Daeron:
It had been more than a fortnight since he had been given the task to clear the Kingswood of the Brotherhood. The only thing he had found in most of that time was frustration. They struck his parties, but always melted back into the woods before he could bring the proper force to bear down upon them.
It was grueling riding through the Kingswood chasing shadows and fighting apparitions. He hated every second of it. At times, at his weakest, he wished Father had given the order to Barristan or Arthur or even his brother, Rhaegar.
Anyone but me, he'd say, but he'd never allow that feebleness to linger. I wanted this task. I needed it. After what the Brotherhood did to him.
They attacked me, that sort of brazenness could not be ignored. They attacked Cersei. That anger burned even hotter.
"Where are these fuckers?" Robert grumbled. He had gotten off his horse and was stomping around.
They were standing in a field filled with colorful flowers and a few small trees that poked out here and there, tall and thin, dotting the landscape around them. In the distance, he could see the capital, King's Landing. The only interesting sights to him was the Red Keep that loomed over the city like some fierce, crimson beast and the Sept of Baelor. The massive dome with its pristine seven crystal towers rising around it. From here, it more resembled a crown than a sept.
"What did you expect, Robert?" Jaime drawled from atop his horse, which was draped in crimson silk and gold armor. "For them to come to us and then meekly fall on our swords?"
Daeron snorted at that image. He was not the only one thankful for the refreshing levity.
Robert chuckled. "I don't use a sword, Lannister." He proudly pointed to where his warhammer was holstered. A simple display of his cousin's strength and fortitude at being able to carry such a heavy weapon with ease.
Restless atop his horse, Daeron had dismounted and began to pace, but unlike his cousin he remained outwardly calm despite his anger and growing embarrassment.
I'm being mocked. He was certain of it. That was why he went no further.
The Prince bested by peasants. That's what the capital would say if he came back to King's Landing without beating these brigands.
I'll return a failure. He could already see it playing out in his mind, And Father will send Rhaegar.
His stomach soured at the images flickering across him of Rhaegar finding and beating the Brotherhood. The city would cheer him, give all their adoration for their beloved prince, who had saved them from the menace of the Kingswood Brotherhood while all too quickly whispering and snickering at how Daeron had failed.
Rhaegar would probably write a stupid song about his victories. The thought only further angered him. He kicked a loose rock, watching it fly several feet in the air before it descended and disappeared into a batch of flowers.
Ser Barristan's judgment was entirely silent, but the knight did raise a white eyebrow at him when he turned in his direction. He was standing the closest to Daeron, having gotten off his horse when Daeron had dismounted.
The kingsguard knight had already insured a proper perimeter be set up for their position. Their guard was a mixture of Targaryen, Baratheon, Lannister, and even Houses Tully and Arryn provided a few additional men.
Ser Brynden had asked to stay to help root out the Brotherhood. The famous knight felt obligated to see justice done to those who killed his family's ward. Daeron had welcomed him, excited at being able to ride into battle with such a legend.
The Blackfish had been the only one able to get any success against the Brotherhood. His superior scouting skills and the tricks that he deployed had been able to wrangle a few of the Brotherhood brigands, but that wasn't nearly good enough.
All this at my disposal and look at me. He observed, ashamed. Some of the greatest houses of Westeros stand behind me and I've led them to nothing but failure. His eyes watching the banners of his friends' families sagging with little wind to carry them. The sight did not comfort him.
"Mayhaps instead of men my father should have paid for a minstrel," Jaime observed dryly, "To have him walk through the Kingswood singing a certain song."
Daeron smiled, appreciative of his friend's humor. He needed it to chase away his dark thoughts and darker mood.
That was when he saw a pair of birds fly overhead. One red and one black, singing together while they flew into the forest and then out of view. Their birdsong trailing behind them, a musical echo that too soon faded away.
He took it as a good omen. He had to.
The Seven will bless us, he was more certain now while he waited for Ser Arthur and Ned to return from the city.
After a fortnight of frustration, of these bandits continuing to evade them or strike on their terms and not his, Ser Arthur came to him with a suggestion.
"My prince, the smallfolk appear to be helping them."
Daeron would not forget his anger at this show of disloyalty. "They're hiding the brigands?"
"Yes, my prince," Ser Arthur and Ned had gone to investigate after another failed attempt to lure the brotherhood out.
"The gall," Daeron growled. This Brotherhood wasn't clever or sly they were being aided by those whose loyalty should be to his family first and foremost.
"They are distrustful," the kingsguard put delicately.
"Of who? Of what?" He did not think that gave them any right to betray his family. "Their prince?" He scoffed at the ignorance that the smallfolk were cursed with. "Yet, they trust these killers and thieves."
Ser Arthur waited until he had finished. "If we were to petition your father for more rights they may help."
"They may?" He repeated angrily. "Mayhaps, they should help first as fealty demands." He crossed his arms over his chest. "And then I shall take their petition to my father and speak on their behalf when loyalty has been proven."
"My Prince?" Ned stepped forward, "I think Ser Arthur is correct. My father often spoke of the duty he has to our people especially when they are suffering from times of hardships. We must always work to prove ourselves of their trust and loyalty."
Daeron frowned, mulling over his friend's words. He did not really know nor care to know the daily lives of the smallfolk. If all they needed were a few minor things in order to secure their loyalty over the brotherhood, then so be it.
That wasn't what was most important to him. He had to beat the Brotherhood.
I cannot come back as a failure. I must prove my worth. I must show it to them.
"Then let it be done."
Now, they waited to see if Arthur's words while well intended proved to be helpful.
Daeron waited with whatever patience hadn't been drained away from him in these trying weeks. They were here.
"My prince," Ser Arthur tapped his horse to move forward, he bowed his head when he neared. "It is done." He brandished the rolled up parchment with the same pride as his family's famous ancestral sword, Dawn. "King Aerys has answered their petitions."
Even though it was what he wanted, he was still surprised that his father had agreed to it. They must have seen him in a good mood, he thought, or Lord Tywin saw to it. He had heard the Hand of the King was beyond furious when he had been told of an attack against his family. He had further shown his displeasure by the dispatching of so many men to help them against the Brotherhood.
The only thing we've been fighting so far is boredom, he thought reluctantly at the failures of his inability to quell these outlaws.
"Well done, Arthur," Daeron meant it, "And you, Ned." He moved to go back to his horse. "Let us spread the word that the smallfolk's complaints have been addressed by the crown." He announced to his gathered men.
Let us pray these seeds bear good fruit.
Dark Sister sang beautifully.
The sword whistled cutting through the air as Daeron directed it at the exposed side of his opponent. The valyrian steel bit into the patchwork armor without difficulty and sunk deeper into the flesh below the shoulder.
The bandit's shout was brief since Dark Sister was quick to silence him.
The body was held up loosely by his sword. He gave a quick tug to free it and the body crumpled to his feet.
A dragon does not pity those beneath him. His father's voice reminded him as he stepped over another corpse he made.
Satisfaction soared through him and he could not help but smile. He did not know what else to call it, but a thrill that he carried ever since the fighting broke out between his men and the Brotherhood. The first real fighting he was able to manage against the brigands.
Ser Arthur's advice proved to be right. Since the petition had been put in effect and they paid for their supplies and information the smallfolk proved their fealty. They refused to hide the bandits and outright told Daeron and his men some of their known haunts within the forest.
This was why he found himself in the middle of a pitched skirmish, and enjoying every second of it. Finally, the frustration that had been seething underneath now began to pour out of him against any bandit he came across. He hacked and cut his way through the rabble.
This piece of land that Daeron had made his battlefield.
It was an old clearing deep within the forest that the brotherhood used to allow them to rest without having to worry about being exposed. It was here where the smallfolk would deliver them food and other necessities when they still foolishly thought it wise to help bandits instead of dragons.
Now, I'm delivering them justice.
A roar that sounded more animal than man came from his other side and Daeron didn't need to turn around to know it was his cousin. The following thump which made the earth nearly shake confirmed it, another followed but this came with a loud clang and a louder shout with the hammer finding its mark.
He and Robert had moved further ahead, thicker into the fighting. He was sure Barristan and Arthur did not approve, but Daeron didn't care. He felt no caution, no concern, he felt invincible. His feet moved to the war drum that hammered in his chest.
Dark Sister was held loosely in his hand, dripping red, but he knew she still wished to sing.
So do I.
A bandit obliged, young and pockmarked he charged him foolishly, fueled by the the dreams of glory and riches for being the one to slay a Targaryen prince and to claim a valyrian steel sword.
He easily parried the bandit's clumsy strike. The sound of their swords clashing seemed to wake him from his haze and his eyes widened when he took Daeron in. Realization and dread slowly creeping over his expression .
Desperation made him a frenzied beast, lashing out to try to end the fight, but Daeron deftly avoided them. He was trained by the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, and here was a bandit of a similar age with a poor sword and no armor.
He thought to kill me, he mused, letting the bandit stay the aggressor. His sword swung wildly from side to side as if expecting Daeron to walk forward and allow himself to be sliced in half. The bandit was beginning to grow tired after a few more attempts of that poor maneuver. His poor stamina betraying him. His breathing was haggard and his arms were shaking from the duress of fighting.
Dark Sister was merciful, lazily pushing away his sword after an upward cut that more sagged than sailed. The valyrian steel sword punched right through cloth and flesh, a lethal strike to the chest. The bandit was dead in an instant. The sword clattered to the ground, his body slumped forward.
He carefully slipped Dark Sister out, for a heartbeat, he thought the bloody blade resembled a predator after feasting on a recent kill. It dripped red, with bits of flesh speckled on it. The corpse toppled and he stepped to the side to let it fall.
"Now, this is justice, Cousin!"
Daeron looked around to see him and Robert had ventured deeper into the forest than he first thought. They were no longer in the clearing. He couldn't even see any trace of it. All around them tall oaks and elms stood, old and proud. Their branches reached high, clawing towards the blue sky, leaves bristled in the wind, while a dapple of sunlight poured through casting their surroundings in a mixture of light and shadows.
Robert stood beside him. He was grinning, face flushed with sweat. His black hair was wet and messy. His heavy warhammer in one hand. There were specks of blood powdered across his chest plate. The black crowned stag emblazoned on it was covered with crimson spots.
Their many victims were strewn before them, blood splashing against the blanket of leaves and the gnarled roots.
"My Prince!" He heard shouting from behind, but it sounded far away.
We have been cut off. Daeron realized his folly at once, "Cousin," He warned just as he heard the sound of crunching leaves approaching them.
"Good," Robert understood, but he didn't sound the least bit bothered, "I was getting bored."
The battle song calmed his nerves before it could prickle against his skin. He knew the noise was coming ahead not behind. It isn't allies who are about to greet us. With that in mind, he carefully walked to his side to a large oak. He wanted to use the tree's massive base to shield him from any hidden archers ahead of them.
"Targaryen!" A voice called out to them, two shadows emerging from the forest's primal darkness. Into the splintering sunlight to reveal themselves, Daeron recognized them to be Simon Toyne and Big Belly Ben, two of the more infamous outlaws that belonged to the Brotherhood.
"Your family has shat on mine long enough," Simon Toyne was the proclaimed leader of the Kingswood Brotherhood.
He was proudly wearing his family's colors, upon his armor was the black winged heart of his house. His dark eyes took Daeron in and the Prince saw nothing but hate burning behind that gaze, below the man's large and hooked nose, his lips formed a sneer.
"You may have defeated the Brotherhood," His voice was rough and laced with indifference, "But killing you," He pointed his sword towards Daeron. "I can think of no better reward."
It wasn't Simon who charged forward, but the man beside him, Big Belly Ben. A name well earned, he was nearly as tall as Robert, while his armor could not conceal his bulging gut. His face was fat and the coarse brown beard that covered his cheeks and many chins failed to hide it. In his large arms he carried an equally large war-axe and had it raised, moving towards Daeron.
"He's mine, Cousin," Robert's heavy footsteps moved to meet the challenger and the two large men clashed to a loud clatter of steel and shouts. The warriors resembled aurochs in size and demeanor as they traded blows and curses. The ground seemed to shake and rumble beneath their large frames.
The battle song it nursed him. Inside Daeron could hear its soothing tune, rippling beneath his skin, his muscles were quivering. He's coming to bleed, they sang, He's coming to die.
"I did not think you'd take the bait so quickly."
He ignored his words and instead focused on the lessons that Barristan instilled into him.
"I wondered when the Mad King would send one of his sons to deal with us," He taunted, "That's all I ever wanted, you see? Your family ruined mine and I will return the favor."
Then the time for words was over and the time for swords had begun.
Daeron's body moved by instinct. He raised Dark Sister to block an upwards slash. His sword, his stance, his footwork, all of it seemed to move without him needing to tell them. The battle song was washing over him, and despite the duel he found himself in, he felt nothing but calm and control.
Simon feinted to his left, a subtle move, but one the Prince had seen from Ser Barristan more times then he could count, and it was far more cunning coming from the legendary knight. Dark Sister reached out to deter the attack, sending his opponent's sword in the wrong direction. Simon recovered, moving himself deftly out of reach in case Dark Sister tried to lunge forward where it would've been unopposed.
Anger began to darken Simon's face, black heart, indeed, Daeron observed of his opponent.
He could hear Barristan's whisper inside his head, pointing out the flaw in Simon's defense, as their swords spat and sang to one another, clashing angrily again and again.
He's losing his focus, my prince. You must always be aware. Always.
"I want to watch the life leave your eyes," Simon growled.
Their swords broke free and he saw his chance. Dark Sister flicked past the enemy's sword for a quick strike, the valyrian steel cut through the armor just below his right shoulder. He staggered.
"Then you should have used an arrow." In one swift motion Dark Sister sliced off Simon Toyne's head.
Dismay was forever etched on Simon's face. His head hit the ground with a squish and thud. A burst of red bloomed spraying out in a stream before the body tumbled over.
A loud, wet crunch made him turn to see Robert pulling his weapon out of the now corpse of Big Belly Ben. The chest had been caved in from the weight and power of his warhammer.
"You live, Cousin." Robert observed, barely flicking his eyes up from his dead opponent.
"I do," Daeron replied, "Your concern is touching."
Robert chuckled, "I'm not one of your bloody kingsguard knights." The mirthful shine in his blue eyes belayed his words.
Daeron smiled, but it did not linger with the mention of said knights. He knew Barristan and Arthur would not be pleased by allowing himself to get seperated, but first he and Robert had to return and hope his friends and men fared as well as they did.
Jaime:
These are not dummies.
Jaime ducked under the clumsy swipe of the bandit's shield.
These are not the wooden men that filled the training yards of Casterly Rock and King's Landing. Those that took your attacks in silence. They did not move, they did not react while you hacked away at them. In your fight against them they were nothing but mute observers.
Jaime let his sword cut low going under the shield and finding purchase in the man's torso. He dragged the sword upwards ignoring the man's cries, until the sword came out and the man fell backwards dead before he hit the ground.
He let out a shaky breath.
No, he thought, these were people, sons and brothers, husbands and uncles.
They groaned and shouted, cursed and cried. They bled and whimpered.
They died.
Jaime didn't look where the body fell. His eyes were scanning the battlefield. The Brotherhood had buckled under the combined forces that Prince Daeron had brought to bear down on them. Without the help of the smallfolk to help and hide them, they were doomed.
The fighting was coming to an end. The Brotherhood had broken, some had surrendered, some fled, but most had died.
He looked for his friend wanting to congratulate him on their triumph, but that was when he noticed he could not spot Prince Daeron in the clearing. Robert's gone too, he realized, he saw Sers Barristan and Arthur were moving swiftly through the forest where the shadows of the woods soon engulfed the white clad figures.
Jaime made to join them knowing they must be seeking the Prince. He was about to step out of the clearing and into the surrounding woods when a wheezy laugh brought him to a complete stop.
He reacted without thinking, his sword coming up just in time to block a sword that seemed to materialize out of the darkness. Its holder did not remain hidden stepping out of the shadows, draped in black, Jaime knew who it was at once, The Smiling Knight.
His helm was equally black, neither ornate nor unique. It looked like the helm of a common guardsman. The only noticeable trait was the large red smile painted on the front. It was a smear of dried blood.
Jaime didn't have time to reflect on this unexpected opponent before he was forced to meet the knight's next attack. He moved left and right, swiftly, but each strike had unexpected strength behind it.
The Smiling Knight lived up to his reputation, Jaime decided, dodging one of the outlaw's blows. He showed talent within every aspect of the sword and Jaime found himself remaining on the defensive. He never had time to counter, or strike because he was forced to dodge or deflect the unrelenting attack from the outlaw.
"That's a lot of gold ya have," The Smiling Knight's voice was strangely normal to Jaime's ears, besides the muffled lilt from it coming behind a closed helm. "Pretty gold makes for shitty armor."
"You can test it yourself."
The Smiling Knight obliged.
Jaime could feel his heartbeat pounding, but his hands remained steady. His grip on his sword was certain and his confidence did not waver despite the clear talent of his enemy.
The Knights' black cloak was tattered, it fluttered behind him like broken wings. There was a twitchiness in his movement. It was neither smooth nor refined as Jaime had seen in others. It was irregular and that was when Jaime knew what he had to do.
After blocking another blow, Jaime became the compulsive one. He threw most of his weight behind his sword when the swords clashed. The Smiling Knight stumbled, his feet nearly tripping over themselves. He got caught unaware and in that Jaime made him pay. Keeping his own balance, Jaime's sword followed in a vertical slash that caught the Smiling Knight's unprotected spot near his armpit. The sword bit deep, and the knight hissed in pain. Blood began to stream down his armor and the knight faltered.
Jaime's second attack was the fatal one. The sword slid in between the chest plate and the helm cutting at the neck to give the Smiling Knight a second red smile. He shuddered, and collapsed to his knees. Red spittle leaked from the helm. He looked up at Jaime for barely a heartbeat before his legs unwound under him and he hit the ground and stilled.
"Wait, wait, wait."
His wife's voice pulled him out of the clearing within the forest. Jaime blinked in the dim firelight of their guest chambers at Storm's End. He was no longer looking down at the red smile of the Smiling Knight, but looking at the warm smile of his wife, Elia Lannister.
"Yes?" He replied simply to her interruption.
They were seated by the small table near the glowing hearth. An empty bottle of Arbor Gold stood between them. Jaime would have liked to say they split it, but that was not the truth. The effects of the drink were welcomed, and he was proud to say that he hadn't slurred any words in his retelling of them taking down the Kingswood Brotherhood.
After successfully dealing with the Kingswood Brother it had taken them a few days to return to Storm's End. When they did, Robert had unsurprisingly insisted upon throwing a feast to celebrate their victory. Eventually when the hour was late and the night dark, he and Elia excused themselves.
In the quiet of the room, Elia had asked him to tell her what had happened. She wanted to hear it from him and not the gossip from the soldiers or the retelling of his friends or from the others who had witnessed it.
Never one to deny his wife, he obliged her. It was not an easy feat. The Arbor Gold helped, but he was not skilled in storytelling. I remember it, but can I truly retell it?
"That's what happened?" His wife's amber eyes glowed in the candlelight.
Jaime sipped from his glass before answering. "The fighting doesn't last long," He saw the bottom of his glass, "It's not at all how the minstrels tell it, where duels can last hours. The fighting, its over in seconds mayhaps a few minutes," he shrugged. He honestly did not know. "When I was fighting," He trailed off.
He was finding it difficult to properly describe what he saw, what he felt. It bordered on frustrating.
She must have sensed it as she reached across the table to put her hand atop one of his.
"Some of what you said just doesn't make sense," she said gently.
Jaime tried not to frown at his wife's criticism.
"How does the Smil-"
He never let her finish. He had gotten up and silenced her complaint with a kiss.
"Jaime," her eyes did not match her resigned tone.
He smirked at her. "I'm not a minstrel, wife. I cannot put it all into words and when I try," He shrugged and then finished his glass.
No one wants to hear about the shit and blood, he thought, or the piss stained breeches of the first man I killed in that fight. He frowned down at his empty cup as if silently willing it to refill.
She wrapped herself around him from behind. Her embrace was soothing. "Forgive me," she murmured against him, "Please finish, I want to hear the end."
"Even the embellishments?"
"Of course, dear," was her supportive reply.
"Jaime!" Prince Daeron had stepped away from some of his Targaryen guards to approach him. Dark Sister was in hand and his two kingsguard knights were behind him. The sword, the knights, and the black armor with the gold enameled three headed dragon of his house all together made his friend look like the Young Dragon come again.
"My Prince," Jaime greeted his friend.
"We did it," Daeron was grinning. He clapped Jaime on the shoulder when he was close enough. Ser Barristan remained standing behind the prince, but Ser Arthur had peeled off and moved in the direction where Robert and Ned were talking. Or from here it looked like Robert was boasting and Ned was listening in wry resignation.
"We did," Jaime smiled, "They say you killed Simon Toyne."
"I did," Daeron looked pleased, "It seems he attacked my caravan because he wanted a Targaryen prince."
"He got one," Jaime observed dryly.
"Indeed, he did," Daeron's smile at that was sharper than valyrian steel. He then looked to where the Smiling Knight lay slain, "I heard you were the one to fight and kill him."
"I was."
"Well done, Jaime," Ser Barristan spoke first, "He may have been an outlaw, but he was a skilled knight. It would take mettle and talent to defeat him."
"Thank you, Ser Barristan," Jaime found himself standing a bit straighter upon receiving praise from such a legendary figure.
"You have served with distinction and have shown valor on the battlefield, and I have seen firsthand your character to know you are a man of quality," Ser Barristan stepped forward with a friendly smile, "Jaime Lannister, kneel."
His body moved to obey while his mind was reeling. It was happening. Those words repeated in his head, his excitement thrummed through him. I'm to be knighted.
Father had offered before he was married, but Jaime had refused. I want to earn my knighthood, he told him, it should not come to me in the form of a wedding present.
The soil was damp when his knees pressed down into it. He looked up to see Ser Barristan had taken to stand in front of him, but then he saw his friend. "Wait," Jaime was confused, "What of Prince Daeron?"
"I was already knighted," His expression showed his appreciation for Jaime's question. "Ser Barristan knighted me after finding me and Robert." He paused turning back to the knight he squired for for so many years, "Well first he scolded me and then threatened me," He added lightly, "But afterwards he knighted me."
Barristan's chuckle was dry. "The prince tells it true." His tone was all pride for his former squire. "He earned his knighthood the same as you, Jaime Lannister."
"Wait," Jaime stopped Ser Barristan before he could begin. He was surprised by his own interruption, "I mean no insult, Ser Barristan, for you are the finest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, but could it be possible for Prince Daeron to knight me?"
They had talked about this for so long. They practiced together, sparred together for so many years. It was always the two of them whether King's Landing or Casterly Rock. Their trials were one. Jaime could not think of a more fitting end for them then for his truest friend to knight him. We're brothers.
Ser Barristan didn't look the least bit offended. "I understand," He smiled, and nodded before stepping back and Prince Daeron stepped forward, Dark Sister in hand.
"You honor me, Jaime." The Prince's voice was difficult to describe.
"Put your sword upon his right shoulder, my prince," Ser Barristan instructed. Prince Daeron may have been newly knighted so he was not fully aware of all the formalities that it took.
Dark Sister rested on Jaime's right shoulder. He looked up to meet Prince Daeron's gaze, who offered him a friendly nod before repeating after Ser Barristan.
"Jaime Lannister, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves?"
Just like in the stories, he thought, the brave knights who fought the evil and the corrupt.
"To protect all women and children?"
Elia, his mind's eye went to his beautiful wife and he thought of their child growing inside her. I would die for them.
"To obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king?"
It was his father he thought of first, and then his friend, the very one who was knighting him. And only after them did his mind show him Aerys and then Rhaegar, his king and the crown prince.
"To fight bravely when needed and do such tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"
"I do," He swore.
Dark Sister moved to his left shoulder.
"Then arise," Prince Daeron told him, "Arise Ser Jaime Lannister."
The touch on his shoulder was not Dark Sister's blade, but his wife's fingers.
The muddy ground of the kingswood was no longer beneath his knees. He was lying back on the soft mattress in their chambers at Storm's End with Elia beside him.
"I am so proud of you, husband," She leaned up to kiss his cheek. Her eyes were shimmering with warmth. "It's what you always wanted." She was so happy for him.
"I did," He admitted, wrapping his arms around her, but being here with Elia, he thought about the vows they made at the Sept in Casterly Rock, and remembering her telling him she was pregnant.
Those were the memories that truly made him happy, that he cherished above all else. And being knighted could not even begin to compare to those.
My dreams have changed, he realized, but he couldn't be happier.
Curious to see what Daeron does next? You can get a head start on Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons by checking out the early chapters on my Website at https://dravenshadefall-shop.fourthwall.com
Cersei:
I shouldn't be too early.
Cersei was walking through the Red Keep towards the chambers of Princess Laela. Her future good sister had invited her for a luncheon.
If I did not leave then, she looked down to make sure her dress wasn't ruffled. She ran her hand over the red silk just to be sure. I never would've left. She smiled at her betrothed's skills of persuasion.
When she had told him of the invite he had extended his own offer.
She felt the heat pool in her belly remembering the feel of his lips on hers. His fingers going through her hair. His other hand holding her close and steady to him. Sadly, they had been interrupted.
We're always interrupted. She sighed at the frustration of being so close to him, of feeling his heart beneath her fingers, her mouth on his, only for it to be tugged away in an instant. It was cruel to be denied what was soon to be hers.
One flesh. One heart. One soul.
Soon, she reminded herself to stem the disappointment that bubbled up.
It was the sound of voices that brought her attention back to the corridor she was walking in. She was close to the Princess' chambers. She just had to turn the corner and they'd be at the end of the new corridor.
"Princess Laela set it for the top of the hour," the first voice said, "We still have some time."
"That is good," the second voice responded. "I still don't understand why she's doing this."
The voices were both female.
Cersei went into the nearby alcove to insure she couldn't be seen. Her curiosity had her slide into its shadow and listen.
She was able to put names to the voices. They were Jeyne Whent and Leyla Hightower, two of Princess Laela's ladies-in-waitings. Jeyne was the second voice, she was Lord Walter Whent's only daughter and Leyla was one of the daughters of Lord Leyton Hightower.
"It seems pointless," Jeyne added when Leyla didn't respond right away.
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is," Jeyne insisted, "She told us so."
"She did say Prince Rhaegar would handle it," Leyla conceded, "But she still needs to appear as if its still going to happen."
"But it's not," Jeyne giggled, "And neither know it."
Cersei stayed where she stood. Her back pressed against the wall.
"Be quiet," Leyla hushed her. Their footfalls were getting closer.
"Why?" Jeyne didn't sound like she had a care in the world. "I can't help but laugh," which she then did. "Father always said the Lannisters were too proud."
"It will be amusing, but you mustn't babble so much."
"Now you sound like Elbert," Jeyne teased, she must've hit a nerve since she was giggling again. "You did see him when he was here."
There was a pause with the only sound being their soft footsteps.
"I did," Leyla said reluctantly, "but your uncle interrupted us," She said while Jeyne continued to giggle at her friend's expense.
"Mayhaps, you should thank my Uncle Oswell," Jeyne replied, "Why would your father approve of such a match?"
Leyla huffed. "The prince-" She stopped herself, "Never mind," She sounded frustrated, "You've turned me into a gossip almost as bad as you."
Cersei saw their shadows before she saw them and she stilled, holding her breath just as they came into view. The two women walked right past her. They were too distracted with their own conversation to even glance in Cersei's direction.
Jeyne laughed. She sounded delighted and not insulted at the accusation. "Princess Laela has already excused me from attending the luncheon." They turned and were now going down the corridor that led to the Princess' chambers. Their voices became more distant.
"You are fortunate," Leyla grumbled, "I do not look forward to a meal with Lady Cersei."
Jeyne took no pity on her friend. "The perks of being a giggling gossip as you've often called me."
Cersei eased herself out of the alcove, staying close to the wall. She needed to hear more.
"I suppose the Princess is right to worry that you'll ruin it," Leyla sounded resigned.
"How can I not?" Jeyne asked her, "To sit there and smile and bob my head when she excitedly talks about Prince Daeron," Jeyne's tone was mocking, "All the while never knowing that their betroth-" Jeyne's voice was muffled. It sounded as if Leyla had clapped her hand over her friend's mouth.
"Be quiet," Leyla hissed. Their voices then faded away all together when they entered the bed chambers of Princess Laela before closing the door behind them.
Cersei woke with a start. She was no longer standing in that alcove in the corridor of the Red Keep. She was back in her guest chambers at Storm's End. She pushed back the covers, her hands were shaking, but it had nothing to do with the slight chill in the air.
She padded across the room to the basin of water that the servants had placed for her the night before. The windows within the castle were mostly thin slits which meant little light was able to shine through, and the moonbeams that did cast her room in shadows that reminded her of the bars of a cell.
Cersei dipped her hands into the cool water. She pooled some of it and leaned down before splashing her face with the water. It was brief, but refreshing. The droplets of water trickling down her face. Her hands were still shaking when she put them in again to repeat it. The water felt colder this time, falling down her cheeks like tears.
She dabbed at her face before sitting down at the table. Cersei was pleased to see the bottle of wine she requested was there waiting. Her hands were no longer shaking when she poured herself a glass of the Arbor Gold. She sat there in the silent, darkness of her chambers before taking her first sip. Not wanting to dwell on what woke her up, her eyes looked around the rustic furniture that the past Lords of Storm's End had placed in here for their guests.
It appeared they cared little for luxury. The chairs facing the fireplace were simply crafted with small cushions adorning the back and bottom. They were gold colored canvas with rows of black stags running along it. The hearth was small, carved out of the stone and flanking both sides of it were identical looking crowned stags. When she looked closer she realized the one on the left had one of its ears chipped off and its nose was more worn down.
Jeyne Whent's voice bled into her observations, puncturing through like daggers.
Cersei took a longer sip. She hadn't needed them to finish to understand what they were saying. She had heard enough.
They're trying to prevent my marriage to Daeron.
She could see Jeyne's smirking face flickering before her, laughing at her, mocking her.
Did you really think you could marry him?
Yes, She answered, I will marry him.
She could still remember her anger at hearing those simpering fools. At how they mocked and giggled at her family's name and at her. Cersei had wanted to dash out of the shadows like a lioness stalking her prey to show them what happened when one so stupidly crossed a predator.
Cersei had restrained herself and then had to endure that horrid luncheon with Princess Laela. Who smiled and complimented her, talking about how excited she was that they'd soon be good-sisters and Cersei would be Aegon's Aunt.
Quite the performance, Cersei had wanted to reach across the table and strangle the princess. You dare try to take Daeron from me? She'd hiss when the girl's face would turn purple beneath her grip. Instead, she was forced to play along to this little act that Princess Laela was performing.
They truly think to cleave me from him? Her heart lurched, the fear and anger weaving tightly with one another in her belly. It was all she could do not to sob or scream. It was such a terrible burden to endure these past few weeks since she learned of it.
For her to pretend that her betrothal wasn't being threatened by those who should not meddle. That there were schemes trying to sever her from the man she loved…
Love, The word had come to her so quickly she nearly overlooked it. Cersei thought it with such certainty that its revelation was almost forgotten.
Love. She said it again, tasting the word. It was sweeter than any wine. She felt the heat filling her heart. The smile that was so quick to come to her lips when she thought about him. Yes, she was almost dizzy with giddiness in seeing the truth in her declaration.
This was love, but she knew it wasn't all giddy smiles, there was an intense devotion . A fierceness that was stronger than any lion. It made her heart rage and pound like a storm churning in her chest at them thinking they could divide her from Daeron.
He is mine. I am his. Those were the words. And cursed be they who would seek to tear them asunder.
Cersei couldn't show any of her pain, and none of her wrath. It was even more challenging to hide it from him. She feared what he thought of her in her lapses of silence or solemness. How distracted she had been, how forceful her smiles were when all she wanted to do was kiss and embrace him.
I will tell him. She had vowed, but the time was never given to her. Upon leaving the capital for the Stormlands they were set on by brigands. He was then given the orders to ride into the Kingswood and dispatch this band of rogues and thieves.
He's here now, She perked up in her seat. The hour was late, but he was back.
He and the others had arrived just today where Robert threw a feast to celebrate and amidst the music and laughter, she pressed herself to him in their dancing and her hand clasped tightly to his while they ate. How tempted she was to lean across to him to tell him what she heard, but she could not risk it. It was clear Rhaegar had his friends well concealed. If he was tipped then he'd surely hasten them and she wouldn't have time to stop them.
He'd take him from me, Cersei sipped the rest of her glass, but the Arbor Gold did not taste as sweet when the idea of her and Daeron's betrothal being broken played across her mind and all but trampled across her heart.
She really thinks she'll marry the Prince. Jeyne's voice was ringing in her ears.
Cersei hurled the glass against the stone wall with a quiet roar. It shattered when it hit the stone, glass shards raining down onto the floor, glimmering when they caught the orange glow of the flames.
She took some satisfaction in imagining it was Jeyne's face when she threw the glass and that it hit that ditzy girl right in her freckled face. She nearly smiled, but she didn't.
Cersei moved across her room where her robe had been placed before she had gone to sleep. She slipped it on with her mind made up. She tightened the silky string to keep her robe securely to her and to conceal what her lacy shift did not. Cersei was aware of the potential scandal of her being caught, but she had no choice.
I won't wait any more.
The door opened with barely a sound. Cersei peered out into the corridor to see the torches were lit. There were no guards in sight. They mostly stood at the entrances and exits of the guest wings. They also would perform random patrol throughout the night to insure everything and everyone was safe and secure.
Before she could change her mind she slipped between the small gap she had made and carefully closed it behind her. She needed no lantern since the torches illuminated her way. Cersei did not think he'd have guards outside, but the thought that they might be there did cause her to slow her steps. She felt the caution trying to tether her to her room, to try to tug her back.
No, Cersei kept walking. When else will I have the time and the quiet to speak to him? No answer was forthcoming. I will dream no more of Jeyne's mockery and Leyla's scorn. She needed to tell him.
Help me with this burden, tell me that they cannot do it. That you won't let them.
Cersei had wanted to tell her father, but there had been no time. She overheard of it the day before they left the capital and he was busy ruling the Seven Kingdoms. She knew she could press to get him privately, but she feared that would get back to Rhaegar and his friends.
Will he suspect that I know if I suddenly demand my father's presence, alone? She didn't know so she decided against it. She'd tell him when they returned from the Stormlands after they inspected Summerhall, her castle with Daeron.
Jeyne's giggling echoed inside her head. There is no marriage. There will be no castle.
There will be no more tongue wagging, Cersei growled. She wanted to show Jeyne the folly of her disrespect and arrogance. I'll make the bards write a new song, Cersei felt the faint traces of a smile on her lips, Afterall, Jeyne does rhyme with pain…
His door was in sight and she let out a relieved breath to see it was unattended. There were no pale cloaks of the Kingsguard or the familiar sight of the Targaryen dragon that the men-at-arms wear. She quickly covered the distance not wanting to try her luck. One hand was pressed against the door, the other on the handle but she hesitated.
It was a bad time for the doubt to return. What will I say to excuse my nightly intrusion? What will I see?
She felt the heat creep into her face. That temptation was present. It grew with each day just as much as their frustration everytime they were caught. Now, we'd be alone…
Cersei tempered it. She would not risk her love of him if their betrothal was set aside because of her lust for him. Before she could change her mind she opened the door.
"Cersei?"
"Daeron," She had all but a quick glimpse around the room before her eyes found him sitting by a chair near the fireplace. Surprised by her very late and unannounced visit, he stood up to greet her. He was surprisingly decently dressed, she ignored the slight pang of disappointment. He was wearing a loose black tunic and breeches. In front of him was a plate of food and a tankard.
"I need to talk to you." She felt better already when his hand was on her back.
"Very well," He led her to the chair beside him. He was more calm then she expected at her barging in on him at this late hour. "Are you well?"
No, "Yes." She could feel the cool air caressing her bare legs. When she sat down the fabric of her robe hitched up slightly. She was quick to adjust it, but not before feeling his eyes on her. She looked up to see his surprise had melted into admiration. She felt herself flush beneath his heated gaze.
He abruptly cleared his throat and then looked away as if to stem his own wicked thoughts and lust. "What is it you need to talk about?"
She answered after a short pause. "I've been meaning to tell you for awhile."
"I see," he distracted himself with the food on his plate. He took a loud bite of his apple. "I was hungry," He sensed her unasked question, "And the kitchens are never closed to a prince," He flashed her a grin to explain why he was still up at this hour, dressed and eating as if it was he was having an early supper.
He offered her his plate which had some grapes, berries, bread, and a bit of beef. It hardly looked like a meal for a prince.
She picked up a few grapes and nodded her thanks.
"Is this why you've been," He tried to find the right word to delicately explain her behavior.
"Yes," She confirmed, "and I'm sorry for that." Her fingers felt clumsy in her lap and the grapes were threatening to spill out of her grip. She could feel his stare, but a part of her didn't want to meet it, afraid of the disappointment she might see or worse, the hurt, his hurt.
"I wanted to tell you," She continued. "I wanted to tell you as soon as I heard," she confessed, still not looking up, and hating herself for this cowardice. I am better than this. I am a Lannister, but her eyes remained on the grapes in her hand. "But I couldn't, because I didn't have a chance to truly speak with you alone since we left the capital."
"So here you are," There was amusement in his voice, "At my chambers during the hour of the bat? Or is it the eel? I'm not certain."
She wasn't either. "Yes, here I am." Cersei finally looked up to see his beautiful eyes were on her. To her relief there was no disappointment or hurt in his gaze. She had always loved them even when she was foolishly smitten with Rhaegar.
"It is about your brother."
His face darkened and her own mood followed with it dampening her temptations.
"Rhaegar?" His tone had changed just as quickly.
"Yes," She confirmed, and then she told him everything she overheard that day between Jeyne Whent and Leyla Hightower.
"Damn him," Daeron snarled when she had finished. He was pacing in front of her. "Damn his plots," He cursed, "and damn his prophecies."
She was not sure she had ever seen him so angry before. His hands were at his sides where he flexed his fingers into a fist and then unclench them again and again. "I hate him," He paused to turn in her, his face softened when their eyes met. "If he thinks I'd let him come between us." He shook his head, "Then he's a bigger fool than I thought."
Cersei took pleasure in his passion for her, for them. He fights for me just as fiercely. "What will you do?"
"I don't know," He frowned, "If we were to get married sooner, would Rhaegar actually leave us be?"
They both knew the answer, but neither said it aloud: The fear that this could just be the beginning.
Daeron walked over to his bed where he sat down on its edge and sighed.
She followed him, disheartened by his change. He suddenly looked so weary. She could still see the anger with how his body tensed and his clenched jaw, but there was more to his appearance that she didn't want to see, because it hurt to see. Her chest tightened. "Daeron?" She said his name softly, "what is it?"
He didn't answer.
She said his name again, but his body didn't even stir and she wondered if he even heard her. She crouched in front of him, clasping her hands in his.
He looked down at her then. "I hate him."
"I know," she said soothingly.
It had been a story she slowly learned from him. It was given to her piece by piece the life he lived in the Red Keep. How his brother ignored him while his father confused and frightened him.
Aerys would charm him one morning and then curse him at supper. He'd embrace him and call him son, but then an hour would pass in which he'd threaten to have him sent to the Black Cells. That was no life for a child. His father's delusions and outbursts poisoned Daeron's confidence and Rhaegar destroyed what was left.
He couldn't see who he truly was, she suspected when he saw himself in the looking glass, he saw that frightened, lonely boy, but he wasn't that. If only he could see what she saw when she looked at him. That was a man who would be a great king.
"I'd do anything for you, for us."
"I know," She felt the intensity in his stare. The sincerity in his tone filled her with such warmth. "And that's why I love you." She finished her declaration by kissing him, wanting to put everything she felt about him into it so that he could understand how much he meant to her.
They fell backwards onto his bed. They never let go of each other.
Lyanna:
"My brother has the worst timing," Lyanna grumbled.
Robert had interrupted her long awaited sparring session with Cersei to tell her that her brother was looking for her. She had wanted to ignore it because she'd rather fight, but she saw the seriousness in Robert's expression realizing this wasn't something she could ignore so she reluctantly left the training yard and followed Robert.
"The spar was over."
She frowned. "What do you mean?" She thought back to it. Lyanna had thought she was doing rather well against her.
Robert's chuckling told her differently. "The Lady Cersei was poised to parry that strike you do," He then mimicked it as if he was wielding an invisible sword, "which would free her to then disarm and defeat you." He then proceeded to show said moves that would've led to Lyanna's loss.
Her pride rankled at how he said it so simply and with such confidence.
"You rely too much on-"
"Well," She cut him off, feeling flustered and annoyed by how he talked about her fighting, "I didn't know you were the master-at-arms of the castle as well as its lord." She chided herself as soon as she said it, hearing how childish she sounded.
"Peace, Lyanna," He held up his arms as if he was the one yielding to her in a spar. "I imagine you train with Benjen?" At her nod, he continued, "A good lad, but he is not Prince Daeron," he consoled her. "There's no shame in defeat."
She wasn't sure why he was being so kind to her. She didn't deserve it especially with how she had just been so snide to him. "Thank you," She told him, trying her best not to mumble. "And I'm sorry," she added, "You were trying to help me and I was being-"
He snorted before she could finish, but instead of feeling annoyed, she felt her lips betray her by curving upwards. He was very confusing and charming, and infuriating. That's what she decided. As well as not wanting to think about it or him any further.
"Do you know why the Tullys left?"
"No."
The unusual part was not them leaving since they were not the first to do so. Lord Jon Arryn had already departed Storm's End. He left a little less than a week ago right after the Prince's party had returned from their victory over the Kingswood Brotherhood.
The Tullys' departure had been different. There's was so strange and sudden. They had abruptly left two days ago. She heard a servant saying the Blackfish had received a rider. Whatever message that had been delivered had caused him to order their party to pack and leave at once.
Lyanna had missed most of the excitement. All she was able to see was the Tully banners billowing in the afternoon breeze when their carriage and riders left Storm's End.
"Does anyone know why they left?"
"The Tullys," He answered dryly.
She rolled her eyes. Lyanna was unsure why the Lord of Storm's End had decided to play messenger for her brother. "Why did you come get me? Don't you have actual Lordship duties to attend to?" She gestured to the very castle they were walking into.
"I have Maester Cressen tend to most of it," He said it as if it was normal for a Lord Paramount to shirk all his duties and place them on his maester's shoulders, "I have Stannis too."
"And that leaves you to escort me?"
"It does," He didn't quite meet her gaze when he added. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Oh?" His tone was different. There was none of that mirth or confidence or charm that he seemed to carry with him as effortlessly as his warhammer. It reminded her of the conversation she had had with him in the godswood before he rode out with Ned and the others to handle the Kingswood Brotherhood.
She had seen a different Robert then the one she was used to. Lyanna had found it more disarming than his easy charm and quick smiles. It had confused her. He had spoken to her about things that she doubted he ever said to Ned or Prince Daeron.
"Yes, I wanted to ask you something."
"What?" She was acutely aware of her growing heartbeat.
"I wanted your permission to write to you."
"My permission?" She blinked.
"Yes," He answered, "If you were to give it, I'd then of course write to your father and ask," He was speaking as if he thought he needed to explain it all to her, "and if he gave it then I'd hope to write to you."
"But you asked me first?"
He hesitated. "Not entirely," He gave her a sideways glance. "I talked to Ashara first."
"Ned's wife?" That wasn't the answer she was expecting.
"Yeah, I thought she'd be a wise and needed ally in case you said yes and then Ned found out."
"Ah," She was smiling knowing that he was right. Ashara could easily handle her brother and his moods. Lyanna was certain he'd be experiencing several if or when he found out that Robert asked to write to her.
She still didn't answer him. She couldn't help it. She was too curious. She wanted to know more. She had to. "What would you want to write about?"
"Embroidery tips?"
"Fool," she nudged his arm, but it was like a kitten pawing at a bear. It wasn't threatening, just amusing. It made her realize the plain differences between them, of how tall and big he was and how easily she could get lost in his shadow with her small and lean frame.
Robert's laugh sounded like the distant rumble of thunder. "I'd have you write of your riding in the Wolfswood. I'd hear how your sparring with Benjen was going. You know," he shrugged, unsure how to make it any plainer, "Things worth writing about."
"And you?" She didn't hate the idea of telling him about her riding or her fighting.
"I'd write to you of home," He answered, "I'd tell you of all the sights you haven't seen here in the Stormlands, and there are many." He sounded so proud of the land he ruled even if he didn't take the time to actually try to rule it. "It's a pity that you cannot see them."
"So I have to trust your skill with a quill?" She found herself teasing.
Robert chuckled. "I'm afraid you'd do."
They were climbing the tower of Storm's End. With a few more steps they'd be on the guest chambers floor where she and her family were staying.
"And," She paused to ask it even though she already knew the answer, "Why would you want to write to me?"
They reached the guest wing and the two Baratheon guards on duties. They dipped their heads and opened the doors for them. They walked in without speaking, and she glanced in his direction to see his expression had none of his confidence or self assurance.
He actually looks a little nervous. It was surprising. She almost found it endearing.
"I'd wish for you to be my wife, Lyanna," He said bluntly. "I'd want the honor of it and all the other blessings that would come with our marriage."
"Like finally being Ned's brother?" Perhaps it was wrong for it to be the first thing to say to him upon his declaration, but it had to be said. It lurked in the shadows of her mind, she wasn't a fool. She knew how much Robert loved him. Now, by marrying her he got to have what he always seemed to want, the chance to be Ned's actual brother.
He frowned. She couldn't tell for certain, but she thought he looked insulted? Surprised? There were warring emotions on his face while his blue eyes looked distant and distracted by other thoughts or feelings.
"If you think that is why I truly wish to marry you," he said slowly. "Then I will rescind the question now and we'll not speak of this again," He actually sounded wounded.
"Robert, I'm," She didn't know what to say. This was all so strange, but yet so familiar. It was expected and unexpected. Lyanna knew this was to be her fate.
They were chains she struggled with since she was old enough to understand what a marriage would mean for her. It wasn't just about leaving behind her home and family at Winterfell, or losing her name, it was about having to go somewhere else to be with someone else, and to be entirely dependent on him.
It was a feeling she didn't want. Lyanna didn't care if that was how it was done it didn't make it any less unfair in her mind. The husband would have none of the same restraints. He was allowed to continue his dalliances, to spill his seed to any woman who caught his fancy. She'd be this man's doll, his toy for him to control and the thought made her stomach clench and anger to flood her chest.
They want my hand, my name, and my womb. They'd ignore the rest. Or worse, try to shear the parts of her that they didn't like. Lyanna felt something swell in her throat. They'd keep me in their castle, my every step would be monitored. The future played out in front of her and she saw how helpless she was to be controlled by a husband.
Robert hadn't tried to press her. He left her alone so she could think. Even when they reached her brother's chambers.
She was surprised to feel that a part of her wanted to think he'd be different then those sorts of husbands. He wouldn't be like the nightmares of the fat and vicious lords with grubby hands, leering at her, while she was shackled to his seat. Lyanna wanted to believe it, but she couldn't ignore what else she saw and knew of him.
Robert was lazy and uncaring about ruling or running a household. He already had one bastard girl, was she foolish enough to think it would be his last. If he was writing to her at Winterfell about how he missed her company would he send that letter before sending for a woman to warm his bed?
Her stomach twisted painfully. She couldn't bear it.
Lyanna Stark knew it was foolish to want something different, to expect something different in her marriage but it still couldn't stop her from feeling it.
"How many storms will come between us, Robert?" She asked, "I-I don't wish to share my husband, as foolish as that sounds," she let out a humorless laugh, perfectly aware of the role she was supposed to play. "Your reputation is well known."
He winced, but he didn't protest any of it.
"Could you do that, Robert?" She asked quietly.
He looked poised to give an immediate answer but then he stopped himself. "I-I," He was frowning, it was after another few beats of silence did he finish, "I don't know."
Lyanna appreciated his honesty, but she still walked away.
"Then you have my answer," She didn't look back, and left the Lord of Storm's End where he stood to slip into her brother's room.
The first thing she saw when she entered was Ned's new banner that was hanging proudly above the hearth. It was of a white wolf running along a black field with an equally white star streaking across the black sky.
After admiring the standard she turned her attention to the table where she saw the others were already gathered and waiting for her. Ashara was sitting beside Ned, but was looking at Lyanna with a knowing smile as if her violet eyes could see through wood and stone to know she had just been talking to Robert.
"The storm is coming?" Benjen said from Ned's other side. Her youngest brother had been suggesting house words for Ned and Ashara for quite awhile. The newly wedded couple had yet to decide on one.
"Thank you, Benjen," Ned stopped him before he could continue, but patted his brother on the shoulder to show his appreciation. He then turned to Lyanna, "Please join us, sister."
She did. She took the seat across from them. She detected something different in her brother's tone. It sounded tight, and he sounded tired.
"I've received a raven from father," He told them without any preamble.
"What is it?" She saw the seriousness in her brother's eyes. Ashara's hand was clasped into one of his. She spared a look at Benjen, who looked as confused as she felt.
"Brandon has married Barbrey Ryswell."
"What?" She couldn't believe it. She wanted to call this some poor jape on Brandon's part, but then she remembered the Tullys leaving Storm's End so quickly. This was why.
The wolf's blood, that was what father called it. He said Brandon had it, and that she had it too. Though when he said it then it was with wry amusement, she was certain he was cursing it now.
"This can't be true," Benjen said in dismay, "Brandon wouldn't break an oath."
She pitied her younger brother seeing him so crestfallen. He idealized Brandon and to learn that their older brother broke a betrothal to run off to marry another woman, it was difficult to accept.
"It is."
She remembered Lady Barbrey from her visits to the Rills to see Brandon. Lyanna knew he was fond of her, but she thought little of it since her brother had a way of being fond of many women. It appeared she misjudged her brother or overlooked his impulsive nature.
"That's why the Tullys left," Lyanna said aloud what she already figured out.
"Yes," Ned confirmed grimly, "Brandon has paid them a serious insult."
"He's sullied the reputation of House Stark," Benjen looked miserable.
"What does father say?" Lyanna asked.
Ned didn't answer immediately. "Father writes that he will speak with Lord Tully to see if their agreement can be amended."
"Amended?" Lyanna felt something cold slide down her back.
"Yes, Lord Tully has a son and heir," Ned answered hesitantly.
"Who's still a boy," Lyanna pointed out, "He's no older than ten."
"Then it'll be a long betrothal," Benjen said, "You should like that, Lya."
She understood he was only trying to help, but Lyanna didn't take comfort in it. He was right in that it would mean she wouldn't have to actually get married for several more years. So why aren't I happy?
"It is not certain, Lyanna," Ashara gave her a small, but reassuring smile. "There is more that needs to be said."
She gave a grateful nod to her good sister who was aware of Robert's potential offer to Lyanna. She was tempted to blurt it out right now to stop any more thoughts of her being tied to the Tully boy. Then she realized it wouldn't matter. The Tullys would still take priority because of their previous agreement with her father.
Ned's finger was tapping father's letter, "What is about to be said cannot leave this room," He warned them. "For the time being no one who is not a Stark can know of this."
"I swear," They practically said it at the same time. She and him exchanged smiles at their perfect timing.
"Brandon has been negotiating with Prince Rhaegar. The Crown Prince offered to fulfill the Pact of Ice and Fire," Ned revealed. "Brandon's future son and heir with Lady Barbrey will marry a daughter of House Targaryen."
"Did father know?" Lyanna knew how pleased he was with Ned's friendship with Prince Daeron, so she could see him being very welcoming of the potential of a future Targaryen bride. Would he chose a dragon over a trout? She didn't think he would to the detriment of their family's name, so maybe he was trying to get both, but Brandon chose differently…
"He's angry, but," He paused, rereading the letter before looking back up at her, "I don't know." He admitted with a sigh.
"It's concerning," Ashara said softly, "because there's trouble brewing in the capital between King Aerys and his oldest son, Prince Rhaegar."
"I know," Benjen said, wanting to be taken seriously even though he was the youngest. "I've heard Maester Walys talk about it with father."
"Then you know of what is being whispered," Ashara's violet eyes were solemn.
Apparently, he didn't given his reaction, but Lyanna did. There could be a potential second Dance on the horizon.
She understood it now. The tension and the trepidation that was hovering over Ned and Ashara like storm clouds. If there really was to be a second Dance, a terrifying thought onto itself, Brandon had picked a side. He aligned the North to Rhaegar Targaryen, but Ned wasn't part of the north anymore. He was a stormlord who swore his allegiance to Robert. The Lord of Storm's End would follow Prince Daeron which Ned would be expected to too. So if Prince Daeron didn't choose his brother…
Lyanna felt something cold and heavy settle in her belly at what that would mean.
My brothers could end up on opposing sides.
Curious to see what Daeron does next? You can get a head start on Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons by checking out the early chapters on my Website at https://dravenshadefall-shop.fourthwall.com
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