1,160Ashara Dayne held her head high as she strolled past the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. The sharp sound of her steps echoed against the slated tiles, announcing her destination and intent.
Women watched as she passed, trailing her with envious eyes. Men looked on, believing they had lost a prize they had never won. All the while, rumors and gossip swirled around her, whispered by fools who fancied themselves clever.
The conclusion of the melee was all anyone cared to discuss. The bravery of innumerable knights, their displays of martial skill, and even House Wyl's unprecedented treachery had been overshadowed by Aerys Targaryen's disastrous decree. Many believed the victor had not been Brandon Stark but rather his brother, who had been unhorsed much earlier during the contest. Some even suggested that the true winner had been the Dornishwoman who had ensnared the Wolf Knight days ago.
Ashara ignored the whispers, leaving the hall at an unhurried pace. Years within the Red Keep had robbed such words of their bite.
She navigated the maze of hallways that led to the base of the Northmen's tower. With purposeful, unwavering strides, Ashara began the slow ascent towards the Starks' apartments.
Ashara had loved Elia.
As young girls, they would spend hours wading through the shallow pools of the Water Gardens, hiding from their caretakers amongst the lily pads. Growing bolder over the years, they would venture out from the Winding Walls to explore the bazaars of the Shadowed City. Once Elia received her first sand steed, the two would leave Sunspear altogether, traversing the vast dunes of Dorne to visit Planky Town and make pilgrimage to the mouth of the Greenblood.
The eldest daughter of Starfall had been Elia's ever-present companion, and when the Princess of Dorne left for King's Landing, Ashara had been at her side. Though she was no knight, no Sword of the Morning, Ashara had vowed to protect her beloved friend.
She had kept her word, shielding Elia from courtly ladies who mocked the princess' dusky complexion and fragile health behind false smiles and callous eyes. She had fettered out and dismissed faithless servants who betrayed their princess' trust for a fistful of coins. The young lady-in-waiting had held Elia's hand when Aerys forced the princess to watch as he burned men and women alive, daring his good-daughter to look away and risk his ire.
For years, Ashara had protected her dearest friend. She had done all she could, given all she had, and the burden had left her worn.
There were mornings when she awoke afraid, limbs locked in the midst of a long-forgotten nightmare. Her heart would race whenever a shadow flickered at the edges of her vision, and dread would pool in her stomach whenever a sip of wine tasted a touch too sweet or a wedge of fruit a trace too bitter. Then there were the nights when she fled to her dreams, only to see the faces of Aerys' victims engulfed in flame, their lips blistered and wet with grease as the wildfire consumed their lives and souls.
Ashara had loved Elia. The certainty of that love left her feeling cowardly and craven as she climbed the tower. But the horrors of the Red Keep had tested her in ways that had left her more weary than strong, and Ashara feared what would become of her–what she would become–if she stayed within its walls.
The young Dornishwoman soon reached the end of the staircase. The household guards allowed her to pass with nary a glance, and Ashara found herself within the Starks' living quarters, staring at Ned's door.
She smiled as she recalled the first night of the tourney, how she had struggled not to laugh when he stumbled before the high table. Ashara had been watching him from afar, as she had other potential suitors. Discussing notable young men had been a favorite pastime of Queen Rhaella's sewing circles, and Arthur–having known his sister's plight–had mentioned those of good repute.
The list had not been long. Had she married a Dornishman, her lord husband would have joined her at court, leveraging her connections to seek favor with both the Targaryens and Martells. Marrying a lord of Crownlands would have likewise confined her to the Red Keep. And though an heir of the Stormlands, Vale, or even the Reach would have served her needs better, Eddard Stark's name had lingered in her thoughts, a curiosity that stood apart from the likes of Elbert Arryn, Baelor Hightower, and Alyn Estermont.
Ashara had heard fantastical tales of Rickard Stark's second son. The Wolf Knight had been the favorite topic of minstrels after his daring venture into the Mountains of the Moon. They sang of how he had broken the strength of the Burned Men, claiming the head of their fiercest war chief in single combat before departing with a score of women once abandoned to an unimaginable fate.
It was a beautiful tale, the sort of story that inflamed the hearts of maidens and grew more exaggerated with each telling, distorting the man underneath. Having met men of supposed legend, having witnessed how Ser Selmy could error and her own brother could falter, Ashara had not expected Eddard Stark to live up to the stories.
He had managed to surprise her.
The second son of Winterfell was a young man just shy of twenty, tall but not towering, strong but not so broad that he resembled Robert Baratheon. He carried himself with a reserve that bordered on bashful and had been so clearly nervous when he asked her to dance. Yet, the moment she took his hand, he had led her onto the dancefloor, moving with the unspoken confidence of a man who had proven his worth through countless, storied deeds. It was a captivating contradiction that had Ashara accepting a second dance and then a third.
In the days that followed, Ashara came to reconcile her quiet dance partner with the noble warrior who had earned his knighthood in the godswood of the Eyrie and the eternal friendship of the Vale. And though he desired her and made his feelings known, Eddard had never approached more than was proper, displaying respect and regard that gave Ashara hope that theirs would be more than a marriage of fleeting passions and selfish ends.
In many ways, Ned reminded Ashara of the men her brothers had hoped to be, back when they were boys dreaming of gallantry and knighthood.
Ashara had accepted his suit, playing her part in convincing Symon of the match. Though the North was farther than she had ever meant to travel, Ashara faced the prospect without fear. Instead, she felt a strange sense of resignation and relief, knowing that escaping the Red Keep meant leaving Starfall even further behind–a fitting penance for deserting her charge.
In truth, Ashara was always meant to leave Elia. As a daughter of Starfall, she was expected to entertain a promising match. And though accepting Eddard's hand was neither a betrayal of her promise nor a desertion of her duty, Ashara recognized her actions as abandonment all the same.
She was running away, and yet, the gnawing guilt was not enough to slow her stride.
Duty was a burden Ashara knew well. It had left her with unseen scars and even now weighed heavily on dear Arthur, who bore dishonor after dishonor, hoping that Rhaegar would prove a better king–a better man–than his father.
Ashara was not so foolish as to think Winterfell would be bereft of intrigue or the schemes of men who believed power their due. But the lords of the North held House Stark with a regard that bordered on reverence, and Rickard Stark was said to be a titan among men.
His sons had proved themselves of equal quality, giving Ashara reason to hope their home was not the den of sycophants and snakes that had thrived under Aerys' madness and neglect.
Ashara had dared to envision herself within Winterfell. Her husband would govern the North at his brother's side. Their family would be given apartments within Winterfell's Great Keep and granted a knight's fee to secure their incomes. She would spend her days with Brandon's lady wife, ensuring the castle's upkeep.
It would have been a simple life, modest by the measures of the south, but one that promised a peace Ashara had longed to see.
But then Brandon Stark had won the melee, and her dreams had come undone. Aerys had laid claim to the Northern Blade, leaving Eddard to assume his brother's mantle and Ashara to marry the future Warden of the North.
To become mistress to one of the great castles of Westeros–to marry one of the most powerful lords in the Realm and know that her son would someday become the same–was a prospect beyond the dreams of most women.
Yet, Ashara struggled to imagine herself as the future Lady of Winterfell, believing herself unworthy of the honor and unprepared for the task. Eddard's ascension had left Ashara unrooted and adrift, afraid that she had fled duty for greater duty.
But for all that she feared the path ahead, she found her feelings for Eddard unchanged. She recalled how her heart had plummeted when he had fallen from his horse, how it had shored when he rose from the dirt and bested the Red Viper like a hero from the old stories.
Though their acquaintance had been brief, Eddard–Ned–was dear to her, and there was room for love to grow. As she reached for the door, Ashara found herself daring to hope.
She found Ned sitting on his bed. He wore only a nightgown, his hair damp from a recent bath. Moonlight filtered through the window overhead, casting a faint glow across the room.
The heir of Winterfell watched as she closed the door behind her. His eyes betrayed fleeting surprise, which turned quickly to understanding.
"Lady Ashara," he greeted, his words a weak attempt at formality, as though it were normal for an unwedded lady to enter a man's room with kohl-lined eyes and lips brushed with fresh rouge.
"Ned," she answered, allowing herself a sad smile as she stepped closer, stopping at the foot of the bed.
He made no attempt to close the distance between them, and Ashara said nothing more, allowing Eddard time to grapple with the choices she had made for them both. A flicker of hope bloomed in her heart when his eyes met hers without anger.
"It's quiet," she offered, knowing Ned would understand.
"Brandon took Lyanna and Benjen to the celebratory feast." He explained, and Ashara understood.
She took another step forward, climbing the bed to occupy the space at his side, not caring for what became of her finest dress.
Her mind raced with a myriad of thoughts. She wished to praise him for his victories over Oberyn and Lewyn Martell, but the words felt wrong to say.
"I'm glad you're safe," she whispered instead, tone simple and sincere. "I had feared the worst when you fell."
"It was not an attack I had expected," he replied, no doubt trying to make light of his injuries. "I'm simply grateful it was a lesson I'll live to learn from."
He offered her a strained smile, and a quiet fell between them as the heir of Winterfell and the lady of Starfall considered their next words, their worlds reduced to a lonely room.
Ashara was the first to break the silence.
"I'm sorry," she said at last, offering condolences to a man who would someday inherit a kingdom, recognizing the words as ones he needed to hear.
Ned sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"So much has gone wrong," his voice carried the weight of a confession. "This was meant to be a tourney, nothing more."
Ashara nodded, fixing her gaze to the ceiling. She was not blind to the tensions brewing between the Northmen and the Crown, nor the anger Brandon and Eddard had directed towards Arthur.
"I imagine it's enough for you to wish you never traveled south."
"Nearly," came the reply, and the warmth of a hand on her own had Ashara meeting Ned's eyes with burgeoning joy and guilt.
"I've written to my father," he continued. "The message will arrive at Winterfell by week's end."
The eldest daughter of Starfall nodded, understanding all he implied.
"I should go," she answered back, even as she made no attempt to leave.
Her betrothed inclined his head, a gesture others might have mistook for assent.
"I would ask you to stay." There was a softness to his gaze reminiscent of morning fog. His voice carried the certainty of tempered steel, and Ashara fought to keep her own steady.
"I didn't want to seduce you." She voiced a regret that had not deterred her from approaching him or drawing closer still.
He offered her a smile, even now a touch forlorn.
"You've bewitched me all the same."
The future Lady of Winterfell returned to her own apartment in the early hours of the dawn.
TBC
Chapter Summary:
Ashara performs the time-honored tradition of 'locking that shit down.'
Author's Notes:
We had some action in the last chapter, so now it's back to the drama…with a nod to Pride & Prejudice (I'm not a romance writer, but we try).
When approaching this chapter, I realized that given how little I've described Ned and Ashara's courtship and how little we know about the character from canon, people might be under the impression that theirs was a perfect case of true love…
Naturally, something had to be done.
The title of this chapter is a little tongue-in-cheek, but I wanted to explore a more dynamic relationship and 'flush out' a character that canon had left a pretty blank slate. Furthermore, this was a great opportunity to explore what an absolutely terrible place the Red Keep was to live in at this time (not that it was ever great), and the struggles of navigating such a dangerous environment from a vulnerable position.
Imagine living with a friend whose father-in-law burned people alive, and you couldn't leave...Plus, you're stuck protecting your friend from everyone else in the house. I suspect doing this every day for a one, two, or three years would wear on anyone.
In many ways, I wanted Ashara's POV to echo Arthur's from the previous chapter, showing the burdens that come from an unenviable duty. But where Arthur is sworn for life, Ashara is not. However, that doesn't alleviate her feelings of guilt.
As a lady-in-waiting, Ashara was expected to marry, and her courtship with Ned was entirely appropriate. But the fact that she's pursuing him because she desperately wants to leave the Red Keep is where things get complicated (good deeds with bad intentions or bad deeds with good intentions, take your pick). Furthermore, that guilt isn't enough to compel her to stay, and while she does care for Ned, I thought this underlying motivation adds some complexity to their relationship.
As always, many thanks to KnightStar for his edits and feedback.