Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The man emerged from the backseat and Ashara saw him taking it all in: the big house, the marble, the billow and breeze, the servants lined up. Her.

He was still dressed in his uniform, all brownish khaki, high boots, belt and cap. The boots were muddied – he had no doubt just gotten there from the trenches, and probably had not encountered an abundance of places in which he could change clothes, but Ashara did not have to glance at her butler to know that there was a look of disapproval etching his features.

The man approached her carefully.

“Lady Ashara”, he addressed her, taking off his cap. “Eddard Stark. It is an honor to meet you personally.”

“Likewise, Captain Stark”, she nodded. “This is our butler, Penn”, Ashara indicated her butler with a gracious wave of her arm.

Penn did his absolute best to hide a semi stroke when Captain Stark extended his hand for him to shake. After a moment of hesitation, the butler decided that it was better to endeavor in this strange greeting than to make Her Ladyship or her guest embarrassed, so he shakily and quickly responded the handshake, not fully able to hide his exasperation despite his best efforts.

“Wren here shall act as your valet, sir”, Penn presented a man who was obviously way past the age of conscription, and Captain Stark nodded stiffly.

“Shall we go in?”, Ashara asked, gesturing for them to take their cue.

“Actually, my lady, is there a back entrance to the estate? Perhaps an alternative hallway? I would not want the poor state of my vestments to cause any extra tribulations to the staff.”

Ashara and the whole staff of Starfall were astonished for a few seconds.

That was an unprecedented event at Starfall. Never had someone asked for something like that, and because of reasons like those.

Ashara’s eyes imperceptibly widened and her immediate thoughts were of a snobbish nature, thinking Captain Stark below her for not following etiquette, but then she reminded herself that she also would not know what would be the standard procedure, were she in his position.

“I am sure that walking through the main hall will not cause many grievances to anybody”, she assured Captain Stark, not unkindly.

“After you, then, my lady.”

A gentleman would extend his arm for her to hold on to. He did not, and her arms fell awkwardly beside her as they walked through the hall. At least the air was warmer on the inside.

“I would usually suggest a tour of the estate, but I have a feeling that you might want to... Take a rest beforehand”, she dictated, pleasing herself for correctly predicting him when he nearly sighed in relief.

The man was clearly tired. Judging by his weary expression and the bags under his eyes, he probably had not slept in days. Following (feigning) usual etiquette with him would not be of much use, seeing as he had already discarded it earlier. This was prone to be a most unusual arrangement.

“Thank you, my lady”, he replied simply. She thought that it said everything that needed to be said.

“The gong will be rung at noon. Wren here will assist you, as Penn has mentioned.”

“Yes”, he hastened. “I take my leave.”

They nodded at each other, and he had the grace to bow for longer than before. When he went up the stairs, Ashara caught sight of Wren presenting the Captain to his accommodations.

She soon occupied her thoughts with more pressing matters. There was a business to manage, investments to be made and bills to pay.

When the task of administering the affairs of her family fell down on her, Ashara thought that she would never be capable to step up to her brothers’ work, much less her father’s, but she had unexpectedly found the task ahead to be rewarding. Not quite easy, certainly challenging, and unbelievably liberating.

Her dear papa was gone, Allen and Arthur were far away, and so were Elia and Allyria. Only she remained.

Ashara thought that it was a lonely life she was leading at the moment, but there was a world of difference between her present responsibilities and the previous ones. Managing the estate agreed more with her interests than paying social calls, and although there was a thin layer of guilt for enjoying the act of taking up her brothers’ place, she had never felt like she belonged more at Starfall than at the present moment.

“My lady”, Penn called her, bowing his neck. “Lunch is served.”

She looked up from the accounting book, frowning.

“Is Captain Stark already in good form?”

Penn did not smile per se, but he looked at her lightly and answered her with a tone that suggested fondness.

“Yes, my lady. He is awaiting you.”

“Well, then. I would not want to keep our guest waiting.” She got up from the seat and left all her books sprawled across her study, and she could understand why Penn had been especially nice to her that day: buried underneath piles of paperwork, her back hunched over the table to better look at the minuscule numbers (she really needed a new pair of glasses), she must have resembled her ten-year-old self, when her governess forced her to spend long hours on the library trying to resolve calculations on sines, cosines and tangents. Her brothers had understood it easily, while she had had to struggle more, especially with the schizophrenic algebra.

Penn had been kind to her then. She remembered it clearly, the old butler waiting outside the library for the governess to go relief herself, and then sneaking into the secluded room with milk and cookies. Ashara had laughed in delight and the butler had grinned at her, quickly exiting the room, lest the governess caught him.

Ashara was shaken out of her thoughts when Penn himself opened the door, reminding her that the Captain was already in the dinner hall.

The Captain was standing on the opposite edge of a table that was far too big for these times. The vacant seats were somehow more evident now that he was here than before, when she had taken to eat her meals alone.

Penn pulled out her chair, and Wren pulled out the Captain’s. The dishes were served, one by one, and Ashara found it curious when the Captain refused the wine. Most men would have seized the opportunity to drink at these times. She did not dare ask his motives for refusing, it was simply not polite.

Conversation consisted mostly of small talk. Ashara could see that the Captain was somewhat anxious, and, if she made an effort, she could see why. The transition between the trenches and the luxurious estate had to be abrupt and rather striking. There was a blatant difference between the muddy front and the expensive dinner hall they were (not quite) feasting in, despite what the papers might say. Arthur had said it himself on his letters, “...Looking back now, Starfall seems more and more to me as if it were another world.”

Not quite sure on how to put her guest at ease, Ashara suggested the only proposition she could think of.

“Captain Stark, would you accompany me on a walk through the estate?”

He glanced at her eyes then, and she feared he would cower after her suggestion, but then his demeanor hardened again and he spoke collectedly, “Yes, my lady.”

‘Yes, my lady’, he said. Not ‘most definitely’, ‘it would be an honor’, ‘nothing could please me more than that’.

Penn retrieved her light coat and one of her afternoon hats. Ashara and the Captain got out to walk. Captain Stark did not feel much in the obligation to fill the silence with small talk and Ashara did not exactly know how to approach him. In all her years of social life, people had always been very different from him. He was a different animal altogether.

“Where were you born, Captain?”, she asked, turning to the left path, into the small woods of the estate. The irony of her situation was not lost on her: she was wandering into the woods with a man without a chaperone, and, for once, it was not due to her wicked intentions, but mostly because there was no one else left to chaperone her.

“In the North. Winterfell.”

“I am not familiar with it.”

She saw from the corner of her eye when he gazed a second too long at her.

“Yes, I did not imagine you were.”

Cheeky.

“What does that mean?”, and she couldn’t resist enunciating that sentence in a tone that resembled her early girlish talk.

“Nothing”, the Captain was blunt, “only that you do not strike me as someone who would willingly travel to Winterfell.”

Ashara would rather believe that the Captain was too naïve to perceive the insult behind his words than to think he meant them deliberately offensive.

“And why is that?”

The Captain fumbled for words.

“I believe there are... Many kinds of people, my lady. You learn to differentiate one from another.”

She knew that her reply would have some bite, and before she could even formulate it in her head, the words flew off her tongue.

“Some people would call you a snob for saying that, Captain.”

“I did not mean to insult you”, he said gravellier, as if expecting a blow.

“No, I do not believe you did.”   

Ashara saw him getting worked up. He breathed loudly through his mouth, and then added hurriedly, “Some people would call you a snob for smirking at my manners.”

Her steps came to a halt.

“I had not found your manners lacking”, she affirmed, not afraid of saying it to his face.

“You did not think less of me when you saw the way I was dressed?”

Apparently, he was not afraid of confronting her either.

“I am going to be honest with you, Captain”, Ashara could see his impassive face, probably bracing himself for impact. “Had you arrived here dressed like that, say, five years ago, your suspicions would have been proven correct. I would think you below me. I would have snorted derisively at the way you did not manage to change, I would have smirked at you for asking for another route, and I would probably joke about you being so very unsophisticated. But the times have changed, and so have I.”

Captain Stark seemed to be placated by her honesty.

“In what ways?”, he dared to ask.

“Well”, and she struggled to admit it without sentimentality, but holding on to reason was something that she had ultimately learnt with the passing of time, “I should find that etiquette is not as crucial as morality during wartime.”

A pair of wrinkles showed up by the sides of the Captain’s eyes, and Ashara suspected that he might have smiled, perhaps if they were more well-acquainted.

He looked around them and noticed that they had stopped in the middle of the trail with the sole intention to bicker. He resumed his walk then, and she followed closely.

“I judged you too quickly”, he admitted, and it was a balm to her wounds. “You must forgive me, my lady.”

It was not defeat that she heard in his tone. It was concession. Grace.

“There is nothing to forgive, Captain”, she risked a timid smile, “as I have also misjudged you.”

He clicked his tongue, eyeing the woods, still aware of her presence besides him. “We should be friends”, he propositioned, and what did she have to lose at accepting his offer?

“Indeed”, she replied good-naturedly, and then there was peace all through their walk.

The Captain was something else. Ashara refrained from lingering on why.

Starfall, Southeast of Dornish County, England, 1916.

My dearest friend,

It is two in the afternoon now. The weather is fine, I will not waste your (or my) time by describing how eerie the breeze was earlier this morning. How I wish Ms. Brontë had had the same sense.

Last I heard of you, you had many reasons to believe your life would change very much, very soon; and so, after a month, these suspicions must have come to an end. I ask of you: did they come to fruition? Are you in a newfound position of motherhood?

Whatever is the outcome, please know that you shall always be welcome at Starfall. We could move mountains together if you so needed. I hope you are acutely aware that you can rely on me for whatever may come. Please answer me back as soon as possible.

There is not much else I could tell you. Your younger brother stopped writing me, and while I am certainly worried, word has arrived via Allen that Oberyn has been assigned to a battalion dispatched to overseas, and so the distance should be the reason of his inconstant correspondence; though, frankly, I could think of simpler reasons, such as your brother’s incapacity to memorize an address. I also cannot quite picture him sitting with a list of the people he should write to, drinking tea. I keep him in my thoughts, nevertheless, and ask that, should this letter reach you in good state, you update me on his whereabouts.

The most interesting thing (apart from my family’s business, which I know you do not find very exciting for some indescribable motive) to happen here recently is an arrangement made by Arthur. He wrote me a while ago warning me that one of his comrades in arms had been granted leave, and that I should expect him to come by to Starfall within the month. Fifteen days later, another letter came by, by one Captain Stark. The letter was written in rough calligraphy, though every spelling mistake was corrected in an elegant erasure. I admit that I did not think much of it. The contents of the letter were perfectly practical, without any flourishes; and so, I was expecting a greying middle-aged man to come by.

Captain Stark is not middle-aged. I should think we are of the same age. He has a crisp accent, as hard as his handwriting; but he is not bad company, although I do find it hard to imagine how he managed to befriend Arthur, since they are so unlike in matters of behavior. Arthur is an easy-going chap, and Captain Stark… is not.

I will write to you again, when there are new developments. I do hope you’ll reply me soon. I am getting anxious in this state of waiting for everyone to write me back.

Wishing that you are in the most excellent health and happiest of states,

Ashara.

“Tell me, Captain, how did you come to make my brother’s acquaintance?”, Ashara asked when they were dining, and Captain Stark was evidently trying to control himself, so as not to swallow the whole dinner at once.

The Captain halted at her question. His movements were abruptly at a standstill, and he seemed to consider an appropriate answer for far too long.

“We met on the front”, he said curtly, evasively. She should know better than to press for the gory details, but still the doubt showed on her nonchalant features. He decided to indulge her. “After a few weeks of… acquaintance, I was granted leave, and your brother kindly suggested that I came here, instead of going all the way up to the North. As much as I want to go back home, it isn’t worth the trip. I would be left with too little time to actually rest.”

“If I dare ask, why did you not stay in France?”

He looked at her as if she were alien to him.

She had no way of knowing.

He gulped.

“I missed England.”

She was contented with this answer, and chuckled soundlessly.

Ashara also knew that the Captain was more inclined to to lively conversation when the servants were absent. They made him more uneasy, as if his movements were being watched.

On a normal dinner party, the women would retire first and then the men would stay behind to smoke cigars and talk about matters that they deemed the women incapable of understanding, and then both parties would rejoin at the drawing room, until the participants retired, one by one. This would not be the case this day, as the party solely consisted of two individuals of opposite genders.

They both went through to the drawing room. Penn served whisky from the tumbler for Her Ladyship and a mere cup of water for the Captain. Ashara then dismissed the butler for the day, bidding him good night.

“So”, she started, crossing her legs on the chaise longue, “you can tell me now why you missed England.”

He arched both eyebrows, not impressed.

“I suppose the weather is more agreeable.”

Two could play that game.

“You would rather have English rain than French sunset?”

He smiled scathingly.

“Where is your patriotism?”, the Captain asked, not very reproachfully.

Ashara leered slightly and raised her glass at him in cheers. Bombarding him with questions would lead to nowhere, so she decided to just lay back and let things be.

She got up from her seat and turned to face the window. She could see the nearby woods, now engulfed in near complete darkness. There were tales of electric lights being installed in London, but that technology still had not arrived at Starfall, and so, they still resorted to candle lights.

“Did you know, Captain”, she drawled, not taking her eyes off the window, “that there already is street light in London?”

She briefly glanced at Captain Stark. He pursed his lips, silently telling her to go on. She hummed.

“They are bringing these light bulbs”, Ashara told him, as one would tell a fairy-tale to a child. “It is called electric light. All very new. But they say one can’t see the stars in London anymore”, she shrugged, closing her eyes for a moment and letting the whisky wash over her. “I never cared much about it.”

“Why not?”, he asked, and, if she didn’t know him better, she would say he was faintly amused at her wonders.

“Because that’s something that a poet would say”, she explained, believing herself to be perfectly logical.

“You say the word ‘poet’ as if it were an insult.”

“Do you not think it is?”

She turned to face him completely, standing against the moonlight that the window emanated, putting on her most alluring smile.

“I think there is a need for officers, doctors and mathematicians, but there is also need for poets, as silly as that may sound.”

“Please elaborate”, she asked, raising her cup to her lips, without taking her eyes off him.

He met her stare unflinchingly.

“People need to keep their morale”, Captain Stark argued. “Poets help, in that sense.”

“They fill people’s heads with unrealistic expectations of love and fate”, she almost spat the last words, “and then people expect their lives to equal Byronian epics or Shakespearean dramas.”

He smirked into his discreet cup of water. “And people accuse me of being a spoilsport.”

Ashara playfully snorted. “I should hate to be called so. It is only… after one realizes that life is not like that, one gets… disillusioned.”

His face softened.

“Yes”, Captain Stark said slowly, “yes, I know.”

She cocked an eyebrow, but smiled encouragingly, in order to display patience.

“My little sister, Lyanna”, he started to speak, and his arm dropped heavily beside him, “she thought that her life was going to be a song.”

Ashara’s heart was filled with compassion for a girl she did not know.

“And I am guessing that it was not?”, Ashara asked, watching Captain Stark’s every reaction.

“No”, he said in a raspy voice, his gaze losing itself in the patterns of the tapestry. “It was not.”

He was probably thinking of his sister, and the moment seemed to be just too intimate for Ashara to step in, which was, of course, absolute nonsense. Wherever she was, Lyanna was far away from Starfall. It was Ashara who was standing in the room with the Captain. She asked herself if she should remind him of that.

“What happened to her?”, she asked him, instead.

He was shaken out of his reverie.

“She was…”

Captain Stark’s mouth was hanging open, he was shaking his head, struggling to find the correct words.

Ashara suddenly wanted to spare him of that.

“Forgive me, Captain Stark. I did not wish to intrude.”

He looked at her gratefully.

“Thank you”, he raised his glass again and toasted her, never mind that there was only a quarter of the original liquid, “for your understanding”, after a moment’s hesitation, “and for the lovely feast.”

Ashara threw all pretenses and grinned at him, her most earnest smile in ages.

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“As I had not in years”, he said, and it came out with such hard-earned conviction that Ashara was convinced of its truthfulness, and so, was left a tad moved by Captain Stark’s sincerity

The words also had a parting tone. She vaguely wondered what would be his personal custom for saying goodbye.

“Good night, my lady”, he said, setting down his now empty cup on top of the tray. When he faced her fully, his stare piercing her own, his body ready to ask her out or to engage in a fight, she realized just how lonely she was, for her pulse was not steady for a moment or two.

“Good night, Captain Stark”, she wished him. Just as he was turning out to leave her, she spoke hastily, without thinking twice, “Ashara.”

He was startled, frozen for a split second.

She would replay the moment in which the understanding dawned upon him, how the ghost of a smile filled his shaven face.

“Eddard.”