Lyanna clutched her shield arm to her body as she brought Vhagar to a stop. As if sensing the pain of his rider, the stallion was careful not to jostle her as he slowed, coming to a halt near the treeline of the field that they had claimed for their competition. The glancing blow she had taken to her shield was worse even than the strike that the Blount knight had slipped past her at Harrenhal, and she gripped the remains of her lance tightly, trying to overpower the throbbing of it.
She and Vhagar turned back, and she flicked her head to the side, opening her visor with the motion. Another horse was trotting along the far edge of the field, its rider forgotten amongst the daisies. If not for his hand coming up to open his own visor, she might have worried. Only a little, but she would have, and only because Ned would have been sad. At her nudge, Vhagar began to plod towards him.
When Lyanna had almost reached her betrothed, she dismounted before taking the final steps, and stopped just shy of his head, looking down at him. She opened her mouth, ready to tell him off for doubting her, but something about the way he was watching her made her reconsider. His eyes were very blue.
“Did I not tell you?” she said. Reconsider, and plough ahead anyway.
Robert snorted. “I was not expecting your trick,” he admitted, grudging. “But it wouldn’t work twice.”
“Then let’s go again. I’ve got more,” she said, stepping forward a bit more so she could properly loom over him.
Eagerness and something else crossed his face, but then he hesitated.
“Scared?” she goaded. The pain in her arm was fading, and she knew exactly how to make his lance slide off her shield next time.
Something akin to physical pain took hold of his expression, and he shook his head. “I- another time, we will,” he said, “but not now. Not here.”
She stepped back, shoulder sagging, but then she brightened. “I’ve got your oath.” She thumped him on the shoulder with the remnants of her lance. “When next we cross paths, you will fly again.”
“I slipped from my saddle,” Robert argued, starting to push himself up. “I hardly flew.”
“You sprouted wings.”
“Slipped,” he insisted. He was on his feet now, and suddenly Lyanna was the one being loomed over.
She didn’t like it. The great lout was grinning at something, and her face felt hot. She thumped him again. “Which of us put the other on their back?”
Robert opened his mouth, and then visibly bit back his words. His lack of argument brought a smirk to her face.
“What, shadowcat got your tongue?” she asked.
He swallowed. “That trick of yours would not work in a real battle,” he said, not quite petulant.
Lyanna shrugged. “I said I could ride circles around you.”
“...you did,” he said at length, his gaze going distant.
She grinned, the acknowledgement sending a thrill through her. “Come on, if we’re not going again. I need to be back before Charlotte realises I’m missing.”
“You said you had struck a deal with her,” Robert said, startling. “That she would be close enough to chaperone but not intrude.”
Lyanna scoffed. “She never would have agreed to that. She’s sterner than her brother, and Ser Rodrik is a terrible taskmaster.”
Robert groaned. “Your lord father will have me sent to the Wall for this.”
“Not if you keep your word,” she said, teasing now. “Now come on…”
They were quick to leave the field behind, one smug, the other worried. They still had to sneak back into the castle, just a young lord and his sworn sword out for a ride, but that was half the fun.
Maybe he wasn’t so awful, she thought.
X
Robert Baratheon is the worst, Lyanna thought to herself.
The day had started well, despite the fallout of her father finding out about her jousting. Charlotte hadn’t been as easily dodged as she had thought, the Cassel woman waiting until she was before her father and sure she had gotten away with it before betraying her. She was just lucky that the excitement of the weddings had overshadowed her mischief.
Even the damned summons to King’s Landing hadn’t managed to ruin the fun of riding through the woods. Sure, she had only gotten permission because she had framed it to her father as an invitation from Robert, and she the dutiful daughter making up for her misbehaviour by spending her time with her betrothed, and it had even been almost fun for a time, but then Robert Baratheon had went and opened his stupid fat mouth.
“...and I’ll have to wear those stupid southern dresses, because father says I can only wear what I like in places where our friends outnumber our enemies,” Lyanna had said. The path they followed that day was well trod, and likely a favourite of courting couples for its ease and closeness to Riverrun, but that only made her more annoyed.
“The courtiers would use any excuse to pick at you,” Robert said, commiserating. “You would have leave to wear whatever style you want in Storm’s End, of course,” he added.
“Thank you,” she said shortly, as Vhagar snorted, tossing his head. She didn’t want explanation and reassurances, she wanted to complain. “I should like to see what any courtier thinks they can say to a Stark.”
“They’d never have the ba-er, courage,” Robert said. “It’d be all rumours and gossip.”
“Have you had to put up with the like?” Lyanna asked. She hated to be the kind of person who talked and talked without asking anything in return, even when she was having a good whinge.
“Of a sort,” Robert said. “There are men whose pride couldn’t take a sparring loss to a lad of five and ten, so they would talk down to me about- well, they’d give me cause to challenge them again.” He gave her a grin. “Those spars were less friendly.”
His verbal stumble caught her mind no matter the brightness of his smile. “They’d talk down to you about what?”
Now he grimaced. “Well. About my bastard.”
“I see.” Frost could have issued from her nostrils.
Robert winced. “At least the dresses are the worst of it?” he tried. “You could like as not wrangle something out of your father if you wear them without complaint.”
She accepted the change in topic; if not her father, Ned would be a good target for such, surely. “The dresses are not the worst of it. The worst are the chaperones,” she said.
“Chaperones?” Robert asked.
“Every hour, every minute, every day, someone is there,” Lyanna said. “There’s never a chance to be alone!” She was building up to a good rant. “In the North, I can visit the godswood as I please and set out riding for hours, but in the south, I cannot even leave my room without supervision!” She knew, even without looking, that back down the trail they had come down there would be Charlotte and two Stark men, keeping them just in sight. If she had to go to court, it would be a long time until she had so few attendants again.
“But that’s for your own good,” Robert said.
Lyanna turned her head towards him, slowly.
Robert had been accused of many things, but cowardice - or perhaps good sense - was not one of them. “If you are seen to be without a chaperone, people could make up all sorts of tales and scandals about you,” he forged on.
“Scandals,” Lyanna said, “what, like sleeping with smallfolk and fathering bastards?”
Regret crossed Robert’s face. “I would not - I did what I did before our betrothal.”
“Pity you didn’t have a chaperone with you,” she said, sharp enough to cut.
Robert winced again, and there was only the quiet of the forest for a time, hoofsteps the only disturbance.
“What is her name?” Lyanna asked. She kept her gaze on the path ahead, though she watched him from the corner of her eye.
“Mya,” he said. And then he smiled.
Vhagar’s steps became just a little heavier, striking the ground hard enough to ring against a stone.
“You still have feelings for her,” Lyanna accused.
“What?” Robert said, blinking. “No, she isn’t-”
“Don’t deny it, it’s clear on your face,” Lyanna snapped. “Shall I expect to find her at Storm’s End when I arrive?”
“She-” but then he paused as her words penetrated.
“You’re thinking about it!” Lyanna said, incredulous. “What role would you give her? Cleaning your bedchamber, perhaps?”
“Mya is my daughter,” Robert hurried out. There was irritation in his voice now, leashed, but there. “I wouldn’t - you won’t be shamed, Lyanna. I would never do that to you.”
She didn’t believe him. “Do you regret it, at least?”
For a moment, Robert stared at her wordlessly. “Mya is…precious to me.”
A sound of frustration gargled its way from her throat. He didn’t understand. A girl was one thing, but had it been a boy - to risk it at all - no. Ned said he was a good man, but he couldn’t even see how he was setting her up for failure before she was ever Lady of Storm’s End.
“Lyanna, I-”
“You’ve got a fat head, Robert,” she told him, and then Vhagar was breaking into a gallop, and she left him behind.
Robert Baratheon is the worst.
X
She never felt freer than when she was galloping down a long road, hair billowing out behind her like a banner in the wind. Vhagar was just as gleeful, and she knew it was all Charlotte and Torrhen and his men could do to keep up with her. The urge rose in her to really let loose and leave them all behind, but she didn’t. Her father had trusted her to ride free in the Riverlands with only two dozen to guard her, and she wouldn’t betray that. Not after he had spared her from the invitation to the royal court and all the troubles that came with it. She would shudder at the idea of having to share a bed with a handmaiden, but she was too busy grinning as Vhagar’s hooves ate up the road before her.
They had finally escaped Riverrun a week ago, and while her father and brothers were doing lordly things and riding slowly from castle to castle on their way to the Vale, she had been given leave to range south and east. Brandon said it was because she was spoiled, but she knew it was because her father had approved of how she had taken Robert to task without causing a scene - he had told her so. Even if he had then made her make nice with Robert and his fat head. Even if he had apologised, not that he even understood what he’d done wrong. Even if she knew she hadn’t truly explained to him why she hated the idea of-
There were three riders on the road ahead.
Vhagar started to slow at a touch, going from gallop to canter to trot. Torrhen would never let her hear the end of it if she didn’t let him catch up. The road was starting to bend, one side untouched forest, the other fields of young wheat, and the three riders, their backs to her, had yet to notice them.
“Trouble, my lady?” Torrhen asked, joining her on her left. Older than Ned, if not by much, she had been happy that her father had assigned him to lead her guard, partly as thanks for his own father’s long service with the household guard, and partly in recognition for cutting down the bandits who had thought to lurk along the path of her weekly ride, back home.
“Just some hedge knights, I think,” Lyanna said. They bore no colours, and they were too far away for her to tell the quality of their mounts.
Torrhen squinted down the road, not quite scowling. He glanced back the way they had come.
“We’ve ridden too fast today for anyone to have seen us and sent word ahead,” Lyanna said, almost wheedling. She didn’t care to retrace a road already travelled, and Vhagar was still eager to be let loose. “Father knows the path we planned to take, but if we take another and something goes wrong…”
It was enough to convince him, dark brow easing. “We’ll continue. Lyanna, if you would ride between Daryl and Gawen.”
Lyanna let herself be overtaken, joining the centre of the column. She was quick to wheedle and bargain, but she also knew when not to. Charlotte was waiting there for her, giving her a nod as she checked the knife at the small of her back. She might not be as skilled as Maege Mormont, but she was still plenty dangerous.
The three hedge knights noticed them as they approached, and moved to the side in single file, as was polite. Under Torrhen’s lead, their column slowed so as to avoid kicking up dust, as was also polite. Closer now, Lyanna could see that they must have been successful tourney knights - their armour was unadorned, but of fine quality, and their mounts had good lines to them, even if the Ryswells bred better. The first man they passed raised one hand in acknowledgement, and so did the next and the next, Torrhen acknowledging them in turn. The actions eased the tension amongst the men charged by Lord Stark to protect his one and only daughter, for all that they remained vigilant. It seemed that they would pass by without issue.
“Lady Lyanna?”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Lyanna blinked as the middle rider did a double take upon seeing her. That voice was familiar. “Prince Rhaegar?”
A visor was lifted, and the face of the Prince was revealed. He had a moment to stare at her in surprise, before the pace of her column overtook him. He nudged his horse on, and soon the three of them were keeping up so that he could ride alongside her.
Ahead, Torrhen was swift to notice. “Woah!” he cried, raising a fist. He made a circular gesture, and then his men were turning and breaking off to circle those who they had taken for hedge knights.
A sword range free from its sheath, as the knight who had been leading took exception, putting himself between Rhaegar and her father’s men. A flurry of steel answered him as those at the front and the rear of the column answered in kind, and imminent violence hung in the air.
“Stay your swords!” Lyanna shouted. Vhagar let out a piercing whinny as he slid to a stop, forcing those behind her to do the same.
The third knight had his hand on his own weapon, but Rhaegar only raised his hands, palms down, aiming to impart calm. “Listen to your lady,” he said, “she knows I mean her no harm.”
Torrhen had his men surrounding the three of them entirely now, as Charlotte shepherded Lyanna away from the confrontation. The northerner was staring at the prince, unblinking, his sword at the ready. Only those who had been closest to Lyanna had not drawn their swords, but they were still ready to at the first sign.
Finally, Torrhen nodded, lowering his sword. “Your Grace. My apologies.” He did not sound very sorry.
Rhaegar only smiled. “You were simply doing your duty, as was Oswell.” He reached up to remove his helm, and he shook his head as silver-blond hair was freed, strands almost shimmering in the sunlight.
The first man - Ser Oswell Whent, the Kingsguard - only sheathed his sword once all the northmen had done the same. He and the third man - and with such fiery red hair it could only be Lord Jon Connington - likewise removed their helms. The circle of men around them eased back.
“I had not expected to see you again for some time, Lady Lyanna,” Rhaegar said, looking past those around him to catch her eye. “What brings you here this day?”
Lyanna found herself drifting closer, stepping around an unresisting Charlotte. Vhagar nipped the haunch of a mount that wasn’t quite quick enough to move aside, and then she was through her father’s men and before the prince once more. “I am exploring the lands of my goodsister, while my brother meets with its people,” she said, easily giving the excuse she and her father had agreed on.
“A fine way to aid your House,” Rhaegar said, approving.
She straightened at the comment. Brandon could take his complaints of her free rein all the way to the midden heap where they belonged. Maybe he would find his hypocrisy there too. “Starks are strong when we work as one,” she said, stealing the spirit of a phrase her father liked to use. “What of you, your grace? What brings you here?”
“An escape from court, if not a respite from duties,” Rhaegar said. “There are Houses here who my family should like to show a quiet favour to. I have just come from speaking with the Rygers, amongst others, and now we ride to Harrenhal.”
They were south of Lychester as they spoke, and Lyanna tried not to think of a crown of flowers, even as she felt a shameful thrill at the memory of it. “I ride for the Inn at the Crossroads, to meet with my lord father,” she said. “And then for the Vale.”
Rhaegar made a noise of interest. “How fortuitous,” he said. “Our paths align. By your leave, I would offer to join you for as long as that remains so; I am most interested in the histories and legends of the North but have yet to find the chance to hear them from the lips of one to hold to them.”
Torrhen shifted, mouth opening with a clear denial on his lips, only to pause, tongue held by the reality of the gulf between his birth and that of the man before him. Lyanna would have to do it for him; her father had been clear that he didn’t want her dallying with strange lords or making friends with hedge knights because of their skills on a horse.
But then it struck her, suddenly, that this was the perfect opportunity for her. She could have her fun, stretch out her adventure in a way that she couldn’t be blamed for - for who would presume to tell a Prince to ride faster - and be given a ready made and pointed lesson to compare to Robert’s catting around. She could get through his fat head on what it was like to have your position weakened, before mentioning that she had been chaperoned and guarded the entire time. She could even follow up on her father’s inquiries about getting a Kingsguard to squire Benjen. He might have erred when he made such a public showing of his appreciation for her daring, casting implications that weren't there for anyone who didn't know the truth of the knight of the laughing tree, but she knew. Another lord she would have dismissed, but he had proven his chivalry already.
“I would be delighted,” she said, smiling, ignoring the look on Torrhen’s face and the disapproval she could feel emanating from Charlotte. “None can doubt the conduct of the Crown Prince and his companions,” she added, more to Torrhen and Charlotte than anyone.
A truer smile broke over the prince’s face. “Please,” he said. “Call me Rhaegar.”
X
The journey across the Riverlands was much improved by the presence of Rhaegar and his companions. None of them could match her and Vhagar on the gallop, but Oswell had a black humour that drew a shocked gasp and a torrent of giggles from her the first time she heard it - she wouldn’t be able to look at another Frey without thinking of weasels and Lyseni pleasure houses - and Rhaegar had proven again to be as gracious as she knew he was. Charlotte was a constant cloud of disapproval, for all only Lyanna seemed to notice. If only she could share what Rhaegar had done for her, she knew they would not worry so, and it would clear up the mess of the crowning at Harrenhal, too. If Aerys was not so dangerous, and Rhaegar not so steadfast in shouldering the weight of it all, she would have confessed to being the knight of the laughing tree in a heartbeat. Rhaegar had shared his troubles with court secrets and gossip with her, and how even sharing a secret with a trusted handful would see it escape, so no. Aerys was dangerous and Rhaegar steadfast, so she would hold her tongue and enjoy the nightly harp songs by the campfire despite Charlotte’s pointed looks.
Some days, they would find a nice riverside to follow, or a field of flowers to admire as they travelled, and it became more of an excursion than a journey from one place to another. Lyanna found that she didn’t quite mind it, so long as they still took time to properly ride.
“...storms can be quite fierce, and while they can often mean confinement until they pass, they can be spectacular to watch,” Jon was saying just behind her. “Even if they do leave the horses jittery and ill-tempered. I have had several that I had to sell on for their own good.”
“Is that common?” Rhaegar asked. He rode beside her, a concession to Torrhen and his need to surround her with guards when he could have decided to ride at the head of the column.
“Moreso in the seats that sit upon Shipbreaker Bay,” Jon said. “Rare is the lord who would go to the effort of keeping a favoured mount out of their grasp for sentiment.”
They were following a winding hill trail that day, one that had required Oswell’s knowledge to find. It would add a day to their journey, but Lyanna didn’t mind, even if Torrhen’s shoulders and Charlotte’s pursed lips said they did.
“I could not imagine giving up Neferion,” Rhaegar said, reaching out to rub his mount’s neck.
“Nor I Vhagar,” Lyanna agreed. She would simply help him overcome his fear of the thunder and lightning, as she had his fear of blizzards. She doubted the occasional storm, even in the Stormlands, could compare to the everpresent gales of a northern winter.
Rhaegar smiled at her words, and for a time they spoke of all things horseflesh. She was able to interrogate him on his joust with Ned’s goodbrother at Storm’s End, and then their conversation turned to Harrenhal - not the joust and how it had ended, but the horse race.
“That boy Toby was the best rider there,” Lyanna insisted. They were leaving the hills behind, and here and there she could see freshly sown fields. The column had stretched out a little bit, and Jon was talking with Charlotte behind them, asking about the North.
“Lord America’s ward, correct? Did he not place second?” Rhaegar asked.
“First place was someone on a sand steed, and Toby was riding something with Vale lines,” Lyanna said.
“Fine warhorses, but less suited for speed,” Rhaegar noted.
“Yes!” Lyanna said, almost pointing at him in her enthusiasm before countless lessons in decorum restrained her. Charlotte might actually rap her knuckles if she did that. “I could have won that race on Vhagar, but I definitely would have on Night Queen, even if Toby had a sand steed.”
“I have no doubt,” Rhaegar said, giving Vhagar an admiring glance. “I shall have to ask after Ryswell lines when I next have need for a mount.”
“Some of the best mounts in all the kingdoms come from the Rills,” Lyanna said proudly. “They breed herds for every need, but without going so far as to give them a weakness.” She had been terribly disappointed when she had been told that a sand steed would struggle to deal with even their summer snows.
“Your words are persuasive; my master of horses is not half so passionate,” Rhaegar said. “I shall have to pen a letter to Lord Ryswell.”
Lyanna ducked her head as she smiled. “They would be happy to sell you the pride of their lines.” If she could go to her father with news of royal interest in his bannerman’s industry, he would be pleased.
“Of course,” Rhaegar said, nodding. “A shame you could not participate in the race.”
“Ugh,” Lyanna said. “Father wouldn’t give me permission. Lord America gave a boy of - he said he was twelve but he can’t have been - and he almost won!” She scowled. “I would have won.”
“No doubt,” Rhaegar said, casting his eyes over the fields they were now passing.
“Have you heard anything of Lord America?” Lyanna asked, suddenly curious.
“How so, Lyanna?”
“In your visits to the riverlords,” Lyanna said. “He and his retinue left shortly after the weddings. I think they were riding for the Vale.”
“I am afraid I have not,” Rhaegar said. “Perhaps he meant to paint the Eyrie.”
“I thought he might have taken ship to Essos,” Lyanna said. “He didn’t seem to think much of them.”
“Ah,” Rhaegar said. “No, he did not, but such a dislike is something that good lords must simply learn to live with.” He shook his head, saddened. “One man cannot make a difference in a conflict such as that, and I suspect that he will find himself lingering in the west once demand for his skills in portraiture begins to spread.”
Lyanna made a noise of agreement, though for once she thought that Rhaegar had misjudged things. She remembered the look in his eyes when he had spoken about the Slaver Cities, and it looked much like the one he had worn when he had offered to take her and disappear after the misunderstanding at the joust. He wouldn’t be held back by nobles throwing coin at him for paintings. Ned liked him, too.
“Lyanna, you must tell me some tales of your home,” Rhaegar said. “I have heard tell of grumkins and snarks, but…”
Conversation flowed, as did the road beneath their mounts, and Lyanna had to pull herself back from getting too enthused as she repeated Nan’s tales. Rhaegar didn’t seem to mind, always asking after more.
All good things had to come to an end, however. Eventually the time came for their paths to split, as she had to turn north to make for the Trident and Rhaegar and his companions had to continue with their duties. They parted ways in good cheer, and Lyanna smiled as Rhaegar gave her a final wave in the distance, knowing that her father would be pleased by the promise to see about a squiring with the Barristan Selmy for Benjen. It would easily make up for being two days late.
Charlotte and Torrhen’s moods improved now that they were alone again, lifting her own even further in turn, and she found herself humming as the sun shone down on her. Dragonflies buzzed in the air as she led the way across a river, and she couldn’t help but smile. Her time in the south was coming to an end and the North already pulled at her heart, but she could not regret her time there.
X
They were riding through the woods when it happened.
It had been a relief to escape the midday sun, leaving behind open fields and drystacked stone walls for shaded boughs and grasping branches, the road so old and well travelled that it had been carved into the earth, the sides reaching as high as the bellies of the mounts. It was as they rounded a bend in the road, the sun dappled path opening slightly before them, that Torrhen gave the signal to slow.
Likewise rounding the bend ahead of them, there was a party of armed men, riding in disciplined pairs and about the same strength as them. They had seen them at the same time, taking in the grey direwolf banner, and slowed in turn. They bore the Targaryen dragon.
Both groups were cautious to see the other, as was proper when armed men came upon each other unexpectedly, but both began to thin their columns, yielding half the road to each other, narrow as it was. Lyanna couldn’t help but huff as Charlotte made sure to slip in front of her, and she received a poked out tongue in turn, but she didn’t complain. She craned her neck, looking for Rhaegar and wondering if his path had brought him back across her own, but she didn’t see him.
As they neared, the leader of the Targaryen men slowed further, raising his right hand in greeting. “Ho there, Stark men,” he said. The helm he wore covered much of his face, but he opened a partial visor to the side, revealing the pale skin around his mouth.
“Hail,” Torrhen returned, raising his right arm in turn. “What brings men of House Targaryen to the Riverlands?” The columns came to a stop, not quite beside one another.
“We ride in search of Prince Rhaegar,” the leader asked, voice pleasant. “Have you seen him?”
“Two days ago,” Torrhen replied. Lyanna couldn’t see his face, but the way he leant forward, one elbow resting on his knee, suggested sympathy. “Are you charged with escorting him?”
“Aye,” the dragonman said, not gloomy, but clearly wishing he could be. “It is a great honour.”
“Such duties come with their own difficulties,” Torrhen said, and Lyanna narrowed her eyes at him for his commiserating tone. “The Prince did make mention of hoping to reach Harrenhal within the sennight.”
The Targaryen man paused, considering. “If we can head him off…you might have just saved us weeks of following old news.”
Lyanna quickly grew bored of their continuing conversation, and her attention drifted to Charlotte’s russet hair, examining the braid it was in. She preferred her hair free when riding for pleasure, but keeping it clean was a chore, and Charlotte had promised to show her a crown braid that would keep much of its bulk out of the way. The column started to shift, preparing to move on, and it seemed the conversation was over. Both parties started to pass each other by, single file. The horse ridden by the leader of the Targaryen men caught her eye as he neared; it was a beautiful animal, midnight black where it wasn’t covered by barding, though she could make out a splotch of white around one eye where its armour had shifted.
“Oh,” the leader said, gesturing with his right hand, as if he had suddenly remembered something. They were halfway past each other, and he was almost even with Lyanna. “There is something you should know.” And then he drew his dagger with his left hand and drove it through the throat of the man in front of Charlotte.
Chaos descended.
“TREACHERY!” Torrhen bellowed, fending off blows from the two men closest to him. “For the North, and-” he was cut off with a horrific gurgle as a third man joined his foes, half-swording to drive their weapon through the gap at his armpit and deep into his torso. He slumped in his saddle, dying, just as his men died around him.
Charlotte had turned her horse and surged forward the moment the ambush had been sprung, putting herself between Lyanna and the Targaryen leader. “Lyanna, go!” she shouted, turning towards her. “Go now, we will-!”
The sound she made as a sword emerged from her belly was like nothing Lyanna had ever heard before. She heard it clearly, despite the clamour of pain and death rising around them, and it was all she could do to stare in horror.
“Go!” Charlotte choked out, and then she was falling from her saddle as she was kicked off the blade that had killed her.
Her murderer was there, pointing at Lyanna, and then Vhagar was turning about, kicking a man in the head who came too close, even as Stark men flowed past her to get to the fight. Arrows shot from the woods, taking their mounts in the side, but Lyanna didn’t see what happened next.
“Gamon, Corys, after her!”
She fled, and the screams of the dying followed. Men she had teased and looked up to gave their lives to give her a heartbeat’s head start, the suddenness of the treachery proving too much to be overcome. An arrow skittered off Vhagar’s barding - only worn because Torrhen had otherwise despaired at getting her to slow down and stay with her guards, her people who were being slaughtered behind her oh gods - and another just missed her.
Vhagar thundered down the path that had once been so pleasant, now cramped and confining. No more arrows came, but there were three riders on the path ahead of her, angling to cut her flight short, their black gambesons lending them menace. She rode right at the first, and suddenly she was of two minds - one of horror and grief and denial, the other the reins in her hands and the power of Vhagar beneath her.
The first rider panicked at her approach, yanking hard on his reins as he tried to avoid her. He only succeeded in making his mount rear up, and before he could recover she was around him, her arm brushing against his leg, they were so close. The second saw it happen but couldn’t stop her from veering around him, leaving only the third. He reached out to try and seize Vhagar’s reins, or maybe her, but she let herself slip from her saddle, keeping herself from falling only by her knee hooked over it as her hair came close to trailing the ground, and then she was past them and nearing the edge of the forest.
She could hear men shouting over Vhagar’s hoofbeats, trying to pursue, and any other time she would have felt only contempt for the idea that anyone could catch her, but she and Vhagar had already run to their heart’s content that morning and her people were being murdered.
Lyanna and Vhagar fled, and the Targaryen men followed.
In no time at all they were clearing the forest and back out amongst the fields, and Lyanna knew she had to find a way to gain distance and break their line of sight, but there were no lords nearby she could trust, not against Targaryen men, this wasn’t supposed to happen, it was madness-
There were three riders in the distance ahead of her, riding hard. They bore no standards, their armour unadorned, but she recognised them. She felt like she should have been relieved, but there was only a gaping chasm where her heart should have been.
She reached the three knights, or they reached her, only for them to continue past her, and she let Vhagar slow, her mount blowing hard. Her pursuers were hot on her heels, five of them, but they were met by the knights, and then they were dead. Charlotte’s murderer wasn’t one of them.
Lyanna blinked, and then the knights were before her. Rhaegar reached for her hands, and she realised they were trembling on her reins.
The prince’s face was shadowed. “We were too late,” he said. He looked back down the road, towards the forest. Jon and Oswell shared grim looks behind his back, still holding bloody swords.
“We cannot stay here,” Jon said.
“No,” Rhaegar agreed. “Quickly, now.”
He pulled gently at her hands, and Lyanna let herself be led. Her people were dead, and she didn’t know what to do.