Had it not been for the fact that the Tourney was to end after two nights, Brandon would not have been able to stand another night kept up in his room and waiting for the days until he could return to Winterfell. Though he could not deny that Ashara had kept him company, some could argue she had him tranced, Brandon missed the feeling of safety. Not that he was afraid of anything, no, merely that Winterfell and those that came with it made him feel comfortable. He wished dearly that he had not been so foolish with his bastard sister regretting the silent words and touches they shared once rumours of her and the Princes' spread. Were anyone to hear of it they would try him for treason and he hoped with all his heart Arianne would not breathe a word of it, as he had done.

Brandon sat by the fire for a while, mesmerized by the crackling wood for a time. The letter that his father had written to him which had left him yearning to leave Harrenhal, lay across his lap, it read;

My son,

I hope you are taking good care of your sisters and brothers at Harrenhal. I know how tedious these things can be. I know though that I have prepared you well. Lilia tells me that Arianne has been getting herself into trouble with a prince or two, it seems she takes after her father; a charmer. Warn he, however, the Targaryen's and Martell's are dangerous families. They belong to each other and no one else, it has been that way for centuries and will be that way for many more to come. Us Northerners stay on our own, or as close to our own as possible. Watch your tongue around those people Brandon, they are scribes in the form of flesh and blood. Take care of your bride to be, you are to wed her as soon as I arrive at Riverrun. And remember, a Lord is faithful to his and his only.

Lord Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North.

"To be married in a fucking sennight," Brandon whispered to himself, peeling the skin from his fingertips as he did so. "Gods send me strength."

"Maybe you can imagine her to be another?"

Brandon stood from his seat, throwing the letter into the fireplace. "Prince Oberyn? How did you get in?"

"No guard. No lock. It is almost like you are almost begging to be killed my Lord Stark."

"A knock would have sufficed."

Oberyn laughed at the Northerner, wondering if he thought him to be so foolish. "And have you ignore me? No. You Northerner's are a crude cluster."

"Not what you seem to think of my sister," Brandon snapped back.

"Good. I thought bringing her up would be awkward, but you've done it for me." Oberyn smirked, seating himself on the corner of Brandon's bed. "A little birdy told me that the King has asked her to follow him to Kingslanding."

"No one is taking Arianne anywhere. She is to return to Winterfell and be as far away from you people as possible," Brandon jeered, laughing at Oberyn's proposal.

"You people?"

"Southerner's."

Oberyn let out a silent chuckle. "Southerners or Dornishmen? Last I recall you and your sister are marrying outside Northern territory."

Brandon rolled his eyes, seating himself in the armchair once more. "What is it you want Prince Oberyn?"

"Let me remind you, my lord, that it is a close friend of mine, sister almost, that you are fucking so I suggest you watch your tongue when speaking us Dornishmen," Oberyn retorted, face flushed a deep red colour.

Brandon again ignored the Dornish Prince's remark. "All I can tell you is that my father will never allow marriage between Arianne and certified degenerates who marry their siblings. He has his eyes on a Northern marriage. You see, my youngest brother Benjen doesn't want to follow the Lord's way and wants to join the Nights Watch. My other brother Ned, will probably be given a keep to watch over and a wife to live his days out with, or he'll join the Nightswatch. My sister, Lyanna, will be rotting away at Storm's End with that Baratheon boy. And I will be at Winterfell with wife, but until I am named Lord of Winterfell, I probably won't be there much. So you can see why he wants to keep his youngest close."

Oberyn stood from his seat on the bed, made his way to the door, looked to Brandon and asked, "You think I care about your family history? Anyway, I'm here to tell you something else."

"Tell me what?"

Oberyn tutted and shook his head. "I hear...from a very reliable source...that the King himself has offered your sweet sister a visit to Kingslanding ... and of course how could she deny the King?."

Brandon stood from his seat, the chair hitting the floor violently. "What!?"

"Good day," and with that Oberyn was gone just as he had come closing the door behind him. Bradon followed behind the Dornish Prince and swung the door to his chamber open. His attempts, however, to call for the Prince were futile as he had already vanished.

Around him, the chambers all seemed to be empty, with the Kingsgaurd, who were usually situated at the two doors of the Targaryen's, gone and guards of the surrounding families as well gone. Had he missed the announcement for the Tourney? Or did everyone have an event to attend? He did not mind, however, for he was going to find out what Arianne had kept from her family. Once he had reached her chamber, he pushed the door open to find it empty. Her two trunks were neatly stacked by the door, no jewellery present on the vanity nor any dresses laid out on her bed as she had always done in Winterfell. He searched underneath the bed, the pillows and even the rugs that were sprawled out across the room, but there was nothing to be found. Almost as if she were planning to leave on that very night. He opened the drawers to the vanity in the topmost one found a jewelled headpiece, the same one she had worn not too long ago, only this time he was able to notice the large hole where a red topaz was meant to sit comfortably. Brandon, upon hearing the door creak open, dropped the headpiece back into its place and spun around quickly.

"Looking for something?"

...

"My lady Lyanna, please reconsider. This is not one of your brightest decisions," Tituba mumbled as she tightened Lyanna's armour as best she could. She had no knowledge of armoury and from what she could guess it was ill-fitting, to say the least. She had however gone to the trouble of painting a smiling weirwood tree, using ground bark, oil, and wine that had taken far too long to stain and dry.

"Tituba," Lyanna groaned rolling her eyes. "You have promised to keep this a secret aye?" Tituba nodded her head furiously in response. "Secrets are not spoken of, so please hush. Besides, I have two days left at this godforsaken place before I can go home."

"Yes milady," Tituba whispered moving away from Lyanna. "That is the best I can do I'm afraid, I was never good with armour. More dresses."

Lyanna turned to Tituba slowly, the armour cutting deep into her shoulders from the sheer weight of it. "Enough Tituba. I am doing this and you cannot stop me." Tituba huffed and pushed her untamed hair behind her ears turning from Lyanna to busy herself with cleaning the room. "I do like this tree you've painted on here though," Lyanna sheepishly added looking down to the wet oil paint on the armour.

"Do you really?" Tituba asked smiling, never once turning her head to face Lyanna.

"Aye. I shall call myself-"

"The Knight of the Laughing Tree," Tituba interrupted smiling to her lady.

"Perfect." Lyanna smiled. She reached for the sword that was laid upon her bed, it was almost big enough to go from pillow to edge. "You promise this is the sword of the Tyrell's?"

Tituba snickered pointing to the large rose spiralling from the handle of the sword. "No one...no man,"

" – Or woman," Lyanna cut in.

"Would ride into anything carrying a sword with a rose on it if it weren't forced upon them."

"Good. How did you get it so easily?"

"Lord Tyrell is as stupid as they say he is. Truly, I fear for Highgarden and the Reach when the Lady Tyrell dies," Tituba rambled.

"Well, it's a good thing we don't live there am I right?" Lyanna added.

"Because living in Harrentown is any better," Tituba responded, rolling her eyes.

"You do not like living here?"

"If you were being looted every full moon and forced to work in exchange for meagre meals for your family, then you would not like it here either milady. It's quite a shithole if I am, to be frank."

Lyanna let out a small giggle. "I will see to it that you like living here. I promise you this."

Tituba smiled and bowed her head low. "I will be forever in debt to you."

"Right. Now let us hope that the Gods will be on my side today. Even if you may not be." Lyanna said, going to pick up the sword.

Tituba sighed moving to allow Lyanna to pick up the sword. "I am on your side milady. No harm in the fun. But no fun for a lady who is promised to a lord and who already and his a family name to look after."

"I've looked after my family name long enough, now come, I'm going to need a diversion if I want to get to the river in time. You will speak to the guards there?" Lyanna asked.

Tituba smirked, pulling her dress down to reveal the smallest but of her cleavage. "I think I can keep them distracted for a few moments. Just follow me...silently."

It seemed that the Tourney had already begun, for the shouts of the crowd could be heard from a mile away. Though it was more the common people of Harrentown who were looking at the simple contests that were making the most noise. They had managed to get passed the main courtyard without being questioned and were now stood behind the stands, where Kingsguard's and squires were dotted around.

"Who the fuck are you?" A Kingsgaurd frowned, pointing to Lyanna who had placed her helmet hastily on her head a few moments earlier.

She turned to Tituba, "This is The Knight of the Laughing Tree. His name, he would like to be kept anonymous and he challenges Handson, squire of Lord Stark, Bronn, squire of Lord Whent and Gerald squire of Lord Lannister."

"Your knight got no voice of his own?"

"Aye I have a voice," Lyanna grumbled. Her voice a comparable to that of a young boy nearing manhood.

The Kingsguard stifled a laugh. "Piss off."

"I'll have you know that I fight for the honour of Lady Lyanna Stark. Call her and see to it that she know I am here. She wouldn't be pleased that her Knight is being turned away." Lyanna piped, puffing her chest out.

"I'm sure she's got plenty others to fill your spot," the guard smirked, nudging the man next to him as they laughed.

"I might remind you, ser, she is betrothed to Lord Robert Baratheon. Now if you prunes don't mind," Lyanna huffed, pushing past them and making her way to the outskirts of the Tourney to the announcer.

"Oi. Lord scrub, Harrentown is that way," a squire jeered behind her, gesturing to her armour.

"Just tell your announcer to call on the Knight of the Laughing Tree and Hanson, Bronn and Gerald to compete against he-him, squire."

She strode to Lord Tyrell as he prepared himself to mount his dark brown, pushed him from his saddle and mounted the horse.