Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

In the aftermath, Winterfell seemed different.

It was ridiculous, Lyanna decided mercilessly. It was still the same castle, the same old grey walls she’s known her whole life, the same crooked steps and the faraway sounds of people bustling about. Far away, she could even hear the dogs barking in the kennels - those who remained at least. Martyn had taken about a dozen of their finest hounds with him and the intruders had killed the rest. Just one more act of needless cruelty to have occurred that night.

Benjen had been planning on picking a pup from Bessie’s litter. He’d harassed Father about it for months before he had been given the permission. Who had known how things would turn out?

Stupid, she told herself with a sharp press of her mouth. Putting down the brush, she glared at her reflection in the mirror. Lyanna did not have the time to mourn dead animals when there were plenty of people dead as well. Human cadavers had littered the grounds of her childhood home for a fortnight before they managed to organise the burials properly. By then the early signs of decay had set in - Lyanna had avoided that part of the grounds vigorously but even then she couldn’t escape the bloated bodies.

The Ironborn, at least, had been spared this indignity. The host had taken no prisoners upon their return, which in turn gave them more corpses to take care of. Their bodies had been stripped of clothes and valuables before being burned together on a large pyre that had the castle reeking of smoke even more than it already did. Lyanna had initially protested when the men had started to undress the corpses but Martyn had been firm.

“The winter was harsh. It’s not a matter for a maiden’s heart to bear but it would be stupid to waste resources.”

“I don’t care about the resources.” Lyanna had tried to make herself seem taller and more secure. “And I am not protesting for the goodness of my heart, I want them gone, every trace of them. We don’t need their things. Surely, House Stark has not sunk so low that we cannot provide for our own people.”

Despite that, she had done her best to push the issue out of her mind. Something about naked bodies thrown carelessly over one another had unsettled her. Some of them had visible wounds and were caked with dried blood; some others appeared almost as if they were sleeping where they laid. Lyanna tried to see if she could spot the man she had killed but for better or for worse, she never managed to spy him. She wasn’t even sure if she could remember what he had looked like.

It was dark , she told herself in moments when that thought frightened her. It was dark and I didn’t get to see him well.

Her patience ran out when she spotted Rhaegar leaning on the wall before her door.

“What are you wearing?”

He flinched at her sudden entrance and his half-lidded eyes told her he had been close to falling asleep. She felt somewhat guilty about that.

“Good morning, Princess.” He collected himself quickly enough, patting the ugly grey leather self-consciously. “I hope you’ve slept well. The steward gave me the cloak. I seem to have lost mine a couple days ago.”

He’d used it to cover one of the dead maids, Lyanna recalled and felt a new wave of fury for the fate of that poor woman. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting it back but still, she hated the sight of him in this thing.

“It was taken from one of the Ironborn. We don’t make clothes like that here.” She didn’t know why it bothered her that much all of the sudden. He was hardly the first person to make use of the dead men’s clothes. “I’m sure you could get a seamstress to make you a new one.”

He hesitated. One of his hands dragged across the worn fabric almost self-consciously.

“The Maester - he used to pay me for my work, but he’s dead now. If the Princess doesn’t mind too much, I’d keep the one I got for free.”

“Oh.” Lyanna had forgotten to think about that. Yet another thing to take care of. Her head felt almost as if it would physically swell with the amount of things she had to account for and no matter how hard she tried something slipped past. “It’s fine then, I won’t make you freeze. I just thought you - nevermind. I’m just being petty. Please ignore me. Good morning to you too.”

She had much more important things to worry about than what Rhaegar was wearing, even if it happened to be the ugliest thing she’d ever laid eyes on. The cloak he’d owned before had been simple, made from undyed wool that was favoured by the servants and the smallfolk who lacked the gold for anything more elaborate but at least it hadn’t looked like someone died in it.

Well, she thought grimly, someone did.

He stifled a yawn and she felt guilty again.

“You don’t need to keep doing this. I only asked for that night.” She urged, embarrassed. Weakness was one thing - not that Lyanna could afford seeming weak, now or ever - but bringing in someone else made it fart more shameful.

Brandon wouldn’t have needed anyone to guard him in his sleep. Brandon wouldn’t have dwelled on killing someone. He had initially even tried to put Rhaegar to death but that was an irony she was not fond of thinking about.

“It’s no issue for me.” He looked at her as if he was trying to map the landscape of her thoughts but had no idea where he stood. His gaze lingered on the part of her jaw where she knew the ugly green bruise was still marking the skin. And suddenly she understood him . “Princess, I want to help. If you’d have me, I would - I would like to…”

Do I look like I need your help? Lyanna felt like asking but the fire was not there. She was capable of reading between the lines; it mattered that it was Rhaegar saying this, the same person who had weathered the attack with her and who had never been one of her Father’s people. It was a confusing distinction but it mattered the same way that her mother’s comforts over a scraped knee had never felt invasive in the same way Father’s have when she had been a child.

It was the same childish urge that she couldn’t remember feeling since her mother’s death, but a part of Lyanna wanted to lean into the care rather than resist it.

“‘Would like to’ what?” She prodded, catching on the way he’d trailed off.

Silence rang between them, eerily filling every crack in the walls. It let her focus exclusively on how his face switched between different expressions too quickly to focus on any.

“I forgot my words. It doesn’t matter.”

 “Alright then.” Lyanna kindly let it go, “Thank you. For… this.” She settled for simple words. Her head felt overfilled; if she tried anything more, she feared it’d all start spilling out. The good and the bad and the things that ought to never see the light of day. “I’ll see what I can do about getting you something to wear.” And a way to find him a paying job. After everything Lyanna thought she owed him as much.

“You don’t have to. If I owe you and work to pay it off, you don’t owe me a debt in turn or we’ll just go in circles.”

“Is this what it is about? A debt?” It sounded terribly shallow and ill-suited for the vision she’d constructed in her mind. Impersonal, almost.

Rhaegar seemed to read something on her face because his next words came with a sense of hushed urgency. “It’s - you saved my life. In more than one way. I… feel grateful . How could I not? Very few people would have done that, for me or anyone else. Is it wrong if I would like to help in return?”

“No,” Lyanna mused, “it is not wrong. But very few people would have done that. It does seem to me like we are going in circles.” She found herself toying with the notion. Later, she thought. 

The day was still young. The sun had barely risen and wisps of sleep still clung to the back of her mind. She’d slept poorly, filling her thoughts with the life she had taken - it did not appeal to her to return to those dwellings through thinking about the life she’d saved, sweet as it might be to see him alive.

You’ve started this conversation, she reminded herself, annoyed again. 

There were things she needed to do - and she did her best to try to remember them all but first there was a more pressing need.

“Say, what if we went to see if the cooks have anything prepared for breakfast?” On an impulse, she hooked an arm around his and guided him down the hallway. What are you doing? She had no answers, even for herself. “I’ll share. The privileges of being a princess, they always give me fruit. I doubt you’ve had any since you got here.”

Rhaegar was stiff like a board in her grip but allowed himself to be led away.

“I’ve been given apples,” he protested, “Fruit must be expensive to get in the North. I’m not sure if-”

“Surely,” Lyanna agreed wickedly, “but that is for my Father to deal with. Come, we deserve this.”

The dining hall was empty when they took their seat but a servant must have been alerted because a maid immediately appeared with two cups of steaming mulled wine and a reassurance to Lyanna that she would be getting food shortly.

“Can you bring enough for two?” She inquired innocently. The woman gave her a curious look before scurrying away.

“She acts as if I haven’t made the same request for Benjen’s sake before.” Lyanna complained into her wine.

“Your brother, the Prince? Princess, I don’t think that’s a fair comparison.” 

She huffed. “It should be. You’re a guest, not a servant.” She forgot that, sometimes. On some occasions, it was clear as day to her that he had once been highborn - a shadow of vanity, perhaps, but it always passed as quickly as it came.

Rhaegar busied himself with downing his cup of wine, a pinched look on his face, and said nothing. 

“It’s strange though, breaking my fast without him. Benjen has been making himself busy lately,” Lyanna changed the topic, sipping on the drink much more slowly. Gods she had missed that; her toes involuntarily curled inwards.  “Might you have a feeling about that? A premonition even?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Rhaegar refused to be teased, “but in this case… I might have a hunch. Have you spoken much with your brother since the other night?” He didn’t need to specify when the other night was.

Lyanna frowned. For all the teasing tone, her concern had been genuine. It had lurked in the back of her mind since the morning when she remembered the dogs - the two of them would need to speak eventually. When Brandon was in a bad mood, when Father sent Ned away, when Mother died, Benjen and she always had each other.

He always came to me for comfort. I waited. 

“A bit. The next evening when we finished rounding everyone up, he went with me to my chambers. We talked about how he tracked down Martyn but we were both too tired to talk for much longer. At that point we just said goodnight and he said something about hoping Father would return quickly.” She brushed her finger across the wooden table as if it was the most fascinating shape she’s ever seen. The conversation with her brother was hard to remember. She recalled she’d asked more for the sake of politeness - did that make her a bad sister?

“That was before - before I went to ask you for a favour. And things have been so hectic since, Martyn has been dragging him around for everything. I just haven’t seen him much, I suppose.”

Perhaps he simply was busy. Lyanna had been busy too; she and Benjen had always been near joined at the hip and yet, she’d barely noticed his absence at her side for the past couple days.

“He needs the Prince’s approval.” Rhaegar supposed, leaning forward in his chair. The motion had his hair swirling around the sides of his face. It brought to her awareness, once again, how little he belonged in her father’s dining room with his foreign looks and his strange accent. Or standing guard in front of her door at night.

She remembered the other thing too; the blood, the spark and the flames and even with everything, that had been far too exciting to ever slip her mind.

“He doesn’t need it,” Lyanna frowned, “He’s been in my father’s service since as long as I can recall. He’s allowed to make decisions he deems appropriate. Rather, I feel he might consider this a good learning experience for Benjen.”

“Or your brother might.” He suggested with a gentleness to his voice, bringing up the possibility she could not.

She eyed him warily. “You can say more. I can see you want to.”

“I would hate to deceive you unintentionally. I don’t know the Prince that well.”

“But…?” Lyanna prompted, impatient.

“But,” Rhaegar repeated, looking at her evenly, “For as long as I’ve been staying in Winterfell, he’s always followed you around. Except for a few weeks at the start when you were spending time with me instead. You said, once, that he was busy.”

“Busy training, yes. Brandon had him running around all day long.” She’d felt so left behind back then. Like he would leave her to do all of the things she wasn’t allowed to. And then she’d have nobody in Winterfell left truly on her side. “Benjen is the third son so he’ll never be a King. He won’t even need to be wed. He’ll have to find his glory elsewhere and Brandon took it upon himself to make sure he can.” 

It all fit in place suddenly and her palms coiled into fists involuntarily.

“Right,” Lyanna’s voice was tighter than she’d intended, “so this is like training for him. He’s making the best of a bad situation.” And I was worried that something might be wrong. That I’ve neglected him. Suddenly Lyanna was the one feeling neglected by him.

Rhaegar tilted his head, understanding.

“He’s learning, but you’re learning too. Your brother adores you, I can tell, however when the push came to shove he wound up following your lead. So I think, though I don’t presume to know him half as well as you do, that he at once received a strong motivation to improve.”

“You’re saying he’s jealous ? That’s silly. Benjen and I have always been on equal ground. He’s a boy but I’m older and it balances out.” Until he grew up. Lyanna held no illusions about being able to keep up with him then.

He followed my lead… Did he? It doesn’t feel like I’ve achieved anything that night. 

“Like I said, I don’t presume to know him well. It could be just the part where his home was invaded in the middle of the night. Most people do everything they can to avoid feeling helpless again, when they’ve experienced it once.”

“This part, I can agree with.” She remembered what it felt like to cover behind the bushes in the garden, to cling to the battlements with her heart in her throat as her only ally was losing his fight. Her helplessness had died at that moment - she had killed it the moment she had grabbed her knife and then again when she drove it hilt deep into a man’s back.

Once, she had dreamed of earning her valour in battle, of making them pay for Domeric. She had been eager for blood but when she had tasted it, it hadn’t felt like power. Lyanna recalled the confusion in Rhaegar’s eyes and the blood that had splattered across his face and she remembered thinking she’d aimed well. She felt nauseous.

“I didn’t think you were helpless.” He told her suddenly. “You knew what you were doing. You’d have pulled it off, even by yourself.”

“Not by myself, don’t flatter me,” she pulled a face but the fist around her stomach relaxed a bit, “It was a collaborative effort and I’m very glad I was not by myself.”

“As am I, or I’d be quite dead. And I’m sure the people who were able to weather it out in the cellars because of you are glad for it too.” His face was completely earnest, no matter how deeply she looked in search of some kind of ulterior motive.

“You really are trying to flatter me. I see you, clear as day.” She didn’t though. For whatever it was worth, he was simply that nice and it made her feel worse for being so conflicted about what she’d done.

Brandon wouldn’t have been struggling the same way. He’d have directed his attention at what mattered and wouldn’t need anyone to guard him as he slept.

Brandon would have done better but Brandon would have never given Rhaegar a chance to begin with.

Lyanna was not sure about why what Brandon would have done mattered that much.

“I am susceptible to flattery though. You’ll be getting my share of fruit.” She amended, quarking the corners of her lips.

“Are we going in circles again? Perhaps the Princess ought to just accept the flattery-“

He might have said more if a yawn had not interrupted him. Lyanna laughed, taking this as an invitation to change the topic.

“Go on,” she urged, “I appreciate the counsel and the company, but if you are tired you are free to leave any time you wish.”

“I wasn’t presuming to give counsel.” Rhaegar protested somewhat petulantly as if it was a crime she was accusing him of. To some, it might have been, she supposed but it annoyed her that he would group her in with those people. 

He’d put up with her until the food was served. Lyanna had tried to give him her share of grapes but he looked at them so dubiously that she ended up taking offence and eating them herself. Sure, they were a bit wrinkled, but she would not let that stop her.

Eventually they parted ways.

“I’ll go see how Miran is faring. Should I give him your regards?”

The perplexed look he gave her was worth it.

“I have no idea who that is.”

Lyanna had lied - she did not go directly to where Miran was laid up with an infected wound and no maester to help him. The man had been delirious the previous day and cowardly as it might be, she didn’t want to see him doing worse.

Instead, her feet brought her to the gardens. In the light of day, the construction did not seem like the same place where they had taken shelter that night but if she looked carefully, she could still see footprints in the damp soil. The gardener had lived in Winterfell and had been among the men who had rushed in when they saw the First Keep burning. He had also been one of the men who had been shot down by the men manning the walls. Lyanna had known him for as long as she could recall. When she had been a little thing and her mother still drew breath they used to sit there on the heavy oaken bench and watch him work.

She drew on those memories now as she hooked up the fringes of her skirt behind her belt and crouched down to work. First, she pulled out the weeds where she could spot them - the gardener had always done that first. Then came the tiresome job of making a dozen trips to draw the water from the well but she didn’t get very far.

“Princess, please let me help with that!” Rina wound her calloused hands nervously. 

“It’s alright, I have this.” Lyanna’s arms and back might ache but Rina was an old woman who would hurt even more.

“‘Tis no job for a Princess.” She insisted, “but for your people. We are good, loyal people, Princess. We help.”

“I’m sure you have other work to do.” Lyanna wiped her brow. “Someone might need your help with something - you should help them.”

She thought she’d gotten rid of her with that but when she returned to the well to fill the bucket again, Rina was there, along with Jenna and a couple of kitchen workers Lyanna didn’t know by name.

She let the bucket slip through her fingers. It sinks heavily into the freshly fallen snow.

“Do none of you have anything to do?” 

“What would the King say if he heard his daughter had to do the gardener’s job while he was away?” Rina spoke sternly, “It would be shameful. Princess Lyanna means well but none of us could bear it.”

Great, Lyanna thought to herself, I’m not even allowed to do my share of work.

But as it turned out, the women had come to help with the water - they had little idea what to do with the garden itself. With a sigh, Lyanna relented and began to distribute the work.

It took some care, to organise everything. Initially, she assumed it would have been as simple as tasking the younger women with the harder work while finding easier work to satisfy Rina and her peers. Then when she came around to the section where they grew the produce, she spotted the young, straw-haired maid Ethan liked to flirt with squatting next to one of the older ones.

“What are you doing? Are you done watering?”

The girl jerked to her feet.

“N-no, Princess. Please forgive me. I’ll be right on my way.”

“It’s alright. I’m grateful that you’re helping, in any way you want.” She didn’t intend to sound so stern. Something about the way the girl looked at her with large, frightened eyes bothered her. “But I would appreciate it if you told me, so I can plan around it. Tell me honestly, are the others aware of it? Are they inconvenienced by this?”

“No! I just stopped for a moment, I swear! Maggie was - she was doing it wrong . Ol’ Jonnel would have been furious, I thought.”

It was in this manner that Lyanna came to learn that among the women of the kitchens, a few of them had some experience with gardening. They sometimes required the herbs and produce for the meals and the old man liked to ask them for help while they were there. And some of the older women that she’d sent off to check for damaged leaves had been left entirely to their own devices. 

Well, this is more complicated.

The work was nearly done, so she let it slide but she made a note to remember it for the next time. 

“This should do for a couple days now, I believe.” The plants were watered, the weeds removed and the damages she knew had been caused by the three of them hiding from the Ironborn had been removed from sight. Someone had even taken care to stir up the earth and remove the footprints. 

Lyanna could have done it herself but - she was pleased. A small piece of normalcy had been restored and far quicker than it would have been otherwise.

“Ellie,” she addressed the blonde girl, “my Father will probably bring in a new gardener when he returns; Old Jonnel’s son probably. But in the meantime, could I count on you to keep things running? I’ll make sure the men know that they’ll be expected to help you if you ask.”

Ellie blinked and her round cheeks turned red like berries. 

“You’ll be paid for your troubles.” Lyanna added as an afterthought. 

“O-of course.” She stammered. Her hands grabbed the edges of her worn apron. “The Princess honours me.”

It was a matter handled, but Lyanna had other things on her list.

Remembering why she’d gone to the gardens to begin with, she helped herself to some scissors and cut herself some roses. Four and thirty of them, blue like the eyes of death and laid in front of the wooden markers.

One for each of the fallen.

The final one went to maester Walys. It was cruel to visit graves and consider one of them more important than the other but the old man had been there for as long as Lyanna could remember. He’d brought her and her siblings into this world, taught them and advised their Father. He’d been a constant, something unchanging.

Now that he was gone things were bound to change. 

She had wanted change, for a long time, just like she had wanted a chance to prove herself but not this way.

I should say something.

It was stupid - the dead could not hear her. Lyanna had learned that lesson with Domeric and she knew just how quickly the world around them would move on. She barely thought of Domeric now. Given a couple months, she would probably forget the faces of the men and women who had been laid to rest there.

It was inevitable. It was… natural.

“Thank you for your service. I’ll do my best to keep you in my memory.” She said finally and felt cold for it.

“Maester, I wish I could ask you what will happen now. Martyn says he doesn’t know what the King plans on doing. It depends on the Greyjoys and how they respond, he supposes. I think-“ she breathed and ran her tongue across her teeth, “I think there might be a war. There should be one, right? We need some justice. What happened should be avenged. But I can’t - I’m not happy about it. Or excited. I don’t want more fighting. I worry it is all a trap.”

The edges of her skirt were wet with snow. Lyanna would need to change - into pants, preferably. Why hadn’t she done that to begin with?

“I’d never tell you this if you were alive, of course. You’d say that it’s because I’m a woman, that I’m not cut out for bloodshed or maybe even that I have a maiden’s heart. You didn’t even want to talk to me when you were dying and I was cradling you, because Benjen was there.” It had stung then - it still stung. She’d always been a second thought to him and that had been the way things were but she couldn’t help but consider her father in that position. Or Brandon, or Ned even, for all she could barely remember him. Would she have the right to their final breaths?

“I don’t know what to think about you. We don’t talk about it. Martyn won’t tell me what he thinks, Benjen has no time for me and I think that Rhaegar doesn’t care. He never liked you anyway, so I didn’t even bother. It’ll have to wait for Father, but I wish I knew if I should tell him what you asked us to tell.”

Lyanna had no patience for conspiracies. Putting her bets on uncertainties and working off missing information was not something she had any experience in. That was what scared her.

She felt helpless.

Rickard Stark would know what to do but if Walys had been traitorous then Father himself had been a victim of this scheme and that didn’t sit well with her. The North was supposed to be safe, Winterfell was supposed to be safe. Her Father was supposed to see through everything and be undeceivable.

When it came down to it, Father hadn’t even been there. It had been Lyanna and a knife and she got through it.

‘You’re learning too’ , Rhaegar had said and maybe she was. She’d certainly learned that getting lost in her own head would not contribute to anything. The only way to not feel helpless was through action.

She sighed. “I will handle that when Father returns. Until then, I have plenty of other things to handle.”

It didn’t give her any satisfaction. Unlike the time she let go of Domeric, speaking to the dead did nothing to ease the coiled pressure inside her but her will felt stronger nonetheless and Lyanna knew that she would handle it.

She visited Miran for a little bit. The blacksmith was not doing any better. His wound had begun to fester and swell and he barely woke now. Everyone knew it would be a matter of time. When Lyanna arrived, a couple other people were already there, saying their goodbyes.

They moved to stand up when they spotted her.

“No, please, don’t leave on my account.”

Mikken searched her face for something and then nodded, sitting back near his father’s bedside. His face was thin and drawn, with dark purple circles under his eyes. Lyanna felt at once as if she was intruding on something personal. It was an uncomfortable feeling and she found herself a seat in the corner of the cottage where Old Nan was seated with her knitting needles.

Miran had been a good man and a friendly one - in his final moments, many people came to visit him. Even with all the tension in the air, Lyanna thought it was nice, in a strange way, to see the people of Winterfell come together like that. Sitting there with the rest of them, she felt included.

After a while she excused herself.

“I’m sorry, I must find Martyn now. I’m looking for my brother.”

“Prince Benjen came by earlier,” Mikken told her helpfully, “He’s brought Old Nan.”

Lyanna couldn’t help the surprise on her face at that.

“Oh. I thought he’d be with Martyn…” Was he truly avoiding her then? The thought sat heavy with her but the dread didn’t last long before it was replaced by anger.

“Little Prince thinks he is too old for stories.” Old Nan tsked from her corner. “He wants to be a man.”

“Every boy does.” Mikken cut in sadly. “Always in a rush to grow up. And then we regret it.” He sank back at his father’s bedside, taking a hold of one of those calloused arms.

“You ought not worry, little Princess,” the old woman told Lyanna, dropping her tone as if she would be bestowing her with wisdom, “These are hard times. Growing up quickly will only do your brother good. This winter has been long and harsh but make no mistake, a harder one still is coming. I feel it in my bones. The comet as well-”

“-It was there on the night we were attacked!” One of the women cut in. Miran’s wife, if Lyanna had to guess. “It’s an omen. It means blood will be shed. Notice, it’s still there. There is a war coming, mark my words.”

“Mother, please,” Mikken spoke in a low tone but his words were harsh, “This is not the time for women’s superstition.”

“It’s no superstition!” She insisted haughtily and Lyanna felt like intervening.

“I’m sure everything will be just fine. The King is doubtlessly on his way home already, if he’s received the raven and the Ironborn are gone. They’re raiders and cowards, not true warriors. We’ve dealt with them once, we can do it again if we must.”

“Hmph.” Old Nan clicked her tongue. The lone candle threw odd shadows over her face. “It’s no superstition. Do you know what the comet means, little Princess?”

“Nothing.” Lyanna insisted, “Why should it mean anything?”

“Dragons. It means dragons and nothing good. I can smell them coming.”

“Are you sure it’s not the medicine you’re smelling?” Mikken was running out of patience. “Old Jonnel’s wife brought some dried mushrooms she claimed would help if we mixed them with yolk and poured where the knife went in. The maester would have never suggested anything like that.”

It explained, in retrospect, the strange smell in the cottage. But Lyanna thought that it also masked the stench of death and quietly she was glad for that.

She ended up seeking out Martyn regardless. Even if Benjen was not with him, the captain of the guard was a reliable source of information.

“We’ll have a maester coming from Castle Cerwyn soon,” he told her when she found him in maester Walys’ old room, folding a piece of parchment he was reading and pushing it out of her sight, “Lord Cerwyn will also bring some men to help us strengthen the defences until the King arrives and knowing him, he might surprise us by coming along unannounced. They’ll all need to be fed, of course.”

“Which, I presume, shall be my task?”

He smiled at her. 

“I used to split my responsibilities with the late maester, but there is only so much that a lone man can do by himself. You’ve done a great job with the garden, I’ve heard. Your father will be proud.”

He doesn’t wear flattery half as well as Rhaegar, was her first thought but Lyanna had no intention on voicing her displeasure. She clasped her hands firmly behind her back.

“You’ve heard about the garden already?” Are you spying on me, she almost said though it was too suspicious even for her.

“The men saw you struggling with the bucket. They were going to help but a kitchen wrench told them off.” Martyn cleared his throat. “If I may, it might not be wise to walk around the grounds alone. I could spare someone to act as your guard, or if it pleases you, Jory would be happy to do it. He’s a good boy and skilled with a sword.”

And your son, Lyanna finished for him. She had felt warm for a single moment when she’d heard about Rina intervening on her behalf but the anger was back tenfold. 

“Can I not walk alone in my own Father’s castle?” She demanded hotly. “You’ve searched the entire grounds more than once. You’ve even sent people into the crypts, for Gods’ sake! I have not asked to be allowed to go out riding once, I understand the danger, but I will not allow myself to be confined to my room like some - some Southern Princess!”

Martyn took in her outburst calmly but his jaw tightened slightly. It didn’t escape her notice.

“Princess, please, nobody is confining you to your room. The wish is simply that you don’t go about on your own. It is not my own suggestion either, so do not lay blame at my feet. The King has asked for it.”

“Father has responded?” Lyanna’s eyes widened in surprise and at once she had more important things to worry about. “Why didn’t you lead with that? What is he saying?” Besides that he believes that someone must keep an eye on me at all times.

“I’ve only just received the raven. He wrote a lot but he is not saying much, if I say that. He is returning with utmost haste and has sent summons to Prince Brandon as well, urging him to return to Winterfell. He is reasonably concerned with how easily his seat was taken and intends to send a raven to King Quellon, informing him of what had occurred.”

“Nothing new then. How do you think Greyjoy will respond? All of this might have been his own plan.”

“One can’t say, Princess.” Martyn chose his words carefully. “They say Quellon is a wise man, and calm for a kraken. They also say that his health is failing and that his sons are every inch the pirates he is not. Regardless, I do not think this was his doing but only time shall tell. We must be patient.”

Lyanna could be patient.

“Would you inform me of any news if I asked you to?”

“Would you agree to keep a guard?” He shot back quickly then raised his hands placatingly. “I mean no harm. You can discuss the matter again with the King when he returns, but I have my orders. I can, in good faith, only give you the rest of the day.”

Is Father demanding the same from Benjen? It was a stupid question. Lyanna already knew the answer.

“I’ll think about it.” She ground out through gritted teeth.

“I’ll send someone over tomorrow.”

The sour mood this exchange brought on her lingered for the rest of the day. For all that Lyanna wanted to be headstrong, Martyn had struck a spot within her; she did want to make her Father proud. So she swallowed the sourness and headed straight to the kitchens. The first thing she had to do was make sure that the cooks were aware of the upcoming cavalry. She had little experience with these things but the kitchen staff had done similar preparations before so they knew what to do.

Lyanna felt a bit silly when a kitchen maid was explaining to her all of the information they would need to know but it was a welcome distraction. 

Then all at once, she was free and the anger came back all at once, drowning out everything else with its simplicity. It was so easy to just let go and drown in the feeling. 

I knew this would be coming. It hurt so much because she knew it to be true, yet a small part of her still dared to cling to hope on the contrary. She’d seen it in the way everyone had acted after she had been attacked in the Wolfswood, as if she was some fragile jewel to be stored and sheltered and kept somewhere to collect dust; taking her fears and her terror and using it against her.

And all for the love of me. 

Slamming the door of her bedroom behind her, she threw herself on the bed and smothered her face in the pillow, finally letting out a voiceless cry of frustration. Then, she rolled over and laid there limply, pale face aimed at the ceiling. 

How long, she wondered and the thought felt like inviting a tragedy. Until Father comes home? She could live with that, no matter how much it would irritate her but a part of her knew it was terrified to the bone of a different possibility.

Until he finds me someone to marry me off to.

Spitefully, Lyanna couldn’t help but be bitter. Was her Father protecting her, or her worth as a bride? Still flat on her back, she hugged herself tightly, wishing at once her Mother was there to hold her instead.

It was a sweet daydream but it was just that - a dream. She’d learned by now that she could only fight her battles herself. She didn’t need to put up with all of this; there was some way out, there was always a way out, all she needed to do was stay defiant and find it.

Think, she told herself sternly. She had at least a week before Father returned and that gave her time. Negotiating with Martyn would be fruitless as the man would follow his King’s orders so she would need to wait regardless. Lyanna could try to persuade him but if King Quellon responded poorly, if it came to war - Father would not want to risk anything in his absence.

And what would she say? You can’t do this to me? What would it amount to when everyone knew he could. Not forever, but Lyanna had known since Domeric that her days left in Winterfell were numbered. She detested the thought of spending them like that.

No matter how, she knew she would end up with some kind of supervision. She was already somewhat familiar with it. Growing up, she’d made an extensive list of which people in Winterfell would tattle on her. The castle had a thousand eyes and most of them belonged to her Father.

Most.

She tracked Benjen down over the course of an hour. He was adept at hiding when he wanted to be but Lyanna knew her brother. Once she devoted herself fully to the task, accepting that he had been avoiding her in particular, the task became much simpler.

Simpler didn’t mean she was pleased with it.

“There you are! I’ve looked everywhere.” 

Benjen had the gall to look guilty, dropping the book he’d been holding. The library had been among the last of the places where she’d look for him but Winterfell was only so big, Lyanna supposed, and even moping princes had to entertain themselves somehow.

“Lya,” he greeted her in a subdued voice, “I’ve been busy.”

“Have you?” She plopped on the seat next to him, blocking his exit.

“ Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “Ask Martyn. He had me running errands the whole day.”

Lyanna scowled.

“You’d make time, if you wanted to.”

“Maybe I don’t want to then. I have other things I want to devote my time to.” He picked up the book again but his posture was still tense; he could try but he would not fool Lyanna. “You should understand, you didn’t come looking either.”

That comment managed to crawl under her skin. She didn’t appreciate the accusation in his tone and appreciated even less the fact that it was not entirely untrue.

“I thought you wanted to be by yourself for a bit.” She admitted. “It felt too early to talk. Or rather, I didn’t think there was anything to discuss.”

“There isn’t, really. Everything turned out well.” 

He doesn’t sound too happy though. Every line of her brother’s body screamed of restlessness. If this was Brandon, he’d already be off riding or fighting or arguing with someone but that wasn’t Benjen’s nature. He wasn’t loud or abrasive. 

Or withdrawn.

“Ben, what’s going on in your head? You’ve always told me everything, you know I won’t tell a soul. Just you and me, promise.”

He pressed his lips together stubbornly.

“It’s nothing. We’re not children anymore Lya, we both have better things to do than sitting around and whining.”

“Yes, better things, like sitting in a library and pretending to read a - uhhh - History of Dornish Invasions.” Lyanna rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. If something is bothering you-“

“-I should crawl over to weep on your shoulder? Brandon wouldn’t. Others take it all Lyanna, you wouldn’t.” He seemed surprised by his own outburst and he shook his head. “You need to stop treating me like a child.”

That drew an angry laugh from her.

“So I’m the problem? You are a child and Brandon is not. Of course I’m not going to treat you the same.” 

Benjen made a frustrated noise.

“It’s not about that. I just - When we - You know what, forget it. I don’t want to be coddled.”

“What, do you think that Brandon isn’t coddled?” Lyanna sighed. “Alright fine, let us not talk about it then, keep your problems to yourself. I just want things to be alright between us. I don’t know what I did, but-“

“-You didn’t do anything, I told you it’s not about that, I’m not mad at you.”

“Then who are you mad at?” She countered. “Don’t lie, I know what your angry face looks like.”

“I thought we weren’t talking about it.” He definitely had his angry face on.

Damn it, Ben, Lyanna bit her lip in frustration. Where is this coming from?

“Father sent a raven.” She told him instead, changing the topic. “I spoke with Martyn. Nothing new apparently.”

That had him perking up.

“Not even about the Ironborn? I know he won’t take this lying down, he’s probably already planning on how to retaliate.”

“Nothing new, like I said.” She clicked her tongue, annoyed. “He’ll talk to Quellon Greyjoy and see how it goes from there.”

Benjen scoffed. “What could Greyjoy possibly say to get out of this? Do you think that a Lannister or a Baratheon would tolerate their seat being attacked like this? If Father doesn’t want the entire South to think him weak, he’ll have to retaliate.”

“I think he’ll put the wellbeing of his people before his pride.” Lyanna found herself remembering the blood that had stained the snow when the men had dragged the bodies away. It had been hard to stomach but - it had been justice, had it not? She’d visited the graves of her people, had grieved for them and the death of their killers was righteous.

But Lyanna also remembered the things her attacker had confessed under torture, the way he’d begged. The people doing the bleeding hadn’t been the ones to come up with this idea; they’d just been the one to pay for it. She wondered if war would take the heads of those responsible. Or just those of their puppets.

More than that, she worried that they were the puppets. Her brother was right in that attacking Winterfell was a clear provocation - could they risk falling for it?

Benjen didn’t share her grievances.

“The wellbeing of his people? Lya, the only way to ensure the wellbeing of his people is to teach the thrice-damned pirates a lesson they’ll remember! They deserve to pay. ”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. Do you think I don’t want them punished? Do you think I don’t want the raids to stop and the people of the North to know peace? But it doesn’t matter how many Ironborn die if Greyjoys themselves don’t suffer. That would be justice.”

“They’ll suffer.” Her brother promised her darkly. “Both of us could have died - or worse. Father will take the concern of our safety very seriously.”

And isn’t that the issue?

“I wish he wouldn’t.” She groaned, throwing her hands. “Apparently, he wants me accompanied by a guard at all times. He must think me unable to comprehend the danger. I comprehend it just fine. It would have been me who would be killed and me who would be raped. Why shouldn’t it be my choice if I want to risk the odds of daring to walk around my own damn castle?”

Benjen did not look too surprised but he did seem irritated by her words.

“You’re acting like he can’t want to keep you safe because he cares about you. It’s not just you Lyanna, if you died, do you think the rest of us would be just fine? That night, if you died and I lived, how do you think I would feel?”

Lyanna smiled humorlessly, showing all of her teeth.

“If it’s because he cares, why isn’t he asking the same of you? Does he not care about you? Why was Ned allowed to go to the Vale, why was Brandon allowed to lead his men into battle? What makes me so different?”

“You’re a…” Woman, he clearly wanted to say but bit his tongue. “Brandon can fight. He might have to lead his men by himself one day, it’s expected. And Ned and I can defend ourselves. Or Ned can, I suppose. Father won’t always be around and we won’t always have someone to solve our problems.”

“And I will? Can you look me in the eye and tell me I will never see battle?” Inside her chest, her heart was beating furiously. A knife in her hand, blood on the snow. Eyes meeting hers, familiar and alive.

And where had her father been then?

“You’ll have your husband to protect you.” Benjen would not look at her, staring at the table with pinched brows. “And your brothers and your sons.”

“The men in my life,” Lyanna snorted, “Pray tell, what if my husband is the one I need defending from? What if he is cruel? What if years pass and I give him no sons? You say you need to learn to be able to defend yourself to survive but I can’t be expected to know how to handle myself in my own Father’s castle? And what more, why is nobody teaching me how to run a castle, if I am to be a Lady of one? The women helped me tidy up the gardens and I made such a silly mistake organising them, for no fault other than the lack of experience.”

“I understand why you’re upset but I have nothing to do with this, alright? It’s just the way things are.”

“The way things are.” She repeated flatly. “Can I not be unhappy with the way things are?”

“You can, if you want to be miserable.” Benjen finally looked at her and she saw the bitterness in his grey eyes, twinkling like unshed tears. “I’m really sorry, but if Father ordered it, there’s nothing any one of us can do. You should try persuading him once he comes back I suppose.”

“Believe me, that is in the plans.” Lyanna would have it no other way. She hesitated - should she ask? Her pride rebelled at the thought yet it had been what she’d come there for. He promised me, she remembered, he promised. “Martyn doesn’t care who the guard is, though. Jory or any of the men really. Father might have preferences, but you’ve observed yourself that he is not here. Ben, you’ve told me once you would go to Dreadford with me to keep me safe. Could you-“

“-No.” He cut her off before she could finish, eyes flashing with intensity. “Lya, believe me I am sorry but I cannot help you.”

You promised.

“Why not?” She demanded, standing up. It let her tower over him but he didn’t seem to notice. “Are you scared Father will be angry? I’ll deal with Father, I’ll tell him it was all my idea and that I forced you. Benjen, please .”

“No.” He told her again, this time more forcefully. “Though I doubt you could persuade Father of my innocence regardless, but that isn’t why.”

“Then why?” She demanded, the hurt swelling in her chest until her fingers trembled from it. “You promised me! Is this how little your word means or was that just something you said to keep me happy?”

“It was something I said because I was stupid and naive, alright?” Benjen leaped to his feet, anger and despair flashing across his face. “I fancied that I could keep you safe but I can't! I’m a coward and you were the one who was always saving me. You sneaked out to get me when I was too scared to leave my room, you had me be the first one to climb from the tower and you sent me out to get Martyn while you stayed behind, and each time I let you. I just stood by and let you, even though I was supposed to look after you!”

Tears sprang to his eyes and he wiped them angrily but he wasn’t done.

“ You’re always the one taking care of me ! I thought I could do this one thing for you that you can’t but I can’t even do that! I can’t protect you! Lya if it was just the two of us, if Rhaegar hadn’t helped, we’d be dead and it’d have been my fault because I was the one who was supposed to know how to handle that situation.”

So this is what this is all about? Lyanna felt his anguish acutely. She knew how highly he’d aimed and how hard he’d trained. She knew and understood and yet -

“So what? Is your pain more important than mine?” He flinched at that but she kept going, head swirling with more thoughts than she could possibly organise. “I was scared too, but we saved each other! And when I had to, I killed someone. You said we’d be dead if Rhaegar didn’t help but Rhaegar would be dead if I hadn’t killed that man and we’d both be dead if you hadn’t found Martyn as quickly as you did because you arrived at the very last moment!”

There was a moment when they were both just breathing heavily. Benjen’s eyes were wide and shiny.

“Lyanna-“ he began, unsure. “I-“

“-No, you know what? It’s fine, if you feel like I’m in such danger walking around Winterfell that you can’t possibly protect me, I’ll find someone else.” Her words were frigid and cold even to her own ears. It was as if the ache in her chest had settled into her mouth, sharpening each word that passed through until it was a perfect knife. “You never denied me help that night, Ben. You’re denying it now. Is it because you think you failed me or because you wish you could have done more because you had a brilliant chance to achieve something to brag about and missed it?”

She’d stuck deep with that one and for a brief moment she felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Then, her little brother began to cry in earnest.

“How can you say that? You’re so - you’re - stupid! ”

And then he stormed off, leaving her to stand there fuming. 

She was angry and then she was remorseful.

“If you died and I lived, how do you think I’d feel?” Oh, Ben, she thought. The force that drove her anger was a complex thing, with tendrils like tentacles pulling at every angle but it hadn’t blinded her enough to ignore the nature of her brother’s fear. 

A part of her began to wonder if she was wrong all along, if that was what love truly was like.

Is there something wrong with me? A reason why being loved makes me want to crawl out of my skin? That was a morbid thought that hadn’t occurred to her before. Am I the problem? 

No, she decided. The moment she started to believe she was to blame for her own misery would be the moment she would resign herself to that fate. This fight with Benjen was the living proof of that. For as long as she could remember, things had been alright because he had understood her. He had cared to understand her.

She didn’t know what hurt more: that the understanding was gone, slipped like water past her fingers or that it wasn’t and her brother knew her and ceased to care.

A rational part of her knew it was just a fight and didn’t have to mean much. How many had she had with Brandon? More than either of them would care to count - or admit to. They would tear into each other and say all kinds of hurtful things but it was never permanent. 

She tried to keep that in her mind as she left the library. 

But she never fought with Benjen.

It felt wrong in a way she couldn’t quite put into words. 

Pushing that out of her mind, she moved on to a new plan. She’d meant it when she had said that if Benjen wouldn’t help her, she would find someone who would.

She found Rhaegar on the roof and waved at him until he reluctantly climbed down. On a better day, she might have taken the time to make fun of how badly this clashed with his overwhelming sense of dignity but she couldn’t find it in her to do more than tap her foot impatiently.

“I assume you are not busy? I would like to talk to you.”

His face flashed with muted surprise, followed by concern.

“Is something wrong?” He asked but Lyanna was already walking away and gestured to him to follow.

“Nothing serious, I suppose. I would like to speak in private though.”

Even with this warning, he still lingered awkwardly when they reached her room and she signalled him to step inside.

“Is this appropriate?”

“Not you too.” Lyanna sighed. “Are you planning on doing anything inappropriate?”

“No, of course-“

“-Then it’s not an issue. I won’t burst into flames just because a man steps into my room.”

It was enough to convince him to follow her inside, though he still hesitated. Perhaps she shouldn’t have threatened to burst into flames; for all she knew, he had experience with that.

“It isn’t your virtue I’m worried about.” He confessed, looking sheepish. “But my head. I would not like to come on your Father’s bad side.”

Nobody ever does.

“You won’t. What my father doesn’t know won't hurt him, or enrage him.” That was all the assurance she could give him. She closed the door and took a deep breath.

“You said you feel like you owe me a debt. Is it me you’re indebted to, or my father?”

Rhaegar frowned, searching for meaning on her face.

“You.” He finally admitted. “His Majesty, the King, has been kind by allowing me to stay here but I have no personal attachments to him.”

“And you have to me?” A vain part of her liked that. The lonely part of her was overjoyed with it. “There is an offer I would make you. My Father has sent word that I require a personal guard in the wake of what happened. I… have no wish to be controlled at every step I take. For as long as I can recall, I’ve been arguing with him to allow me more. I cannot bear to lose what little I have. It was no fault of mine, was it? So why should I be punished for it?”

With some trouble, she reigned herself in before any more could spill from her. Would he think her silly? Lyanna hadn’t believed so but suddenly she felt small.

You’re a Stark of Winterfell, you can handle a rejection.

“You would ask me to guard you? Princess, I am flattered-“

She could hear the “but” coming.

“-Hear me out. Please.” Lyanna did not beg but it was a near call. “You said you wanted to help, just this morning. You’ve already been doing half of the work for the past couple days and I didn’t even need to ask you to. And - you’d be paid, I’d make sure Father pays you well. Well enough to leave eventually, if you wish to. And I’ll never ask you to do anything you don’t wish to, like the maester. I am not him.”

“I know you are not.” His words were soft. “You gave me back what he took. You didn’t need to.”

“It wasn’t right.” Lyanna agreed. “The maester… I don’t know what to think of him lately. Something is happening right under our noses. I would like to have a friend with me for that too.” 

She moved to sit on the bed and patted the woolen blankets in invitation but he stayed standing.

“I wouldn’t be the best person to help you with that. I hardly know anyone here.” Rhaegar spoke calmly but Lyanna did not miss the tension of his shoulders and the way he shifted his weight. He didn’t seem too surprised; perhaps she made a mistake in assuming she wouldn’t be able to talk about this with him. But he also didn’t seem open to discussing the topic so perhaps her initial judgement was correct in its conclusion, if not the reasoning.

After a moment of silence during which she sat still, trying to think of things to say, he spoke again.

“What would… helping entail?”

“Nothing much, I assure you. My Father is simply paranoid - there is no real danger in Winterfell, I believe. You’d just need to follow me around to keep him satisfied and assured of my safety or so I assume.” Lyanna was quick to explain. “That - it wouldn’t be much, right? We’re friends, you could consider it just spending time together.”

“No, I understand that but - why me? What could I do that you wouldn’t want any of your father’s men for?”

Lyanna blinked in surprise, reminded at once that this wasn’t Benjen - Benjen had known immediately what she wished from him.

And Benjen had turned his back on her so maybe this was a good thing.

“Follow my lead. Keep my secrets. Let me do things I want. I know my father’s men and they know me. Father might only wish them to keep an eye out but through that, he’d already ensure that I cannot do many of the things I like. That’s because I’ve only ever been able to do them behind his back to begin with. I used to think that was annoying but this is even worse.” She scowled. “I promise it’ll be nothing bad. You’ve already helped me out with that in the past - remember? Archery is not something young maidens like me should worry ourselves with in this household.”

Rhaegar dwelt on that. She could see him thinking from where she sat. For all his reactions tended to be subdued, the lack of them told her more than she thought he knew.

“I would show you around Winterfell.” She added, ignoring that he already knew his way around the castle grounds. “And I’d introduce you to the people. You said you don’t know who Miran is - we could change that. I understand you’ve lost a lot and are looking for somewhere to belong now that your home and your way of life are gone. A new life doesn’t need to be inferior to the one you’ve had before.”

He looked at her, eyes sharp and wary.

“I want to - you could belong here, by my side, with me. And I’m not just saying this for the sake of persuading you. We made a good team the other day, didn't we?”

“Yes,” he agreed slowly, “we did. But I made a very poor guard.”

Lyanna rubbed the spot on her jaw, feeling his eyes on her as she did. Of course, she thought and the failed conversation she just had with Benjen made her wary. 

“I’m not asking you to be my guard in truth, Rhaegar. I’d like you to be my friend. This whole charade is for my father’s sake. The two of us don’t need to take it seriously. Benjen couldn’t seem to understand that.” 

“You’ve asked your brother already?”

“He is my brother.” Lyanna defended, sensing a hint of offence in his voice. “He’s been my companion in mischief for as long as I can remember and my father happens to be very familiar with him. But he… he’s being stupid about it.”

“So you came to me.” Rhaegar stated flatly.

“I came to you because I trust you to have my back. My back, not my father’s.” She bit her lip. No matter how she tried, words weren’t coming out right. How could she convince him, without taking advantage of him? “I don’t want to be watched or controlled. I don’t mind sharing my time with you. I trust you.”

The space of her tiny room seemed to resonate with the force of it. Lyanna found herself suddenly without any words to say - the itch, the desperate, drowning attempt to find the right thing to say was satisfied. What more could she say? Somewhere along the line, through the healing and Domeric and the attack, she’d grown to rely on this stranger before her.

Rhaegar looked as if she’d slapped him. Something flashed through his face; was it awe? Guilt? Fear? She couldn’t tell. Whatever it evoked in him, he’d been convinced of her sincerity.

“Can I have some time to think about it?” He said finally.

“Is that a no?” Lyanna wanted to know. Later always meant never when it came to Father.

“Princess, if I wanted to refuse you, I would have said so.” Rhaegar sounded amused even if his face still held that strange strained look. “I simply don’t like making decisions on a whim.”

“Alright then. I can bear to tolerate whoever Martyn assigns to me for a couple days.” Lyanna relented. “But you should know - you can change your mind. I don’t want to be a jailer.”

He looked terribly sad at that, as if the weight of the world had settled on him. What did I say wrong?

“I don’t think you could be that, Lyanna Stark.”

For the next couple days, Lyanna had no idea what to think of this conversation. It hadn’t gone poorly exactly - Rhaegar didn’t avoid her afterwards, like Benjen did. They had their breakfast together the next day, and the day after that but whenever she asked him if he’d come to make a decision, he told her that not yet and refused to elaborate. Perhaps, she supposed, he simply didn’t want her to try and persuade him on the matter and she couldn’t fault him for that.

Whatever it was that he was pondering on, she had no choice but take her hands off the reins and leave it up to him.

The very next morning, Martyn had sent Jory. Lyanna was not that surprised when the young man had intercepted her the moment she tried to enter the courtyard and then stuck to her like glue afterwards. For what it was worth, he was useful - she’d spent a lot of time preparing for Lord Cerwyn’s men and Jory was knowledgeable in the matter. Doubtlessly, Martyn intended for him to replace him one day.

The next time she saw either the captain or her brother was when Miran died three days after her visit. 

The funeral was brief; where there were once thirty-four graves were now thirty-five. Lyanna’s roses were already wilted by then so she reminded herself to bring fresh ones.

Even without a ceremony to send the blacksmith off, many of Winterfell’s people have shown up to watch him be lowered into the ground one last time, including the people who should probably be working. Martyn had looked like he wanted to object to that but in the end, he shook his head and looked the other way.

Benjen stopped her afterwards. His face was drawn and tense. It had begun to snow at some point and fresh snowflakes were melting in his dark hair. Around them, the people were returning to their work, drifting past them without paying them much attention.

“Lya, can we talk?”

Yes, her mind screamed. Things were hard enough even without fighting with her brother. She wanted things to go back to how they were.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk.” She said instead, keeping her head high.

“Right. I just wanted to say - I’m sorry. Can we put it behind us?”

“Have you changed your mind?” She questioned. It was important - what was an apology if it meant nothing?

The way he dropped his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

“I’m sorry, Lya. I’m just - I’m scared. It all happened so fast and then I was alone in the forest and I kept thinking how you might be dead by the time I come back. That I might have seen you for the last time and let you die out of cowardice.” He kicked lightly at the fresh snow. “Can we put this behind us?”

“Ben,” Lyanna took a deep breath, “you’re my brother and I love you but why are you asking for forgiveness if you don’t want to change what made me upset in the first place?”

He cringed.

“I guess I just wanted you to understand. I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

That made her laugh.

“If I got a gold nugget every time I was mad at Brandon, I’d be the richest woman in the Seven Kingdoms but I still love him dearly. It’s bound to happen occasionally.”

“But not between us.” Benjen concluded mournfully.

“I understand that you’re scared. I was… I was scared too. If something had happened to you when I sent you out, I would have never forgiven myself. I wish you wouldn’t need to feel that way but I understand.” She swallowed, eyeing Jory carefully. He had respectfully distanced to give them space and was talking with his father. When he spotted her looking, he smiled and nodded and she gave him a tense smile in return.

“But Ben, being scared doesn’t justify paranoia. And I wasn’t even mad because of that. I was mad because you knew that I don’t enjoy being sheltered or treated differently, you’ve listened to me tell you so many times but you put yourself first. You still are. ”

“Well, that’s because-“

“-Stop it!” Lyanna didn’t feel like rehashing their argument again. ”I don’t want to debate this now. We just came from a funeral, it would be inappropriate and frankly, I am tired. I would have peace, if that is what you are offering.”

It felt a little bit like defeat but - looking at her little brother with his large, devoted eyes, she couldn’t imagine staying at odds with him. It’d tear her apart from the inside, she was sure, just like losing a limb or an eye. With the two routes available, peace seemed less painful so that would be what she would settle for.

“I am offering. I don’t want there to be bad blood between the two of us.” Lyanna wondered at that moment, if it was the same for him - that he couldn’t imagine his daily life without the warm presence of his closest person.

And - he tried to make amends, in his own awkward way. He couldn’t give her the words she wanted to hear but she didn’t doubt that it was still the same Benjen who had kept her secrets for as long as she could recall, who had never turned her away. Maybe all he needed was a little time.

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders in response and ruffled his hair until he squaked indignantly. 

“The little Prince has been quite beside himself.” Martyn told her once Benjen had gone away, rushing to prepare to welcome Lord Cerwyn with Jory trailing behind him. Lyanna had to visit the seamstress in Wintertown and the captain of the guard had elected to accompany her himself, despite her protests. “I am glad to see the two of you reconcile. I admit it was strange for us all as well.”

Lyanna wanted to say that she didn’t remember forgiving him, but she dismissed that thought. The man didn’t have much of a choice but to follow his King’s orders and for whatever it was worth, he’d always been kind to the Stark children.

“I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“Maybe normally not.” He admitted. “But lately, it has been tense. I hope that spring brings us better days soon, though I fear I might have to wait a while to see some of those.” 

As they rode into town, Lyanna could see the truth of those words. It felt good to sit in the saddle again, like a lost traveler finally coming across familiar sights, but even through the euphoria she could see that the air in the settlement was tense and not like she remembered. The streets were emptier than usual and the people she could see looked at the two of them warily. 

“Where is everyone?” She wondered aloud.

“Hiding.” Martyn told her. “Preparing. Princess, when kings fight, it’s the common people who bleed.”

“Tell that to Benjen. I am of the belief that war would be unwise for many reasons but he wants revenge and I am afraid that Brandon will be much the same.”

“Revenge has its merit. A cautious man may be wiser in some ways than the reckless one but ask the people which will inspire more awe in his people and the answer might be rather the other way around.” He shook his head. “Who am I to say, Princess? The Gods have blessed me with never needing to make these decisions. But I believe Prince Benjen has his reasons for wanting revenge. I have never been a prince but I’ve been a boy once and I’ve experienced failing to be the man I wish to be. It may seem a little thing but it cuts deep.”

“He didn’t fail. He did exactly what he needed to.” Lyanna disagreed, then paused, careful. “But have you ever… killed someone?”

Martyn looked at her carefully.

“Many times. I was half a boy when your father took me South. I’m hardly a young man now but I still remember the first man I’ve killed. Many of my men do - it’s not a thing one can or should forget.”

It was strangely reassuring to hear she wasn’t weak for lingering on that moment for so long. Lyanna thought herself above needing reassurance yet there was something she still wanted to ask.

“I stabbed one of the Ironborn to save someone. I wanted that person to live and I am glad he did. Isn’t it wrong then, to feel so - so ill at ease with the act of killing? And I don’t - I don’t remember him. I never saw his face, I think.”

“I wouldn’t say so. You did what you had to do. How you feel about it doesn’t matter quite as much, or how well you can recall his appearance.” His voice was gruff yet soft at the same time. “Some men are born to be killers, Princess. Others not so much and I believe we all feel it when we stray from our intended path.”

What is my path then? Lyanna wondered. Whatever it is, I must be straying from it hard. This cannot be it.

But in this regard, the man would be no help to her so she thanked him for his wisdom and changed the topic.

The seamstress was an older woman. Lyanna knew her well and the two fell into comfortable conversation while she took her measurements. She was pleased to hear she’d grown since the last time. The dresses to be commissioned were exciting to her too; the oncoming spring allowed for more freedom with materials and decor. Lyanna didn’t consider herself vain but she enjoyed feeling like a real princess from time to time.

Before she left she had another request to make, remembering Rhaegar and his ugly new coat. The woman was confused at first, thinking she meant to bring a gift for her brother but Lyanna laughed.

“I am to have a personal guard, it seems. Or I hope so, at least. I would like to have something for him.”

“I would need measurements for anything fitting.” The seamstress fretted but she waved off her concerns.

“I am not asking for a uniform. Just a coat. Imagine someone taller than Brandon and leaner. I would like for it to be warm.”

That didn’t seem to truly satisfy her but she let Lyanna pick the colours. She spent a long time deciding between a Stark grey and a deep, rich blue.Father would approve of the grey, surely but she couldn’t get the blue out of her mind. 

It would bring out the colour of his eyes, she thought and that was the deciding part. Whether he wound up accepting or not, Lyanna would not like to see Rhaegar get lost among her Father’s men. It would be a waste of him - a waste of his loyalty.

Perhaps that was part of why she’d picked blue, her own favourite colour.

Not the North. Not House Stark. Me. The thought made her smile.

The clothes were done in a week's time. Through that, Lyanna worked with Benjen and Martyn to host Lord Cerwyn and organise his host, took care of the garden and began recruiting people into other empty positions. If Father would object to her choices, he could very well change it himself.

She even got somewhat used to Jory. He was, like his father claimed, a good man and Lyanna appreciated him. She had little doubt she’d appreciate him a lot less when she would have more spare time to waste on forbidden activities.

It was on the same day that she intended to bring her gift to Rhaegar that he came to her, knocking on her door once the sun had set and she’d sent Jory away.

“Princess, I hope I am not disturbing you. May we speak?”

“Of course.” She rushed to let him inside and this time he didn’t protest. Her heart beat in anticipation. 

“Have you come to a decision?” Lyanna couldn’t stop herself from asking before he even had the chance to say anything. If anything, her impatience seemed to amuse him and set him at ease; his dark eyes danced in the candlelight.

“I have. I would accept your offer.” They were the sweetest words she could have heard, but he wasn’t done. “I thought about it for a long time - it’s hard for me to commit to something when everything about your Kingdom seems so new to me, so I am sorry if the wait made you nervous. I think you’re right though. I have been trying to fashion a new life for myself, though I believe I may have gone about it rather passively. But should I try to do it consciously, I would wish to start by your side.”

Lyanna nodded graciously, trying and failing to mask just how much relief that brought her. She thought, briefly, on how they were months ago and how far they’d come.

“I thought about it too. You said we are going in circles, but maybe that is not such a terrible thing. I help you and you help me - just like the other night. Maybe the Gods have had a reason to bring you here, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think they exist, or have much of a plan for me.” He told her plainly. “But I am thankful to have landed here nonetheless.”

They lingered in that sentiment for a moment. Lyanna felt her cheeks burn fiercely and hoped the dim candlelight would hide it.

This is too mushy to bear. 

“There is one thing though. I don’t think your captain is very fond of me.” Rhaegar confessed wearily. 

“Martyn?” Lyanna frowned. “He’s reasonable enough. He agreed to it before, did he not?”

“Before the incident in the woods. And before I agreed to let you stay in Winterfell.”

“Did he speak to you about that?” Martyn hadn’t mentioned anything to her. Looking back, Lyanna had expected a lecture - it was strange she’d never received it. She had a sharp suspicion that the lecture may have simply gone to someone else.

“He had some concerns.” Unpleasant concerns, by the look of it. She could surmise what it was about.

“That’s ridiculous. I would have stayed whether you liked it or not. You couldn’t force me to leave in the middle of an invasion.” 

“Regardless, I let you risk your life.”

“My life is mine to risk.” She insisted stubbornly. “Can nobody understand that? And if I hadn’t, you’d be dead.”

That made him pause.

“That was in the last moments. Even if I died, the result wouldn’t have changed.”

“It would have changed.” Lyanna jumped in hotly. “It would have. How do you think I would have felt if I came back and you -“ It hit her like a snowball to the face. “Oh, Others take it. I sound like Benjen.”

“Your brother?” Rhaegar tilted his head in confusion as Lyanna dragged her hands across her face and groaned. 

“He made a couple points. About me, not you. He’s very grateful for you. It’s a long story and I am still mad.” The only silver lining was that Benjen was not there to hear her slip up. Lyanna had no intentions of having that conversation. “Listen to me, who cares what Martyn thinks? I know I took some risks but I am glad I have. I had to take them. None of that was your fault. I’ll make sure he knows this.”

She would make sure the King knew it too, once he returned. Lyanna would not let Martyn fill his ears with whatever grievances he had about Rhaegar.

“Is that your only concern?” 

He hesitated. For a moment, she thought he might say something. He clenched and unclenched his fist, opened his mouth and then - dropped his eyes and slowly nodded.

“Should I leave now…?”

“Hold up, I have something for you.” She skidded over to her wardrobe and dug out the package from where she’d buried it under piles of her own clothes. She hadn’t been too gentle with it in the morning so the cloak inside wound up somewhat wrinkled but she didn’t think Rhaegar cared. Not with the way his eyes opened wide and his lips rounded softly in surprise.

“Princess, I can’t possibly-“ 

“-Shush.” Lyanna grinned. “Don’t you think we had enough expressions of gratitude? Just accept it so we can plan how I’ll break the news to Martyn. And you should try it, to see if you’ll need to have it fixed.”

The cloak turned out to be a simple thing, thick and heavy enough to protect against the winds and not wet easily in the snow but not so warm that one could not wear it inside. It had a high collar outlined with fur and embroidered with, to her delight, a pair of pale blue roses, one on each side.

She had him spin around until she could see the fit from each angle. It was a bit tight around the shoulders, she found but Rhaegar insisted it was no bother so she let it slide. Privately, Lyanna thought that the way it showcased his lean frame was flattering; her eyes lingered for a bit before she realised what she was doing.

Most importantly, Lyanna had been right - it did bring out the colour of his eyes.

“It’s perfect.”

Tomorrow would be a long day, Lyanna knew. She would need to speak with both Jory and Martyn and it might take a lot of persuasion. Perhaps she might ask Benjen for help - he was very eager to redeem himself to her. But at that moment, she was content with her little victory.