A/H: Hear Me Roar: Thank you. And no need to thank me.

Ashara twined the stems together, fingers moving diligently at work. She had been listening to every words Elia had said, but far from adopting a simpering attitude or offering the faintest trace of sympathy, the other Dornish lady barely nodded.

Elia watched her work, unknowing if she should continue or allow matters to rest. It was all so very strange and disheartening. "Ashara, won't you say something?"

"What do you wish me to say, Your Grace?" the other questioned, looking away from her flowers momentarily. "Is it comfort you need? Assurance that success is heading your way? Or simply that you might be wrong in your estimations? What do you want me to say?

Comfort was not what she needed, Elia thought not without a hint of exasperation. Women were supposed to understand one another. So why was it that Ashara was being so stubbornly oblivious about the whole matter? Comfort was the last thing on her mind and the very last she would accept in all events. It simply did not sit well with her that such pretence should be varnished over a woman who clearly knew what was being asked, yet refused to reply in a befitting manner.

Assurance would have perhaps made her feel better, for no tongue longed for the taste of defeat and no heart embraced loss lightly. It made for a picture which Elia would have rather done without. Alas the fates were cruel, toying with her. Was it the province of gods to think their creations mere dolls to be twisted and turned as it pleased them and then put away? For surely that was unfair a thing to all involved, but most to the human-dolls who had no choice but to obey the pull of the string and dance along without complaint.

As for her estimations, they had already been proven wrong. "I think you are too harsh on me? Can I help it if I am who I am? And I must do what I must?"

"So must we all," Ashara countered, her voice light and sweet, devoid of artifice. "I do not deny that, Your Grace. I was merely asking what words I should speak."

"If they are not spoken from the heart then I wish not hear then," the Princess said. "It is best you say not one word, if you truly believe me to be wrong."

"The matters of the heart are seldom right, or wrong in themselves," was the wisely offered response. "We have choice, Your Grace, for the gods gave it to us, as the Seven Pointed Stark will tell you. Even the old gods allow the believers to do as they please. There is but one thing to keep in mind; that all action finds its countering action. Failure and success are consequences of one's skill, behaviour and conjecture."

"Do you truly believe that?" Elia found herself asking. They were wise words indeed, but most people who spoke wisely had a tendency to act unwisely. "Or is it simply something you have culled together out of your reading of the words of the Seven."

"Doubt me to your heart's content, Your Grace, if it please you," her companion answered. Elia glanced at the small crown of flowers, admiring the play of colours. It was truly a very beautiful thing. "But I speak as I think."

"A dangerous thing to do," she warned. "Your words may always be used against you."

"They might one day be. And if I deserve the chastisement, I hope to receive it with proper grace." Ashara lifted the small crown from her lap and deposited it on the stone bench. She then removed her shawl and wrapped in it the flower circlet. The bundle found its way to her feet. "My sister will be pleased with the gift," she mussed out loud.

Elia grimaced. "And yet you have not answered to me, Lady Dayne," she reminded the other with ease. Leaning back against the tree which grew behind the bench, Elia fiddled with the golden strings of her girdle. She had not expected Ashara to be so much changed.

In the days of her girlhood, Ashara Dayne had spent a few moon turns in Sunspear. There, she and Elia had been playmates and had got on well enough, though, to be fair, she'd had better companions. And yet the image of Ashara she had kept with her all those years contrasted with the woman who stood before her. Perhaps she had been wrong with every assumption. It was plausible that she did not know Ashara as well as she might think.

After all, she had been friends with a girl and before her stood a woman. A woman who she reckoned was no longer swayed by grandeur and pretty dresses. Indeed, the strange Ashara Dayne seemed almost as literary minded as Rhaegar Targaryen had once been. Elia did not know if she should smile or cry at the coincidence. The gods knew she had no fondness in her for those words written I dark ink. They only served to confuse and bring sadness where there was none.

"I shall answer, I shall," Ashara promised, "but allow me a few moments to gather my thoughts. 'Tis a difficult matter the one you have posed to me and I wish not err, for the sake of us both, Your Grace." And so, Ashara was allowed more time.

The Dornish Princess felt rather like Ashara was avoiding answering, rather than gathering her thoughts, yet Ashara had proven more stubborn than a mule. So Elia decided against rushing her. In her own time, she would give a reply. "Not too long though, Lady Ashara , else you will forget even the question itself."

Ashara made a small sound in the back of her throat, her pretty face becoming taut in concentration. "It seems to me that new speak of a rather uncomplicated situation, yet still very much a thorny thing to see the light of day. But I say this to you, Your Grace, why chase the fox when the hound lies waiting at your feet?"

Surprised, Elia looked at her in confusion. "The fox is hunted, therefore the fox is a prize to be won. Catching the fox implies skill. Skill brings prestige. Prestige brings power. And so on, so forth, Lady Dayne, but you already know this."

"And I see that you do to. Now speak to me of the hound, for you've not mentioned the hound," Ashara urged, a small smile playing upon her lips. Elia had the vague feeling her companion wished to deliver more than an answer.

"The hound is a domestic creature that is both faithful and common. As common as the stones on the road. But the beast is good, mind you. It has its uses." Elia watched Ashara's face for any signs of disagreement. None were shown. "The hound is no prize, however."

"Then, Your Grace, you have understood nothing of my meaning. It is you who judges the hound too harshly and places the fox on too lofty a place." Ashara stood to her feet. "I pray that one day you understand my meaning, Elia Martell, for I speak with a friend's concern and with a woman's wisdom."

The branches of the weirwood swayed back and forth, dark red leaves rustling softly. Rickard sat underneath the heavy branches, looking over the snow covered meadow. He sighed softly to himself and touched a hand to one of the bone-white bark. Lyarra had loved the tree, he recalled fondly. She would come everyday and pray when she was heavy with Brandon.

They had been so happy, he thought not without an all too familiar ache worming its way through his chest. She, young, beautiful and healthy, he, strong and proud and so in love with her. Had she asked him for the world, he would not have hesitated to conquer it for her, Perhaps that was what had angered the gods. That very love which he thought of with such pangs of loss. Had he loved her less, would she have lived longer?

Perhaps it would not have mattered at all. After all, the heart was a strange thing, incomprehensible even to the wisest. And it caused trouble wherever it was involved. Loss would have been so much easier had he been merely fond of her. It would have been bearable. It wouldn't choke him whenever he woke in the night and though, even after so many years, and searched for her through the unyielding darkness, sleep befuddled mind thinking her yet alive and breathing.

Alas, she was not. Lyarra Stark, the girl he had grown up with and eventually grew to love was no longer. And she had left him behind, alone, to face an existence without her. "If you could but bring her back to me," he whispered to the tree. "I would do anything just to see her one more time."

A gust of wind blew swiftly by, a sharp sound forming in Rickard's ear. He looked up at the crown of blood coloured leaves. "It was unfair to take her from me when I loved her so." The leaves swung back and forth. "She was supposed to see her sons grown men and her daughter wedded. Lyarra would have wanted that." And so would have he.

In the wake of his daughter's departure, something had happened. Rickard would never truly be able to explain it, but inside of him, a feeling had woken. And that feeling was only exacerbated when a missive arrived from King's Landing speaking of bandits and his daughter's capture. The King had wanted coin. Rickard had sent as much as he could yield. Yet even as he had taken those decisions, he knew not why. Lyanna Stark was his daughter, but she had never truly been dear to him.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree trunk. Sleep overcame him with ease. Never having been a light sleeper, Rickard was not surprised when he fell into some sort of blackness, where aware as he was of his own body, he knew naught else.

Something brushed against him and he turned to where he suspected the culprit was. He could easily recognise the feel of a hand on his shoulder. But the darkness prevented him from seeing. "Who is there?" he demanded. "Show yourself, whoever you are, and do not think that the black veils will protect you."

No sound came in reply. Left hanging, the Lord of Winterfell raised his hand forward and blindly cut through the darkness, trying to come in contact with something, anything that would confirm his suspicions. All he met was nothingness. Frustration ripped a growl from the back of his throat. "Come out, whoever you are." His order rang out and echoed through the emptiness, yet no one came forth.

Rickard lowered himself down to a sitting position. He knew himself to be in the world of dreams. Yet never had he been as aware that he was dreaming as he was in that moment. Aware or not, however, he could do little but wait for whatever was to happen.

It took some time and much of his patience, but in the end, the hand came back again and settled on his shoulder. The second time around, the press was firmer and so warm, he could swear his skin burned even through his clothing.

An explosion of light blinded him. Like staring into the sun, Rickard felt his eyes burn with pain. He shut them as quickly as he could, but even behind his lids he was attacked by the same light. Covering his face with his hand, the man tried to drive the sting away and soothe his sight with blissful darkness.

Laughter reached his ears. It was a familiar voice the one that rang out. Startled, he allowed his hands to fall from his face and opened his eyes as to better convince himself of his impression. Before him stood none other than the woman he had asked the gods for.

Lyarra Stark looked down to him with strange red tinted eyes and a smile upon her lips. Her hair, long and wild, fell about her like a curtain and covered even the dark black of her dress. Rickard drew himself to him feet and stared at her mutely. He wanted to do something, say anything, but his limbs would not cooperate that far and his mouth would not open.

"You must but listen," his departed wife spoke, "'Tis all I ask of you, that you listen as you have listened before."

"It was you?" he questioned at a long last after he had regained the use of his lips. "The one who pushed me to aid her was you, was it not?" She nodded her head, understanding perfectly well his meaning despite the lack of clarity. "Why?"

"Because she has suffered greatly before. I asked the gods to allow her a second chance." She took one of his hands in hers, her thumb rubbing against his skin gently. "And for that I traded my life and her sight."

And then it started making sense. In his mind, Rickard felt pain and heat. He heard mad laughter, cruel and shrill. A shudder ran through him. "I am a mother," she continued. "And I want the happiness of my child. Last I left the task to you, you forgot to ask Lyanna. So I have made sure that she no longer needed asking."

"It was you all along," he breathed out.

"Aye, it was me all along," Lyarra agreed. "And it is time that you too taken upon your shoulders the task which I have set out to complete."

He nodded his head, quite unable to say another word. Good gods, he never would have thought it possible. Yet he'd been shown wrong once more and all he could do was bow to a wisdom superior to his.

"I have no promises of happiness, but I have hope," Lyarra went on. "I have hope that you shall understand my sacrifice and treat it accordingly."

Rickard gazed at her still somewhat bewildered. "If that is your will. But tell me what to do and I shall do it."

"Care for her and take care of her. Help her as I know you can. Be kind to her." The instructions made him frown. "Love her."

"'Tis too late," he said.

"'Tis never too late," his spouse disagreed.

Ned continued to look at Ashara Dayne. Her presence unsettled him. His heart was beating too wildly in his chest and his tongue would not cooperate. He felt a fool and did not like it one bit. Especially considering that Lady Ashara was the sister of Arthur.

"I have heard you were captive alongside my brother," she said, curiosity colouring her voice. In truth, Ned was not certain he had ever met a woman as enchanting as her. Lady Ashara was beautiful and graceful, but it went beyond that. Her outer aspect, Ned was certain, was a mirror of her inner world – a world which he suspected was much like paradise.

"Indeed, I was," he replied curtly, biting his tongue to keep from saying too much. "The Kingswood brotherhood were not exactly hospitable."

She smiled at his attempt to make light of the issue and Ned felt warmth suffuse him. "I think you were very brave," she said, placing a hand upon his shoulder, "and I am very glad my brother had someone like you at his side. Her Grace must be very proud, I reckon."

Ned took a moment to figure out who she spoke of. He was still somewhat confused when Lyanna was referred to as Her Grace. But then again she was no longer simply Lady Stark, but the wife of the crown Prince. It seemed like only yesterday he had arrived in King's Landing eager to know the stranger he had always referred to as his sister. How time had passed.

"I truly hope she is," he answered somewhat shyly. "You too, my lady, must be very proud of your brother. I vow there has never been a better knight. I would not be surprised if the King requested his presence in the Kingsguard."

Ashara laughed lightly. "I fear that is an honour my brother would be fain to refuse. Perhaps for the crown Prince he would, but Arthur is stubborn in his way. Perhaps the King shall request your presence, Eddard Stark, for you are skilled and brave and you have proven your worth."

"I should fear that he would fare no better with me then," Ned found himself laughing. He had not spoken to anyone about his strange dream, about his mother and what she had said, yet the words he'd taken to heart. It was Lyanna he had to protect, not the King. The old gods had entrusted him with the mission are more than just his life and hers were apparently at stake.

"Then you too shall depart for Dragonstone?" his partner asked. "To think that I knew nothing. How sly my brother is."

"You mean that my lady as well shall come?" Ned asked, surprise on his face. "How comes that?"

"Ah, Her Grace asked me how I would like being a companion to her," Ashara responded brightly. "A Princess can never truly be alone."

"I thought Lady Lannister would continue her tenure," he offered, somewhat confused. Lyanna had not mentioned any of it to him. But that was, perhaps, because she was more concerned with her wifely duties at present than with much of anything else.

"Lady Cersei is to remain here with her father," Ashara informed him. "I am certain you have heard the rumours that have been circulating about."

There was not anybody who hadn't heard the rumours, Ned was certain. It was being whispered that the King planned to wed Cersei Lannister with one of his younger sons. A heated debate had begun on which one exactly Aerys meant to give in the power of his Lord Hand. Some claimed that it would be his youngest, others thought it might be the next to oldest. However, since no official comment had been made on the matter all they truly had was gossip.

Which was just as well, Ned thought, considering that the King's sons were, at their age, not overly fond of the idea of matrimony. Any mayhap there was not truth to it. It could be that Tywin Lannister was trying to force the King's hand. It was rather well known that the Lord of Casterly Rock wished for his daughter to forge an alliance with the ruling house.

"Those are mere words," Ned chose to reply at a long last. "It is best that we wait and see what comes of it, my lady. Do you not think so?"

"Without doubt you are right," she said. "Still, it is never a bad thing to be prepared, I say, and as I shall be your sister's very own companion, it will be my duty to be her eyes and ears. This game, Eddard Stark, has just begun."

"The game of thrones," he whispered to no one in particular. A dangerous game, by all accounts, the game of thrones was not for those faint of heart. "Kingdoms have fallen over such games before."

"And many more shall. But it is the way of out world." Ashara Dayne's mien became melancholy for a brief moment. "Were that it was different. Yet 'tis not and we must play if we are to survive, or we should retreat out of the realm's life if we do not wish to use of wits in that way."

A wise woman. Ned watched her silently for a few moments. "And what have you to gain from this game, my lady?" he asked in the end.

"A great many things," Ashara shrugged. "Not the least of which is the respect of others. Have you never wondered why it is that we all strive towards goal that put us in positions of power? Very few choose mediocrity. They fall into it, true, but not by choice."

That feat was achieved, as Ashara had said, by many. "It is their reliance on slyness that dictates their position. Those truly powerful may ever use it when necessary and always censored by intelligence. The foolish will use it all the time and for any reason."

"I see you have knowledge on the rules of the game." The young woman's face returned to its previous state. She offered him a wide smile. "Then, my lord, what say you we play it together. At least for the time being."

And then he understood very well her meaning. She was, of course, concerned with the connections of her house. "I say to you why not, my lady?"

"Splendid," Ashara spoke. It would not do to be too direct, and she hadn't been. Yet she had not been entirely vague either. Ned was intrigued and very much willing to accommodate her proposal for some time.

A/N: Before you become too sad, I just want to tell you that I have simply decided to split the story into more than one part, so as to make it easier for me to work with. So, don't panic, you'll still get the other twists and turns I promised.

Also, this split came about with you, my readers, in mind as well. Up until now, it was pretty clear who the "heroes" were and who "opposed" them. But from here on, things will change. So I'm giving those of you who know they don't like negative portrayals of certain characters the chance to call this the end.

If however, you choose to read on, consider yourselves warned.

Ah, well, hope you enjoyed this last chapter.