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WHO: Lyanna Stark
WHERE: By the Weirwood Tree
WHEN: 12/12
OPEN TO: Ned Stark
WARNINGS: Supreme Angst

She kept a number of her thoughts to herself over the course of her life in the village. When the initial glow of happiness at being reunited with her brother had worn away and the confusion of her place in the village faded, doubts and insecurities reared up in its wake. In the night, it was hardest to escape those thoughts as well as the gnawing feeling that something was missing in her life, something important that she had hoped for and needed. That emptiness had a way of tearing at her heart and weathering away her strength. Iron became brittle and broken, tested by so much loss and tragedy. Eventually, it began to feel as if she were wearing a face not her own, made to smile and tease when she didn't feel much need for it anymore.

Lyanna relied on the normal chores of the day, the routines that helped her through her thoughts. Seeing Ned daily was both a help and further difficulty. There was so much unsaid between them about the matter of Jon, her own thoughts as well as recent developments (though she had no idea what they were). The better place for such soul searching and confessions had always been in the presence of the Old Gods, but there was no Godsgrove here. There was only a place where a hopeful spring took root and struggled to grow.

She knew she would find him there alone, away from the eyes of the rest of the village. Kneeling beside him, she peered at the familiar white and red that colored so much of her childhood. "How is it faring?"

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'He was like him in a way that brought about his end,' Ned thinks to himself, allowing the briefest of recollections of news of their deaths. He can't say he wouldn't have done the same, strangling himself to death in a vain attempt to save their father, nor does he doubt that, had the situations been reversed, that his father would've done the same for any of his children.

He releases the tension in his jaw as he drives these memories away again, letting them slink back into the shadows.

Ned gently lowers his hands back down to his sides, watching her swing around the branch. It reminded him so much of when they were young. Tentatively, he searched the ground before locating a similar sort of branch, grabbing hold of it and holding it out as though to challenge her, the way they had when they were small.

"What sort of argument?"

She smiled softly as he held up the branch. The action was familiar and sweet, something they shared before he had left for the Vale. It was the only way she could practice sparring with her brothers. Old Nan followed their father's instructions and kept a tight watch on Lyanna, trying to teach her ladylike comportment, even if it was a losing battle.

She had become skilled enough that she could knock Benjen to the ground, but Ned was always a bit more difficult.

Lyanna tapped her branch against his before giving it a full whack. It wouldn't be enough for him to lose his grip. He always managed to keep a hold on his sword while Benjen held it too loosely. It was easy to fall back into the familiar position, holding out her branch in front of her.

Her face darkened, glancing away and giving him an opening. "About the choices I made when I ran away with Rhaegar."

Ned is prepared and ready for the whack, knowing she would more than likely try to test his grip and his strength from the start. He doesn't falter, nor does he seem to even acknowledge the strength of her hit against his makeshift sword. He allows a quiet, subdued smile to grace his face as she falls into position, once again thanking the Old Gods for the chance for them to be together like this again. For however long either of them stayed in this place, he reminds himself to never take these moments for granted, and to commit them to memory as best he can.

He's now torn, however, between offering the kind of kind and sympathetic support she seeks, while also helping to keep her mind off of darker topics with their play sword-fighting. It's a delicate balance, and he gently shuffles forward to attempt a light poke of her ribs while still showing his attentiveness.

"He was cross with you for having done so," he states, not in a way to suggest he already knows this but to suggest he understands where this conversation is leading.

It's a balance she's not certain she can keep. Already, she is drifting back into her guilt and sense of responsibility for the turn of the world. But with a simple poke of his stick, she is pushed back into the present. She gave a small, playful "Ow" before striking at Ned's stick again, this time with a bit more force. Benjen would lose his grip and stance, the Benjen she remembered at least. But Ned had always been more steady.

Both in life and in play.

"He said I was selfish." Which, yes, she knew she was. Because she had run away without a word, swept up in her first love and the excitement of a shared adventure, so many people lost their lives. "I told him I didn't regret leaving with Rhaegar." Which was true. She could have managed everything better, but she would never feel guilty about loving him or wanting to be with him.

"He thinks that's selfish too."

"You forget that Robb is young, despite his being older than when I saw him last," Ned offers, voice quiet. His son's age is not a slight against him, but he knew few men (and women) of a similar age who carried the world's wisdom with them. Come to think of it, he knew few men and women who carried the world's wisdom with them even when pushing the higher boundaries of age.

It does give Ned pause, however, to think about the situation. He knows that Robb broke his oath to Frey, in order to pursue a relationship in which he had been in love, caught up in the whirlwind of romance and other fanciful emotions. Funny, then, that he'd be accusing his aunt of the exact behaviors he'd exhibited when still in Westeros, and still alive. (The latter, of course, is a fact Ned would rather not remember).

"It is easy," he continues, attempting a light but not pitying whack at his sister's stick, "For one to point fingers and accuse others of the same faults that lie within ourselves." He won't speak ill of his son, not even to his sister; it's simply not in his nature to do so. Nor will he reveal the tales from his son's life as they are not his stories to tell, but he will allow Lyanna to come to her own conclusions. Ned knows she's quick-witted and sharp; he needn't explain much for her to understand.

"I don't mean any slight against your son by telling you this." She murmured. He had reason to be angry. The whole realm had reason to be angry. She had made a decision that had cost thousands of lives and she refused to believe that it was the wrong one. Anyone who heard that would believe she was selfish and perhaps she was?

Her head shot up at that, uncertain at first of Ned's meaning. Same faults? She wouldn't press for details, knowing that her brother wouldn't give them. That was Robb's secret to tell and she doubted it would ever be shared with her. Still, knowing this much lessened the sharp pangs of anxiety. "He isn't wrong though. The things he said, he has a point."

She lowered her arm, exhausted and lacking the drive for their game. "You have never blamed me. Why weren't you angry with me?"

"I hadn't thought you did," Ned replies matter-of-factly. Despite their conflicting relationship, they are still family, still bound together by blood and by ties that can never (at least, ideally) be broken. He also knows that the two of them know that, and so long as they can be acceptably civil around one another when in each other's company, Ned will not ask for more. If, by some stroke of luck and work, they are able to be closer to one another, he'd very much prefer it, but he'll take diplomatic civility for now.

Ned takes his cues from his sister, lowering his stick, as well. He doesn't quite drop it from his grip, but it's clear his fingers have gone lax.

With a quiet sigh, he allows the stick to drop to the ground, closing the distance between them to take her hands in his.

"I was so focused on finding you, on saving you from what I thought was a terror for you. All I could think about was bringing you home, safe, keeping you near as one of the last members of our brood. I was angry at Rhaegar, as I'd not known the truth then. But at the first sight of you in that bed, hearing the sound of your voice, all of that .. was stripped away." He shakes his head, remembering it all with such vivid detail. "I was angry at the world for having taken you from me. I was angry at the world in which your son would have to grow in, knowing I couldn't protect him from his fate and from the scorn he'd receive from my wife. I was angry at Robert for having to put me in such a position in the first place.

"And, after I settled back into life at Winterfell, I .. was angry with you, for a time. But then I saw your son, I saw you in him, in his smile, in his eyes, in his very way of being, and I realized I could never hold onto such dark feelings. They'd only impede my ability to raise Jon as the best father I could manage to be for him, and I'd not wanted that for him. He didn't deserve it." He holds her gaze for a few quiet breaths. "And neither did you."

She wouldn't stop trying to find some means of reconciling with Robb. He was family, Ned's eldest son and the one that Jon seemed to be closest too. Whatever might have been said or however Robb looked at her, she would at least try to be a friend to him. So far they could at least speak civilly, having sat together during one of the Observer's feasts. It had gone well enough and there hadn't been anymore fighting, but she still felt uncertain about her nephew's feelings.

It likely didn't help that Lyanna avoided the woman that Robb seemed to fancy every opportunity she got.

Ned's hands were as rough as she remembered, now more weathered and scarred from rough years that she had not shared with him. She would have to memorize every scar and commit it to memory. Every detail of her beloved brother was important.

"I don't blame you for being angry with me, Ned. I know I was selfish and I know that I should have tried to contact you. By the time the war started, we had reached Dorne. I didn't know about father or Brandon until long after it happened. Neither of us knew how drastically things would escalate. We didn't have word or news for so long." They had been in their own world, happy for the first time. She should have known or suspected, but outside intrusion wasn't something that was often accounted for in new love. "Will you hate me if I tell you that I don't regret leaving with Rhaegar?"

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