Chapter Text
The throne room always smelled… odd. The Dragon Prince didn’t know if it was the heat, the gathered people, the ancient dragon skulls marring the walls or his festering father, but nowadays it never smelled pleasant.
“It probably has something to do with the fact that your father burns whoever he can in that room,” Ser Arthur Dayne had said one day when the Prince had brought it up to him.
Rhaegar tried not to grimace as he watched the third person of the day scream in agony as the wildfire burned them to nothing. He looked to his father and his grimaced hardened.
The ‘Mad King’ everyone called him and with good reason, while Aerys’ face was curled into a snarl, his eyes were lit with joy. His snarl almost turned into a crooked smile as the poor soul gave one last screech of pain before the flames completely engulfed him.
There was nothing Aerys loved more in the morning, after the breakfast he hardly ate, then accusing someone of treason and burning them in front of the court.
While the Pyromancer doused the remaining emerald flames with sand, the Mad King turned to his court, his eyes skimming the crowd until they reached Rhaegar’s.
“You boy, come over here,” he snapped.
Rhaegar left his place in the front of the crowd and stood at the foot of the dais. “Your Grace,” he said as he bowed low.
“The Starks in the North are planning something, I know it,” his father said in a harsh tone, his fingers twitching in a nervous tick that had developed during his descent into madness. “They hide away in their frozen wasteland, thinking that I’m not aware of their scheming ways.”
The Dragon Prince tried not to sigh as his father continued his maddening rant. Every week a different noble house was apparently scheming or planning to overthrow the King. Last week it was their cousins in the Stormlands, this week it was the Starks in the North.
“What would you like me to do, Your Grace?” Rhaegar asked, trying to keep his voice from showing the exasperation he felt. “Should I send a reconnaissance group to Winterfell?” His eyes narrowed when he saw the eunuch Varys whisper into his father’s ear.
“The Starks will be attending the tourney at Harrenhal,” The King said once Varys was finished whispering to him. “I want those wretched wolves watched every moment of the day. Every moment! When they eat, when they sleep, even when they shit. Those wolves will not fulfill whatever it is their planning.”
He already had to ‘watch’ the Baratheon’s, the Martell’s, the Tyrell’s, and now he had to watch the Stark’s. For the second time in five minutes, he felt like sighing. “Yes, Your Grace,” Rhaegar said with a tilt of his head.
“Oh and one more thing,” The King added before Rhaegar could turn to leave. “It is time for you to strengthen the Targaryen Dynasty and produce an heir. Seeing as your bitch of a mother cannot successfully give birth to nor keep alive a daughter,” the sneer returned to the King’s face, “you will need to look elsewhere for a wife.”
Rhaegar looked taken aback. He knew his part of his duty as Prince of Dragonstone and heir to King Aerys the Second was to secure the line by producing heirs, but he needed time. He thought it unfair to bring a woman into the Mad King’s court. Especially a woman who was not use to such horrors as people burned alive. He wouldn’t ask it of anyone to marry him right now.
But he had a plan. The Tourney of Harrenhal was in a weeks time and all of the highborn houses would be there. He would then be able to ask them to help him overthrow his father and name him King. It would take a while to overthrow Aerys and get the kingdom settled. That’s why he had asked the King to be able to wait until his twenty fifth year before he took a bride.
“Your Grace, I thought we had agreed on waiting for my twenty-fifth year, that is yet a year and a half away—“
“THINGS ARE CHANGING, BOY!” His father screamed as he stood, spittle flying out of his mouth making him look like a rabid dog. “The highborn houses are planning something every day! We need an heir to secure our line. I will not have the Targaryen Dynasty die because you would rather play your music and find a wife! Find a whore to stick your seed in or I will find one for you!”
Rhaegar bit down on his tongue and bowed his head, masking his face to hide the anger. “Your Grace.”
“You have until the end of the tourney. During the final feast you will proclaim your bride to the court. Understood?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Rhaegar said with final bow.
“Good, get out of my sight.” The King waved him away, his attention going back to Varys as he once again whispered in his father’s ears.
“Lyanna! Stop showing off,” Benjen whined as she knocked the sword from his hand.
“Come on Ben, you’re gonna let Lyanna beat you, I thought you have been practicing?” Brandon, the eldest Stark, asked as he crossed his arms and leaned against the pillar behind him.
“I have been practicing,” Benjen angrily huffed out as he flexed his hands.
“Not everyone is meant to be a swordsman,” they heard and Lyanna smiled when she saw her older and much quieter brother Ned standing on the balcony.
“That is true, dear brother, but swordsman or not, it’s rather embarrassing that a girl, our sister no less, can get the upper hand in a sword fight,” Brandon said, smiling wide when he ruffled Benjen’s hair in jest, making the youngest Stark scoff.
“And what is so bad about a girl getting the upper hand in a sword fight?” Lyanna asked incredulously.
“No offense sister, but it’s not a women’s place to use a sword,” Brandon said. “It’s not right. Their place is in the home, taking care of babes and sewing.”
Lyanna’s beautiful face scrunched in anger as she held the sword up to him, making Brandon smile. “Come on then brother, let me show you how women aren’t meant to use a sword.”
“Lyanna,” Lord Rickard Stark’s voice called as he came and stood next to Ned, placing a hand on his sons shoulder. “Come to my chancery, I need to speak with you.”
“Anon, papa!” She replied and turned back to Benjen. “Don’t listen to him, baby brother. Keep practicing.” Lyanna pinched his cheek and smiled as he swatted her way.
Lord Rickard chancery was warm and inviting despite the topics that were frequently discussed in here, like the frequent victims of the wildfire in the king’s court or the wildlings beyond the wall.
“Papa?” She called as she walked in, smiling again when she saw Ned and her father sitting at the grand desk.
Ned had recently returned from his fostering in the Eyrie and seeing him around the castle again made Lyanna’s heart burst with happiness. She had missed her Quiet Wolf.
“Lyanna, sit down there is something we must discuss,” he father said a serious tone to his voice.
She took the seat next to Ned, watching as her father reread the letter in his hands.
“Your brother has brought an interesting letter home with him from the Eyrie. It’s from Robert Baratheon.”
“Robert Baratheon?” Lyanna asked, the name sounding familiar but the face relating to it was foggy.
“Yes, he’s the man who was also fostered in the Eyrie with Ned. You remember him from when he came to visit Winterfell four moons ago, don’t you?”
Lyanna remembered him now, how could one not? He was tall and handsome with an air of command. Gregarious and charming, he was every maidens dream. He was also a whoring bastard who liked to stick his prick in anything that was female. For the time he had been there, she had seen him with almost every maiden in Winterfell.
The two minutes that she spoke to him were longest and most horrid two minutes of her life. She had tried to repress that moment.
“Ah, Lord Robert,” she said as she tried not to cringe, “yes I remember him.”
Lord Rickard hesitated before he spoke, glancing down at the letter again. “He wrote me a letter explaining how you made his visit here a completely bewitching experience.”
Lyanna laughed, “Bewitching? What a ridiculous thing to say. We hardly spoke.”
“Well, something must’ve conspired between you two during those brief moments for he has accepted my offer of your hand in marriage.”
Lyanna was quiet for a few moments before it finally registered what her father had said, “WHAT?” She asked quizzically before laughing again. “That has to be joke, right? You’re just making a joke.”
“I’m afraid I’m not dearest,” her father said, holding the letter out to her.
The smile dropped from Lyanna’s face as she snatched the parchment from her father’s hands, quickly reading over the letter. A frown gracing her face with every word read.
“This is most imprudent thing I have ever read. I’d rather be betrothed to Walder the stable boy than that whoring bastard Baratheon.”
“Lyanna!” Her father said sternly.
“I don’t understand,” Lyanna wailed. “How did this even come about? We spoke only for two minutes. You can’t possible fall in love in two minutes! He doesn’t even know me!”
“There is time during marriage that a person can get to know and grow to love their spouse,” Ned offered, hoping to calm his sister.
“Yes, because I’m sure Lord Baratheon will be concerned about getting to know me as he’s between another woman’s legs.”
“Lyanna!” Ned chastised, but she ignored him.
“And even if he bothers to get to know me, what says he will be a great husband. We hardly even know him!”
“Your brother does very well and speaks nothing but great things about him,” Lord Rickard said.
Lyanna turned her glare to Ned. “Did you tell father about the two bastard children the great Lord Baratheon has already fathered? And I’m sure there’s a third already on the way.”
“Lyanna,” her father snapped, his blue eyes turning hard, “enough. The King is getting madder by the day, if he were to turn his armies North under suspicion of treason then the North would never last. We are a powerful people, but we will be unstoppable with the Arryn’s, the Tully’s and the Baratheon’s on our side.”
“Don’t I get a say in my life? Must I too be sold off like cattle like my dear brother Brandon?”
“Lyanna,” Lord Rickard had said with a sigh.
“You’re telling me that I am betrothed to a man who has no concern about anything or anyone but himself. No I lied, the only concerns he has is who has the wine to fill his cup and who will be the next whore to warm his bed.”
“Despite his misdoings, Lord Baratheon is a suitable match for you,” Lord Rickard said. “You will have a wealthy life with him, Lyanna. He will give you give a good name, provide you with a safe home, and give you many strong heirs.”
“What good is a name if the man behind it is dishonorable?” Lyanna snapped.
“What makes you hate him so?” Ned asked a hint of offense in his voice. “Yes, he has bastards and he drinks a lot of wine. But he is a good man. And if he is so besotted by you like he says he is, then I’m sure he will change his ways. Why won’t you give him a chance?”
“Because I don’t want to get married! I don’t want to have to give up my life, my freedom. Papa please, you know that I never wanted to marry.”
Lord Rickard’s eyes became hard again. “I do, and you know that it is unreasonable for a lady of noble birth to live as a spinster in her father’s house.”
“Papa,” she said softly, “please. I don’t want to leave Winterfell.”
“You are six and ten, Lyanna; you are not a child anymore. It is a woman’s duty to leave her father’s house to live with her husband. Robert Baratheon will be your betrothed. So I suggest that during your stay in Harrenhal you get to know Robert well, for you will return with him to the Stormlands where you will stay until your wedding at seasons end.”
Lyanna closed her eyes as she felt tears form. “I hate you,” she said to her father harshly. “I hate you. And you,” she snapped turning to Ned as she stood. “If you knew of Roberts’s infatuation with me then you should’ve burned the letter before it got into fathers hands! I don’t want to speak to either of you again.”
“Lyanna!” She heard both her father and Ned call. “Lyanna come back!”
The Wolf Maid slammed the door, “Walder, my horse!” She screamed as she made her way down to the court yard.
“Lyanna!” Ned called as he chased after her. “Lyanna stop.”
Ned’s call of concern alerted her other brothers that had still been practicing in the court yard of her approach.
“Lya, what’s wrong?” Brandon asked with worry once he saw the bleak look on her face.
Lyanna stormed passed him as Walder came out of the stable with her white mare.
“Lyanna please, we need to talk about this,” Ned said as he caught up to her.
Lyanna mounted her horse before fixing Ned with a hard stare “You should’ve burned that letter before father got the chance to open it!”
“I had no idea of the contents in that letter! Who knew the fool was going to fall in love after a few stories and even fewer spoken words between you.”
“Then you should’ve kept your mouth shut,” she snapped feeling the tears she had been holding back fall. “Just like I should’ve.”
“Lya,” Ned said full of remorse, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—“
“It doesn’t matter now,” she said, turning her gaze to Brandon and Benjen. “Like Brandon, I too am being sold to the highest bidder. I am to marry Robert Baratheon at the end of the season.”
Shock painted their faces as she urged her horse into a gallop, ignoring Ned’s pleas for her to come back.