything at Harrenhal is made on a larger scale, it seems."
Howland nodded. "I've never seen this many people all together in one place before," he said, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the music that had just started again. Couples were beginning to take their places on the dance floor, moving and swirling in elegant patterns that Ned had never quite been able to grasp. Robert had Lyanna to partner for the first dance, and Ned thought she no longer looked quite so annoyed with him. He was pleased, and hoped his sister's opinion of his friend would continue to improve – it would be nice to have Robert as a good-brother. Superficially, he and Brandon were much alike: handsome, outgoing, well-liked by nearly everyone they met, hot-tempered but fiercely loyal to their friends and family. The differences between them, however, had quickly become obvious, at least to Ned, who knew them both so well. Robert wanted to be the centre of attention, and never tried to make his more solemn friend join him there. He valued Ned's company without trying to turn him into something he wasn't, and Ned, in his turn, was content to remain in his friend's shadow. Brandon, however, was always pushing him to do more, be more, as if what he already was wasn't good enough.
Ned watched as his brother swept past with Mariya Darry in his arms. She was laughing, no doubt at something witty that Brandon had said. Ashara was dancing with her brother, Ser Arthur Dayne, resplendent in his white cloak. It was a small consolation.
"Why do you not go talk to the girl?" Howland asked him.
Ned would have retorted sharply if it had been one of his siblings asking the question, but the serious tone in the crannogman's voice told him he wasn't being needled yet again. "I don't know," he said instead.
"Are you afraid she'll insult you?"
"It's not that… I mean, I would have to do something awfully bad for her to insult me directly. It's more that, I don't know, she might laugh. Even if she doesn't laugh to my face, she could laugh about it later, with her friends." He knew how foolish it sounded even as he said it, but it didn't change how he felt.
"Your brother likes to make people laugh."
"People don't laugh at Brandon, they laugh because of him."
"Oh." Howland frowned. "It's all very complicated."
"Believe me, I know." Ned poured another drink for his new companion, and together they watched as a game played out before them, one where neither of them was quite sure of all the rules.
After a dozen dances or so, Brandon sat out long enough to check in on his brother. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked.
"It could be worse," Ned replied dryly.
"I'm sure," agreed Brandon, cheerfully obnoxious. "You know, I think I shall ask Ashara Dayne for the next dance."
"Go ahead," said Ned, hiding his annoyance as best he could. Brandon rose from the bench and skirted the floor, circling to where Ashara was sitting with her friends. Ned couldn't hear what they were saying over the sounds of music and chatter, but he saw Brandon bow to her, offering his hand. Ashara laughed as she took it, and Ned felt the sour ache of jealousy surge through him. Brandon escorted her onto the floor, but they passed carefully through the dancers' midst without stopping. Ned realized they were coming in his direction, and wished he could sink through the floor. Beside him, Howland Reed simply smiled.
"My lady, this is my brother, Eddard Stark," said Brandon smoothly as they approached. Ned stood up hurriedly, smoothing his tunic and hoping his hair wasn't sticking up somehow. "Ned, meet Ashara Dayne. She's agreed to your request for a dance."
"I didn't…" Ned began, then stopped abruptly when Howland kicked him discreetly in the ankle. "I mean, thank you, my lady. I'm honoured."
"It is an honour to be asked," she replied, smiling so much that her purple eyes seemed to twinkle. Her voice was low and rich, a contrast with the pale gold of her hair. Ned took her hand from Brandon's in a daze, and let her lead him away into the dancing.
Ashara was nearly as tall as he was, and a graceful dance partner. And she made him feel graceful too, helping him with the complicated steps so subtly that only the most astute observer would suspect he hadn't mastered them himself. Her hands were warm and soft in his, and she smelled of sandalwood and spice. Ned wracked his brains for something to say to her, finally settling for "You look lovely, my lady."
He immediately wished he'd said something more clever, but her eyes twinkled again as she smiled. "Thank you, my lord, both for the kind words and for delivering them yourself." His brow furrowed as he tried to decide if she was mocking him, but he detected no hint of unkindness in the words. "I hope I am less frightening now that you have seen me this close," she added pleasantly.
"Actually, I'm still terrified," he blurted before he could stop himself. To his relief, she laughed as though he'd made some droll witticism, and for a moment he wondered if this was how Brandon felt all the time.
"You aren't like most of the other men here," she told him as they turned together in a complex step that had Ned concentrating all of his attention on not tripping over her. "You're very…sweet."
"I am?"
"Well, I hardly know you," she said, smiling. "But you haven't tried to look down my dress yet, and that puts you a step ahead of most of my partners this evening – apart from my brother, naturally."
Ned couldn't help glancing down. It was true that her gown was cut lower than the Northern girls normally wore, and her breasts were somehow pushed up and together to create an alluring shadowed valley between then. Ashara laughed at his involuntary reaction. "My own fault for bringing it up," she said kindly. "I won't hold that one against you."
"I'm sorry," he stammered, but she cut him off.
"You can apologize to me further at your leisure. Perhaps later tonight," she suggested with a smile that seemed, to Ned's eyes, sly but still unbearably lovely. Uncertain how to respond, he simply nodded. "Good," she said, and murmured the location of her room. "After dark falls, mind," she cautioned him. "I'll make sure my maids are elsewhere." Ned could do nothing but nod again, feeling as though his throat had stopped working, perhaps blocked by the heart was hammering in it.
Then, somehow, the dance was over and he found himself bowing to her. She gave him another of those dazzling smiles, a curtsey that gave him another glimpse of that tantalizing valley, and then she was gone, sliding back through the crowds to her friends. Ned walked in a daze to the bench where Brandon and Howland Reed sat. His brother was grinning, but for once it didn't annoy him.
"How did it go?" Brandon asked eagerly.
"I think… well," said Ned, trying to keep his voice level and calm. He found he didn't want to tell his brother about Ashara's invitation. Brandon would only hoot with laughter and clap him on the shoulder and try to give him some painfully awkward advice while Ned sat there and blushed and squirmed. It would be like his sixteenth nameday all over again. Besides, he didn't want to read too much into Ashara's words, in case she hadn't actually meant what he simultaneously hoped and feared she had.
"Good. See, she didn't bite," Brandon teased. "Next time, you can find your own dance partner. Howland here," he continued blithely, ignoring Ned's frown, "just told me he hasn't got anywhere to stay tonight. He insists he's used to sleeping rough, but I told him of course that wouldn't do, not while he's with us. He can share your tent, can't he? It's more than big enough for two."
"Oh. Of course he can," said Ned, because he couldn't possibly say anything else.
***
The sun was setting, its red and violet light spilling across the rippling water of the lake, almost blinding in its last moments of glory before night fall, and Ned and Howland sat outside Ned's tent. The air was warm, spring-like, and everywhere there was the scent of damp earth and green, growing things, mingling with the smoke from pipes and cooking fires and the smell of horses. Harrenhal in its prime could have accommodated every lord, knight, bannerman, and squire here with room to spare, but the Whents used only two of the five towers, and then only the lower levels, leaving the rest to fall into decay. The bedchambers were mainly reserved, therefore, for women and the elderly and infirm, while the younger men pitched tents outside the massive walls.
Ned's campsite was beneath a large oak tree, overlooking the lake. Brandon's was a short distance away, and Ned was not so wrapped up in his own worries that he hadn't noticed his brother disappearing into it with one of the serving maids from the keep a short while ago. Of course Brandon hadn't offered to share his own tent with Howland, Ned thought sourly – he was already planning to have other company. Robert would have done much the same, if he hadn't drunk himself senseless in that ridiculous contest with Ser Richard Lonmouth. Ned had helped drag him to his tent and deposited him there, he hoped safely. Brandon wasn't so blatant as Robert was, perhaps, but he was still able to have women come with a crook of his finger, and he didn't mind taking advantage of their willingness.
Personally, Ned would have felt ashamed to be unfaithful to his betrothed, if he'd had one, but Brandon didn't seem to care. Catelyn Tully, he had said when Ned had asked him about her, was pretty enough, but after all, they weren't married yet. And Benjen and Lyanna had gone off together somewhere, giggling between themselves, leaving Ned alone with their guest. It galled him slightly that his siblings had foisted the crannogman onto him without a second thought, but he decided that was no reason to take it out on Howland, who was busying himself carefully cleaning the mud from his borrowed boots with a handful of straw.
The sun dipped below the horizon and was gone, but true blackness didn't overwhelm them, as there were so many campfires blazing nearby, casting tall, shuddering shadows against the walls. Ned pondered the question of how to abandon his guest without arousing his suspicion or seeming too rude. He considered saying he was going to pray in Harrenhal's massive godswood, but he didn't want to lie, especially not by bringing the gods into it. He looked longingly up at the thick stone walls of the fortress, and wondered if Ashara was waiting for him inside them. Would she be getting ready for bed, he wondered? He could envision her unlacing that low-cut gown, letting its brushed silk layers slide to the floor…
Howland stood, stretching. "I think I will go to walk by the lake before sleep."
Ned was snapped out of his reverie. "Oh. Yes, by all means. It won't bother me if you come back late," he added hastily. "In fact…"
"…you might be elsewhere yourself?"
Ned resisted the instinct to sputter indignantly. "Why would you think that?" he asked carefully.
The crannogman shrugged. "No particular reason," he said, "except that you have been staring at the walls of the castle, even though the sun has set and there is nothing to see there except shadows. I thought you might have somewhere you needed to go."
"I do," Ned admitted. "You won't… tell anyone, will you?"
"My word on it. If anyone should ask, you were with me the entire night."
"You don't have to lie for me," said Ned, feeling guilty already. "I doubt anyone will ask, at any rate. Just don't bring it up yourself."
"Of course I will not. You and your family have done so much for me, even though you barely know me. I am happy to return your kindness any way I can."
Ned nodded gratefully, and turned to go, but stopped. "Howland," he asked, feeling foolish but still needing to know the answer, "does my hair look all right?"
"It sticks up a little on the left side, Ned."
Ned smoothed it down with spit on his palm. "Better?"
"Better."
***
Despite his worries about getting lost in Harrenhal's many corridors, or having to answer questions about what he was doing there and where he was going, Ned found that the worst part of his evening's adventure was simply working up the courage to knock on Ashara's door. His mind easily conjured up the thousands of things that could go wrong. What if it was the wrong room? What if she hadn't been able to get rid of her maids? What if she'd just been teasing him and he hadn't had the wits to see that she wasn't serious? He felt nearly as nervous as he'd felt before his first real tourney – the same dry mouth and clammy palms, the same shivery feeling in his stomach. It was almost enough to send him running back to his tent.
He raised his fist to the thick oak planks of the door and knocked before he could talk himself out of it. There was a quick rustle and it opened. "Come in, hurry," Ashara murmured from the darkness, and so he stepped into her chamber.
It was but dimly lit within, only a few candles and the fire, banked for the night. She wasn't wearing the gown she'd had on that evening, but a creamy silk shift that slid and glistened in the warm glow, and her hair was tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. "I wasn't sure if you would come," she said, her voice shy but her eyes bold.
"I wasn't sure you truly wanted me to," he admitted.
She smiled at that. "Were you not? I thought I was very clear."
"You were, but…"
"But what?"
He hesitated. "I wasn't sure if you meant it."
"Oh, yes, I know the sorts of games the women here play – 'no means yes, yes means no, don't be forward, don't be too cold' – it's as if they expect men to read their minds! I'm from Dorne, where we do things differently." She settled herself on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs at the ankles. "Are you terribly shocked? You seem a proper Northern man, after all, and I'd hate for you to think me too bold."
"A little shocked," he confessed. "You're not like any woman I've ever met before."
"You're honest. Why shouldn't I be the same? If I want you in my bed tonight, what's wrong with simply telling you so? Come closer."
Ned did as he was told, stepping forward until he was near enough to touch her if he should reach out his hand, though he didn't. His cock ached, it was so hard.
Ashara sighed. "Mind you, this will quickly get tiresome if I have to order you about every single step of the way," she said, not unkindly, and took his hand in hers. "You have my permission not to be shy."
Ned swallowed and tried to speak, but couldn't make any words come out, so he bent down and kissed her instead. It was awkward at first, the way he had to twist his neck and the dryness of his lips against hers, but it got better as she drew him down onto her, pressing her tongue, sharp and delicate at once, into his mouth. Her hair came loose from its knot and spilled across the bed. It was so soft, he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through it, tracing its every curl and coil, but the insistent press of her lips against his and the gentle rocking of her hips soon drew his attention elsewhere.
Still, he appreciated that Ashara wasn't rushing him. The whore that Brandon had taken him to when he'd been home for his sixteenth nameday had been pretty enough, dark-haired and rosy-cheeked, but she hadn't kissed him, just lifted her skirts straight away as if she was impatient for him to be done. Ned still recalled with painful clarity how she'd smirked when she saw he wasn't hard yet, making him blush frantically, and then how she had taken him in her hand and tugged him roughly until he stiffened halfway. "Put it in me, sweetheart, don't be shy," she'd told him, licking her lips, at which point Ned had hauled up his breeches and walked out with as much dignity as he could muster, much to his brother's surprise and amusement. It hadn't felt right, was the best he'd been able to explain it to Brandon later. It hadn't felt special.
This did.
She drew her leg up onto the mattress and her shift slid up her pale thigh. Ned knew the essential mechanics of what he was supposed to do, of course, but despite her blanket permission he thought it best to proceed cautiously. "Ah… do you want me to… to take you now?" he asked, even as he kicked himself and knew that Brandon wouldn't have needed to ask.
Her laugh didn't make him want to go cold and shrink away the way he usually did. "We don't have to hurry into anything," she told him. "You could just use your hands for a while, if you like."
Ned felt far more anxious at that prospect than he had at the idea of simply fucking her. Fucking was easy, it came naturally – so Brandon and Robert and all the other men in his life had led him to believe, at any rate. He'd seen animals going at it, and soldiers having kitchen maids under tables or stable-hands with serving wenches up against walls, but horses and dogs didn't have hands, and the men hadn't seemed to do much with theirs other than occasionally grabbing their partners' teats or squeezing their arses. Tentatively, he brought one hand to Ashara's breast, feeling the smooth swell of it beneath her shift, the firm prod of her nipple beneath his thumb, the gentle rise and fall of her breath. She pulled the loose shift down off her shoulder until her breast was bared, then gently guided his head down to bring his mouth to it. Ned took the hint and kissed her dark pink nipple, first timidly but soon, encouraged by her little sighs and gasps, more deeply, sucking the puckered bud between his lips.
Ashara moaned under her breath as she parted her legs further, encouraging the hand that rested demurely on her knee to make its way between her thighs. Ned's fingers met soft hair, then slick, yielding flesh. It didn't feel like he'd imagined it would when Robert, with a lewd grin, would talk about some girl being wet for him. She was softer and more slippery than he'd expected. She squirmed slightly beneath him, pushing with her hips, and he felt his middle finger dip inside her a little way. Emboldened, and meeting no resistance, he pushed further into that narrow opening, stopping when she gave a little squeak. "Is it all right?" he asked anxiously.
"Mmm," she murmured. "That's nice. Can you turn your hand a little, this way…?" She helped him into what was evidently a better position, turning his hand palm-upwards and wriggling down onto him a little further. "Here," she said, "bring your thumb up, like this, and rub me just…oh, yes!" The way she was twisting her hips and moaning gave him a considerable incentive to continue stroking her as she'd demonstrated. She wrapped her hands around the back of his head and pulled him down for another kiss, this time sucking his lower lip between hers and giving it a nip that made him gasp.
Ned was perfectly willing to keep doing this as long as she wanted, but after a few minutes his hand started to cramp up in the unaccustomed position. Doggedly, he pressed on just as he would push through any discomfort in his training, and finally he was rewarded to feel her clutch around him, gasping and shaking, her purple eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. She didn't scream or cry, not like he'd sometimes heard Robert's girls do from the other side of the wall, but it was clear enough that she'd enjoyed it from the long, slow sigh she gave as he was drawing his fingers out of her. "Good," she told him with a smile, even as she gently pushed his arm away so that she could stand up. Her shift slid to the floor and she turned to face him. She was more beautiful than Ned had imagined was possible – not flawlessly perfect like the women in his dreams, but real and warm and eager in ways he hadn't thought highborn ladies could be.
She knelt before him, face upturned to watch his reaction as she first stroked him over his breeches, then skillfully unlaced them and drew him out. He couldn't choke back the groan when she first touched his manhood, curling her fingers around its thickness and stroking gently. He was so keen he almost came then, but somehow managed to hold back. However, when she lowered her mouth over him, caressing the rounded ridge of his cockhead with her tongue, he couldn't stop himself. He spilled his seed in a sudden rush, gasping out an oath and blushing hotly. The first pulse caught her on the cheek before she could swallow his length and the rest of his load with it. "I'm so sorry," he stammered, ashamed, but Ashara smiled and licked the corner of her mouth before wiping her face with the back of her hand and joining him where he reclined, propped up on his elbows, on the bed.
"It's all right, next time it'll be slower. You liked that, I take it," she said.
"A little too much," he agreed ruefully, smiling back at her, still breathless.
"I'm glad," she replied, touching the corner of his mouth with one slender finger. "I like to see you smile – you don't do it nearly often enough."
"For you, I'd smile all day long, even if it meant everyone thinking I'd gone soft in the head." She laughed at that, kissing him on the cheek, which only made him grin the more broadly and gave him the courage to say what he'd secretly been thinking. "I'll talk to my lord father as soon as I'm able," he said, rolling onto his side to face her.
"About what?" she asked, puzzled.
"About you. Us, I mean. About…about the betrothal."
"Oh." She sat up slowly. "Ned, I… I like you, you're very sweet, but I don't think… I mean…" It was the first time she'd seemed flustered since they'd met. "We barely know each other…"
Ned frowned. "We know each other well enough, surely. More than many couples do before they wed. You didn't mind asking me to your room when you'd known me for all of the length of a dance."
"But this is just… just some fun!" She pulled her shift off the floor and held it in front of her nakedness. "I thought you understood that!"
"And I thought you understood what this meant! I thought this was special!" He stood, drawing his breeches up and lacing them sloppily, hands quivering with emotion. "Or do they do things differently in Dorne? Do you do this with every man whose smile pleases you?" He regretted the cruel words as soon as they'd passed his lips, but it was too late to call them back.
Ashara's purple eyes were steely. "I think you'd better be going now."
Without another word, Ned left, far angrier with himself than he was at her.
***
Howland was already in the tent when he felt his way inside in the dark, but not yet asleep. Ned had no wish to talk to him, or to anyone, so he turned his back and shut his eyes, hoping the crannogman wouldn't say anything. But he had no such luck. "Is everything well?" Howland asked quietly.
"Yes," said Ned, cutting the word off short in an attempt to avoid revealing his inner turmoil. "I'm tired, that's all."
"Very well," said Howland, and Ned could tell the young man didn't believe him for a minute. "I had a pleasant walk by the lakeshore. I couldn't see the Isle of Faces from here, of course, but I said a prayer in that direction nevertheless, and I felt it would be answered, somehow. I hope your evening was as …rewarding."
Ned snorted at that. "I would have done better to say some prayers of my own, I think." He hesitated, but something about Howland's patient silence made him trust him enough to keep talking. "Do you have a… a girl, back in the Neck?"
"Jyana. Your sister reminds me of her, a little, and not just because their names sound alike. I was promised to her when we were both very young, but when we came of age we also pledged ourselves to one another. I don't know if she will have waited for me all this time I've been away, though," Howland said matter-of-factly.
"Would you be angry if you came home and she'd gone with someone else? Or… or if you found out that she'd lied to you from the start, and hadn't ever meant to wed you?"
"I don't know. I think I would be hurt, yes, but I would try to remember instead the good moments I had with her, and to be thankful for them." He gave a little hoarse chuckle. "Mind you, I am sure it would be difficult, especially at first."
"Difficult. Yes."
"I'm sorry, Ned. You said you were tired. I ought to let you rest, instead of rambling on about myself," Howland said, as though Ned hadn't been the one to bring up the subject in the first place. "Sleep well."
"You too." But Ned found he was unable to sleep. He tossed and turned until, sure he must be keeping his companion awake, he rose again and left the tent. The waxing moon was high, reflected in scattered shards by the choppy surface of the lake. He had meant to ask her for her favour to wear in the tourney tomorrow, but of course there was no hope of that now. Now she would give it to someone else instead, probably some more sophisticated southern lord who would understand precisely what a woman meant when she asked him to come to her room after dark.
His melancholy musing was interrupted by a sudden clank of metal against stone, followed by whispered conversation. "Idiot, don't drop it!"
"I didn't drop it, you're the one who let go of your end…"
"Shh!"
Ned peered into the shadows. "Do you need any help?" he asked.
There was silence, and then his sister's voice. "Ned?"
"Lya, what are you doing?"
"Er. Nothing." Another clink of metal against metal suggested she was lying. "Just cleaning some armor."
"Cleaning armor in the dark?"
"Look, don't ask! Just help us hide all of this into Benjen's tent, will you? Oh, hells, I still have to find a horse from somewhere too…"
"What exactly is going on?"
"I told you not to ask! Are you going to make yourself useful, or stand there gawking?" She came near enough to shove a shield into his hands. The paint was still slightly tacky to the touch, though he couldn't make out the design in the faint light. "Put it in the tent – careful you don't smudge it!"
Ned, bemused, did as he was told. "If you need a horse, I suppose you could borrow mine."
"No, that wouldn't work. You'll need her tomorrow, and anyhow, someone might recognize… oh, it just wouldn't work, trust me." Lyanna and Benjen stashed the remaining mismatched pieces of armor in the boy's tent. As she re-emerged, she eyed her older brother. "Promise me you won't tell anyone about this? You know how sometimes you have to do something wrong, because it's the right thing to do?"
Ned didn't quite understand, at least not then, but he nodded anyway. "I swear, I'll keep your secret."
"Thank you, Ned," she said sincerely, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. He no longer had to bend very far to embrace her, he noticed. She had grown so much in the months since he'd last seen her. Still puzzled, he watched as she and Benjen darted away down the pebbled shoreline.
He pretended not to notice the scrap of purple silk – the same shade as Ashara's eyes – fluttering from Oberyn Martell's spear in the melee the next day, and looked the other way when he saw her smiling in the stands beside Princess Elia. He tried not to remember how beautiful her face had looked when she'd peaked with his fingers inside her, but he was distracted and didn't fight to the best of his ability, being knocked out early. Brandon and Robert, of course, performed splendidly, with Robert's side eventually taking the victory.
Then, at the end of the first day's jousting, a mystery challenger appeared in the lists, and set everyone to driving themselves half-mad trying to figure out who he could possibly be. Everyone but Ned, that was – partly because he had a reasonable suspicion who carried the shield with the laughing tree painted on it, but mainly because he was too preoccupied with his own problems to care.
When Prince Rhaegar finally won the tourney and crowned his sister the queen of love and beauty, however, the ensuing shock and scandal was enough to jolt him out of his despondency and make him take notice. Lyanna only laughed afterwards and said surely the prince had done it as a joke, because she was far from the most beautiful woman there, but Ned remember the tears in her eyes when Rhaegar had sung that love song, and felt uneasy.
***
Despite everything, he did talk to his father, but Lord Rickard scoffed at the very idea of Ned marrying Ashara Dayne – he was a second son, he wouldn't be a good match for her, they needed no alliance with Dorne, that was the end of the matter. And soon after that, everything changed irrevocably. Though he wasn't a second son any longer, but Lord of Winterfell in his own right, he was also on the other side of a war from the woman he still, after some fashion, loved. Marrying Catelyn Tully was the sensible thing to do – it preserved the union between their two families, and brought her father's troops to Robert's side. It didn't feel right to take his brother's place so blatantly and so quickly, but it was his duty.
Catelyn was more modest than Ashara, but not too shy when they were alone in the bedchamber and it finally came down to it. Lying beside him, she whispered in his ear what she wanted him to do, and he performed dutifully, if not especially passionately. It took longer than he expected it would, and was less graceful and smooth, more awkward pushing and unfamiliar aches. When she rolled them both over to straddle him, he did his best not to imagine that the hair falling across her face was blonde instead of auburn, but it was the thought of Ashara that finally brought him off.
He suspected she came to their wedding bed about as much a maid as he was – he didn't think Brandon had ever lain with her, though he would have been surprised if there hadn't been at least some discreet kissing and fondling on the few occasions they'd met. He never asked her; he didn't want to know, didn't want her to feel obliged to lie to him. Let each of them keep their secrets.
***
Sometimes you have to do something wrong, because it's the right thing to do.
"Eddard, no!"
Lyanna's voice, somehow carrying over the sounds of the fight, and Ser Arthur Dayne turning his head just a fraction at her scream, giving Ned the opening he hadn't been able to find before… except that it brought him in too close to the Sword of the Morning, and as he slipped in Ethan Glover's blood he knew in a flash of horror that he wouldn't be able to get back in time, that Dawn would cut him down even as he drove Ice home with all his strength, and they would fall together…
Now it ends.
It would have been the end for both of them, but for Howland Reed's quick spear taking Dayne in the arm and turning what should have been a fatal blow into a glancing wound. The Sword of the Morning's helm fell off as he slumped forward, his fair hair matted and dark with sweat, and Ned thought, incongruously, how it looked like Ashara's…
Into the tower, then, only to find there the unraveling of everything he'd fought for. Promise me, Ned. There was nothing he could do to help her except agree, for the last time, to keep her secrets safe.
Because it's the right thing to do. Oh, gods.
Her hand clutching at his, trying so hard to hang on, but finally falling limp and lifeless.
Eight cairns of stone at the foot of what remained of the tower. Howland agreeing to take Lya… to make sure she came home to lie in the cold crypt beside her father and Brandon and Starks beyond memory.
Ned rode to Starfall in a daze, weak from his wounds, two swords crossed on his back. He wasn't sure what sort of welcome he expected to find there, but if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was his duty.
…the right thing to do.
He half-dismounted, half-fell from his horse and stumbled his way inside the keep. If she'd wanted him dead, she could easily have ordered her guards to cut him down – she could have done it herself, he was so weakened. Surely from the moment she saw Dawn in his hands, she had to have known what had happened. He would have liked to say he was sorry, but he couldn't, not truthfully. It had been her brother's choices that kept him at the tower, and he had died doing his duty – as Ned would willingly have done himself, perhaps even should have done. Instead, what he found himself saying was "I wish it could have been different. Everything."
Ashara nodded, her lovely face sombre. "So do I, Ned."
"I didn't mean…"
"I know."
"I was a fool, I didn't know…"
"Shh," she told him. "You'll wake the baby."
Ned looked closely at the tiny creature in her arms for the first time. Its fuzz of hair was almost black, its face wizened and solemn, lips smacking softly together in sleep. "What should I do?" he asked her, but he already knew the answer.
"We can manage without a wetnurse – Wylla brought him safely here, and she will go with you to feed the poor mite."
Even in his befuddled state, Ned wondered at that. "You have a wetnurse here?"
Ashara gave him a look that reminded him painfully of Lyanna's stare when she thought her brothers were being especially slow. "Babies need to eat, after all." She nodded to the other side of the courtyard, where, in the shadow of the tallest tower, a servant woman was bouncing a small boy, perhaps a year old or a few moons more, on her hip. The child was laughing, and his fair hair glinted in the sunlight. Not just fair, Ned realized – silver-gold.
"But… we didn't do anything that could…" he stammered, before realizing it made no sense.
"Oh, Ned, no," she said quietly. "He's not yours. No, nor mine, though I'll continue to protect him as if he were. This one, though," she continued, with a nod to the newborn in her arms, "he can be yours. In fact, it would be safest if he were."
"I… I'm married now, Ashara. My wife…"
"Will come to accept it. Or else she won't. But that doesn't change what has to be done, I'm afraid."
"No. No, of course it doesn't," said Ned heavily. "You're right. I'll tell them he's mine."
She nodded, seemingly satisfied with that. "Thank you. It's a weight off my mind to have that settled before we leave."
"Leave?"
"Well, we can't stay here, we won't be safe much longer. We'll go…"
"Don't tell me where," said Ned hastily. "I don't want to know any more than I need to." One less lie to remember.
Ashara nodded. Gently, she kissed the baby on the brow before passing it to him. Ned held it gingerly, as if afraid he might break it, but the infant didn't even wake. Smiling sadly, Ashara kissed Ned's cheek as well, her lips soft and warm. As he smelled her sandalwood perfume for the last time, he wondered how he would explain the situation to Catelyn and what, if anything, he should have done differently to make things come to any other pass but this one.
He had no answers then, no suitable parting words, and no tears when he heard, soon after, that she had taken her own life, falling from the top of the Palestone Sword into the ocean, her body never found. But at least he had the long ride back to Winterfell to hone his lies until they were sharp and gleaming, to become used to their weight on his back, two crossed swords he could never lay down.