Carliene Stark

III Chapter 1

Carliene

The tourney at Harrenhal was even grander than the stories made it out to be. In the shy sunlight of spring the castle looked even more impressive. The black stone made it look like a great hulking beast, swallowing up the colourful visitor and attendees that marched through its gates. There was noise and music and flowers and drink and food that made your mouth water just by the smell of it. Knights and lords from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms attended, their armours polished down to the last crevice and their horses decorated to the point where you could hardly tell what their mounts looked like beneath their caparisons.

I walked through the crowds as an unseen observer. A ghost in all rights but for the fact that I wasn't dead, I just hadn't been born yet. It was a strange feeling. To be able to study these people so closely, most of which were already dead by now, and listen in on their most private secrets.

Oh the things I could uncover if I mastered this power.

But Bran was hesitant. I could feel it. He was only showing me pieces and parts, as if he was afraid of me knowing everything just yet. He does not trust me, I realised once again as I glanced over my shoulder to see him following at a distance. Keeping his focus mostly on me rather than our surroundings. 

The crowd around us stirred suddenly, like an agitated swarm of bees and erupted in cheers and shouts. They moved away from something, creating a path between them. As they parted I saw the rider. The most magnificent dragon I had ever seen. He wore black plate armour, with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen decorated upon his chest with red rubies. His mount was a large black beast, trotting towards me with a proud gate, its hooves thundering across the cobbles. Its caparison was a fitting red, decorated with silks of red and yellow and orange that blew in the wind, resembling flames. Rhaegar Targaryen waved to the crowd, his hair gleaming like beaten silver in the shy sunlight. And the crowd around us rejoiced.

I watched with utter fascination, recognising his face to be the same from the man in my warlock dream.

Rhaegar Targaryen, what do you know?

A firm hand gripped hold of my arms and pulled me out of the princes' way, just moments before his black horse rushed past. "Careful" Bran scolded releasing me.

The mass reformed, but the cheers continued on for a little while longer. 

"They really love him" I noted. It confused me. All my life I had grown up thinking Rhaegar Targaryen was a villain. The reason for the war. The reason for so much death, namely those of Rickard, Brandon and Lyanna Stark.

"Come" Bran offered instead. "There is still much and more to see"

And so he showed me the tournament. Only it wasn't like we were sitting on the balustrade and watching it like the other on-lookers. It was like the whole event, that lasted for more than a couple of days played out before us like a play. We watched the knights spar and joust. we watched the high lords, mumble and whisper amongst themselves. We watched the mad King Aerys himself approach, much to the surprise of everyone, making strange jests and stranger demands, a younger Varys by his side and whispering to him at all times.

I knew Bran wanted me to pay more attention to the politics of whatever was going on in the background of the festivals, but mostly I watched our family. Lyanna and uncle Benjen, young and full of life and mischief, sticking together like a band of thieves with another scrawny boy following them around. Ned Stark, looking awfully out of place and hardly speaking to anyone as he was pulled and pushed about by his eldest Brother. He only seemed to loosen up a bit whenever in the company of a burly young man, all black hair and black beard with the yellow and black of House Baratheon displayed on his chest. Seeing Robert Baratheon as he once was, I no longer had trouble imagining him leading and winning a rebellion.