Chapter Text
“My lady, I am begging you, pray tell me you this is not your wish.” Stunned, Lyanna gazed into those blue eyes, lower lip jutting out. She suspected one of her brothers was close by, lying in wait with a mountain of snowballs by his side. It was a ploy.
“Why, good ser, of course I–“ she began, determined to not allow her actual sentiments to get in the way. The old gods knew what she would suffer for it, her ears smarted beforehand in preparation. But she never managed to finish, for the Southron lordling deposited the head of the rose in her palm. Not even an inch of the stem could be seen. He’d severed several years off of it like so.
“Mother be merciful! Your brother said that there is some wit to you,” he delivered the line over her own soft voice with such pathos that the she-wolf could not begin to guess what he played at.
“My brothers have been known to offer backhanded compliments before.” Her calm manner seemed to be wasted on the wretched suitor before her. “Which brother was kind enough to speak so well of me this time?” She hoped it was not Brandon. He was forever trying to rile her ever since she ruined those blasted boots of his. In her defence, the wine had upset her stomach and he’d been standing too close, the smell of horse and leather much too strong.
“The younger one.” The curt answer earned him a look of dismay. He hadn’t even bothered to remember Benjen’s name? “My lady, that is not my point. Do you wish to wed me or nay? That is all I want to know.” Then again, how could one protest a man who was aware one ought to never place themselves in a siblings’ squabble. Lyanna very nearly considered she had been wrong. And then she gazed upon her face. Charity fled like a hungering Wildling chasing an elk.
Lyanna rolled her eyes. He was staring expectantly. If she had to compliment him too, she did not know if she would survive the courtship. “’Tis my duty. Surely, your lord father has told you as much.” It was that blasted return from Essos. Lyanna did not know if she was not deserving of being struck down by the gods for truly begrudging a man his safe return. But Lord Baratheon should have just fallen into the sea and let her father’s plans drown with him.
Robert snorted. “I pride myself on my ability to ignore my lord father.” Her eyes narrowed at that. Was he telling her what she thought he was? The young man led her along the path a few more steps. “It would look strange to be standing completely still so suddenly.”
“Are you suggesting that we disregard the wishes of our makers with cruel, callous, calculated purpose?” He hesitated before giving her a slight nod. The she-wolf blinked trice, the response not quite sinking in for half a heartbeat.
And then it did. Her eyes grew wide and a delighted squeal had to be physically stopped from alerting anyone who might be loitering nearby of a nothing less than peculiar conversation. “I take it this is to my lady’s liking.” Robert offered her an easy smile. She nodded her head empathically, although he’d not asked a question. “Splendid. Then let us put an end to this nonsense.”
As excited as the prospect left her, Lyanna could not help but question him. “How would we accomplish the feat?” Lord Baratheon and her own lord father had ever convinced themselves that it was in the best interest of their houses to see Lyanna thrown into Robert’s arms. Any and all following protests from the two concerned parties were either dismissed, in the case of the maiden, and ignored, for Robert.
It was a horrid thing this they were about to do. Lyanna very nearly thrummed with excitement at the prospect, all eras for her suitor’s answer. When looking at her just so, a scheming light in his eyes, he did look as handsome as they said he was.
“Lady Lyanna, how goes your mumming?” Robert returned unconcerned, one of his hands clasping hers. The poor rose-head was crushed beneath his grip, light blue petal falling to the ground in a downpour. Her eyes fell to the downward path, following the last of the gliding petals.
“I’ve no experience,” the honest answer came. She was still gazing at the ground, intense stare focused on the spot where a trip of such ghostly apparitions as those produced by the victim of Robert’s carelessness produced. The truth did not sting. Not in a manner to leave her red-cheeked and glazy-eyed.
“Then you had best learn.” That earned him her attention once more. “It would be best, given the circumstances to try giving a reason for this falling through. We need something,” he trailed off, as if he were searching for the appropriate words.
“Horrific?” the she-wolf supplied, hopeful, already imagining herself as a sobbing mess, gesturing exaggeratedly towards a Robert smeared in crimson. But where to find a victim?
“Scandalous,” the stag returned after a brief pause. As if he was not scandalous. That had not stopped her lord father. “How susceptible to wooing is that companion of yours?”
“Leave Maryam out of this,” Lyanna warned. She was just as eager as him to have done with the matter. Yet not at the expense of poor Maryam. She was a silly creature and most of the time Lyanna sought to avoid her, but that did not translate to wanting any harm brought on the girl.
“There is not much I can do to convince Lord Rickard of my unsuitability otherwise.” He had a point. Lyanna frowned up at him. Much as she wished to give him leave in good conscience, the stupid had to be protected as well. She shook her head. “Then you do something.”
“Like?” she demanded, at a loss. “Is there anything your lord father would take such exception to as to put this marriage out of his mind? For good?”
He pondered her question with a grave look upon his face, leading them towards a conveniently placed bench. Robert swiped away the excess snow and gestured for her to seat herself comfortably. In the meantime, he busied himself pacing back and forth. “Insanity,” Robert revealed at a long last. “He even refuses to think too often about our Targaryen blood.” Indeed, the ruling house had mingled with the Stags of Storm’s End. Lyanna nodded her head. She knew the history well enough to understand the slim, but still existence, risk. Those bloody Targaryens.
“So I should pretend insanity?” How did one go about that? She had never seen anyone who was bereft of sanity. Not from a lack of trying, to be sure. She’d just never been permitted to get close to such individuals. “I am not certain where I would begin.”
In the end they worked it out between the two of them quietly, without much fuss. If insanity was what she needed to avoid becoming Robert’s bride, Lyanna would gladly embrace her role.
Benjen gave the two of them a sceptical look. “I think you truly are insane, if that is of any comfort.” He patted his sister’s hand gently and did not even dodge the slap she rewarded him with. Such a good sport. “But since you are family,” he nodded to Lyanna, “and you are nearly that,” Benjen continued, facing Robert, “I suppose I must help.”
“You really must,” Robert insisted. “The last thing I want is to be leg shackled to her.” Lyanna heartily agreed, although her vanity smarted at the comment. Not her heart though, thanked be the gods. She had worried for a moment, as the pain wormed its way in, that she might have developed some affection for the man. Shuddering at the unpleasant though, she nearly missed his following comment. “I am certain you understand my desperation.”
Desperation? That was mighty interesting. Lyanna perked up. She leaned slightly in. “Why would you put it thus? Never tell me there is a woman worthy of your heart in these Kingdoms of ours.” She was not exactly a stranger to the notion. After all, to her it was no secret that Brandon rode out early in the morning towards the Wolfswood. She knew why as well, but chose not to speak of it.
She would be jealous if she cared any for him. As matters stood, Lyanna’s pride had been pricked slightly. It was not a pain that a night’s good sleep could not cure. “Come now, Robert, I thought we were to be partners. Surely you can tell us as much.” What a joy it was to needle him. Lyanna laughed softly at the look on his face and slapped a hand against his shoulder good-naturedly. “There, there. You may keep your secrets a while longer. I shan’t pressure you.”
The generosity of her gesture was met with a scowl. Not bothered, Lyanna stood to her feet. “You may enjoy lingering here in the cold, but I have grown cold. Let us speak more on the morrow.” It was not as difficult as she had anticipated. “I’ll see if I can find something of aid in the library.”
Given that there was no danger to her loitering about the keep’s ground, neither offered to act her escort. Not that Lyanna would have accepted their company at any rate. She left their company for that of Meryam. It was best to let the silly goose know she’d be in the library. The last time she’d been missing from the girl’s side, her father’s men had ended up fishing for her body. Amused though she’d been at exaggeration and its consequences, she supposed no one would appreciate going out into the cold night to search for her this time around. And rightly so. Wishing to avoid attention, she took upon herself the task to keep her companion from doing damage.
Meryam stared at her dumbly for a few moments. “But, it’s dark without.” Lyanna nodded. “And it is near time we slept.” Again, the she-wolf bobbed her head up and down. “The stools are not comfortable to sleep upon.”
“You needn’t join me. Truly. I merely wished to let you know, Meryam.” The very last thing she wanted was for the other to destroy all her hard work by blabbering to all in hearing range of it. “You rest.” As if anyone could grow tired from sitting around all day long and knitting. The only tiring part of her body were her eyes.
Lyanna adjusted her cloak and left the bedchamber as swiftly as she could. The tower was not very far off, but she suspected that bring caught would not go well. Maester Walys might even take his cane out. Thankfully for her hide, she was undetected on her arduous journey and the library door opened for her with nary a creak of protest. The hinges must have been oiled well beforehand.
Shaking the light snow off of her shoulders, Lyanna threw her cloak on the first stool she saw and searched her small satchel for the candle she’d brought along. At nighttime there was only ever one sconce of light burning and every hour or so someone cam to check it. Making her way around the labyrinth-like arrangement of scrolls and books, Lyanna came upon the wall carrying the torch. She lit her stick of beeswax upon the joyful flame dancing lightly.
Then, with her own light in hand, Lyanna began searching the collection housed in the tower. Maester Walys was a firm believer that there was no such thing as sorcery. It stood to reason he would keep no books on that. But some of his potion scrolls contained what had been described as cursed drinks. Following the descriptions of such symptoms and claiming bewitchment would surely attest to her insanity.
Fingers resting upon the neat row of spines, Lyanna leaned in to better read the titles. Those in Valyrian she ignored. Her scant knowledge of the language made such material of no use. There were others, older tomes, written in the common tongue. Those were what she needed. Her search continued through the dusty tunnels, accompanied by the occasional sneeze or cough upon inhaling a mouthful of dust.
There was one small booklet Lyanna found, stacked between two great tomes. She pulled it out, wincing at a creak she heard from without. Holding the light over it, she read the very first lines. The neat script did not belong to father’s adviser. It seemed to be an account of sorts. Her attention was drawn by another book. This one she recognised as a complete compendium on plants. Lyanna hurried to pull it out when she heard the door opening, this time with a loud crack, as if to warn her.
With speed that amazed even her, she blew her candle out and shoved both books in her satchel. The added heaviness produced a wince from her. How she loathed having to carry weights. Of any kind.
Settling on the ground, Lyanna hid herself as best as she could. Footsteps rang out through the chamber and a man called out. As if she would be stupid enough to respond. Lyanna rolled her eyes and pressed her back even harder against the free patch of wall, drawing the dark coal over her head. Somewhere ahead a torch shined its light. Once more the man called out.
Seemingly satisfied when no reply came, he presumably walked away, footsteps growing fainter and fainted. The door could be heard opening and closing. And then there was silence. It was safe, the maiden told herself a few moments later.
Still, not wishing to test the bounds of her fortune, she forced herself to wait awhile longer before kneeling to the ground and placing both hands upon the ground to feel her way better. The curved shelves were no friends to here.
Soon, she told herself, she would be back in her bedchamber, listening to Meryam snore and wishing to smother her with a fine pillow. Lyanna sighed. The benches in the library truly were the very worst to sleep upon. Young and healthy as she was, her back protested at the very thought of lying upon a stool.
Fingertips brushed the solid surface in slow, circular motions. Lyanna advanced through the darkness, wondering if she would at some point see the torch wall. It also occurred to her that the keep would be best served to have another arrangement for all this. Straights rows. She would put it to father as it was possible. Provided, of course, that she would still be around to do so. And she just might if she moved fast enough.
A smothered snort sounded through the darkness. Lyanna could barely keep from giggling. Somehow she heroically resisted the impulse. It was no easy task.
It seemed her mumming was finer than she had credited it. At least it was good enough to fool Meryam in leaving her one her own to supposedly sleep off a headache. Benjen gave her a dry look as he unloaded the materials she had asked for.
Without waiting for much else, Lyanna began mixing the ingredients into a pitcher of wine, stirring lightly every once in a while. “I cannot believe Maester Walys leaves all this lying around.”
Benjen shrugged. “I might have fiddled with a few locks.” Ever the charmer, he grinned down at her. “I thought you’d appreciate having everything.”
The door opened, startling Lyanna, causing her to drop a bit too much Nightshade into the mixture. She grimaced, then turned to glare at Robert. “Close that, would you? You are not supposed to be here.”
“I came to see to your preparations,” he replied, entering fully. The door closed softly in his wake.
“How kind of you.” She continued on with her work, making requests of her brother. With the patience of a saint, Benjen carried all of them through, though he did mutter every once and again. Such was his nature, which Lyanna held no grudge against. “That should do it,” she said at a long last, inspecting the concoction obtained. Taking in the scent, she smiled. “Any volunteers?” the young woman questioned, holding out the pitcher.
Benjen laughed and held out a cup. “After you, sister mine.”
Lyanna poured. She took the cup afterwards and downed its contents in one go. “It’s not nearly as bad as I’d expected it to be.” Truly, it felt a bit tangy on the tongue, but nothing to be getting sick over. And the light tremors it would produce was just the thing she needed.
“Truly?” Benjen questioned. “Let me see.” He took the cup from her hand, poured what looked to be half the dosage, which according to what hey had read would only result in frissons and swallowed it all in a moment’s worth.
Nothing happened, of course not. It might need some time to settle.
“I believe it would be wise to taste this as well. Just to make sure it is not fatal to the lady,” Robert joked, stealing the cup from her brother’s hands.
“Oh, now you want to taste it.” They poured him half a cup as well and watched him drink. Robert wiped his mouth clean and placed the cup on a nearby stool. “We should leave your sister to ready herself.”
The company downstairs might not be very understanding at her absence from the hall during mealtime. Lyanna waved the two out of her bedchamber and waited for Meryam’s return. She missed Nan in such moments. Her companion, competent in the field of braiding hair and coiling it, was nowhere near as dear to her as the old crone had been. Might be father would agree to bring her back.
One could certainly hope.
Lyanna left the safety of her bed.
Meryam made her way in by a graceless stumble. Lyanna, though she’d made a half-hearted attempt, could not reach her in time to stop the fall. She was, however, able to help her up. “Why are you in such a hurry? There is time yet.”
“Not nearly as much as I would wish,” Meryam said, gazing critically upon Lyanna. “We truly must make haste, my lady. You look a fright.” Unfortunately not nearly frightening enough to send her companion screaming for the Frostfangs. Sadly indeed. Lyanna did not reply. Instead she seated herself on the edge of the bed and kicked her legs restlessly. What if the effects of the potion did not kick in on time.
In the meantime, Meryam was happy enough to search Lyanna’s trunks for a better dress than the one she wore. An easy enough feat. “I am so very thirsty,” she heard her companions say. “Is that wine you have there, my lady?”
Worry stole over Lyanna. “I’ll pour you some,” she hurriedly grabbed the pitcher only to let it drop a moment later. The frail pottery piece shattered in a thousand pieces, spraying shards and splattering blood-coloured wine all across the floors. “Oh dear.”
Lyanna made a show of kneeling, picking up pieces off of the ground. As expected, Meryam jumped in to relieve her. “Never you mind that, my lady. Step away from the mess.” Lyanna did as she was told, with an appropriate amount of awkwardness. There were times when her companion’s relative innocence was a blessing. “Wine stains are impossible to remove from fine cloth.”
Thanked be the gods for fine cloth and wine stains then. Lyanna walked to the bed, climbing up, waiting to be handed her clothing for the evening.
She took the proffered kirtle and inspected it in the light of the torch. “I believe this will do very well.” Well enough to mark a special occasion.
“He does not look well at all.” Lyanna jolted lightly in her seat, eyes going to Robert. He did not. Too pallid, wax-like even. She could not understand it at all. But he seemed well enough to eat and drink. He kept stealing glances her way every now and again, might be wondering at her tardiness. “Are you sure the draught can’t harm him.”
“Why would it?” she whispered back. “Look at us. We don’t have even the symptoms promised. Do you feel a chill?” Benjen shook his head and pushed a slice of roasted apple onto her plate, to make it seem as if they’d been speaking of food and not potentially having poisoned someone.
In fact, not a single tremor had been produced between the two of them. She was at a loss. “I ought to have known it would not work.” That was what she got for trusting old wives’ tales, even those that were written down. She should have just sacrificed Meryam on the altar of success. It was too late to turn back. “Go over as soon as you can and ask him how he’s feeling. We cannot have him dying on us.” Benjen gave a brief nod.
As it turned out, Robert felt mildly irritated at a sudden headache, but otherwise he claimed to be in fine form, even if his face told a different tale. Lyanna accepted his words without a second though. “Mayhap some more wine.” She offered him a cup of clear drink. “I am told it is good for soothing pain.” Even if it did ultimately result in only more pain.
“What a careful creature you are,” Robert jested, his fingers brushing against hers. Lyanna sucked in a breath. She allowed the cup to remain in his sole position, retracting her hand. Her guest lifted the drink to his lips and took a long gulp. “Dornish,” he said. “Always tart.”
In the next moment, under her very eyes, his smile wilted away. Violent coughing shook his whole frame. The cup fell from his hand which he brought to his chest, laying it over his heart as his other hand shot out to make a grab of her. Lyanna screamed out at the unexpected pain and piercing worry battling for dominance. She herself reached out for Robert, calling his name out.
No doubt their display earned them the attention of the whole keep. Her foot slipped on the slick, wine-covered floor. Before she could fall, strong hands supported her up. She saw another man move in to help Robert. He kept muttering under his breath and the whole chamber exploded in a flurry of activity.
All that Lyanna did want to know was what he was saying.
She managed to rip herself out of her helper’s hold and staggered forth, falling to her knees. “What is it, Robert? What is wrong?” How could the potion have had such an effect on him. She felt nothing, nothing at all. “What is he saying? For the love of the gods! What is he saying?”
One single word rang out in the sudden stillness. “Witchcraft!”
The slim volume landed on the table with a loud sound. Lyanna looked up at the man who glared at her accusingly. “You believe I am a witch? You can conceive of my being able to fell a grown man?” It was what she had done, but that, she suspected had been the nightshade, not her.
“He asked it himself,” the man replied. “He asked what you had done to him. What am I to believe?” The worst part was that even her father seemed to believe that she was responsible. What was he supposed to think, having discovered that the maester missed his powders, a slim volume of curses in her bedchamber and the situation of Robert Baratheon.
It was all such a muddle.
“I did not do it,” Lyanna insisted, licking her dry lips. Benjen must have told them as much. “I pray you, listen to me. It is not as you think it.”
“Then how is it?” Robert’s man demanded, suspicious eyes surveying her. “Tell me, my lady, if you are no witch, what have you done to him?”
The tears on her face continued to run downwards. There was nothing for it. She had to tell him. “We planned it together.” Her voice cracked upon the last word. “It was supposed to help us out of wedding.”