TSOTWR - Chapter IX (Copy)
Chapter IX
Rhaegar
Sitting through the pomp and circumstance of Lord Whent explaining how the events would unfold in the coming days was nothing short of a dull affair. In essence, those who wished to compete in any would submit their names to an adjudicator overseeing each and would need to compete in preliminary trials.
With so many men and women from every kingdom, it was the only way to proceed without the tourney dragging on indefinitely.
Eliminating those not up to standard was the most efficient way of making each event viable. There couldn’t well be a thousand men in a single melee, after all.
“It should be an interesting tourney,” Elia commented. “Do you intend on competing?”
“I thought I would perhaps try my hand in the joust.”
Elia nodded approvingly.
“Then I will look forward to your victory.”
Rhaegar chuckled.
“It warms me to know you have such faith in me.”
“I am no fool, Rhaegar. I understand your prowess in the joust. Why not the melee?”
The Crown Prince shook his head.
“In the joust, there is only one other I need to concern myself with. How things are, I would not risk being caught in a sea of men where anything could happen. I do not wish to risk war with my death, intentional or not.”
“Shrewd,” Oberyn murmured. “Now you only have to deal with them,” he added amusedly, nodding towards the approaching Knights he’d encountered harassing Jon Snow at the feast.”
“The Seven help me,” Rhaegar grumbled irritably. “They seem intent on it, don’t they?”
Oberyn nodded amusedly.
“As does Jon Snow,” he replied.
“He does cut a rather impressive figure,” Elia murmured as the man they were discussing emerged from the crowd garbed in leather with his hair tied back.
The wolf at his side only added to the image of a seasoned warrior.
“This will not end well,” Ashara sighed.
Rhaegar nodded, his gaze hardening as he looked upon the men as they reached him.
“I suppose it was too much to hope that your sober minds would see the foolishness in such a petty falling out. Would it be so difficult to apologise to Lord Reed?”
“There is only one man who should be apologising,” Loathor Frey growled. “The bastard dared put his hands on my squire and slighted Haigh and Blount in the process. He should be punished!”
“Jon Snow, do you have anything to say?”
Snow’s expression was unreadable as he offered a shallow bow.
“Without insult to yourself, your grace, Frey, Blount, and Haigh can fuck themselves. They accept no responsibility for the behaviour of their squires, and they will get no apology from me.”
Oberyn laughed uproariously, as did many others, which only served to irk Frey and his associates.
“Very well,” Rhaegar sighed. “If neither party is willing to apologise, then you must decide how this matter is to be settled but know this. It will be settled now. I will not have this devolve into something even more foolish that will jeopardise the harmony of the Seven Kingdoms. Is that understood?”
“It is, your grace,” Jon Snow agreed.
Frey and the others nodded.
“Then what shall it be, gentlemen?” Rhaegar asked.
“He slighted the three of us,” Frey spoke up immediately. “He should face us all.”
“Fucking coward,” Oberyn muttered.
“Jon Snow?”
He shrugged in response.
“If that is their terms, I agree, but I have my own.”
“Name them.”
“There will be no interference from anyone else. If there is, the offending party will have their sword hand removed.”
Those gathered murmured, and Rhaegar frowned.
It was puzzling enough that the man would accept to face three landed knights at the same time and even more so that he would request such a caveat.
“Loathor Frey?”
“That means his wolf too,” the man demanded. “The damned wolf is to be kept out of it.”
“Ghost, to Lyanna.”
The wolf complied without hesitation and Snow offered the three men a pointed look.
“Then it seems we have reached an accord,” Rhaegar said reluctantly. “Very well, ready yourselves.”
Jon Snow offered a final bow before returning to the Northerners.
“He’s not really going to fight all three?” Ashara whispered.
“Frey wouldn’t have agreed to anything less,” Oberyn snorted. “I suppose we will see what Snow is made of.”
“I don’t like it,” Ashara murmured.
“He seems relaxed,” Rhaegar observed as he watched Jon attach his sword belt and say a prayer to his gods.
“He does,” Oberyn agreed, leaning forward interestedly. “We will see if the rumours are true.”
Rhaegar nodded, frowning as Lewyn Martell rushed towards them.
“Your Grace, a royal entourage has been spotted approaching the keep.”
“My father?” Rhaegar whispered with a frown.
“The rest of the Kingsguard are there.”
“He was not supposed to be attending,” Rhaegar said worriedly to Elia, who had paled considerably. “Why would he come?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, gripping his hand tightly.
“MAKE WAY FOR THE KING!”
The voice of Barristan Selmy rang out across the grounds of Harrenhal and the royal carriage cut through the crowd surrounded by the members of the Kingsguard, five in all.
Lewyn had been assigned to Rhaegar and Elia leaving Barristan, Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower, Oswell Whent, and Jonothor Darry in the capital.
Currently, they were down a man, something Rhaegar had raised with his father several times throughout the years.
“Arthur!” Ashara said excitedly, her eyes welling with tears at the sight of her brother.
As with the others, Rhaegar took a knee as his father disembarked from the carriage with Viserys and his mother in tow.
Rhaegar was pleased to see the latter, and even his younger sibling, whom he’d been kept way from for the most part since Viserys had been born.
“Your Grace, it warms me to see you,” he offered as his father approached.
The man grunted and took the seat Rhaegar had vacated.
“Are we having a tourney or not?” Aerys demanded to know.
“Your Grace, the preliminary rounds will begin tomorrow,” Lord Whent explained. “If it pleases your grace, you have the hospitality of my keep.”
Aerys hummed dismissively.
“So, why is everyone gathered if nothing is happening today?” he demanded to know.
“A dispute, Father,” Rhaegar explained. “Sers Frey, Haigh, and Blount wish to resolve a dispute with the Northman Jon Snow. It is alleged that the squires of the Knights attacked Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch, unprovoked. It is further alleged that Jon Snow intervened on Lord Reed’s behalf and insulted the Knights in the process.”
“Pathetic,” Aerys grunted. “Very well, let them resolve it,” he commanded, waving his hand impatiently.
Rhaegar offered a nod towards Lord Whent.
As the inhabitant of the keep, it was his prerogative to oversee the matter and ensure the stipulations were adhered to.
“It is good to see you, Mother,” Rhaegar said fondly as the woman reached him.
Forgoing royal protocol, she swept him into an embrace and pressed her lip to his cheek.
“And you, my boy,” she whispered before taking a seat next to her husband.
“Ser Arthur.”
“Your Grace,” the tall Dornishman returned with a grin.
“You have my leave to greet your sister, Ser Arthur.”
Arthur did not hesitate and grunted as Ashara all but threw herself into his arms.
They did not see one another often.
With his father on the throne, the capital, and the Red Keep in particular, was not the most accommodating place to be.
“What is happening?” Arthur asked curiously.
“Jon is going to fight three knights,” Ashara explained.
“Jon?”
“Ashara’s lover,” Oberyn quipped.
“He is not my lover,” Ashara denied hotly, her cheeks flushing.
“Who is Jon?” Arthur asked confusedly.
“I’m sure Ash can explain it to you,” Oberyn chuckled as Lord Whent stepped into the centre of the area that had been cleared for the impending bout.
“Ash?” Arthur pressed.
“We just danced.”
“You were drooling all over him all night,” Oberyn piped up once more.
“She’s not the only one,” Elia announced, nodding towards the crowd.
Rhaegar smirked as Ashara scanned the people, scowling.
“Well, he didn’t introduce anyone else to his wolf,” Oberyn pointed out, taking a sip of his wine.
The man was enjoying Ashara too much.
“Wolf?” Arthur questioned.
Oberyn pointed to the beast and Arthur’s eyes widened.
“By the Gods, that can’t be real,” he grumbled. “And you went near it?”
“Ghost is friendly,” Ashara assured him.
“I don’t think Snow is feeling friendly,” Rhaegar observed as he watched the Northman taking his place in the centre of area that had been cleared.
He waited with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword that resembled his companion, and the group fell silent as they watched Frey, Blount, and Haigh approach.
They were wearing plate armour, and Jon Snow had opted for a leather ensemble.
“All three?” Arthur questioned.
Rhaegar nodded, noticing Ashara’s grip tighten on the back of Elia’s chair. The Northerners did not appear to be nervous. If anything, that seemed to be eager for the fight, and the Crown Prince leaned forward just a little more.
Did they have so much faith in the man?
It was odd that one would agree to face three experienced knights, all for the honour of a minor Lord of the land.
Nonetheless, it was intriguing, to say the least, though even Lord Whent seemed to have his reservations as he stepped forward, shooting the King a questioning look.
As expected, he waved the man on, as thirsty for blood as ever.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the dispute between Jon Snow, and Sers Frey, Blount, and Haigh will now be resolved. They will fight until they yield or death occurs. Are these terms agreeable?”
Jon Snow nodded, as did the three knights, and Lord Whent took several steps back.
“BEGIN!”
The knights did not hesitate in drawing their swords and charging. With the numbers in their favour, it was a smart strategy.
Snow’s blade gleamed in the morning light, the Valyrian steel singing as it was pulled from the scabbard. To his credit, he did not retreat, but stood his ground and parried the first blow by Blount with such force, the man lost his footing and skidded across the dirt.
That did not deter Frey and Haigh, however, who rushed Snow, testing his defences against two blades.
Jon’s sword was a blur as he fended off the two men, and it didn’t take long for Blount to insert himself into the fray, the three knights pressing Jon, who continued to stand his ground.
“He is exceptional,” Arthur whispered. “His form is excellent, and his speed is something else.”
Rhaegar nodded and noticed that even his father was paying rapt attention to the bout.
“Surely he cannot keep it up,” Oberyn commented.
He did.
None of the three knights could land a single blow, despite their best efforts, and when Jon struck back, he did so with such speed that Rhaegar thought he would have missed it had he blinked.
Haigh suddenly screamed, dropping his sword in favour of clinging to his leg, which was leaking a significant amount of blood.
This infuriated Blount and Frey, but the former swung his sword hard enough to throw him off balance, resulting in him falling to one knee.
Spinning out of the path of Frey’s next strike, Jon used the momentum to drive his foot into Blount’s chest, sending the man sprawling.
“No!” Ashara gasped as Frey swung at his back.
Jon seemed to sense it and took a step to his right, hooking the knight’s arm within his own and ploughing his head into Frey’s helmed face. The blow left the man’s legs wobbling, and in an impressive show of strength, Jon threw Loathar frey several feet through the air, but was on him before he could even begin to right himself.
Forgoing the use of his sword, Jon sat atop Frey and repeatedly drove his elbow into his face until the knight moved no more.
The crowd was silent now as Jon stood, his head dripping with his own blood as he looked down on Loathor Frey.
“Do you yield?” he asked dangerously.
The response he received was little more than a wheeze and the Northman shifted his attention to Blount who had frozen as he watched the beating unfold.
“You?” Jon asked, pointing his sword at the man.
“I yield,” Blount replied, dropping his sword.
“Ser Haigh, do you yield?”
Haigh nodded, still nursing his wounded leg.
Jon sheathed his own blade and approached where the royal family was seated, taking a knee of respect and bowing his head.
“I am satisfied that the dispute has been resolved, your grace,” he murmured.
Much to Rhaegar’s surprise, his father began clapping jubilantly.
“Rise, Snow, rise,” he ordered. “You have brought me some much-needed entertainment, and I look forward to seeing you compete in the melee.”
“You have my apologies, your grace, but I will not be competing.”
Rhaegar winced as his father’s expression changed immediately.
“Your king commands you to compete, bastard!” the king spat.
Jon didn’t flinch as he offered the man another bow.
“Of course, your grace,” he complied. “I ask for your leave so that I may have my wound tended to.”
Aerys waved him off and the crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief.
With the festivities concluded, they began speaking amongst themselves once more, many offering Snow their congratulations as he returned to his own people.
“You’re the swordsman, Arthur; what did you think?” Oberyn asked the famed Kingsguard.
The Sword of the Morning nodded thoughtfully.
“I will see how he fares in the melee before I pass judgment, but from what I have seen, he may be very good. There will be many who target him in the hope of proving themselves.”
“Are you entering?”
“I had no intention of doing so, but Jon Snow may have changed my mind. With your permission, your grace.”
“You have it,” Rhaegar answered.
Oberyn laughed amusedly.
“I’m sure Ash will love that,” he quipped, frowning when he realised the woman was gone.
“She left when Snow did,” Elia answered the unasked question.
Oberyn grinned.
“Maybe she has found a man you cannot intimidate, Arthur,” he offered.
Arthur glared at the man, and Rhaegar laughed.
The Kingsguard had always been protective of his younger sister, and the very thought of someone possibly interested in Ashara who would not be overwhelmed by Arthur Dayne was a novel thought.
That’s if Jon Snow was interested in the woman in such a way.
From what Ashara had said of their interaction, that didn’t seem to be so, though it did make Rhaegar question why he wouldn’t be.
As a bastard, having a woman such as Ashara showing interest in him should be a dream come true. It was not as though the man could expect a better match. In truth, very few men could.
Still, he had garnered significant attention with his performance today. Not that it would be enough to create little more than a passing fancy for most.
Jon Snow was a bastard, after all, and there was no family outside of Dorne he would be accepted by.
Rhaegar smirked to himself amusedly.
There would be those rebellious women who would hope to sample something they couldn’t have permanently, a taste of what was forbidden.
Perhaps this tourney would prove to be more interesting than he had first thought, though he did hope there would be no more unpleasantness between the different kingdoms.
The Targaryen's grasp on the crown was tenuous at best, and his father’s arrival could prove to be catastrophic if the man did not exercise restraint.
Rhaegar shared a look of concern with his wife and shook his head.
He’d hoped to gain an understanding of what the thoughts of the king were, which would decide his next course of action.
With the man here, however, that would be all but impossible.
It would be tense until the tourney was concluded, and Rhaegar expected he would be mitigating the actions of his volatile and unpredictable father more than he’d like.
Gerion
“Now that was interesting,” he said thoughtfully.
As a man of House Lannister, he knew he should be rather irked that a bastard had bested three knights from three prominent houses, but Gerion could only find amusement in what he’d witnessed.
“Emmon will be displeased,” Jaime snorted.
“Emmon is a wart,” Gerion declared. “Jon Snow will be an exceptional addition to the melee, should he make it through the preliminaries. You must watch him, Jaime.”
“The bastard is no match for him,” Cersei said dismissively.
Gerion shook his head.
“A man’s status of birth has no bearing on how good a warrior he is,” he chided lightly. “Let what you saw just now be a lesson to you. Never dismiss or underestimate anyone in life. Any man can rise to be amongst the best in the land.”
Jaime nodded, and Cersei scowled in response.
“He still won’t beat Jaime.”
“He might,” Jaime said with a shrug. “We didn’t see everything he could do. He didn’t even break a sweat.”
“Good,” Gerion praised the young man. “Remember that, and it will serve you well. Being humble and cautious will see you live a long life. Besides, Jon Snow has made this tourney all the more interesting. He is a dark horse, and his presence alone will upset some.”
“His presence offends his betters,” Cersei sneered.
“I do not see how,” Jaime replied. “He had no intention of entering the melee. It was only by the King’s insistence that he did.”
Cersei frowned but said nothing else on the matter.
She’d only become more contemptuous since her mother had died, and it only seemed to get worse the older Tyrion got. He was just a boy, and yet his older sister blamed him for Joanna’s passing.
It did not help that Tywin did the same.
Gerion’s older brother had always been ambitious, aloof, and even vengeful when he felt it was called for, but losing Joanna had broken Tywin. Where there had once been a sense of righteousness, there no longer was.
His falling out with Aerys had not helped. Being the Hand of the King had given him the perfect distraction from life at Casterly Rock, life without his beloved wife.
Without it, Tywin was only growing to be more bitter and Gerion feared it was only a matter of time before he did something foolish.
Not that he would be around to witness it.
He had his own ambitions to fulfil, and they did not revolve around staying in Westeros.
Soon enough, he would be on his own adventure, and though it pained him to leave his family behind, he could not continue watching Tywin implode and Kevan becoming little more than an obedient pup.
Tyrion would be well enough with Genna, and Cersei and James were no longer so.
No, Casterly Rock had become an unbearable place to be, and Gerion would be pleased to see it retreating on the horizon when his preparations were done.
Ashara
The Northerners watched her approach, each with an expression mixed with suspicion and curiosity. They had all seen her dancing with Jon the night before, which was likely why they said nothing as she made her way towards Lyanna Stark.
“Jon isn’t here,” the girl said with a frown.
“I know,” Ashara replied. “I was hoping to speak with you.”
“Me?” Lyanna asked cautiously.
Ashara nodded.
She continued to frown as she returned the gesture.
“Come, Ghost,” she murmured.
Ashara fell into step with them, and she took in Lyanna’s appearance.
She was a beautiful girl on the cusp of womanhood, her grey eyes of the first men haunting in a way, and her thick dark hair something many would envy.
“Hello, Ghost,” Ashara greeted the wolf.
He licked her hand, which seemed to settle Lyanna somewhat.
“He makes for a formidable guard.”
“He does,” Lyanna agreed, “but as you saw, Jon isn’t so bad to have around,” she added with a smile.
“You’re fond of him.”
“Aren’t you?”
Ashara stopped walking as the question was asked and released a deep breath.
“Is he forbidden from, well, getting to know someone?”
Lyanna shook her head.
“Jon is free to do as he pleases. He serves me because he chose to,” she explained.
Ashara eyed the girl curiously.
“You care for him.”
“As I do for my brothers and father,” Lyanna answered. “Jon has become like a second father to me. There was a time when I was confused, but he never acknowledged my efforts to flirt with him. I didn’t know why, but I understand him now.”
“Would it upset you if I wanted to understand him?”
Lyanna’s grey eyes rested on Ashara’s own.
“Jon is complicated,” she sighed. “He is the sweetest and kindest man you will meet, but he is guarded and with good reason. The day I found him an inch from death, my life changed for the better. The North changed for the better.”
“I can see he is respected.”
“And loved,” Lyanna said firmly. “The people love him as though he were a Stark. But he isn’t. Jon is a bastard, and that is something he doesn’t forget, even if none refer to him as one.”
“That doesn’t matter to me,” Ashara replied, eliciting another frown from the girl.
“What is your fascination with him?”
“I don’t know,” Ashara answered honestly. “Anyone can see his handsome, and I thought it wouldn’t be so bad to be on his arm for a dance or two. Ever since I’ve not been able to stop thinking about him. There’s something about Jon Snow that is drawing me to him.”
“He has that effect on people,” Lyanna sighed.
“Does everyone else he meets just want to dance with him a little longer?”
“Not quite,” Lyanna said with a grin. “Sometimes I feel like punching him in the face.”
Ashara laughed.
“I challenge you to find a man that doesn’t make you feel that way at times.”
Lyanna shook her head amusedly.
“Jon will resist you,” she said with a shrug. “He’s not shown interest in anyone who has tried.”
“Is he… you know?”
“No,” Lyanna said sadly. “Jon…” she broke off, seemingly unsure if she should continue and released a deep breath. “It’s not like everyone in the North doesn’t know already. Jon was married.”
“Was married?”
“His wife died,” Lyanna revealed. “He’s never explained the details, but when he told me, I could see how much it broke him.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Ashara whispered.
“Now you do,” Lyanna murmured. “I would love nothing more than for him to meet someone that can make him happy. The Gods know he deserves it. He needs more in life than just being my sword.”
“You worry about him.”
“I do,” Lyanna confessed. “I don’t know what I would do without him now, but he should have more. I’m almost a woman grown and live in a keep unquestioningly loyal to my family. There’s not anything to guard me from, not really.”
“But you accepted him as your sword?”
“I did,” Lyanna said unashamedly. “I thought it would look good to have someone escorting me around the keep, and someone who could teach me to fight. Jon really is an incredible warrior and an even better man.”
“What should I do?”
“That is up to you,” Lyanna replied simply. “If you want my advice, get to know Jon for who he is without a sword in his hand. Not many have been able to do that. You’ll soon see what I have said is true. You’ll never meet anyone like Jon, but you have to be patient with him. I wouldn’t expect for him to fall head over heels for you immediately. He will afford you every courtesy because of your station, but deep down, none of that matters. If you’re a good person, he will see that, and he will see through lies equally. Let him see you for who you are. That’s the best advice I can give you.”
Ashara nodded.
“I can do that.”
“Good, because if you hurt him, Ghost will be the least of your worries. I will make sure you feel any pain you cause a thousand times over. I swear it by the Old Gods.”
She meant every word.
It was not a threat given to intimidate her but a solemn declaration for the love she felt for Jon Snow.
“I have no intention of hurting him.”
Lyanna nodded.
“I would keep it that way, Lady Dayne. The North remembers.”
“Those are words I have not heard for some time,” Ashara said thoughtfully. “My father would read the words of each house to me when I was a girl. Winter is coming, House Stark. The North remembers, a warning to those who would slight your people. Would you dine with me this evening?”
“Dine with you?”
“Is that not a Northern custom?”
“No, we all get naked and roll in the mud.”
Ashara laughed at the sarcasm.
“Well, it hasn’t rained here in some time, so I suppose dinner will have to do. You, Jon, and Ghost, of course. I’m sure my brother will be there, and perhaps Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia. They're not so stuffy for being royals. I did used to swim naked with Elia in the Water Gardens when we girls, and not so long ago,” she added with a smirk.
“We will be there,” Lyanna confirmed. “You know, Jon will kill me for this.”
Ashara simply laughed in response.
Jon
“Seven Hells, I could kill you for this!” Jon cursed as he rifled through his belongings, searching for something suitable to wear.
“Oh, stop sulking,” Lyanna huffed. “I couldn’t say no, could I? Besides, you’re the one telling me I should spend time with more ladies.”
“Aye, in the North.”
Lyanna rolled her eyes at him.
“What’s so bad about having dinner with Lady Dayne, Arthur Daye, the Prince and the Princess?”
Jon could think of a dozen reasons, though none he could share with Lyanna.
This dinner could be disastrous. All it would take was someone to see the similarities between him and Rhaegar…
No, that wouldn’t be questioned.
The Prince would simply deny ever having relations from someone with the North, and Jon found he was pleased that he claimed that his mother was a southerner.
Still, it was something he could do without.
“Are you really complaining that you get to spend the evening with a beautiful woman who wants to get to know you?”
Jon released a deep sigh.
He could not fathom why Ashara Dayne seemed to be interested in him. He could not deny she was beautiful. Her eyes were alluring and had taken him aback at first.
For a moment, it was like looking into Daenerys’s eyes; only a moment mind.
Ashara Dayne’s were a darker hue, and save for the brief reminder, nothing else about the woman was similar to Daenerys Targaryen.
He missed her still.
Although it became easier with each passing day, he missed the woman he had fallen in love with. He’d been foolish enough to envision a life without the marauding dead, a life where they may find a semblance of peace and happiness.
Well, as happy as any could be sitting on the Iron Throne.
“I could do without it,” Jon murmured as he dressed, turning his attention to his mess of hair, ignoring the self-inflicted wound marring his forehead.
It would leave another scar amongst the already numerous that littered his body.
“I’m sorry, Jon,” Lyanna said sincerely. “I didn’t want to upset you.”
He waved her off and glared at her amusedly.
“How do I look?”
“Like a King of Winter.”
He smiled at that and shoved her playfully.
“I’m still going to kill you.”
“Oh, shut up and just enjoy it,” Lyanna returned. “Other than my family, how often are you going to have a dinner like this?”
Jon hummed.
He’d dined with the upper echelons of society and found he cared little for such frivolities. He’d been raised amongst the stableboys, the servants, and the fighting men of Winterfell and found he much preferred their company.
Still, there was nothing he could do about it now.
He need only endure this evening and then the tournament.
Already, the North was calling him back. He missed the cold, snowy landscape, and had he his own way, he’d never leave again.
That, he knew, couldn’t be so.
One day, the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms would have to be rallied to face the threat of what lay beyond the wall, and though he would sooner do without such dinners, Rhaegar was likely his best chance of uniting the kingdoms.
So long as a war with Robert Baratheon didn’t break out.
Jon frowned at the thought.
No.
If there was any whisper of rebellion from the man, Jon would kill him before it could materialise.
“You’re brooding again.”
“I’m not brooding.”
Lyanna hummed and gestured for him to follow her and Ghost, whom she had spent an hour or so grooming.
Not that it made a difference. His fur was still thick and unruly.
Jon laughed at the sight of the wolf as he trotted along, and Ghost’s gaze bored into his own.
“Try to be nice, Jon,” Lyanna warned as they approached the keep. “Lady Dayne just wants to spend time with you.”
“Why couldn’t she choose someone else?”
“Because they’re not you, Jon Snow,” Lyanna answered simply.
Ashara
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get so worked up about anything, let alone a dinner,” Elia commented as Ashara checked everything was in place for the dozenth time.
“I just want this to go well,” she replied. “Maybe I should have made it just the two of us.”
“Do you think that would have been easier?”
“I don’t know,” Ashara sighed. “Food will be brought, and we have wine and ale.”
“Where did you get the ale at such short notice?”
“Jon Umber gave it to me. When I told him I’d invited Jon for dinner, he insisted. He even carried it here for me.”
“I’m not sure I understand the Northerners,” Elia said with a shrug. “They don’t seem to be fond of anyone below the Neck.”
“I can see why,” Arthur commented. “What has anyone done for the North?”
“Rhaegar said the same thing,” Elia pointed out. “He says that the North could probably reclaim their independence and there’s nothing the Crown could do about it.”
“That’s because they bowed to a dragon,” Arthur pointed out. “No army could conquer it now. They’d just have to shut themselves in their keeps and the weather would do the work for them.”
“Then why haven’t they?”
“Because they honour their vows,” Arthur answered. “Torren Stark knelt and gave his word the North would follow, and they have.”
Ashara turned sharply as a knock at the door sounded.
“That will be Rhaegar,” Elia comforted as she stood and opened the door, bowing once she had done so. “Your Grace, it is good to see you.”
“And you, my child,” Rhaella answered with a smile.
“Your Grace, this is an unexpected surprise,” Ashara greeted the woman.
“I thought it would do Mother some good to get away from everything,” Rhaegar announced as he entered.
His expression was stormy, which meant he’d likely crossed words with his father.
“Well, you’re more than welcome,” Ashara assured Rhaella.
The Targaryen matriarch was the saving grace of the capital, even if she seemed to become less vibrant whenever Ashara saw her.
Living with Aerys would be trying for even the strongest of people.
“Well, there is plenty of food and wine,” Arthur chuckled as Ser Gerold followed behind the duo, clad in the white armour of the Kingsguard. “And ale,” he added amusedly.
Ashara glared at her brother, silencing him.
“I expect it will be much more pleasant than the dinner I was attending,” Rhaella huffed. “Lord Whent certainly does drone on. I should be furious with Aerys for not curbing his temper, but I found the entire affair rather dull.”
“Well, we are only waiting for three more guests, and then dinner will be served,” Elia explained.
“Three?” Rhaella asked as another knock sounded at the door.
Ashara answered it this time, doing her utmost to look relaxed despite her stomach doing somersaults. When she opened the door, she was greeted by a mound of white fur.
“Hello, Ghost,” she laughed as the wolf nudged her with his nose. “Lady Lyanna, Jon,” she added, smiling brightly at the man.
He returned the gesture, though his was more guarded than her own.
“Please, come in.”
“By the Gods, what is that?” Gerold choked as Ghost entered.
He made to draw his sword, but Ashara shook her head.
“Ghost is safe,” Jon assured the man.
“He is,” Ashara agreed, petting the massive creature as though he was an overgrown pup. “He’s very sweet.”
“Ghost, sit,” Jon commanded.
The wolf did so, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.
Rhaegar chuckled as he approached cautiously, and Ghost sniffed his hand, bowing his head to pet.
“Well, he seems friendly enough,” the Crown Prince declared.
Gerold relaxed somewhat, but that did not prevent him nor the others from eyeing the wolf curiously.
“You get used to him,” Lyanna huffed. “Honestly, he’s a big baby.”
Jon nodded as he looked at the wolf fondly.
“Go lay down, boy,” he whispered.
Once more, Ghost complied and chose to lie in front of the fire.
It was clear to see the two shared a very special bond, and with Ghost having removed himself, the others did relax.
“Would you like some ale?” Ashara offered.
“Ale?” Jon asked, surprised.
Ashara nodded.
“Thank you,” Jon said appreciatively, taking a sip and grimacing slightly. “Ah, Umber’s homebrew. How did you get this?”
“He gave it to me.”
“He must have been in a good mood. You can’t usually get a drop from him,” Jon explained with a laugh.
Ashara liked the sound of it. For someone so seemingly pensive, his laughter brought a smile to her lips.
“I should probably introduce you to the others,” she murmured. “Come. We do have an additional guest.”
Jon hid his frown well, and his expression became impassive as Rhaegar stepped forward first.
“Your Grace,” he greeted the Prince with a bow.
“Please, Jon Snow, there is no need for the formality here,” Rhaegar said with a welcoming smile. “I prefer not to be reminded of my duties amongst friends.”
Jon nodded and gestured to Lyanna.
“This is the Lady Lyanna Stark, my charge, and eternal pain.”
Rhaegar laughed as Lyanna scowled at Jon.
“Lady Lyanna, it is nice to meet you.”
“And you, your grace,” Lyanna replied, offering something of a clumsy curtsey.
“This is my Lady Wife, the Princess Elia of House Martell.”
Jon accepted the extended hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles, as was customary.
“And my Lady Mother, Rhaella Targaryen,” Rhaegar added proudly, helping the woman forward.
Jon bowed once more, taken aback by the presence of the queen.
“Your grace,” he murmured in his Northern bur.
“You put on quite the impressive spectacle today, Jon Snow,” Rhaella replied amusedly. “There are not many that can claim to be able to fight off three landed knights.”
“Thank you, your grace,” Jon returned appreciatively, looking up to meet Rhaella’s gaze.
Her eyes widened slightly before she offered him a smile.
“And this is my brother, Ser Arthur Dayne,” Ashara introduced the man.
She watched nervously as the two men shook hands, seemingly sizing one another up.
“You were quite impressive,” Arthur declared. “I look forward to testing my blade against yours.”
Jon quirked an eyebrow at him, though he grinned.
“As do I, Ser Arthur.”
Ashara tutted at the pair.
“Honestly, men and their swords,” she grumbled. “We’re not in the tourney grounds now. Can we enjoy a meal without an ego?”
“Is she always like this?” Jon asked.
Arthur chuckled as he nodded.
“Our Ash has little time for swordplay, as she calls it.”
“I don’t think anyone would growing up with you,” Ashara huffed. “He used to sleep with his training sword until he was given Dawn.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Jon asked with a frown.
Ashara looked between the two of them and shook her head.
“Come on, dinner will be served soon.”
She showed Jon and Lyanna to their seats and took the one on Jon’s left whilst Lyanna sat on the right.
Rhaegar, Elia, and Rhaella were on the opposite side of the table, and Arthur was on Ashara’s left.
Ser Gerold stood behind the Queen, acting as though he was part of the furniture, though his hand rested on the pommel of his sword. He was a rather imposing man, but Jon was non-plussed by his presence.
Lyanna, however, seemed to be rather enamoured with Arthur.
It was understandable.
Tales of his swordsmanship spread throughout the kingdoms like wildfire, but to Ashara, the Sword of the Morning would always just be her annoying older brother.
“You are an intriguing man, Jon Snow,” Rhaegar commented. “You were first brought to my attention when I heard of the unpleasantness with the Ironborn. Your people praise you for your part in defeating them.”
“He did,” Lyanna answered before Jon could. “He killed Andrik the Unsmiling, and he cut off Lord Drumm’s hand.”
Jon shook his head.
“It’s hardly polite dinner conversation. I’m sure her grace doesn’t wish to hear of the bloody affairs of men.”
“Quite the contrary,” Rhaella spoke up. “I would be fascinated to hear your story.”
Jon nodded.
“There’s not much to tell, really. The Ironborn occasionally invade the North, and we have to prevent them from destroying villages, killing the smallfolk men, and taking the women as their salt wives. I don’t expect we will hear from them for some time.”
“It is barbaric,” Elia broke in.
“It is,” Rhaella agreed quietly. “I have expressed to my husband that he should take a firmer hand with the Ironborn.”
“I doubt they’ll be coming back for some time,” Lyanna said resolutely. “Why would they when they will only lose their hands?”
“And rightly so,” Arthur agreed, eliciting a smile from the girl. “I fought Andrik during the tourney at Lannisport. He was a capable warrior.”
Jon nodded.
“Did he give you any of those scars, or are they self-inflicted?” Arthur asked, pointing to the myriad of markings around Jon’s face and head.
“No, I came away from that one unscathed,” Jon chuckled. “These are from when I was younger, mostly from Wildlings.”
“Wildlings?” Rhaegar asked interestedly. “I heard you took your blade from one.”
“I did,” Jon answered.
“And Red Rain from Lord Drumm,” Arthur added.
“And that one.”
“That’s quite a trophy,” Rhaegar pointed out. “It’s worth more than its weight in gold, but I don’t suppose that will be a problem if you win the melee.”
Jon frowned as he nodded.
“You don’t seem so keen on competing?”
“I’d rather not,” Jon sighed. “I don’t like to fight for sport.”
Ashara turned her head to the door as a knock sounded.
“That will be the food.”
She allowed the maids to enter and watched as they began serving dinner, her gaze barely drifting away from Jon.
For a man who could wield a blade as well as him, he was so softly spoken and humble, and his eyes, though full of warmth, were so empty at the same time.
Ashara hadn’t noticed that in the dimly lit hall the night before, but she could see it now.
It saddened her to see.
He was around her age and seemed to have suffered quite endlessly.
She took her seat once more and froze as Arthur probed a little deeper into the man’s life.
“Do you have a wife, Jon? Children?”
She shot her brother a pleading look, but Arthur was too busy cutting into his venison to notice, and as she looked towards Jon, she felt her heart go out to him.
Lyanna had taken his hand under the table and was squeezing it gently.
“No, not anymore, she died.”
It sounded so much worse in his own words, so matter-of-fact and almost impersonal.
“Seven Hells, I’m sorry,” Arthur offered, horrified by the slip.
“It’s alright,” Jon assured him, “but no, we didn’t have children.”
He was staring at his plate, silent and lost in thought.
Ashara didn’t know how to salvage the moment but was saved by Ghost as he approached and nudged Jon with his nose.
“Did you not eat enough already?” he asked the wolf amusedly.
With a sigh, he made to offer Ghost his venison but Ashara placed a hand on his forearm.
“I got some extra for him,” she explained, nodding towards the maid who unveiled a sizable cut of meat she’d requested for Ghost.
Jon laughed as the wolf began wagging his tail excitedly, and Ashara fetched the venison, offering it to Ghost, who took it from her gently, the blood staining the white fur around his maw.
“You’re not really made for company, are you, boy?” Jon snorted amusedly.
“He has better table manners than some I dine with,” Rhaella commented, “and he knows when to hold his tongue.”
“You wouldn’t be referring to a certain Lord of Highgarden, would you?” Rhaegar asked.
“I’m naming no names,” Rhaella denied. “Besides, I’d rather not discuss Mace whilst I still have an appetite. Now, what of you, Lady Lyanna. What interests do you have in the North?”
“I like to ride, and Jon has been teaching me how to fight,” Lyanna answered. “I like to read, and when my father lets me, I like to hunt. I like to spend time in the stables when Jon is busy.”
“And how does Jon Snow occupy his time away from his charge?” Rhaella asked.
“He helps at the orphanage,” Lyanna answered. “He teaches them to read and helps the older ones get work on the farms around Winterfell.”
“I expect that is a cause close to your heart.”
Jon nodded.
“I do what I can.”
Ashara smiled.
She could just imagine Jon reading to a group of eager children. As an orphan himself, he would know better than any how much it meant when someone would take an interest.
“Did you grow up in Winterfell?”
“Mole Town,” Jon answered. “It’s close to Castle Black.”
“In an orphanage?”
“A less reputable place,” Jon murmured. “I was born there and stayed until I was twelve. I thought of taking the black, but when I saw the state of the Night’s Watch, I changed my mind.”
“The state of it?”
“It’s undermanned and underfunded. Only two of the nineteen castles are occupied. Those that occupy it are mostly murderers, rapists, and all manner of criminals that took the black to avoid death.”
“It’s true,” Rhaegar chimed in. “It’s in a deplorable state. I tried to discuss it with Father. Well, you can imagine how that conversation went. Sorry, Jon, you were saying?”
“That’s it really. There’s not much to tell.”
He was guarding himself again, and Ashara couldn’t blame him.
“Have you seen Dorne, Jon?” she asked.
“I can’t say I’ve been that far south. Maybe one day I will see it.”
“I’d like that,” Lyanna declared. “Maybe Father would let us travel. He let Ned foster at the Vale with Robert.”
The name was spoken with distaste, but it was Rhaegar who asked the pertinent question.
“You are not fond of Robert?”
“He’s asked my Father for my hand,” Lyanna answered with a grimace. “I won’t marry him. I’ll run away before that happens.”
“He doesn’t comport himself well,” Rhaegar sighed.
“All he is interested in is whoring and drinking,” Lyanna said disgustedly.
“Aren’t most men?” Rhaella quipped.
“Not the way Robert is,” Rhaegar said dismissively. “If his mother was still alive he wouldn’t act as he does.”
Rhaella hummed, her gaze drifting towards Jon.
She had been watching the man closely throughout the meal, frowning thoughtfully from time to time.
Jon didn’t seem to notice this.
As well-versed as he appeared to be in dealing with those of prominent families, he very much kept his head down for the most part and only spoke to answer a question.
Still, it was something of a relief that the topic had shifted away from him.
Ashara did not want the man to feel uncomfortable in her company, and had she considered the evening a little more carefully, perhaps she would have made it a more intimate affair.
However, she was grateful that she had not extended an invitation to Oberyn.
The man would undoubtedly have made this much more embarrassing.
“I suppose I should get you back to your brothers,” Jon said pointedly to Lyanna when he felt enough time had passed that his leaving would not be an insult.
“You’re going?” Ashara asked disappointedly.
“Well, if I have to fight tomorrow, I should rest,” Jon replied, his eyes alight with amusement.
“I do apologise for that,” Rhaella broke in. “My husband had no right…”
Jon waved her off.
“He is the King,” Jon said simply. “Dining with you, your grace has made the inevitable worth it.”
“Oh, he is a flatterer,” Rhaella declared, taken aback by Jon’s sudden outburst of charm.
“I’d watch out, Snow,” Arthur warned with a grin. “Her grace here might get the idea of running away with you.”
“The North is vast,” Jon mused aloud.
Rhaella frowned again but shook her head.
“Away with you before you make fools of us both,” she huffed good-naturedly.
“I’ll see you out,” Ashara offered.
“Come, Ghost. You’re on guard duty tonight after you’ve been washed.”
The wolf glared at him, and Jon returned it equally.
Ghost snorted in defeat and followed, eliciting a bout of laughter from the other guests.
When he was outside of the door waiting for Lyanna to bid her farewells to the others, Ashara suddenly felt nervous as his gaze came to rest on her.
“Thank you for coming,” she said appreciatively.
“Thank you for the invite,” Jon returned.
Without hesitating, Ashara tore a strip of fabric from the hem of her dress.
“I hadn’t considered that I’d want anyone other than Arthur to win, so I didn’t bother making anything,” she murmured. “Would you wear my favour, Jon Snow?”
He eyed the fabric for a moment and offered her a smile that warmed her, offering his wrist as he did so.
“It would be my honour, Lady Dayne.”
She tied the purple fabric around his wrist and gave his hand an encouraging squeeze.
“I don’t think your brother will like this,” Jon chuckled.
“You never know, maybe it will motivate him to win more.”
Jon nodded thoughtfully, seemingly not fazed by the prospect of crossing swords with Arthur.
Ashara hoped it didn’t come to that, though if it did, it was done with only the best intentions of both men.
Arthur was fiercely competitive, and she had no doubt that Jon was equally so.
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Well, it would be rude of me to ignore the Lady who was kind enough to give me her favour, wouldn’t it?”
“It would,” Ashara agreed. “And this Lady is not beyond coming to look for you if I have to.”
“I will consider myself warned,” Jon replied, offering her a bow. “Goodnight, Lady Dayne.”
“And to you, Jon Snow.”