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Lyanna Stark watches her betrothed look down the chest of a serving wench before pulling her into his lap and has to swallow the bile in her throat.
Just one more day, she reminds herself as she takes a sip of wine. Tomorrow the joust would take place and, if the Gods were kind, the betrothal would come to an end. You just have to put up with this for one more day.
It was not unusual for knights to drink before a joust and drunk knights make mistakes. It was not unusual for knights to sustain injuries during jousts and there had been cases of knights succumbing to their injuries. It would be a tragedy, yes, but it would not be a surprising one. Everyone had seen him drink, everyone knew that he fought hard, everyone knew that maesters were not infallible in their healing.
By this time tomorrow, Robert Baratheon would be dead.
She catches Robert letting go of the serving wench and start looking towards her, so she focuses on Ned dancing Ashara Dayne instead. He looked so bashful it was a miracle he did not trip. Brandon is watching the dancing pair as well and doesn't resist elbowing his sister in the side. "Why don't you go dance with your betrothed, sister?"
Prick. "Fuck off, Brandon."
Brandon rolled his eyes. "Father will not change his mind, Lya. Like it or not, you'll be married to him."
Not if I have something to say about it. "Then let me enjoy my last days of peace and quiet before I'm bound to that drunk, brother."
Brandon looked like he wanted to say something, but Lyanna didn't give him a chance. She picked up her skirts and stormed out of the hall.
That night, she dresses in her brother's dark tunic and pants and puts on a black cloak that hides her face.
She sneaks around like a shadow through the camp until she finds the Baratheon tents, just in time to see Robert exit the largest one with his hands in his belt and a light whistle on his lips. Lyanna scowls involuntarily as she watches him leave. Probably off to the brothel - at least he will enjoy his last night alive. She shook off the thought and focused.
Nightshade plants didn't grow in the North, but Maester Wallis had shown it to her on a book of plants while he was encouraging her to find ladylike pursuits like watercolors and painting. It was the berries that were poisonous, and they were known to produce rashes, headaches and hallucinations before eventually killing the afflicted, but the purple star-shaped flower wasn't and it was very recognizable. Lyanna had seen a cluster of them in the fields around Harrenhal and taken a bundle of them.
The herbology book that depicted the flowers had not said how essence of nightshade was rendered, but Lyanna assumed that crushing the berries was at least part of the process and so she used a mortar and pestle she took from the kitchen to ground the berries and mix them with ale before pouring the tainted drink into a wine skin. She hoped that it was a strong enough dose to incapacitate him - hopefully letting him live long enough to act like the drunk he usually was and leave no doubt as to what killed him.
Moving silently, she snuck into the tent and quickly located a wine skin left carelessly on a table next to a used cup. She picked up the wine skin and felt it half-empty, so she worked quickly to pour the remaining liquid into the cup and fill the wine skin with as much of the compromised ale as possible. Her heart was beating rapidly as she worked, her ears straining to hear any sign of approaching guards and her hands almost shaking as finished filling up the wine skin and screwing it shut.
Lyanna put Robert's wine skin back where it was and scurried out of the tent as quickly as she could.
She didn't breathe properly until she was back in her family's tent and didn't stop shaking until finished burying the tainted wine skin.
The Knight of the Laughing Tree was not part of her original plan, but she could not allow such a dishonor to stand.
Lyanna had been simmering with anger already and seeing those cowards beat up an innocent boy three-against-one had been one injustice too many for her to tolerate. It had taken no effort to grab a discarded wooden training sword and wield it.
After, when the boys ran to their knights with their tails between their legs, the bannerman introduces himself as Howland Reed, heir to Greywater Watch.
"Thank you for saving me, my lady." He says as Lyanna helps him to the Stark tent so they could see to his injuries.
"It was no trouble." Lyanna waves him off. "I could not stand by and let them pummel you like that. Wolves protect their pack, and you are part of the North too - of course I would help." They reach the tent and she immediately calls for her brother. "Ben! Bring some linens!"
Benjen and Ned had helped her treat Howland, who was flustered at being fussed over by three wolf children who happened to be the children of his liege lord. They offered Howland to dine with them and quickly became friends, bonding over the strange fashions of the southerners and their predictions for tomorrow's joust.
"I saw some Reacher lord ride like he had a stick up his ass, so I would not bet on him tomorrow." Lyanna had said, making Ben and Howland laugh while Ned simply smiled.
"It's not just about how well they ride, Lya." Ned tried to say. "I've seen some jousts in the Eyrie and all it takes is one single well-aimed strike from an opponent to fell down the best rider."
"Really? Like where, brother?" Benjen asked.
"Shoulder, neck, and hip - and slightly to the right, so the impact dislodges them from the saddle." Ned demonstrated each point on his own body like he was giving a lesson. "In next tourney, maybe you will be able to join, Benjen."
"I thought they did not allow followers of the Old Gods to participate in tourneys since we are not knights?" Howland piped up.
Benjen curled his hands like claws. "Aye, they think we're bloody savages that will tear their pretty tunics apart with our teeth." He made a mock growl and howl, making them all laugh at his impression.
Lyanna wasn’t paying attention to the boys’ antics though - she was hung up on what Ned had said about jousting.
Those southern assholes would no doubt be present at tomorrow’s joust. Those cravens needed to be given a harsh lesson in honor. A public mocking was the least they deserved.
Another plan began formulating in her mind.
The following day, Lyanna claims she has a headache and is left behind at their tent while her brothers go to see the jousts.
Once they are gone, she starts to get ready, retreating to the out-of-use storage shed close to where their tent is and where she has stashed her disguise.
Lyanna has managed to gather all the armor pieces and helmet, but they are all mismatched, stolen from different sets left unattended by squires, and most are too big for her, but she powers through until she has a semblance of a suit of armor and uses spare clothes to pad out the areas where she couldn’t make the pieces fit correctly.
The shield she finds in the same shed, which was probably an outpost for training exercises or during the Dance judging by the discarded shields and empty crossbows that litter the space. It’s a simple wooden shield with a weirwood tree drawn on it, its bleeding face smiling. It reminds Lyanna of the calm of the Godswood at Winterfell, their Old Gods of the wind and the trees, and the fact that if all goes well she will not have to leave it behind for Storm’s End. If Lyanna believed in fate, she would think that finding the shield was a gift from the Old Gods, a way to show their approval.
The Old Gods may not approve of murder, but Lyanna doesn’t think it is completely unjustified. She is not killing Robert Baratheon for that sick pleasure of watching him die, or to indulge in his suffering. She wants to preserve her honor, her good name, her independence - all values and virtues that she considers important. Would the Old Gods seek her punished if she killed him while he attempted to impose his marital rights? Do they think the Laws of Men, the ones that would deem Robert her new owner once they married, are theirs too?
Lyanna Stark does not think herself above the law, but she is way past caring at this point.
She puts on the helmet and picks up the shield.
….
Shortly before the joust begins, a mystery knight makes its arrival at the main stand.
He gives no name, no House, no moniker.
He is called the Knight of the Laughing Tree and shown to where he can wait with his horse.
The Knight of the Laughing Tree unhorses the knights whose squires had tormented Howland.
Lyanna is grateful the helmet distorts her voice, making her laughter sound like an animal’s cackles and not a young lady’s giggles - especially because it makes her voice lower when she slowly rides past the knights and growls down at them. “Teach your squires honor.”
She thinks briefly about disappearing while the other knights continue the jousts, before anyone comes up to the new knight to attempt to speak to him or demand that he identify himself, and doesn’t get to make a decision when Robert Baratheon is up the next, against some knight from the Reach.
Robert is wearing the antlered helmet and gold surcoat with the black stag, his visor pulled up as he looks around the stands and she knows he is looking for her, probably to ask her favor. He is already swaying on his saddle, though whether it was his usual drunk state or the poison remained to be seen. Maliciously, she imagines herself there, seated with her brothers, having made no favor and simply using the lance to knock him off balance and into the ground before any knight had the chance to. It is a fun scenario that makes chuckle, but alas, she is already hidden and a funny possibility it will have to remain.
Once he realizes that his betrothed is not present, he scowls and shoves down his visor before urging his horse to the starting point.
The horn sounds and the joust begins.
The knight from the Reach is a good rider, but even an underfed squire would be able to throw Robert off the saddle.
She saw first hand how his opponent’s lance hit his chest and sent him flying like he was a rag doll. There were gasps from the crowd and anxious murmurs as they all stared at the large man lying on the ground, waiting for him to get up or call for help.
No one moved. Robert Baratheon remained unmoving, spread out and completely silent.
It only took five seconds for Ned to call for his friend and jump to the grounds, calling for a maester. Another squire went to assist him and Jon Arryn looked worried as he prayed that his rambunctious foster son. The knight from the Reach even dismounted and went to see if his opponent was alright.
That did not happen.
Robert Baratheon was dead.
Ned couldn’t believe it.
Robert was dead. His best friend, his brother in all but blood was dead.
Brandon told Lyanna about Robert and she said nothing. No tears, no questions, no reaction other than a general displeasure, as if Robert’s death was nothing more than an inconvenience. The random ladies who witnessed his demise had shed more tears than his own betrothed. He knew Lyanna had rejected the match… but did she really hate him so much?
“My condolences for your friend, Ned. I know how much you loved him.” Lyanna said as she hugged him tightly. Ned finds himself at a loss for words. He wants to say he is sorry for her loss too, he wants to demand a reaction from her, he wants someone else to carry this heavy grief with him, but no words come out of his mouth.
It kills him that no one except him and Jon Arryn seem too sad about Robert’s death. Stannis, cold and detached, immediately takes the reins of the Stormlands and throws himself into the lordship. Other lords and knights that knew him lament the loss of a drinking companion, but immediately start using him as a cautionary tale for their squires. Even Brandon and Benjen only seem sad for Ned rather than Robert’s demise on itself. Lyanna is downright indifferent, which makes him a little sick.
How dare they? How dare they be so callous in the face of an innocent man’s death?
Brandon tells her the news with a solemn face that reminds Lyanna of their father.
Lyanna doesn’t say anything at first. Her brothers think she is simply in shock, but she is actually biting her inner cheek to stop herself from smiling.
Robert Baratheon is well and truly dead. Lyanna won’t be married to him, she won’t have to be a southern lady, she won’t have to deal with a husband that likes wondering from bed to brothel.
Lyanna nods, gives her condolences to Ned, and excuses herself to go on a ride.
It is only once she is riding through the plains that she starts laughing. Madly, happily, with relief.
She raises her own wineskin of Northern Ale - morbid and disrespectful, but she does not care - in mock toast. “To Robert Baratheon, who enjoyed his last night alive… and the few minutes before his death!” Lyanna laughed and took a sip.
…
The following day, business continues as usual. The gods don’t care for a single man’s death and neither do lords, even when it is one of their own.
Lyanna wears her brown leather riding habit because she doesn’t have any darker dresses that could pass for mourning clothes… and because she no longer has to follow Southern fashion to “fit in with the other ladies”. Robert being dead has removed the heavy weight off her shoulders and she is not about to bother keeping up a pretense for a dead man. Rickard Stark will not be happy once they are back in Winterfell, but Lyanna will make it clear to all the Southerners that she is not one of them.
She knows better than to trust her father now, so she wastes no time in approaching Stannis Baratheon, who sits placidly in the same tent where she poisoned his brother’s ale. He has the same dark hair and blue eyes as Robert, but his grim face and slight build made them look more like distant cousins than siblings. ”Lady Lyanna.” He says curtly as she approached his tent.
“Lord Baratheon.” She nods back respectfully. “My condolences for your brother. He was a… lively character.”
Stannis’ face twists into a disgruntled expression. “Yes, lively until it led him to an early death.” It was well-known that Stannis didn’t have much love or tolerance for his brother either. “In light of that, I suppose I will have to write to your lord father as well.”
“That is exactly what I wanted to discuss with you.”
That made Stannis look up from his documents. It was not common for ladies to discuss their betrothals or their terms - even after they ended. “Oh?”
”I understand you are betrothed too, yes?”
”Indeed, to Selyse Florent. And as my promise has already been given, I cannot break it and take you as a bride.”
Lyanna pushes down the impulse to roll her eyes. “Worry not, Lord Baratheon, I’m sure my father will understand that and I would not seek to force you to break a vow.” I would also, rather not be stuck in the Stormlands with any Baratheon, drunkard or inflexible. “And I assume, you will have no problem also declining a possible betrothal to your younger brother if he offers one.”
Stannis looks at her with sharp blue eyes and severe expression, but he doesn’t seem offended by her words. It would make no sense to betroth her to Renly, who if she remembers correctly has barely reached his sixth name day - she would be too old for him by the time he was of age to perform the marriage. So unless there was another reason Rickard Stark was so desperate to tie his house to the Baratheons, he would not even propose such an idea.
“You assume corrrectly, my lady.” He finally said.
“Good. That is all I wanted to know, I will leave you to your affairs, Lord Baratheon.” Lyanna says with a quick curtsy and steps out of the tent breathing a little lighter.
…
Brandon’s betrothed visits them to pay her respects.
”Lady Lyanna,” Catelyn Tully says in greeting as she arrives to their tent, her little sister following close behind with a household guard. Catelyn is very pretty, tall and willowy with red hair and a graceful posture - the epitome of a good Southern lady. “My condolences for your loss. I am sure the Seven will receive Lord Robert’s soul with open arms.”
”Aye,” is all that Lyanna can really say that is not an insult or a snort.
“I was wondering if you would like to come to the Sept with us, to pray for him and his family.”
Lyanna thinks Catelyn Tully is smart, poised and has been well-educated in the running of a Keep and in all the niceties and politeness expected of her. She is probably a very good match for any other Southern house… but Lyanna can’t imagine she will like the North, with their Old Gods and bluntness. And maybe it’s because she’s grown tired of playing nice and wants to break out her claws, or out of a want to give her future goodsister actually advise, but she decides to show Catelyn Tully a peek of what she can expect in the North.
”No, thank you - I don’t really care for your gods or for that drunk whoreson’s soul.” Lyanna said bluntly, taking a wicked sort of delight in little Lysa’s wide eyes and Brandon’s snort that he can’t quite stop, which earns him surprised looks from his betrothed. “Your graces are wasted on me, Lady Catelyn, but thank you for the offer.”
Catelyn glares at the disrespect shown to the Seven, but understands she can’t disparage against the gods of her future husband, so she picks on her other comment instead. “He was your betrothed.”
”… and he was a drunk who had already sired a bunch of bastards and visited a different whore every night. I will not pretend to be saddened by his passing. I am very happy I won’t have to put up with him for the rest of his life - which thankfully for me, he saw ended before we were bound.” Lyanna stood up from their table and walked towards the entrance, stopping to place a hand on the red-headed woman’s shoulder and leans close. “Brandon is the best patron of the brothel at Wintertown and our father has paid at least two peasant women to take moon tea because they found themselves carrying his children. You may be willing to do your duty and suffer indignities for your husband’s sake, but I did not. Do with this what you will, I merely wanted to warn you.” She straightens up and smiles at the women. “Good day, my ladies.”
Ned suddenly finds himself holding the same shield that mysterious knight had used. The knight that beat his opponents and disappeared, never to be seen even when the jousting resumed the day after Robert died. The laughing weirwood tree almost looks like it is mocking him.
What was it doing among Lyanna’s things?
Did she find it and keep it as a token? Why didn’t she turn it in? They could have found the knight already if the hunting hounds had gotten his scent. The King, ever paranoid since the defiance of Duskendale, had taken the death of Robert - his cousin Steffon’s son - as an attack on him by virtue of their shared blood, and demanded the mysterious knight be found and brought before him to face wildfire.
Jon Arryn had told him that they had found traces of poison on Robert’s corpse. That his unsteadiness before the jousts was to poison that he had consumed. Regardless of what the Mad King thought, someone had deliberately poisoned Robert and tried to pass off his death like an accident. Robert was known to be fond of drinking - there would be hundreds of opportunities on any given day to slip something into his drink. That it took place on the day of the jousts was most likely an additional effort to see that he died that day. A single fall at the right angle would have done the job if the poison failed.
An unwelcome and too possible theory invaded his mind, making his grip on the shield loosen and land on the ground with a thud.
Lyanna, who rode like she was half a horse.
Lyanna, who could wield a lance like it weighted nothing.
Lyanna, who hated Robert and didn’t want to marry him.
Lyanna, who was mysteriously absent from the tourney and didn’t shed a single tear for his death.
Ned struggled to breathe, the air becoming thin around him and his vision blurring.
He could not imagine his sweet sister, who loved playing with Benjen and treated all animals kindly, plotting to kill a person. Had her hatred for Robert, a man who professed his undying love for her every time he caught sight of her, been so great that she decided to kill him? When he tried to soothe her concerns, had she already decided what poison she would use and where to give it to him?
A rustle behind him made him turn around and he was suddenly face to face with his sister.
Lyanna’s eyes widened at the sight of him holding the shield, their eyes meeting as she realized he had come to the truth. “Ned-“
“Did you do it?” Ned asked breathlessly, still struggling to catch his breath. He doesn’t need to ask what exactly.
“Yes, I did.”
Ned’s knees buckled and he fell onto the nearest chair. Lyanna rushed to help him but he recoiled from her touch and shoved her hands away - they were bloodied hands, dirty hands, hands that had poured the poison into his friend’s drink. “Why? Why did you do it, Lya? He loved yo-“
“Don’t be stupid, Eddard.” Lyanna said harshly, baring her teeth at him. “He visited the whorehouse every night and already had bastards. Men like that don’t change just because they said a few words in a Sept. Tell me, what were you going to do when we were married and he still fucked a maid or a whore and begot a bastard on them? Would you defend my honor then? Or would you continue to defend your friend?”
Ned breathes heavily. His lungs refused to take more than shallow breaths and the weight on his chest is suffocating him. “You don’t know that he would have done that.”
“I do. You were the only one stupid enough not to see the simple truth.” Her tone is stable and uncaring, as if they were discussing the weather.
Never in his life had Eddard Stark been so close to hitting a woman, let alone his own sister - but his even now his honor would not let him raise a hand, so he lashed out with words instead. “Father could still betroth you to Stannis.”
“He could try, but I went and offered my condolences to the new Lord Baratheon and he made it clear that he will not break his own engagement to fulfill his brother’s. It says a lot about a person that not even his own flesh and blood miss him, don’t you think?” The last sentence is sharp and cuts deeply.
“And if he betroths you to someone else, someone just like Robert?” It pains him to even say his friend’s name as an insult, but he is trying to make his sister realize her behavior is wrong, against the laws of both gods and men.
Lyanna grins with something savage and almost laughs. “Then I imagine the drunken whoremongers of Westeros will stop drinking and lay off the brothels after another one drops dead. Maybe two dead betrotheds will be enough for no one to want to marry me.” She giggles, like an innocent lady that dreams about gallant knights - only she is thinking of killing them. “Can you imagine what they will say in the South? They will be gathering around fires and telling stories of the Wolf Maid and her cursed grooms, how every man that tries to claim her dies gruesomely.”
If you had asked Eddard Stark if he thought his sister capable of cold-blooded murder, he would have immediately disagreed and challenged you to a duel for daring to speak ill of his kin.
Now, he knows that not only is Lyanna capable of murder, but she is willing to do it again.
“You committed murder, Lya. You murdered the King’s blood. I should be handing you over-“
“Will you do that, Ned? Will you stand by while the Mad King rapes me and then burns me with wildfire? Do you think Brandon or Benjen or any of our bannermen will stand and watch that happen without a revolt?” Lyanna’s hand gripped his shoulder and a wave of nausea hit him hard, both from the image of Lyanna being tortured and burning in green flames and the feeling of her murderous hands. “And if you go straight to our Father… do you think him capable of using Ice to chop off my head like a common murderer? There is no Black for me to take; the Silent Sisters and Septas don’t take murderers; he cannot banish me without forever tarnishing the name of House Stark and any women born into our house after that will be looked at with suspicion. What do you think Father will value more? Justice for your friend’s murder… or the reputation of his house?”
Ned chews on his tongue, glaring at his sister but unable to give a reply.
She is right. Damn her to the deepest pit of the Seven Hells, she is right.
Father will be angry with Lyanna, he might strike her behind close doors or even have her whipped, but there is no way he will punish her publicly for this. Not when it would see Brandon’s betrothal ended along with his fostering on the Vale - even if Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully could be convinced that Lyanna was a bad seed and they were fine, upstanding lordlings, it would not be worth the stain that would inevitably touch their houses. And handing over Lyanna to the Mad King after hearing what he did to a common poacher or even innocent people that he misliked… Ned cannot think of a crime gruesome enough to deserve that level of torture. Not even for Robert’s murder.
A sad cloud passes over Lyanna’s eyes and she smiles gently at him, eyes filled with pity. “I truly am sorry that you lost your friend, Ned.” She says softly and stands up straight, hand retreating from his shoulder. “It would have been easier if you hadn’t been so close to Robert, and I am sorry to have caused you pain. But you can make new friends, worthier friends - I could not have escaped from being Robert’s wife. I hope you understand why I did what I did.”
She grabs the shield from where it had fallen and turns it around so that the laughing weirwood tree is hidden against her body. “Robert’s bastards… were they being looked after by Robert?”
Ned cannot even lie to make his friend look better. “He met Mya Stone and gave some money to her mother once, but I don’t know if he had done it again, or with the others.”
“Not surprising.” Lyanna scoffs, but her expression only hardens for a second. “If I give you some money, will you see that they receive it? The children, I mean. They don’t deserve to go without because of who their father was.”
Ned does not answer, too busy trying to reconcile the image of Lyanna his sister with Lyanna the murderer and Lyanna the charitable, if it could even be called that. She sees the uncertainty in his eyes and sighs heavily. “I will see this destroyed and then I will meet you and our brothers for supper.” She said as she held the shield under her arm and turned to leave, as if she hadn’t just ripped out the entire world from under his feet. “Goodbye, Ned.”
Lyanna walked out of the tent, and Ned could not find it in himself to go after her.