The Long Winter | Jaime Lannister X Stark OC | GOT/ASOIAF

As Ice Was To Fire

As of August 2024, see author's note at end about editing.

Harrenhal was a dark, twisted shadow, with a stinking aura of death about it. The hulking shape of the castle of it had been on the horizon for days now, so large that it had seemed much closer than it was. Privately, Ross thought that they should be turning their horses around and heading back up north. Yet they, along with countless others - lords, knights and commoners - were flocking to Harrenhal for Lord Whent's great tourney.

Rosennis Stark was unused to so many people. The North was vast and sparsely populated, with huge swathes of untouched wilderness, which suited her fine. It was rare that the Starks ventured down from Winterfell, and here, most folk they came across eyed their party warily, or else gawped with wide-eyed fascination. She couldn't shake off a feeling of foreboding, which may have just been a dislike for this place and the crowds, though the closer they grew to Harrenhal, the more on edge she became.

Having ridden with Brandon and Lya down from Winterfell, the Starks had joined up with the party from the Eyrie. It was wonderful to see Ned again, even if he had brought his friend, the charismatic young lord Baratheon. Robert was currently regaling them with some loud, entertaining tale, which had Brandon, Ned and Benjen howling with laughter. Riding beside her, Lyanna was smiling. Yet there was still a hint of reluctance in the girl's eyes, which had been there since they met the man she was to marry.

"See, Lya," Ross said to her sister, in what both of them knew was a weak attempt to cheer her spirits, from someone who was not good at such things. "He's not so bad,"

"He's fine when he's like this," Lyanna said, quiet enough that the others couldn't overhear them. "When he's laughing with the boys, telling stories or racing horses. But he's different around me - like he's on his best behaviour. I can't stand all those inane compliments, or ridiculous smiles he thinks are charming, or that he tries to help me off my horse,"

"How terrible," Ross' lips twitched. It was true though; Lyanna liked Robert well enough, until he tried to do anything that dared venture into courtship, then she clammed up, becoming short and defensive.

"Shut up," Her sister did laugh then, reaching across the gap between their horses to shove her. "It's not even him, really. He's... fine. I just don't want to marry anyone,"

Ross knew that already. She was as different to her younger sister as ice was to fire, but though they often had their fights and rivalries, they had always been close. She had held Lyanna as she cried bitterly, after their father had told her of the betrothal.

"I thought it would be you," Her sister had sobbed. "I'm the second daughter. You're much better behaved than I am, and much more clever. I - I'd hoped Father would forget about me,"

Lyanna was naive and could be unknowingly selfish.

"You're beautiful, Lya," Was all Ross could say. "And you're Father's favourite, of all of us. Of course he wouldn't forget you. He thinks he's done you a great kindness,"

Now, in the sunlit woodlands of the Riverlands, Lyanna was not crying - as if she would ever cry in front of anyone who wasn't her sister - but had an odd, pensive look on her face. She had grown up a lot in the few months since her betrothal was announced. It had shocked her, the realisation that, despite a childhood of being permitted to do largely what she wanted by their father - who indulged her, where he had been strict and stern with the rest of them - she was a highborn lady, nearly a woman grown, and would be expected to act like one.

"You won't be married until you're sixteen, at least," Ross said. "That's nearly two more years at home. More than what I've got,"

Her own betrothal was to the widowed Lord Bolton, whose lands bordered the Stark's. It was a relief that she would be a few days' ride from home, still in her beloved North and close to her family. Lyanna would be a whole kingdom away, alone in a strange southron castle, which didn't bear thinking about.