(Eddard Stark POV)
The Great Tourney of Harrenhal, people were already calling it. And I had just missed my best friend's melee. Our search for my wild sister had taken priority, and when we found her, she was in the process of beating three squires senseless for harassing one of our father's bannermen, a boy named Howland Reed. The crannogman was dressed so simply he was indistinguishable from a smallfolk, and lacked the martial skill to regain his honor. Benjen had to lend him spare clothes, and now Lyanna was hatching some scheme with him. I told them not to do anything foolish.
We found Robert later, and I asked him about the fight. I was shocked to learn he had been defeated—not by a Kingsguard or a famous champion, but by a foreign knight. Few men in Westeros could match Robert's raw strength. But judging by his boisterous mood, he bore no ill will. When I asked about the knight, he grinned. "A strange fellow, but good steel, that one! Ser Julius Harlane, he's called." Harlane? "He's invited me and the boys for a drinking competition, says he'll pay with his winnings!" A man who loved fighting and drinking? No wonder Robert had taken a liking to him. I would judge his character for myself at the feast tonight, though I suspected Lyanna would despise him on principle for sharing her betrothed's brutish hobbies.
The feast was a display of southern excess that felt like a profound waste of resources to my northern sensibilities. I kept to the edges, observing, until I noticed a Dornish lady being harassed by a man from House Yronwood. I intervened, and when she turned to thank me, I was struck by the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I was lost in her violet eyes for a moment before my manners returned and I hurried away, my face growing warm.
Later, I sat with my siblings, Robert, and Ser Elbert Arryn. The hall was vast and opulent. My eyes kept drifting back to the Dornish lady, who I learned from Lyanna was Ashara Dayne, Princess Elia's handmaiden. Then, the tall knight from the melee approached our table. Robert pulled him into a crushing embrace, and the man, Ser Julius, accepted the gesture with a good-natured, if startled, smile. Robert, of course, knew how to make friends. He introduced us, boasting loudly of Lyanna's beauty. Ser Julius glanced at her once, offered a polite nod, and then joined Robert, Brandon, and Elbert in their revelry. Perhaps he found her uninteresting, or perhaps he saw my quiet nature and deemed me unworthy of conversation.
The hall fell silent as Prince Rhaegar took up his harp. The song he sang was one of profound loss and sorrow, so beautifully rendered it brought tears to Lyanna's eyes—much to Benjen's amusement. It was a perfect song, delivered with a perfect voice, and it left a melancholy chill in the air.
Then, the foreign knight asked Lord Whent for leave to sing. Knights from the Reach voiced their support, and one of his squires brought him a strange, stringed instrument. He began to play.
(POV Julius Harlane)
I cleared my throat, my voice carrying over the hushed hall.
"Death is like the winter chill, no door can keep it from us.
And summer yet may bloom again, the ice be all upon us."
"For if we do not face this chill, and become sterner men,
The fire that follows the blizzard's wind shall spell our certain end."
"So we stand against the foes that howl outside our door,
Against the vast and endless tide, we will become the shore."
"The night is long, and dark, and cold, yet we stand until it's done.
For we know this single truth: stand firm, and we'll see the sun."
A roar of approval erupted from the crowd, led by Robert's booming voice. I glanced at the royal dais and found Prince Rhaegar's gaze fixed on me, his expression unreadable. Was he thinking of his own song? Of his prophecies? It didn't matter.
Later, as the dancing began, I did my duty, dancing with a dozen ladies, though not Princess Elia or Catelyn Tully. I even danced with Ashara Dayne, and quietly suggested she might save poor, tongue-tied Ned Stark from his own shyness. To my surprise, she did. I even asked Lysa Tully, standing forlorn in a corner under her uncle's watchful eye. She was surprised but grateful, and our conversation was as dull as I had anticipated.
I retreated to a balcony, needing air. The scene below was a medley of coming tragedy. Prince Rhaegar watched Lyanna Stark with a possessive intensity I recognized all too well. Robert Baratheon was groping a serving girl, laughing without a care. And I noticed people slipping away into the shadows. I knew why. Among them was Ned Stark, and elsewhere, I had no doubt, Jaime Lannister was with his sister.
My thoughts drifted north, to King's Landing, to the people who depended on me. I was shaken from my revery by the familiar, blustering voice of Lord Mace Tyrell, his sister Janna on his arm. We exchanged pleasantries until some matter required Mace's attention, leaving Janna and me in a suddenly awkward silence.
"You look well, my lady," I offered.
"Oh, spare me the courtesies, Ser Julius. I know what I am," she replied, her tone sharp but her eyes weary. "You should be careful who you dance with. That Tully girl's uncle is not the only one watching you." She had been observing me. "Though I am impressed you resisted the Dornishwoman's charms."
"What must you think of me?" I said with a slight smile. "That lady has a brother with a legendary sword and the right to carry it in this hall. And besides, she seems to have found a interest of her own."
Janna's expression shifted at the hint of gossip, but the moment passed. She simply nodded, a final, unspoken understanding passing between us of the road not taken. "Your song was... stirring," she said finally, before turning to leave. "Good fortune to you, Ser Julius."
"And to you, my lady," I replied as she melted back into the crowd.
I looked out once more over the sea of schemers and dreamers. I saw the seeds of war being sown to the tune of a sad song. The game was in motion. I had sung my piece. It was time to go.