Originally, I had no intention of making this into a genuine story. I set it aside for a long time, despite its seeming popularity, but I recently revisited it and recalled how much I enjoyed it. So I'm going to edit some things in the current chapters, and hopefully I will have time to continue the story in the near future. (I make no promises on a time frame. I am incredibly busy at the moment, but I really do want to continue exploring this).

This Chapter was edited on : April 23, 2019.

Lyanna held back a snort of derision. It took all she had not to turn sideways and smack Robert Baratheon straight from his chair. She had only been visiting with the Baratheons at Storm's End for a fortnight, but she already despised this man.

They had met once before, when Lyanna came to visit her brother during his time with Jon Arryn at the Vale, but she couldn't remember the young Robert she had met then being so revolting as he was now. She supposed, looking back on it, that she didn't remember much of Robert at all from that trip. It had been her first time leaving the North, and everything had seemed so new and exciting. Lyanna had been far too distracted by her surroundings to notice her company. Every food had tasted like the most delicious thing to grace her lips. Every view: the most beautiful sight before her eyes. Every story: the most fascinating thing to reach her ears. Every dress: the most delicate fabric to touch her skin. Every breath had felt better than the one before. Even if hindsight had shown her how naive she had been, how little difference there truly was between the North and the Vale, how little of the world had actually seen and experienced. She still cherished the memories as her most awed and wondrous she had ever felt. Nothing, not even poor company had robbed her of the glow that tinted those memories.

This trip, however, was different. In the Vale, company was of no notice to Lyanna. In Storm's End, she couldn't stop noticing.

Maybe it was the dull grey stone walls robbing her of views. Maybe it was the heavy, humid air, robbing her of that refreshing breeze. Maybe it was the food, robbed of any flavor apart from the wine. Maybe it was a combination of the three. Whatever it was, the new sights and sounds in Storm's End failed to distract her the way they had in the Vale. She was forced, more with every passing minute, to confront the man beside her.

The Baratheons and Starks were sat in the Great Hall at Storm's End breaking fast with Lyanna sat beside Robert and across from Benjen, Ned at his side across from his friend. The air stunk with the smell of old, cheap wine. Every surface was covered in a sticky film she couldn't identify, and the sound of men shouting and maids squealing with fake delight drowned out the sound of everyone but the three closest to her. The room reminded Lyanna much of the lord who owned it.

It was moments like this that she realized how little she understood Ned. He had always been the odd one out. Brandon, Benjen, and she were three of a kind. The similarities were uncanny, and the differences were almost neglible.

Brandon was Lyanna's everything: her brother, her best friend, her partner-in-crime, her mentor, her guard. A few times, he had even functioned as her sister. Lyanna remembered the first time she noticed a boy: a young nephew of Lord Manderly who'd come with his family on an official visit to Winterfell. She was only ten, and the boy, Warrick, was ten-and-two. Lyanna didn't have a sister or any young, female nobles for friends, so she'd run to Brandon. At ten-and-four, he'd canceled a hunt with the master-at-arms and his sons to be with his sister as she gushed about Warrick as if he was the prettiest thing to ever grace the earth. She talked from midday to supper, and Brandon listened as if her infatuation with this boy was the most important thing to happen to him that week. When dinner came and Lyanna was too nervous to ask her mother to braid her hair so she could look nice for Warrick, Brandon had offered to try his hand. It wasn't a perfect plat like her mother's would have been, but he'd watched her do it enough times that he did a decent job. Lyanna loved Brandon more than she loved anything. He was protective and stubborn, adventurous and spontaneous, fun-loving and wild. Brandon made decisions on a whim and stuck by them with a ferocity unmatched in the Seven Kingdoms, and despite his lack of forethought, he was almost never wrong. He listened to his instincts, and they never led him astray.

Benjen followed not far behind. He idolized Brandon, wanting nothing more than to grow up and become the exact man his eldest brother already was. He didn't envy Brandon his future position of Lord of Winterfell, but everyone also knew it was a position Brandon would have happily given away. No, Benjen wanted to become all the things Brandon had earned for himself, not the things he'd been born into. He worked to achieve Brandon's physical prowess, studied to replace Brandon's instictual understanding, and mimicked Brandon's effortless charisma and popularity. Benjen stood out mostly in his mischief, and when his devious smirk finally began to develop was when the trio of Starks finally found their completion. They were unstoppable and inseparable.

Ned was not included, and he'd made it fairly clear he didn't want to be. Of Lyanna's brothers, he was the most distant. His siblings were bonded to him by blood and little else. Part of that had been all his time spent away in the Eyrie, but a greater part was Ned himself. Ned has always seen himself as separate from his siblings. When given the choice, Brandon, Lyanna, and Benjen had bonded with each other. When given the choice, Ned had bonded himself with Robert Baratheon: the man he now hoped Lyanna would call her husband.

How her brother had ended up friends with a fool like Robert Baratheon, Lyanna would never know. She wasn't as close to Ned as their siblings, but she always knew him to be her quiet, disciplined, loyal elder brother. Ned stood with pride beside his friend and in stark contrast to him. Robert was arrogant, brutish, and loud, so very, very loud. Every word that came out of his mouth was shouted. Lyanna had never seen him lose an argument, but not for his superior intellect so much as superior volume. It was as if being the loudest person in the room somehow made him the most important. None could speak without Robert's permission, and none mattered unless he agreed with them. She felt as though her head began to ache preemptively the moment he walked in a room, and today was no different.

Benjen shot her a smirk as Robert recounted a tale of the time he defeated the great Ser Arthur Dayne in melee combat back in the Vale. Robert's voice seemed to echo around the hall for everyone to hear, and not one person in the mix questioned how a knight of the Kingsguard ended up in the Vale, so far from Kings Landing, with no reason, fighting a highborn lord, on a summer's night.

"Greatest warrior I ever saw, Ser Arthur Dayne," Robert finished his story and lowered his voice down to a somewhat acceptable volume. "Find it hard to believe I beat him sometimes."

"Don't we all," Lyanna grumbled under her breath, looking away from the man and towards her brother for support.

Benjen was of little to no help; he was drinking in the Stormland's wine almost as much as he was drinking in the sight of one of the maidens across the room who was serving distant relatives of Lord Robert. He hadn't taken his eyes off the girl most of their meal. In any other keep, Lyanna was sure that it would have been an affront, but in Storm's End, no one seemed to mind or notice that their lord was being disregarded for a servant. Benjen hardly paid their host any mind at all as he recounted his blatant lies about the Sword of the Morning, and it was obvious that he hadn't listened to a word except to irk Lyanna, who had no means of escape. Ned had made sure of it.

Every morning, Ned had come down to break his fast early and ensure that Robert was there with the only empty seat left in the hall by his side. His gaze flitted between his sister and his friend all morning, every morning. Lyanna knew why. Her face had always seemed like an open book. Brandon used to joke that he could see into his sister's mind if he looked closely enough at her eyes, and Ned desperately wanted to read what his brothers could in her face. He didn't want her dashing his hopes or ruining his friendship.

Her betrothal to Robert Baratheon had yet to be confirmed by her father, but they all knew it was coming. The only question left before the proclamation was her dowry. It was Ned who had planted the idea in their father's head, thinking it would be a grand idea to be joined to his best friend, and Robert had been more than happy to oblige. Since the day they met back in the Vale, Robert had been proclaiming his love for Lyanna to anyone who would listen, and Ned had believed every word. It had been a forgone conclusion for nearly a year that Rickard Stark would join his house with the Baratheons. Yet even blindly loyal Ned, who probably wouldn't know love if it ran him through with a sword, could tell that Lyanna was not happy with her current morning seating arrangement.

"What about you my lady?" Robert addressed Lyanna, completely oblivious to her whispered disdain but aware and displeased that he had lost the young woman's attention. "Who was the greatest warrior you ever saw at a tourney? Surely you have been received at several."

Lyanna didn't even consider his question and dismissed it as such. "I rarely go to tourneys. I find the idea of swordplay fascinating, but if my father refuses to allow me to learn then what is the point in wasting my time on something that I will gain nothing from. I prefer to watch the joust. Horses are a pastime of mine."

Benjen caught his sister's response despite his distraction and snickered. Lyanna treated horses better than she treated most people; he didn't need to imagine whether Robert Baratheon would be included in that majority. Lyanna could spend all day riding through the woods and never be content. There were times the entire guard of Winterfell had to be sent out to find her if she rode too far to be back by sundown. All his sister wanted to do was ride her horse to the ends of Westeros and beyond till she'd seen everything worth seeing and gone everywhere worth going.

"Oh yes, the joust," Robert Baratheon nodded his agreement, as if he had been speaking of jousting and horses all along. "Not a great show of fighting prowess, in my opinion. In Storm's End the melee is always the focus of the tourney. But the jousts are terribly entertaining with the right people." He smiled down at Lyanna, not that she met his gaze. "I'm sure you've been crowned the queen of love and beauty at many a joust, my lady."

"Oh yes, our sister cannot attend a tourney without being admired by all," Benjen's tone was teasing. "Perhaps, at the next tourney we attend, she will accompany us to the melee. A competitor may attract her attention." His eyes flashed from Lyanna to Robert, knowing he had set her up to confront their host.

Ned cut into the conversation just as Lyanna began to speak. He could see what Benjen was trying to do and wasn't going to have it. "Now, now, Benjen, this talk is inappropriate in the presence of a lady. If our sister does not wish to speak of fighting, we should not push her to." Ned felt as though he'd been at odds with his siblings since their arrival, but he wasn't going to let them ruin the purpose of this trip with their usual jabs. "Though, as Lyanna has implied, she is very interested in horses. Perhaps, Robert, you could show us your stables this afternoon. I don't believe Lyanna has had the chance to visit yet."

Robert let out a loud, annoyed groan and finished off his goblet of wine, snapping his fingers after a serving girl in demand for more. "I'm afraid it may have to wait till tomorrow, my dear friend. At midday I must greet a party from Dorne. Doran Martell has just taken control of House Martell after his mother's passing, and he seems set on marrying off his siblings as quickly as possible. Stannis and I are to meet his younger sister, Elia, when her and her brother, Oberyn, arrive." He rolled his eyes and let them fall on his precious Lyanna, imagining what kind of woman it would take to rip him from her. "As if I'd consider marrying some Dornish whore."

Lyanna snapped. Slamming her cutlery down on the table, she got her feet. Robert jumped to his feet as well, worrying something was wrong with her. Every voice in the hall ceased. Every eye turned to the visitors. Everyone froze in their place. "Feeling sick; excuse me," Lyanna mumbled a poor attempt at an excuse before she turned and ran from the hall.

"Lyanna!" Benjen was the only one who dared to follow after her through the halls. "Are you all right?" He caught up with her on the steps of the keep.

Lyanna slumped to her knees in the doorway. Her eyes turned to Benjen with absolute horror and disgust. "That is Ned's friend? That is the man I am to marry?" Lyanna didn't know if she wanted to curse or cry. "An arrogant, heartless baffoon who presumes himself correct in all things and deserving of his every want, lies of victories he didn't earn over far greater men than he could dream, insults lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms as if they belong in one of his brothels, and has no dignified bone in his body? No, I am not alright. I will never be alright again."

"He's been in love with you since you first met," Benjen repeated Ned's words to reassure her, even if he knew they weren't true.

"That," she glared down at her hands in her lap, "is not love. That is the lust of an insatiable drunk who does not know true emotion!"

"He certainly has his flaws," Neither of them had heard Ned approach until his comment made his presence known, "but we all do, sister. At the end of the day, he's a wellborn, respectable man. He'll treat you with loyalty and honor, even if he can't manage love."

"Loyalty?" Lyanna spat the word out like it burnt her tongue. "What does he know of loyalty?" She wished desperately that Brandon had come. Benjen usually tried to mediate conflicts between his older siblings, namely Ned and the other two. It made Lyanna feel terribly alone when Brandon wasn't around. Without Brandon, when she was at odds with Ned, she was completely alone.

"Lyanna, I know it's not what you wanted, but we all have a duty. Robert has known our brother for many years. They have been good friends, and Ned believes he is a good man. I don't believe Ned would hand you over to someone he knew to be lacking heart." Benjen wasn't sure he believed his own words, but he was going to say them anyway. It was what Lyanna needed to hear, or rather it was what she needed to be true. Hearing it wasn't enough, but Benjen hoped it would help. They each had a duty to their father and to their house, but the duty on Brandon and Lyanna's shoulders was far greater than his own or Ned's, part of the reason the two were so close. Brandon needed to marry well and become the Lord of Winterfell; Lyanna needed to be a proper, respectable lady and produce heirs for whatever lord their father gave her too.

"How a man treats his friends and how he treats his wife are two very different things, and knowing one does not tell you the other." Lyanna spat the words at Ned even as she responded to Benjen.

"Wise words from a wise woman."

The three Starks standing on the steps of Storm's End whipped around to face the voice who had interrupted their conversation.

Coming through the gates of Storm's End, flanked by a carriage and a small group of soldiers, were a man and a woman atop a pair of horses. It was the man who had spoken, and he was certainly someone worth listening to. His jet black hair shined in the morning sun, and his tanned skin seemed to drink in its familiar rays. As he'd spoken, the woman's full pink lips had turned up into a smile. Both were absolutely beautiful in their own right, but side by side they looked like two of the Southern gods.

Lyanna turned slightly pink as she realized she was staring, and she stepped down to the courtyard to greet the pair. "Thank you for the compliment, my lord. You must be the lady and lord from Dorne; Lord Robert was not expecting you until later in the day." Lyanna turned her eyes back to Benjen, a warning look which he immediately picked up on. Giving the party a polite nod, he turned back to the keep to retrieve their hosts, leaving Ned to walk down and join his sister.

The man dismounted his horse and handed the reins to one of his soldiers. "In Dorne," he addressed Lyanna, without a glance to Benjen's retreating form or Ned's approaching one, "our highest lords are princes, and our ladies princesses." The prince picked up Lyanna's hand and brought it slowly to his lips. "You look like a princess," he breathed gently against the back of her hand before he pressed a kiss to it and lowered it back to her side.

Lyanna's cheeks were certainly crimson now if they hadn't been before. Since the whispers of her impending betrothal to Robert, very few men had given her the attention they used to shower her in. It felt good to be admired.

"Tell me," the Dornishmen ignored Ned's glare and bestowed a bright smile on the young girl in front of him, "Does the princess have a name?"

"Lady Lyanna Stark," she curtseyed politely to him. "And you are?"

The Dornishmen trailed his eyes over her, slowly taking her in. "Prince Oberyn Martell," he bowed respectfully to her, "what a pleasure to meet you, my princess."