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Another stab of pain wracked Lyanna's body and she cried out, clutching her abdomen in agony. The room was too cold, cold and dry, but Lyanna was covered in sweat, her face unnaturally flushed, head swimming with fever. The midwife that knelt between Lyanna's legs chewed her lip nervously, but said nothing. A Dornish handmaid held her hand tightly, steading Lyanna as she squated on shaking legs, but whispered prayers to unknown gods of rivers and turtles, making Lyanna's heart ache for the simplicity of the Godswood.
"Not long now," the midwife said brusquely. Lyanna tried to ignore the way the woman's eyes did not meet her own as the handmaid helped Lyanna back onto the bed.
--
The Godswood was warm, as always. Steam rose from the dark pond and the heart tree at Lyanna's back stood in contrast to the cold autumn breeze that blew flurries of snow through the dark clearing. Her eyes were closed as though in prayer but opened lazily when familiar footsteps crunched into the clearing.
"Ned," she said to her brother, older by a scant few years, tall and solemn like Lyanna. He approached in silence.
"Has father sent you to talk sense into me? To sing me the praises of Robert Baratheon so I may sing them back on our wedding night?" Lyanna's voice sounded unconcerned, almost bored, though Ned's shoulder's sank at her words.
"No, I've come to bring you some bread. You didn't eat at dinner," he produced a loaf from beneath his cloak. Lyanna looked at him reproachfully, but took the still-warm bread and did not complain when Ned sat down next to her.
"Robert failed to notice my lack of appetite," Lyanna said between munches of bread, "In fact, I think he failed to notice when I excused myself."
"Robert is a good man, Lyanna. He will be a good husband to you."
"Will he be? Dutiful and faithful? I know there's at least one babe in the Vale with his black hair and the surname Stone."
"You know that was before there was any word of his betrothal, before-"
Lyanna exhaled in suppressed frustration, "I know, Ned. That's not really the point, is it?"
There was silence again, or as near to it as the godswood allowed. The trees rustled, an owl hooted.
"Will I be happy in Storm's End?" there was a dull edge to Lyanna's voice, one that left Ned, used to his sister's sharpness, cold in a way that had nothing to do with the wind.
"It's warmer," Ned said truthfully, "and you'll still be able to go riding."
"Amid the perpetual storms that wrack the lands around the castle?"
"The rainy season is really only in the Autumn, and you can travel then. Come North and visit us, or South to see Dorne. You always wanted to see Sunspear."
Lyanna was quiet again, eyes cast toward the sky.
"Robert is a good man," Ned repeated softly, "He will be a good husband to you, or he'll have to answer to me."
She did not answer.
"Come back inside, Lyanna. I'll have Old Nan bring up a mug of hot cider for you."
Sighing, Lyanna allowed her brother to help her stand.
"Besides, you're only betrothed. The wedding won't take place for a year, at least."
"Yes well, we'll see how long the betrothal feels when Father promises you off."
--
When he finally came, his father did as well, charging in, still half in armor.
The child had a tuft of black hair and light gray eyes; a tiny copy of his mother, but Rhaegar lifted the boy, swaddled in a blanket bearing the Targaryen seal, and turned to Lyanna.
"He will be King someday, my love," his violet eyes glittered with pride.
Lyanna wanted to protest, wanted to repeat what she'd been saying over and over for months; the child is a bastard, you have a wife and trueborn children. Do not abandon them, Rhaegar, please. For our sake as much as theirs.
But her vision swam, and the room was so hot.
And he already had, she knew, as he kissed her and their son, and set off North to meet Robert at the Trident.
High in that tower in Dorne, Lyanna Stark knew she was going to die.
--
Harrenhall was a hollowed-out wreck of a fortress, a honeycomb of moldering ruin. Had Lyanna been a few years younger, she would have spent the entirety of the tournament exploring the place, getting lost and filthy, scraping her knees and coming back late for dinner.
But she was a woman grown, and betrothed, and she needed to bring honor to her house. So it was silken dresses in the Southern style, hair washed and combed nightly, banquets and feasts and dancing and endless sitting to watch the men fight for their own honor.
The first night, she was presented before the King and his family.
Bowing low, she gave the soft, customary curtesies and looked up at the King. She could see why they called him "mad;" he hardly looked at her, twitching and picking at a scab on his palm. His fine silk tunic; which must have cost more than all of Lyanna's dresses combined, was in a disarray, and his white-grey hair was unkempt and unwashed and his skin pasty, almost sickly.
"It is an honor to be in your presence and the presence of your family, my King," she said, turning her gaze to where Prince Rhaegar sat to the King's right. He was everything his father was not: tall, lithe, with a healthy tan. The Targaryen silvery hair was pulled back artfully, and his deep violet eyes regarded her solemnly. Next to him sat his wife, Princess Elia of Dorne, small, slight, with dark, curly hair. She was clearly pregnant, one hand resting on the small bump. A little girl who looked just like her mother stood quietly between her parents.
It was Rhaegar who spoke, his voice steely and strong, "The honor is ours, Lady Lyanna. We welcome you and your family."
"Thank you, my Prince," she bowed again, "your grace."
That night at the banquet, she sought out Robert. He sat with his feet on the table, a mug of ale in hand, surrounded by friends. Ned was nowhere to be found.
"My lord," she tried, but Robert was laughing uproariously at someone's joke. Lyanna raised her voice, "My lord, your betrothed wishes the honor of a dance!"
Suddenly noticing her, Robert started, jumping to his feet and spilling ale down his tunic. Lyanna closed her eyes and bit back an insult. This is the man I'm to marry.
"My lady! I'd be honored!"
Despite his drunken state, he was still somewhat graceful on the dance floor, managing not to step on Lyanna's dress or crash into anyone else. Lyanna studied his face; he was quite handsome, black hair pushed out of his face roguishly, a rough beard casting an air of danger to him. He was wide-set but firmly muscular, and several inches taller than Lyanna, who generally stood over many men and most women.
"I hear you'll be competing in the joust tomorrow?" Lyanna asked in what she hoped was a warm, friendly manner.
"Of course!" Robert boomed, "But just between you and me, I'll do better in the melee. I never could get the hang of the joust."
"Why is that, my lord?"
"It's fun to watch, all blood and guts and splinters everywhere, but actually sitting there? Hoping to the Gods your lance hits the other man slightly before his hits you? No, give me my hammer or a longsword, man to man, with no horses to muck everything up."
"Of course, my lord, but you agree there is a beautiful art to the lance? A thousand unnoticeable details, minuscule at first breath, set the stage for one man to triumph over another. The melee is a different sort of dance, one no less valorous, but the joust has a simple finality to it."
Robert laughed, head thrown back, "Is everything you say poetry? By the Gods, you're the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms, Lyanna. When I win the melee, I shall dedicate it to you, my lady."
The song ended, and Robert bowed, "Forgive me, it looks like my boys have need of my company! Nothing like a full belly of drink to get a good look at the competition!" And he left Lyanna on the dance floor, who carefully schooled her features into a mask of pleasantry her septa would be proud of.
"My lady?"
Lyanna turned to see Prince Rhaegar behind her. She bowed low, "My lord, to what do I owe the honor?"
"The honor is mine, if you would have this dance?" he extended a hand.
Taking it, they began to swirl and prance in time to the bards' lively tune.
"How are you enjoying your evening at Harrenhal?"
"Oh, immensely, my lord. It is such an odd place, but it has a lonely, cold sort of charm. It is much less forbidding than it looks from the approach, now that we're inside and it's full of life and laughter"
Rhaegar smiled, "You should see the ruins of Summerhall, where I was born. They are far more beautiful, if still sad and foreboding," He spun Lyanna, her skirts flying around in a way she thought must look quite pretty, "I had a nurse who would tell me stories of Harrenhall, of the ghosts that haunted the corridors at night. Seeing it makes me privately happy that the only dragons in the world sit with their skulls on display in the Red Keep."
"I can't help but agree, as interesting as it would be to see a dragon."
Rhaegar shrugged absently, prompting Lyanna to change the subject, "I noted your lady wife left the feast early. Is she well?"
Rhaegar cast his eyes over Lyanna's head, "The Princess had a difficult birth with our daughter, and the Maesters fret now that she is again with child. Her strength has never quite recovered from bearing Rhaenys." He fell silent.
"My apologies for upsetting you, my lord. I fear my skill at conversation is not quite up to the level of the royal court. I do tend to say the wrong thing more often than not."
He smiled though, "Nonsense, my lady, your worry for my wife's health is far more genuine than most at court would hold. I find your honesty refreshing."
Laughing, Lyanna curtsied as the song ended, "Well you are the first, my lord. I have often been teased at Winterfell for preferring horses to people."
Rhaegar's bow was practiced and smooth, "Perhaps we shall find a spare moment during the tournament to test North against South on horseback."
Lyanna bowed again, "It would be an honor, my lord."
And with that, Rhaegar took his leave. Lyanna watched him go, all smooth, silvery grace and strength. Suddenly, a hand gripped her arm. Her eldest brother, Brandon, stood, dark and fierce. "We should be getting back to our pavilion, sister."
Any other time, Lyanna would balk and loudly argue with Brandon. The two had never really gotten along, their relationship nothing like her easy camaraderie with Ned or her playful friendship with Benjen. She followed Brandon out of the hall.
Old Nan liked comparing the Stark children to weather. Her father said she'd done it with him and his siblings as well. She said that Benjen was like an autumn snowfall at midnight; silent and unforgiving but playful and shy. Lyanna was a cloudless morning in mid-winter; bright and fierce and icy. Ned was a snowstorm, cold and steady, but dangerous.
Brandon was the sudden blizzard.
Once out of the hall, Brandon fell into step next to her.
"Stay well away from the prince," he said simply.
"Why? No, it doesn't matter," the anger that Lyanna had suppressed in the hall came to the front once they were in the darkened passageways, "he approached me. What am I supposed to do, refuse a dance with the crown prince?"
Brandon huffed, "Just stay well away. He's dangerous, and I can't afford to have you or our house mixed up in this."
"I'll do as I like."
Lyanna knew it was a mistake as soon as she said it.
Brandon stopped walking and fixed her with a dangerous look, "You'll do as I tell you, or I'll send you back up to Winterfell in a cart and have Father confine you to the castle for the rest of your betrothal."
Lyanna bit the sharp retort back and walked ahead of her brother to their pavilion.
Everyone got up early the next day, so nobody was around to tell Lyanna not to dress in her riding leathers and saddle her horse. Avoiding the main crush of the tournament was easy, and soon Harennhal fell away behind the hills as Meraxes galloped over hunting paths and farming roads. Lyanna felt her anger at her brother slip underneath the joy of riding, the cool morning air in her lungs.
She circled around to make her way back by way of the river when she spotted him.
Prince Rhaegar was dressed in simple black leathers, but there was no mistaking him for anyone else. He was letting his horse drink by the side of the river.
"Good morning, my lord," Lyanna inclined her head as she approached. Brandon's warning fell through her mind before she pushed it aside. Perhaps she'd return to the castle with him, just to see Brandon unable to say anything in front of the court.
"Lady Lyanna," Rhaegar bowed as well. His black horse nickered at Lyanna's gray one, "out for a ride before the joust?"
"Yes, my lord. It's such a wonderful morning I couldn't let it pass me by."
"Indeed," he mounted his horse.
"Will you be competing today?" Lyanna was used to the men refusing to endanger themselves before competing, in case a fall disqualified them from the lists.
"I believe so, yes," he said, "but Serafina tends to get overexcited if she's not exercised before a joust, and I don't like my grooms to ride her, it gets her used to a different weight and style."
"She's beautiful."
"Thank you. I've been breeding her family for years. I won several tournaments mounted on her mother, and Serafina is just as fine, if not more so. Your horse is lovely as well, if I may say."
"Thank you, my lord. He was a betrothal gift from the Baratheons."
Rhaegar smiled wryly, "You are pleased with your father's choice of husband?" He said it in such a way that it was clear he knew the answer.
"It is a good match," Lyanna said primly.
Rhaegar laughed, "we're not in court, my lady. The Baratheons aren't here. No need to stand on ceremony. I know all about advantageous arranged marriages."
Lyanna started in surprise, "my lord?"
"Surely you know that my marriage to Elia was slow to happen? I was much older than most Targaryens to marry, and to a woman outside of the family, no less. We were waiting for the birth of a sister who turned out to be a brother, and a petulant one at that. Not that I'm not pleased to have escaped marriage to an infant sister, mind. But Elia... Elia is a good woman, but she is not who I would have chosen as my bride."
"And who would you have chosen?" Lyanna felt the words leave her mouth before she could stop them. Old Nan always said her mouth would get her in trouble, and it often did.
But Rhaegar just smiled, "care for a race, my lady?"
Lyanna answered by kicking Meraxes's haunches.
Lyanna won the first race by an easy margin, and Rhaegar the second by a nose. By the third, Lyanna let Rhaegar think that Meraxes was tired until the final stretch when they blew past Serafina in a laughing gray blur, reaching the makeshift finish line in time to turn and rear triumphantly.
"My lady!" both horse and rider were sweating, "My lady, you are quite the horsewoman! Are all northern women so fierce?"
"Not all," Lyanna said. She offered him her water skin, and he took a drink gratefully, "But I learned to ride under the best in the north along with my brothers, and I've been hunting with the Lady Maege Mormont, daughter of the Lord of Bear Island. She'll really give you seven hells on horseback."
"It seems I need to spend more time up north," Rhaegar said, "Now I must be getting back. My entourage will have been looking for me for some time."
"And my eldest brother will be out for my blood," Lyanna said. She bowed, "your grace, I thank you for the races. I'll look for you in the lists today."
For a moment, Rhaegar lingered, but inclined his head as well, "My lady."
Lyanna sat on her horse for a long time after he trotted away, listening to the wind blow the grass.
--
The servants were in a flurry and it took hours of begging for Lyanna to hear the news.
The septa worried her hands nervously.
"Out with it, septa. I am a lady of the north, I will die, but not of shock."
"My lady...the crown prince...he has fallen."
Lyanna absorbed this news. She'd known it would come to this, but fantasies had played out in her mind of him living, somehow legitimizing their son. Some chance at happiness for someone.
"How did it happen?"
"He fell at the Trident at the hammer of Robert Baratheon, Gods curse him."
There was some poetic justice there, though Lyanna doubted many songs would be sung of the war's horrors.
"I...I am sorry, my lady..."
"Why? I am - was - not Rhaegar's lady wife. Leave me, please. And have the wet nurse bring my son."
"Yes, my lady."
When the wet nurse brought the baby, he was quietly swaddled but brightly looking at his surroundings.
"How is he?" Lyanna reached for him weakly. The maester had staunched the bleeding for now, but she knew there wasn't much time left.
"He is a delight, m'lady. He hardly cries, and I've never seen a babe his age so intent on watching things as he. He'll grow into a fine lad."
"I have no doubt." Lyanna ran her fingers through his silken black hair. His skin was pale as snow with none of the burnished pallor of his father's family. She wondered idly if his gray eyes would turn violet like his father's. She hoped not. Stay black-haired and grey-eyed and safe, my darling boy.
"I want to hold him for a while. Please, come back in an hour."
"Yes, my lady. I'll wait outside the door if you need me."
He stared at her with his wide eyes and made baby noises. She hadn't named him. She supposed she aught to, before she died. Rhaegar had wanted to give him a Targaryen name, Aeron, but that made Lyanna think of Aegon, the trueborn prince, and her heart wracked with guilt. Besides, such a name would attract attention.
"My little darling boy," she whispered, "Grow big and strong. Learn a trade. Take a pretty wife, but stay away from the nobility. Stay away from the royal family. Listen to what your uncle Brandon said to me."
The baby wiggled and shied away from where her tears fell onto his plump pink cheeks, but he did not fuss when Lyanna fell asleep.
--
"Scamper back to your liege lords, worms!" shouted Lyanna, sword pointed at the fleeing boys, "and think on the North!"
She turned at the boy - no, he was a man grown, as small as he was - who was picking himself off from the ground, "are you all right?"
"Yes, my lady, just bruises. And my pride."
"Those wretched little beasts...what's your name? Are you here for the tourney?"
"Howland Reed, and well, no, not as such, my lady. I'm afraid I wouldn't be much use with a javelin, or in the melee. My talents are in hunting quietly, quickly - many southern knights deride this as cowardly - but no, I suppose I was simply exploring, as foolish as this sounds to say. I've never been out of the marshes of my homeland, and since I'm to be lord one day, I won't have the chance again."
Lyanna regarded the babbling crannogman. Howland was a full head and a half smaller than her, hair as dark as her and her brothers,' but his skin was much darker and his eyes were like summer leaves. He wore simple brown and green clothing with clear signs of travel wear, though they looked well-made and otherwise clean. He had a small pack for supplies, a bow and quiver, and an almost laughably tiny paddle boat that might double as a shield in the hands of a large knight. The only metal he carried was a slim and sharp trident.
"You'll be staying with us then," she hefted his pack onto Meraxes' back without waiting for an assent.
"My lady, I - I have no wish to intrude. I had planned to move on by the evening..."
Lyanna waved her hand dismissively, "Nonsense, there's to be a banquet tonight, and I won't have my father's banner-man huddled by a campfire munching on carp. My brothers will be delighted to see you."
--
Lyanna shifted in her sleep, and so did the child, but neither woke as the servants erupted at the news.
By nightfall, several had fled, including the wet-nurse and the maester.
Lyanna started bleeding again. She slept on.
--
Brandon was having hushed, fierce words with Rhaegar, shocking and angering Lyanna, but she flipped her hair and approached anyway. Rhaegar saw her and Howland's approach and turned on his heel, disappearing into the crowd.
"What was that about?" she asked Bran loudly.
"Where have you been?" he countered, eyeing her dusty leathers and then sliding his eyes over to regard Howland, who blinked coolly at the lordling who was almost twice his size.
"I was out riding and I came upon a group of cowardly squires who had decided to set upon the son of our banner-man, the Lord of the Marshes," Lyanna responded primly.
Brandon was taken aback, the surprise on his face somehow pleasing Lyanna, "Did you now? You are Reed's boy?"
"Yes, my lord," Howland swept into a proper bow, "Your lovely lady sister displayed more knightly courage than I've ever seen from men thrice her age, and I thank both her and her house for my intact honor."
"Well, then, are you here to compete?"
"No, my lord, just a simple observer. Though I may participate in the archery competition, I fear crannogmen aren't built for the joust, and I have no armor for it anyway."
"Then compete in the archery competition you shall, and I hope you win honor for yourself and your house, Lyanna, please, see to his needs."
"That was my intention, dear brother. Come along, Howland, I should introduce you to Ned and Benjen before you borrow Benjen's clothes for the banquet tonight."
"Lyanna, a moment..."
She could hear the blizzard blowing behind Bran's courtly tone, and she ushered Howland into the pavilion before rounding on her brother.
"You insist on defying me!" he hissed at her, "I don't understand, you haven't behaved like this since you were a child, and suddenly you're an unbroken foal."
"Oh, you'd have preferred me to let Howland be beaten to a pulp?"
Bran glowered at her, "You won't be attending the joust this afternoon."
Lyanna's lips tightened, she mustn't let him see how little she wanted to attend the joust in the first place, "fine. I suppose you'll require my presence at dinner, though?"
"Yes, we will. Do be on time."
Lyanna sneered and ducked into the pavilion.
It was easy enough to wait until the men had left for the joust and then send her handmaid on a fool's errand into the nearest town.
It was less easy to steal enough armor and buckle it all herself, and then untie a horse, and then slip a little servant boy a silver to act as a page and make sure she was entered into the right lists anonymously.
It was one of the most difficult things she'd ever have to do to ride out onto the field, trying not to let her hands tremble. Her mis-matched armor fit oddly, her horse was a brown stallion, bigger than Meraxes and much more stupid. The helm covered her face fully, and made her voice boom in a strange way, but it'd made the servant boy believe she was a man, so it worked well enough.
Ahead of her on the pitch, she knew, there was a sneering blond boy from the Twins, and she was going to knock him off his horse.
--
In her dreams, Lyanna was riding. It was snowing, lightly, over the moors and forest paths.
It was cold, but it felt bracing in her lungs. The sun was setting and her horse's hooves beat out a steady pattern over the dirt and stone and grass.
She was almost there.
--
The boy from the Twins fell, and so did the other two simpering idiots, and Lyanna boomed out some platitudes about honor at their liege lords, only to turn and bow to the king as he rose, trembling, to shout "seize him!"
Lyanna fled.
She managed to make it out of Harrenhal and through the gates before she heard hoofbeats behind her. Not bothering to turn and look, she veered off the road and through the brambles, taking the same route she'd raced Rhaegar on earlier that day, but in reverse.
"Shit, fuck, fuck, oh Gods, fuck, I am going to die. I am going to die and then Brandon will raise me from the dead to kill me again."
There was only one set of hoof beats behind her now, but she could tell her horse was slowing. She only had a stolen short sword, mostly dull, at her horse's side, but it was better than nothing.
She put on a short burst of speed, until she reached a hill, then quickly turned her horse aside to wrap around the peak, unsheathing the sword and facing her pursuer, who had to rear in order to avoid a collision.
It was Rhaegar. He didn't have his sword drawn at all, and he was smiling.
"My lady."
Lyanna lowered her sword and raised her helm. "How did you know it was me?"
"You are quite the accomplished rider, but I was behind you enough this morning to recognize your style."
She pulled the helm off completely and tossed it into the grass, "I suppose you'll be taking me to your father then."
"Maybe," he dismounted. He'd competed earlier that afternoon, his leathers were still sweaty and he rode a different horse, "or we could sit by that lovely large willow down there by the riverside for another twenty minutes, at which point we'll ride back the back way and you'll slip into camp by foot."
Lyanna dismounted too, "And you'll return my horse, with apologies but no sign of the rider?"
"We've barely met, my lady, but I feel as if you know me too well," Rhaegar laughed.
"Will your father be angry?"
"Oh, he'll be livid, but he wouldn't dare rebuke me too much, not with all the court in attendance. We might even be back in time for your brothers to still be at the lists."
They made themselves comfortable after Lyanna disposed of her armor in the deep river.
"So what made you decide to enter the lists?"
Lyanna thought about laughing, about saying she wanted to teach the fool knights a lesson, but the truth came out instead.
"When I was a child, my father let me run about with Ned and Ben, dress in breeches, learn swordplay and horseback riding. My mother died when I was ten, giving birth to a sister who didn't live to see the dawn. After that...after that I was made of Myrish glass, and I had to beg to go hunting and riding, even with an escort. I don't know why, it was my mother always disapproved of my running about with the boys; perhaps father wanted to honor her memory. But I've felt trapped like a captured beast since; the adult distractions I've been given simply underscore my entrapment."
Rhaegar was silent at her monologue. He watched the river pass by, unseeing.
Lyanna continued, "I went to see Maege - of Bear Island - only a year ago, and I was overwhelmed by jealousy at my lot; she's trained in the business of managing the island's people alongside her older brother, and she laughed when I asked if her father had promised her hand to anyone yet. She said her father wouldn't dare ship her off to some southern hold, not when she was the best guard captain the Island had."
"You feel trapped inside the wide world, as though those supposed to love you dearest hold you captive for your own benefit."
"I - yes...my lord, but you're a prince!"
Rhaegar picked up a stone at his side and rolled it through his fingers, "you said so yourself, the Lady Maege of tiny Bear Island need not marry if she chooses, yet you're the daughter of the Warden of the North and you must marry who he pleases. My father is the mad king of Westeros from Dorne to the Wall, and it was nearly inconceivable that his firstborn remained without wife or heir on his twentieth name day. The higher we are born the more locks they place on our cages."
"My lord-"
"We're alone, for the love of the Gods call me Rhaegar."
"Rhaegar..." his name felt odd on her tongue; familiar and foreign at the same time, "you call your own father mad? And you were a man grown, you could not have objected to the marriage? Found a wife better suited?"
He flicked his wrist almost lazily, sending the stone skipping across the river, "There were many lords who had marriage-able daughters. None of them were good enough for my father. He even scorned Lord Tywin's daughter, not that I'm terribly upset about it; she has a dangerous look about her, young as she is. But Tywin is the richest man in the seven kingdoms. No, only a princess would be good enough to enter the family, since there was no princess in it already."
"You could not have objected?" Lyanna asked again. The thought that this man, who would be king someday, could not choose his own wife, seemed overwhelming to her.
"You asked why I call my own father mad? Because he is. Because when I raised the slightest fuss about marrying Elia, saying that she was frail and didn't like me, he took my mother's hand and held it over a candle flame until I relented. He took delight in it, like he always had. My father's a monster, Lyanna. And the sooner he dies, the better."
Though she knew they were alone, Lyanna cast her eyes around them, in case the king or his guard were behind them listening in. There was so much treason in his words, though he was the king's son.
Rhaegar smiled and leaned in to whisper in her ear, "that's why I had this tournament, to try to drum up support amongst the lords who I know chafe under my father's rule. It would be a quick coup, and there would be prosperity once more. Father spends his time raving at my mother and his small council, roaming the throne room, running his hands over dragons dead for hundreds of years, or torturing innocents at his fires. He has no time for the realm, and Tywin has grown rich from handling the business on his own."
Lyanna barely heard his words. His breath crept over her skin, into her ear. Her skin prickled in pleasure.
"When I'm king, Lyanna, you won't have to marry Robert Baratheon. You won't have to marry anyone if you don't wish to. I can give you a castle in the north, lands to hold, like any lord," His lips brushed her neck just below her ear and she drew breath in quickly.
Her eyes were open, unseeing, all she felt was his finger turning her chin to face him and then they were kissing, a fierce bold kiss, more violent and passionate than those Lyanna had read about or imagined, making her heart beat and desire spread over her body.
Suddenly, he pulled away, studying her face as though it were a horse or sword for purchase, "We must get back, now, Lyanna. It wouldn't do for your brother to have to search for you; I only tenuously have your family's support as it is."
Lyanna slipped back into camp unseen, and her pavilion had only her apologetic maid who'd been unable to find the very specific and non-existent ribbon Lyanna had sent her out for. Quickly, Lyanna bathed and dressed, and was having the maid brush her hair when her brothers and Howland returned, filthy and sweating and bursting with a wild tale of the mysterious knight who'd bested three young squires in the name of honor. Howland blushed when Benjen suggested it'd been the tiny crannogman, but he'd insisted it hadn't been; he'd been competing in the archery competition at the time, placing into the next day's finals.
Lyanna just smiled and smoothed out her crimson dress, and suggested Howland escort her to the banquet if Robert failed to come by.
The banquet was an odd affair; everyone was buzzing over the faceless rider of the joust. Rumors abounded over who it had been, and the King himself didn't attend the banquet, apparently afraid for his life. Rhaegar, however, was all smiles and the picture of grace, serving wine to those around him in good humor, telling over and over again the story of how the rider had outrun him, only to find the stolen horse wandering around near a bend in the river, no rider in sight.
Lyanna tried to keep herself from staring at him, to keep herself from imagining his lips on hers, his hand tangled in her hair, his short gold beard rough on her skin.
Robert managed to ask her for a dance, and Lyanna found him lacking compared to the prince.
"I apologize for not being able to see you compete today, my lord," Lyanna was the picture of the perfect betrothed, but inside she repeated Rhaegar's words over and over: when I'm king you won't have to marry Robert Baratheon.
Robert waved his hand unsteadily, "not to worry, I've saved my best work for tomorrow. I've a hundred dragons riding on my besting my opponents in the melee, and I don't intend to leave our heirs destitute."
Lyanna turned her scowl into a mirthless laugh, "nor do I, my dear."
"You'll give Ned a kick from me, will you? I told him he needed to work on his form. Out of the lists on his first ride, he aught to be ashamed. Wait until I tell our quartermaster back at the Eyrie."
This, at least, was solid ground. Lyanna would always have room in her heart for gently mocking Ned, "he says that he's better in the melee as well, though I can't say that I haven't landed him flat on his rear once or twice when we used to spar."
Robert laughed heartily at that, "you're barely five stone, and yet I believe it! I'd wonder who they had teaching you northerners up there if I hadn't seen Brandon at work."
"My eldest brother has a gift for the arts of war. Ned's talents are of the mind, though I have no doubt he's grown as a swordsman since I last faced him."
"Never fear, my lady. You'll not have to pick up a sword once you're my wife."
"Oh? And what if I bring my own sword with me to Storm's End?"
Robert laughed again. Lyanna could smell the wine on his breath.
"You northern women! I suppose that's what I get. At least our sons will be hardy and strong, no doubt about that!"
Lyanna was biting back a quip when Robert was tapped on his shoulder.
Once Lyanna saw them face to face, she found herself hating Robert all the more. The prince was all lithe grace where Robert was hard and ruddy, his beard un-groomed. Rhaegar bowed to Robert politely, "If I may cut in?"
"Of course!" laughed Robert, "I'll have years to dance with Lady Lyanna yet, my lord."
Robert faded into the background as Lyanna took Rhaegar's hand.
"How fares the banquet, my lord?" Lyanna asked demurely. Now that his hand was at her waist, it was a more exquisite torment to look into his violet eyes. She was hyper-aware of the people surrounding them.
"Quite productive, my lady," Rhaegar smiled, "much more so than I would have anticipated, given the circumstances."
Lyanna smiled sweetly, "I have no doubt that the deft manner with which you ride and fight translates itself into all other aspects of your grace's life."
"Of that, I have no doubt you'll come to know, Lady Lyanna."
--
"Ned! I found her! Ned!"
"Lyanna!"
She could feel the horse under her, coarse warm fur sweaty and straining at the effort. They were almost there, just a little further.
"She's alive, but barely."
"Lya, wake up, please!"
Someone called her from far behind. She didn't want to turn and look, as close as she was.
"Gods, Howland, go find a maester, go find someone!"
"Ned...there's a child..."
"Go!"
--
The entire pitch had gone quiet. Everyone was staring at her, at Rhaegar, who held the wreath of blue roses from horseback.
Lyanna dared not look at anyone else, at the royal pavilion where the king and Princess Elia and their daughter sat, at where she knew Brandon stood amongst the defeated knights, at Robert Baratheon. Ned's hand was in hers suddenly, though she could not remember taking it.
Lyanna felt cold, bloodless. With shaking muscles she outstretched her empty hand to receive the wreath. It was heavier than she would have thought possible.
"Lady Lyanna Stark," Rhaegar said, his eyes never leaving hers, "the Queen of Love and Beauty."
--
"Lyanna, by the Gods, wake up!"
Ned...
"Please, Lya, I can't lose anyone else. Please. Oh Gods, spare her..."
With a great force of will, Lyanna opened her eyes. Ned was collapsed next to her, covered in blood and dirt. Howland stood in the doorway, almost unrecognizable in chain mail armor and just as filthy. They both looked years older than the last time she'd seen them.
Her son stirred fitfully in his sleep next to her. Her eyes slid from him to her blanket, soaked with blood. The snow - she'd been so cold, but it had been wonderful, so clean. The bloody bedclothes were clammy and wet.
"Lyanna..." tears streaked down Ned's face, leaving paths in the muck.
"I'm going to die, Ned," she reached for his hand. It felt like her arm weighed twenty stone.
He took it and she wondered whose blood was all over him.
"Lya, no. Stay with me, we can find a maester."
"It's too late, Ned. I'm so sorry. I failed everyone. I am so sorry," her words felt thin and lifeless, but she had no energy for anything else, to make anything else right, "tell father and Bran and Ben that I'm sorry."
Ned seemed to say something, but he choked on his words. Howland shifted in the doorway but stayed silent. He was crying too. Lyanna thought of the day they'd met, when he'd been sprawled out absurdly like a frog. He looked nothing like a frog now, small but deadly in his exhaustion.
"It's alright," Ned was stroking her hair absently. His eyes were watching her face, but kept being drawn to where the child slept.
"Ned, you have to do something for me," Lyanna said, "please, you have to do this last thing."
He swallowed heavily, "the child?"
"The child...he has to be kept safe...no one can know whose child he is. They will come for him if they know he is a Targaryen. They will suspect if they know he is mine...please..."
Ned swallowed and looked askance, "Of - of course..."
"Promise me..."
"I promise, Lyanna, I swear -"
"Promise me..."
"By the old gods and the new, Lyanna, I will raise him as my own son."
Lyanna heard Meraxes nicker.
He was restless, he needed to be ridden.
"Promise me, Ned..."
She never heard his reply, if he had one. She was too far away, galloping through the snow, the only sound in the forest Meraxes' hooves.
--
Lyanna had managed to give her escort the slip for the time being, and she relished the silence as Meraxes trotted along. He'd be of little use on the rocky Bear Island, where Lyanna would need to borrow one of House Mormont's massive, sturdy horses. But for now, Meraxes enjoyed the excercise of the hills, much steeper and more numerous than the area around Winterhold.
Lyanna dismounted and poured some water from a skin into her hand for Meraxes to drink. She might as well wait, here in the shade of a small copse of trees next to the road, for her escort. She'd already disappeared several times from their view during the trip, and they seemed used to it by now.
There was a clatter up ahead on the road, beyond the trees. Lyanna checked to make sure her sword was at her side, but otherwise did nothing. The roads were safe enough, and her escort not far behind.
Out from behind the trees and brush emerged a jet black horse and rider, and though Lyanna recognized him instantly, she gasped in shock.
"Rhaegar!" What're you doing here?"
"I've come for you, my dear."
"Me? But I..."
"My father is more insidious than I imagined he would be, more difficult to depose than I thought possible. I will take the throne, by force if necessary, but I can wait for you no longer."
"Rhaegar, I..."
"Will you come with me?"
He stretched his hand out to her. Behind her, Lyanna could hear her escort approaching.
She thought of Robert, of the long, tasteless life laid out for her.
Lyanna took Rhaegar's hand.