TSOTWR - Chapter VIII
Chapter VIII
Jon
‘Worry not, gentlemen. I have no intention of seeing you miss the festivities. We will make it seem as though we are leaving and return in the morning. I am no longer beholden to the whims of Lord Tully. We will attend the tourney.’
Jon had watched the small party leave through the gates of Harrenhal, escorted by a retinue of Riverlanders led by the Blackfish who wished to see Baelish out of the keep.
The man had complied too easily for Jon’s liking, and he was pleased that he’d spent the late afternoon tracking them eastwards. They’d set up camp only a few miles out of sight from any who might take a stroll outside the walls of the imposing fortress, but they would go no further.
Baelish planned on returning in the morning, but the man would not live long enough to pass through the gates once more.
He watched from the trees as the Valemen ate and consumed ample amounts of wine.
A mistake on their part.
Only one remained sober, and he was to be the single guard on duty whilst the others slept.
Another mistake.
Evidently, they felt safe enough in this part of the seven kingdoms.
Jon waited until the hour of the wolf before he struck, slitting the throat of the lone sentry, covering his mouth so no sound would escape him.
He’d learned that from his time with the Wildlings. For the most part, their tactics were not so covert, but they were adept at killing quietly when it was required.
Many a man of the Night’s Watch had fallen victim to such.
Jon held onto the man tightly until he no longer thrashed and placed him next to the fire so that it would appear he was sleeping if any of the others were to wake.
He would rather have avoided killing anyone other than Baelish, but it was not to be.
The few deaths here were worth the many lives Jon would save without Baelish’s machinations, although tragic, would be worth the sacrifice.
With that in mind, he carefully approached the tent that the deplorable man was slumbering in. Glancing at the sleeping form briefly, he struck without preamble, ramming the dagger he carried into Baelish’s heart.
The man stirred, his eyes widening in shock, but he was able only to offer a death rattle through the blood that spilled from his mouth.
He was dead in a moment, and Jon set about the rest of his grisly task.
None could be allowed to see the light of day, and it needed to appear as though they’d been set upon by bandits.
That was easy enough, and with Baelish coming from such a minor house in the Vale, he’d be all but forgotten in a matter of days.
Elia
“What do you think Whent has planned for the opening feast?” Ashara asked curiously.
“Something lavish and extravagant knowing him,” Elia sighed. “He wants a good match for his daughter.”
“He wants to earn favour with everyone,” Ashara added.
Elia nodded.
Lord Whent was pulling out all the stops for this tourney. No expense had been spared, though she did wonder where he’d procured such a vast sum of gold. His house was not destitute by any stretch, but the prize money alone for each event was not insignificant. It would be enough for any to live a comfortable life.
“Well, regardless of his motive, I’m looking forward to it,” Ashara declared.
“Are you finally going to find yourself a husband?”
The woman smirked, her eyes twinkling in the firelight.
“I might.”
Elia shook her head.
“You don’t want to end up alone.”
“I don’t want to end up with a man I despise.”
“Barristan was always good to you.”
“Barristan is old enough to be my father,” Ashara pointed out. “He’s sweet, but not someone I would marry. Besides, he’s a Kingsguard.”
“You’re too picky.”
“Not all of us were given a prince.”
Elia conceded the point with a nod.
“Anyway, it’s not like I’m doing anyone any harm by remaining single.”
“People talk, Ashara. There are those that believe you have been with a man from every kingdom, twice over at the last count.”
“People always talk. That doesn’t mean they know anything. Find a single man in any kingdom that can claim to have had me and I will show you a liar.”
“Not a single one?”
Ashara shook her head.
“I may like for some to think I am attainable, but I have never given it.”
“I must say, I am surprised.”
“I have my morals, Princess. I would not give something so precious to someone unworthy. I thought you knew me better than that.”
“We’ve been apart for a few years now,” Elia pointed out.
“I know,” Ashara said sadly. “I had hoped to come to the capital, but not with him on the throne.”
“Then come to Dragonstone. You are more than welcome.”
Ashara nodded thoughtfully.
“Maybe I will,” she replied. “Or maybe I will find a husband here and he will whisk my off to his lands.”
“Is that likely?”
Ashara offered her another grin.
“You never know, Princess. You never know.”
Lyanna
“I can’t believe you got lost,” she snorted as she and Jon were perusing the various stalls that had been set up. “How do you get lost on an island that small?”
“When you’re in the trees, it’s not so difficult,” Jon grumbled. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
Lyanna laughed and shook her head before frowning.
“Are you really not entering any of the events?”
“I don’t see any reason to.”
“Because you will win. I bet you’d win the melee and maybe even the joust. You’re brilliant on a horse.”
Jon shrugged.
“I’m not really interested in the fanfare of it all.”
“But you’d be rich, Jon.”
“I don’t care much for riches. If that was the case, I’d make a fortune as a Sellsword.”
“I still think you should enter. Only good things can come from it. At least think it over.”
Jon hummed non-committedly, and Lyanna let the subject drop, for now.
She’d convince him to enter at least one of the events.
“What’s going on over there?” she asked, spotting a commotion behind one of the larger tents. “Jon, they’re attacking that man!”
She hurried forward, only to be held back by Jon.
“It’s one of the Reeds from Greywater Watch!” Lyanna protested.
With a nod, Jon approached the three men who were kicking the downed Northerner. One of them noticed his approach and got the attention of the other two.
“Stay out of this,” he warned, the sigil on his tunic that of House Frey. “It’s none of your business.”
“When you are attacking a man of my home, it is my business. I’m going to give the three of you the chance to walk away.”
The trio burst into peals of laughter and Jon simply quirked a brow at them.
“And what if we ref…”
He was silenced as Jon slapped him, sending the Frey sprawling to the ground.
“Get up!” Jon seized him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to his feet. “Who do you squire for?”
“L-Loathor Frey.”
Jon grunted as he turned towards the other two who had been equally cowed by the slap.
“And you two?”
“Ser D-Dennis of House Haigh.”
“Ser Merton of House B-Blount.”
“I would suggest you tell them that I will be having words,” Jon growled. “Us Northerners do not take kindly to cowards. Now, you will apologise.”
“S-sorry.”
“To the man you attacked!”
Reluctantly, they did so, and Jon sent them on their way. They sprinted as quickly as their legs could carry them, undoubtedly, to tell the knights they squired for what had happened.
“There will be trouble from this,” Lyanna muttered.
“Good,” Jon declared.
She could only shake her head at him as he helped the small man from the ground.
“T-thank you, k-kind Ser.”
“I’m no sir, Lord Reed.”
The Crannogman looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of Jon who held up a hand to silence him.
“Perhaps we should get you cleaned up,” he suggested.
“We can take him to our tent,” Lyanna interjected. “We have supplies there.”
Jon nodded and the three of them did as she suggested, reaching the tent. Lord Reed’s gaze remained on Jon for the duration, grateful for the man coming to his aide.
“You weren’t gone lon…”
Brandon broke off as they entered.
“Lord Reed?” he asked incredulously. “What happened to you?”
“Some squires attacked him,” Lyanna explained. “We need to patch him up.”
Brandon scowled as he nodded.
“Which squires?” he demanded to know.
“Three of them,” Lyanna answered as she soaked a cloth in a bucket of water and began dabbing the wounds on Lord Reed’s face. “One from Blount, one from Haigh, and one from Frey.”
“This can’t stand! We need to get Lord Reed some armour so he can defend his honour.”
The diminutive man shook his head.
“Brandon, the Crannogmen aren’t warriors the same way most others are,” Jon explained. “They defend the Neck fiercely but do so from the shadows. He has no business wearing armour or wielding a sword against them.”
Lord Reed nodded.
“He’s right, Lord Brandon. We are not so adept in open battle.”
“I will deal with it,” Jon said firmly.
“There’s no need,” Lord Reed protested. “I’m only a little cut and bruised.”
“It’s a matter of honour,” Jon said with a smirk. “Don’t worry, Lord Reed, it is not a problem. Us Northerners must stick together.”
Lord Reed smiled sadly.
“I do not have much gold, Ser…”
Jon waved him off.
“I wouldn’t accept it,” he chuckled. “This is a favour that does not warrant anything in return.”
“You should listen to Jon, Lord Reed,” Brandon urged.
Reed’s eyes widened once more.
“The White Wolf,” he whispered. “We’ve heard of you, even in the Neck.”
Jon offered the man a bow.
“I am pleased to meet you, Lord Reed.”
“And I you,” Lord Reed murmured. “Please, you may call me Howland.”
He fell silent as his wounds were tended to, his eyes flickering to Jon from time to time.
“There,” Lyanna declared when she was finished. “Are you hungry?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly…”
“Share some ale at least,” Brandon interjected, pressing a cup into Howland’s hand. “You’ve had quite the shock.”
“I have,” Howland agreed quietly.
“Will you be coming to the feast tonight?” Brandon asked.
Howland shook his head.
“No, I did not intend on being here for the tourney. I visited the Isle of Faces and lost track of time.”
“Sounds like Jon,” Lyanna snorted.
“It is not so difficult, my lady,” Howland murmured. “It is an odd place where one can get closer to the Old Gods than most others. Time barely exists there. I expect Jon Snow found his last visit most enlightening.”
“I did,” Jon replied carefully.
Howland offered him something of a knowing smile.
“Well, as you are here, I would like you to attend as our guest,” Brandon requested. “My brother Eddard will be here shortly, and Benjen is browsing. Please, it would be our honour to have you with us.”
Howland was touched by the sentiment and he eventually nodded.
“The honour will be mine, Lord Brandon.
Ashara
“What did Frey want with you?” Elia asked Rhaegar as he approached the table.
The man had been insistent on speaking with the Crown Prince, who appeared irritated by the Riverlander.
“Him, Blount, and Haigh are complaining that Frey’s squired was slapped by a Northerner,” Rhaegar huffed.
“And he needs you to intervene?”
“I told him that it was a matter between them and the man responsible. The Crown does not intervene with such petty things.”
“Good,” Elia declared as she leaned back in her chair and sipped her Arbour Gold. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen people from every kingdom in one place.”
“I’ll be glad when it is over,” Rhaegar muttered. “It’s asking for trouble. A slapped squire will be the least of our troubles.”
Ashara nodded her agreement as she scanned the room.
Lords, Ladies, Knights, and Squires from every corner of the kingdoms were gathered here, the cups and plates filled by dozens of servants in the Great Hall of the Harrenhal where Whent had chosen to host the feast.
“The Northerners are lively,” Elia commented.
“This is them at their tamest,” Oberyn chuckled. “A feast in the North is considered to be dull without violence or passing out from too much ale.”
“Is that a Baratheon sitting with them?” Elia questioned curiously.
“Robert,” Rhaegar confirmed. “He has been fostered with the second Stark son in the Vale for some years now. He is considered to be quite the warrior.”
“And womaniser,” Oberyn added. “He already has two bastards that are known. I would hazard a guess that it is more.”
“What of the Starks?” Rhaegar pressed. “What do you know of them?”
Oberyn shrugged.
“Rickard is as dull as any other before him. He takes no interest in anything outside of his lands, and he is highly respected by his people. His son Brandon will succeed him. He’s the one sitting next to Jon Umber.”
“He’s huge,” Elia gasped.
“It is said the family has the blood of giants flowing through their veins. Whether it was a man that fucked one or a woman, no one knows.”
“Must you be so crass, Oberyn?”
“I am only repeating what I have learned. And then we have the bastard, the White Wolf of the North.”
“What have you learned of him?”
“Little,” Oberyn admitted, helping himself to a handful of grapes. “According to one of the Stark guards, he was found under a Weirwood being guarded by that large wolf slinking around here. Lyanna Stark, the girl, saved him from the brink of death.”
“And then he killed Andrik the Unsmiling,” Rhaegar finished.
Oberyn nodded.
“Some say he looks like a Stark. He does, but I caught a glimpse of him today in the light. Something tells me he is not so Northern in blood.”
“No?” Rhaegar asked.
“One of his parents was a Southerner, maybe one of my own. He’s too pretty to be a Northerner. He has delicate, scarred cheekbones.”
“Scarred?”
“He’s a warrior. I can see it in the way he walks and holds himself.”
Ashara looked towards the man they were discussing.
She could see none of the details Oberyn had mentioned from such a distance, but she continued to watch him, nonetheless. He was drinking ale and speaking with the other Northerners.
“Would my wife be kind enough to dance with me?”
Ashara was pulled from her musings as Elia and Rhaegar attended the dancefloor with many of the other revellers.
“Am I worthy of a dance, my lady?” Oberyn asked with a grin.
Ashara rolled her eyes at him before accepting.
“Keep your hands above my waist or lose them,” she warned.
Oberyn chuckled amusedly.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Ash. It would be like being with Elia.”
He grimaced at the thought and Ashara laughed as he led her through the first steps of their dance, her gaze shifting towards the table of Northerners when they came into view.
“You are as curious about him as me.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, if you don’t speak with him, maybe I’ll be to his taste.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
Oberyn beamed proudly.
“He’s yours but be quick; a pretty face like that won’t be lonely for long. Not if I had my way.”
He pressed his lips against the back of Ashara’s hand, and she noticed the Northerner making his way towards one of the large barrels of ale that was set to the side of the room.
She watched him closely as she approached, and they almost bumped into one another as he turned towards her.
“You have my apologies, my lady,” he offered.
For the briefest of seconds, they froze as their eyes met, though they both quickly composed themselves.
“No harm done,” Ashara assured him. “You’re Jon Snow, aren’t you?”
“I am, my lady,” he answered cautiously, a slight frown creasing his brow. “I’m sorry, you have me at a disadvantage.”
She smiled at his manners.
“Ashara Dayne of Starfall.”
The widening of his eyes was almost imperceptible, but she did not miss the way his gaze roamed over her face almost inquisitively.
“You’ve heard of me.”
“That surprises you, my lady?” he chuckled, his smile revealing a single dimple on his left cheek.
“It flatters me,” Ashara returned, taking the opportunity to truly look at him now she was closer.
He was unlike the other Northerners. He was indeed leaner in build, and his features much more delicate. In the dim light of the Great Hall, his grey eyes almost sparkled with a purple hue, or perhaps that was her own reflected in them?
It didn’t matter; she found them to be rather mesmerising.
“Would you dance with me, Jon Snow?” she asked.
“It would be improper, my lady.”
“I am Dornish,” Ashara reminded him. “Besides, it would be improper of you to refuse, would it not?”
He nodded, glancing towards the table of Northerners a short distance away.
“I will dance with you, my lady.”
Ashara offered him a smile as he placed the cups of ale down and took her hand.
They were calloused and rough, but not unpleasantly, and his grip was steady, more so as he took her by the waist.
“You dance well,” she complimented after a moment of him leading her around the floor.
“As do you, my lady.”
“I’d rather you used my name, Jon Snow.”
“Ashara,” he murmured.
She liked the way it sounded in his strong, Northern burr. His accent was so unlike any other she’d heard. Thus far, Jon Snow was unlike anyone else she’d ever met.
He was softly spoken yet confident with it, and Ashara felt as though she could simply lose herself in his eyes. He was not so tall that she needed to crane her neck to see him properly, and he smelled of a mixture of ale and something woody.
It was a pleasant aroma, heady and masculine. It was enticing in a way that made her want to keep him nearby just so she could experience it longer.
However, when the song ended, he broke away and offered her a bow.
“Thank you, Ashara,” he said gently, placing a kiss on the back of her hand before smiling and returning to his table.
Ashara released a deep breath.
She’d gleaned very little from him, but so much at the same time.
“Close your mouth, Ash; it is most unbecoming of a Lady to gape in such a way.”
“Shut up, Oberyn,” she grumbled as she made her way back towards where Elia and Rhaegar were seated at their own table.
“Are you well?” the former asked. “You look pale.”
Ashara nodded as she continued to stare at Jon Snow.
“I’m fine,” she replied, breathing in the lingering scent of the man she had made the acquaintance of.
“What did you find out?”
Oberyn had joined them whilst she was lost in thought and she shook her head.
“Nothing,” she answered honestly. “We danced.”
“Then why are you so out of sorts?”
Ashara swallowed deeply.
“I’m not,” she denied as she picked up her cup of wine and took a sip, ignoring the urge to fetch some of the ale the Northerners were drinking.
“Ash?” Oberyn pressed.
Both Elia and Rhaegar were watching her expectantly.
“I just wasn’t expecting whatever that was.”
“What was it?” Elia asked.
Ashara could only shake her head.
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “He’s just, I don’t know.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Rhaegar asked with a frown.
“No,” Ashara answered.
“Well, he certainly made an impression on you.”
Ashara could not deny it. She had expected to dance with the man, to learn more about him, but his entire demeanour, everything about him had thrown her off.
She’d spent the entire dance drinking him in as though he was a fine Dornish red, and before she knew it, she was back here.
It was an odd experience, and one she knew she wanted again.
Lyanna
“Who is that Jon is talking to?” she asked, shaking Brandon by the sleeve of his tunic.
“That’s Ashara Dayne,” Robert answered.
Lyanna made to stand but was held back by her oldest brother.
“Do you not think it will be fun to watch him squirm?” Brandon questioned mischievously.
Lyanna grinned as she nodded, remaining in her seat to watch the spectacle unfold.
“She’s stunning,” Ned murmured.
“Aye, but she’s got eyes for Jon,” Brandon pointed out amusedly. “By the Gods, she practically swooning.”
Lyanna frowned at the woman.
She was a beauty, her lithe figure, olive skin, and dark hair gave her a look of the exotic. Judging by the way she was transfixed on Jon, she was quite smitten with him.
Lyanna didn’t know how to feel about that.
“He’s going to dance with her,” Bandon gasped.
“So much for him squirming,” Robert chortled drunkenly, his cheeks red and eyes bloodshot.
He’d already been drinking with Richard Lonmouth before he’d joined the Northerners.
“Why would she dance with him?” Lyanna questioned. “Won’t that make her look bad?”
“She’s Dornish,” Ned explained. “They do not view bastards the same as the rest of the kingdoms. There’s no shame in being one or birthing one.”
Lyanna nodded her understanding and watched as Jon and the Dornish woman cut quite the pair through the dancefloor until the song came to an end and Jon politely bade Ashara Dayne farewell.
“What the in the seven hells is he coming back here for?” Robert snorted. “He’s onto something there.”
Lyanna frowned once more though she grinned as the table cheered at Jon’s approach.
“Shut up,” he grumbled as he helped himself to some ale.
“What was that about?” Brandon asked.
The group leaned forward, none wanting to miss any of the details.
“Nothing,” Jon said dismissively.
“Nothing?” Brandon snorted. “If that’s true, why is she still looking at you?”
“We just danced,” Jon returned with a shrug, not looking over his shoulder towards the table Ashara was sharing with the Crown Prince, his wife, and another man who appeared to be Dornish.
“There he is, that’s him!”
Lyanna turned towards the accusatory tone and released a deep breath at the sight of the three squires who had attacked Howland Reed.
“I did tell you there would be trouble from this,” she muttered to Jon.
“You, bastard. I hear that you attacked my squire!”
Jon held up a hand to calm the furious Brandon and stood.
“I did,” Jon answered unflinchingly. “I assume you are Loathor Frey?”
The man with the rodent-like face puffed himself up proudly.
“I am, and we do not take kindly to you attacking my squire,” Frey replied, gesturing to himself and two other men standing either side of him.
“I don’t take kindly to a Lord of the North being attacked, unprovoked, by three little cunts who think they can bully others,” Jon growled darkly. “Do you not teach your charges respect?”
“How dare you speak to us like that, bastard!” one of the other men spat, shoving Jon.
“What is going on here?”
The disturbance had not gone unnoticed and those who had been seated at the royal table had approached.
“Your Grace, this is the bastard that attacked my squire!” Frey protested.
“Is this true?”
Jon nodded unashamedly.
“I did, and I was quite willing to let the matter rest until the morning before seeking these men out to discuss it further. As you can see, your grace, they decided to find me. Your squires attacked a Lord of the North. That is not something we take lightly.”
“AYE,” the gathered Northerners cheered.
“Gut the cunts, Jon!” the Greatjon encouraged. “Either do it, or I fucking will!”
Jon held up his hand once more to silence the man.
“Let us not spoil Lord Whent’s feast,” Rhaegar Targaryen suggested. “Now, is it true your squires attacked a Northern Lord?”
“He lies!” Frey denied.
“So, Lord Reed was being set upon by three mummers posing as your squires?” Jon returned, his nostrils flaring in irritation. “I suppose your squire had that bruise before I gave it to him?”
“Watch your tongue, bastard!” Frey snapped.
“Why don’t you make him?” the Greatjon guffawed.
The other Northerners laughed, murmuring their own words of encouragement.
Frey began to tremble in fury at being mocked so openly.
“Tomorrow, bastard. We will see you tomorrow.”
With that, he turned and stormed away with the rest of his men.
“Why not now?” Jon called after him.
“Tomorrow, Jon Snow,” Rhaegar interjected calmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I will sanction it myself if both your sober minds are willing.”
Jon offered the Crown Prince a bow, and Rhaegar paused, eyeing him curiously for a moment.
“Perhaps another dance with the lovely Lady Dayne will serve to calm you,” he suggested, his lips twitching in amusement as he took his wife by the arm and led her away.
Ashara glared at Rhaegar’s back before turning towards Jon, evidently not opposed to the idea.
“Shall we, Jon Snow?” she offered.
“Am I allowed to refuse?”
“I’d be most offended if you did,” the woman replied playfully, her eyes alight with mirth.
“Well, I wouldn’t wish to offend you, my lady. I have heard the Dornish are fond of poison.”
Ashara laughed as she led Jon away and the Northerners grumbled amongst themselves.
“Snow is going to gut the Frey cunt,” the Greatjon declared gleefully.
“Aye, he will,” Brandon snorted. “By the gods, Ned, cheer up. There are dozens of other women here. Want me to get you a dance with one?”
Jon
Once more, he found himself leading Ashara Dayne in a dance he’d neither sought nor expected. He’d heard the rumours growing up of her being his mother, but as he looked at her closely, he could see no resemblance to himself in any of her features.
Perhaps in the cheekbones, but certainly not enough to speculate that she could be his mother.
“I see your reputation rings true, Jon Snow.”
“My reputation?”
“That you are rather quiet but fierce when you need to be,” Ashara answered. “I saw Andrik fight in the tourney of Casterly Rock. It would take an impressive warrior to best him.”
Jon nodded.
“He was competent.”
Ashara giggled as she shook her head.
“That is the kind of answer I would expect from my brother,” she sighed fondly. “Arthur is a fine swordsman. Have you heard of him?”
“My Lady, there is not a man in the seven kingdoms who hasn’t,” Jon chuckled.
“True, not that I was speaking of him to brag. I am of no use with a sword.”
“With a brother like Ser Arthur, you do not need to be.”
Ashara smiled at him.
“His reputation does tend to shield me from most,” she acknowledged. “I expect your wolf is quite the deterrent.”
It was Jon’s turn to smile.
“Ghost,” he murmured. “He is gentle unless instructed otherwise, though I admit, he is rather intimidating.”
“Is it true you wrestled him into submission with your bare hands?”
Jon laughed heartily as he shook his head.
“No, I found him when he was a pup. He chose to remain with me,” he explained. “It’s much less interesting than your version.”
“I prefer yours,” Ashara replied. “It shows you have compassion. Only a good man would take such a fearsome beast and care for it. I would like to meet him if you don’t mind.”
Jon raised an eyebrow in surprise at her.
“If you’re sure.”
Ashara nodded.
“Lead the way, Jon Snow.”
He looked towards the table of Northerners and hesitated.
“I am sure your charge will be well with all three of her brothers and being surrounded by that lot.”
Jon nodded and offered his arm.
Ashara accepted it, and the two of them took their leave of the keep, aware of the many pairs of eyes following them.
“How did you come to be in the service of the Starks?” Ashara asked curiously. “I understand the you were found almost dead beneath a weirwood tree in Winterfell.”
“I was,” Jon answered honestly. “Lyanna saved my life, and I pledged my sword to her. You seem to have heard a lot about me.”
“Your name has been mentioned once or twice,” Ashara replied with a grin.
“What of you, my lady, what is your story?”
“Dull,” Ashara answered. “I grew up in Starfall and have been friends with Elia since we were young girls. She married the Prince, and I found my own standing elevated. It does help that Arthur is my brother.”
“I asked about you, my lady, not the princess or your brother,” Jon pointed out politely. “You are not merely the sister to the Sword of the Morning or friend of the Princess.”
Ashara halted as she looked at him.
“Mostly, that is what I am seen as,” she explained. “I like to ride horses. I have my own stables back home and even breed them to sell. Dornish horses are exceptionally fast and durable.”
Jon nodded.
“I could use a horse of my own. I’ve been using Ned’s whilst he’s been away.”
“Well, I’m sure I can help you there,” Ashara said eagerly. “Or you could just ride him,” she added, taking a deep breath at the sight of Ghost silently approaching them. “He’s much bigger up close.”
She’d frozen in place, and Jon gave her arm an encouraging squeeze.
“You are safe.”
Ashara nodded as Ghost sat on his haunches in front of them, his red eyes roaming over the woman.
“He’ll let you pet him.”
Her hand trembled as she reached towards the wolf and scratched his ear, eliciting a bout of laughter from Jon.
“I told you he’s gentle.”
Ghost’s tongue hung comically from the side of his mouth.
“He’s so sweet,” Ashara whispered.
“You wouldn’t say that if he tried to crawl into bed with you,” Jon muttered.
“I don’t know,” Ashara said with a grin. “I don’t think a wolf crawling into bed with me would be such a bad thing.”
Jon could only shake his head.
He was not so inexperienced with women that he didn’t realise she was flirting with him. He did wonder why, but his thoughts were more focused on another woman with purple eyes he’d fallen in love with and watched plunge to her death atop a dragon.
“Are you okay, Jon Snow?”
Jon nodded and offered her something resembling a smile.
“Go hunt, Ghost,” he commanded and watched as the wolf bounded away from the keep and through the gates a short distance away. “Maybe we should head back in,” he suggested. “I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I took advantage of you.”
“You think you could?”
“No, I’m sure you have something to deter any that would try.”
“I do,” Ashara confirmed. “But you are right; we wouldn’t want to cause a scandal, not yet, at least. You’re not married, are you, Jon?”
“No,” he answered. “Not married, no woman, and no children to speak of.”
“If you grew up in Dorne, I expect that would not be so,” Ashara commented, missing the look of sadness that washed over him.
Rhaegar
“You’re looking rather pleased with yourself,” Elia commented.
“My solution did address two problems,” Rhaegar pointed out. “Ashara is keen to spend time with the man without appearing so, and I managed to avoid an unpleasant situation from developing.”
“Until the morning,” Oberyn broke in.
Rhaegar nodded.
“I expect sober minds will not prevail, will they?”
Oberyn smirked in response.
“I do not think so.”
Rhaegar shook his head and cursed in High Valyrian.
“It must be dealt with quickly,” he sighed. “We do not need an ongoing rivalry between the North and the Riverlands or the Crownlands.”
“What can you do if none will drop it?”
“I suppose we hope the matter is resolved between those men. Jon Snow at least seems to have a semblance of influence over the Northerners,” Rhaegar added with a frown.
“What is it?” Elia asked.
“I do not know,” the Crown Prince replied thoughtfully. “There is something about Jon Snow. I cannot quite work it out, but he seems familiar to me.”
“You saw it too,” Oberyn acknowledged.
Rhaegar nodded.
“He must have Southern blood in him. Maybe Ash will find out,” Oberyn offered.
“He doesn’t look like the rest of them,” Elia added thoughtfully. “It could be that he is just better groomed. Maybe we are seeing something that isn’t there.”
“It is possible,” Rhaegar said uncertainly, “But I do not think so. Ah, here she comes now.”
Ashara approached; her expression one of thoughtfulness.
“I would prefer not to be used as leverage, thank you,” she said to Rhaegar as she took her seat.
“Are you so upset you were able to spend a little more time with him?” Elia asked with a grin.
Ashara narrowed her eyes at her.
“That is not the point.”
She was blushing, her gaze shifting towards the table of Northerners once more.
“What did you find out about him?” Oberyn asked.
Ashara frowned.
“He introduced me to his wolf. Jon raised him from a pup, and Ghost chose to stay with him. The rumours about him wrestling a fully grown beast were exaggerated, of course. Not that I think he would say anything different. He’s humble, unmarried, and has no children.”
“He is a bastard,” Rhaegar reminded her.
“But he does not carry himself like one, and he understands customs,” Ashara explained. “He knows how to be deferent, but there is definitely a mischievous side to him somewhere in there; he’s just very guarded. He doesn’t seem to be so interested in me.”
“Not interested?” Oberyn asked interestedly.
“I may have flirted with him, but he did not take the bait. He was respectful and courteous. It was frustrating.”
“He is a Sworn Sword, no?” Elia asked. “He cannot be seen to be dishonouring who it is he is sworn to.”
“That doesn’t stop anyone,” Oberyn snorted. “I have witnessed many men beholden to vows break them for a pretty face.”
“Not him,” Ashara murmured. “If he is attracted to me in any way, he hides it well. Why does that make me want him more?”
“Because you’re not used to being denied,” Elia answered. “If you were smart, you would speak with the girl that spends the most time with him. Lyanna Stark likely knows him better than anyone.”
“I think I might,” Ashara mused aloud.
“Are all Dornish women so devious?” Rhaegar questioned amusedly.
“Yes,” Oberyn answered, ignoring the glare of his sister. “This is nothing.”
“It is not devious,” Elia denied. “If she likes him, why shouldn’t she explore all possibilities?”
Rhaegar could only shake his head.
“Did you learn anything else about him?”
“She was too busy staring at him,” Elia guessed.
“It is not a bad way to spend an evening. He is a handsome man,” Oberyn declared.
“We didn’t discuss much,” Ashara answered.
“But you’d like to?”
The woman nodded.
“He did say he could use a horse of his own. Maybe I can get to know him better then. I think I’ll speak to the Stark girl first. I expect she will be helpful.”
“Or the opposite,” Oberyn warned. “Those Northerners are protective of Snow. Perhaps you can use the opportunity when he will likely be fighting in the morning.”
Ashara nodded, and Rhaegar allowed his own gaze to flicker towards the table of Northerners.
Jon Snow was still there, seemingly untroubled by the threat of the three knights that hung over him. So long as the fallout can be resolved quickly, perhaps he should allow the impending fight to play out.
He would certainly be able to get more of a measure of the man, someone that only intrigued him further after the events of tonight.
Still, he could not shake the feeling that something was familiar about him, and with Ashara taking such an interest herself, Rhaegar was keen to learn what he could of the enigmatic Northerner.