They rode hard, but Lyanna couldn’t find any joy in it. Not when the sound Charlotte had made as she’d been stabbed kept playing through her head. Charlotte had helped her pick out her first mount, and taught her how to care for him. She wasn’t sure she would find joy in riding ever again.
The road they followed took them west first, then north, as they circled around the forest that - that she had been ambushed in. There was no sign of black clad riders, but they were cautious all the same, keeping to side paths and game trails, away from larger roads. It slowed them some, but from the quiet, terse conversations she overheard between her rescuers, it was judged to be a safer tradeoff.
They were making their way down a farmer’s path, obscured by the brambles that lined his fields, when Rhaegar approached her.
“My people sent word to me that Aerys would not accept another Stark,” he said quietly. “I still did not think he would resort to this.”
Lyanna returned to herself, dragging her unseeing gaze from the road ahead to the prince. She managed a noise of acknowledgement.
“We rode as swiftly as we could. I am - there are no apologies I can offer that could make up for what my House has done to you,” Rhaegar said. He was watching the road ahead, keeping an eye on Oswell’s back, but here he glanced sideways to Lyanna. “Aerys has gone too far.”
There was only the buzz of insects and the quiet plodding of the horses, but Lyanna still heard the gurgle that Torrhen had made as he was killed, and she shuddered. “If I had-”
“My lady, no,” Rhaegar said. “I think it clear now that he only ever issued his invitations as a way to gather hostages.”
She reached for words, but found none. If she tried to force them, it felt like she would choke. Some of her feeling showed on her face.
“I am sorry, Lyanna,” Rhaegar said. Sorrow was etched through his voice. “You are safe now, with me, but I know this does not undo your grief.”
Something lurched in her chest, a pain that had nothing to do with the physical, but she pushed it all away, doing her best to think of anything else. She reached for anger, but all she found were tiny embers, smothered under the weight of - no, she would not think about it. “My father,” she managed after too long a pause. “He will - he will know what to do.”
“We will take you to him,” he promised. “We will reach the crossroads inn within the week. I will speak with Lord Stark, and Aerys will answer for his crimes.”
Lyanna let herself hope, and as they rode further north, she started to believe. Soon, she would have her father, and then he would drag Aerys Targaryen before a heart tree to split him from crotch to throat and water the boughs red.
It was not to be.
They had stopped in at a village - not large, not small, just one of hundreds similar dotted about the Riverlands - in order to resupply before making the final stretch to the Trident. Lyanna was minding the horses while her sav- the others saw about buying necessities, tucked away in the corner of what passed for the village square. Vhagar was butting his head gently against hers, concerned, when something made her look up, wiping at her eyes. Across the small square of hard packed dirt, Rhaegar and Oswell were speaking with a stocky village elder. Whatever he told them was not pleasing, for all that they thanked him and handed over a small pouch afterwards.
By the time they returned, Lyanna’s mind was already conjuring dread imaginings. “What is it?” she asked, hands tightening around the end of her braid.
“A band of men rode through here yesterday, offering a reward for anyone who had seen a young woman who shares your looks,” Oswell said. He shared a look with Rhaegar. “Can you…how many men were there, in the forest?”
All her efforts in thinking of something else, anything else, were dashed upon rocks as she remembered the look on Charlotte’s face as she told her to flee. Something lanced through her chest.
Rhaegar’s hand was on her shoulder. “We will not let them hurt you, Lyanna. I will not let them hurt you. You will see your people avenged, but first we must escape the Riverlands.”
She let out a shuddering breath. “Thirty. At least. There were archers hiding. And you killed five.”
“If the elder counted them right,” Oswell said to Rhaegar, his voice trailing off.
“Fifteen men. And they would not split their numbers in half to search random villages,” Rhaegar said. His hand remained on Lyanna’s shoulder, firm but gentle.
“Three men against fifteen,” Oswell said, the slant of his brow harsh as he shook his head. “If Arthur were with us, I would take the odds, but not again and again.”
“They planned for failure,” Rhaegar said. “These men may not have even been the same from the ambush.” He withdrew his hand, folding his arms and tapping a beat on his bicep as he thought. “To take the direct path would be unwise.”
“They might expect us to try for Harrenhal,” Oswell said, “but what about Riverrun?”
Rhaegar hesitated. “It depends on Aerys. He might suspect Harrenhal first, or think it as good as his own.”
Lyanna listened as they spoke, cold fingers crawling up her spine at the thought of more black clad men laying in wait for her. “Are there no keeps closer?” she asked, hesitant. “If we could gain shelter at one, and my father came to us…”
But Rhaegar was shaking his head. “I would not wish to risk a lord’s choice between myself and the king.” He considered. “Their men, however - if we rode out with them, they would not hesitate to give their lives for the goodsister of Lady Catelyn against men I say are falsely wearing the colours of my House.”
Again, Lyanna heard the sound Torrhen had made, and she wanted to retch. She shook her head.
“We could ride south,” Oswell suggested suddenly.
Rhaegar turned his concerned gaze away from Lyanna to his companion. “South,” he said.
“They would not expect it,” Oswell said, becoming more enamoured with the idea. “They will not be watching for it. We could be days away from them before they knew to pursue.”
“It would mean a delay in returning you to your family, Lyanna,” Rhaegar told her. “Perhaps a long one. We cannot know how that path would unfold.”
“South,” Lyanna said. They couldn’t know, but it would mean no one would have to give their lives so she could flee, and that was all that mattered. “We’ll go south.”
“Very well,” Rhaegar said. “We will have to find a way to send word to your father, though doing so quietly will be difficult.”
“We cannot risk a raven,” Oswell warned. “Any of us would be recognised, and our path given away. Beware Varys. I have witnessed him seem to pluck knowledge from the air.”
Rhaegar was quiet for a long moment, thinking deeply. “He cannot know I have you. Only that I warned your father that his offer was rejected, at most. We could…” But he did not finish. “South,” he said again, and it was decided.
Lyanna returned to Vhagar, overwrought, and in short order Jon had returned with an extra horse, barely better than a nag, and several packs of equipment.
As afternoon marched on to dusk, they rode hard once more, and again Lyanna could find no joy in it, save for the knowledge that no one would be dying for her again.
At least not on that day.
X
No one died, but nor did things get better.
They had almost rounded the Gods Eye, and planned to spend the night in a cramped inn at a village the locals called Briarwhite, when a lone rider approached Rhaegar as the four of them sat and ate in the downstairs area of the inn.
The man was dust covered, and looked to have ridden hard, an expression of relief crossing his face as he laid eyes on them. They were the only four in the inn, save for a girl scrubbing plates in a bucket, over by the hearthfire.
“M’lord,” the man said as he slipped onto a bench with Jon and Oswell, opposite Lyanna and Rhaegar. “Praise the Seven. This is the third village I’ve checked.” He was slight, but with a pudgy, forgettable face.
“Eliar,” Rhaegar said, surprised. “This is one of my trusted men,” he said to Lyanna, but his attention was still on the man. “What news?”
“He knows his men failed, but not how,” Eliar said. Oswell pushed his plate and the remains of his meal to him, and he took it with a muttered thanks.
“And his reaction?” Rhaegar asked.
“He sent three thieves to the pyre, but there has been no call to his bannermen,” Eliar said. He shifted uncomfortably.
“I see.” Tap tap-tap-tap went his nails on the table.
“How did you know to look for us here?” Oswell asked, frowning. He darted a look at the servant girl, as if she might be responsible.
“I reasoned that if there was no word of the lady being found, you had either slipped past them or gone elsewhere entirely,” Eliar said. “Alran rode for Stoney Sept, as I searched south of the lake.”
It seemed to satisfy Oswell, but only barely.
“Am I suspected?” Rhaegar asked.
Eliar shook his head. “No. There have been no whispers, and your father remains the same.”
A flicker of something crossed Rhaegar’s face, but it was swiftly buried. He leaned forward, launching into a quiet interrogation of the state of things in the Red Keep, and Lyanna listened. There was much she didn’t understand, names she wasn’t familiar with and issues that were spoken of only in implication, but still she did her best to follow along. The picture revealed was not a nice one. With Lysa, Elbert, and Stannis all still ‘guests’ in King’s Landing, all those that might stand beside her father as he took justice for the Starks were cut off at the knees.
Tap tap-tap-tap went Rhaegar’s fingers on the table. “He will use the hostages to demand Lyanna’s presence.”
“No,” Lyanna said, the word slipping out, a plea.
“No, I do not see Lord Stark agreeing to such a thing,” Rhaegar said, “but he will make the threat all the same, and the Lords Arryn, Baratheon, and Tully will be forced to respond.”
None of them would choose Lyanna over their own blood, and they would be right to do so, but that was cold comfort to her there in that cramped inn.
“Perhaps…” Rhaegar said, voice low. “Perhaps there is an answer.”
“What is it?” Lyanna demanded.
“If Lord Stark does not have you, he cannot be compelled to hand you over,” Rhaegar said. He turned, looking directly at her. “If you have vanished into the ether - immediately after Aerys’ men sought to seize you by force - then your father and his allies will have greater room to negotiate.” An idea seemed to strike him. “Perhaps they could even push for a Great Council.”
It meant little to Lyanna, but it seemed to have lit a fire in Rhaegar, and so she tried to muster up a smile for him. “Then, we will try to return to him without being seen? So my father can claim he does not have me?”
At this Rhaegar seemed to diminish, and he hesitated, much as her father had when she had once wanted to know what happened to her pony after it had broken its leg.
“Even if we manage to return you to Lord Stark unseen, it will not stay a secret. Not with so many attendants as a Lord Warden has,” Jon said, speaking bluntly. “The choice would be between returning, and vanishing.”
Lyanna knew that no northman would betray her presence if her father asked them not to, but there would be more than northmen around him.
“I cannot make this choice for you, Lyanna,” Rhaegar told her. “It is not my place to do so.”
“If I disappeared, would the others be safe?” she asked. She felt like she was asking a question she already had the answer to, knowing it wasn’t what she hoped.
Rhaegar was quiet for a moment, and the only sound was the clank of the dishes and the crackle of the fire. “Aerys is not a good man,” he said, “though he is cunning, paranoid, and canny. Your absence would see him chasing shadows, and allow your father to demand answers, rather than be the one responding to the king.”
Then, the only smart answer was for her to disappear. “But, where would we hide?” Lyanna asked. “If we still cannot approach a lord for their raven…”
“Perhaps a manse in King’s Landing?” Jon suggested. “It would never be expected; none would even think to look there.”
“We would have to be involved in establishing it, and Varys would learn of her,” Oswell said, shaking his head. “The king has him watch his family closely, Rhaegar especially.”
“It is a good thought, to choose somewhere that would not even be suspected,” Rhaegar said slowly. “There may be a place in the south…it will require preparation, but - Eliar, is Derron established?”
The slight man had been quiet as the lords talked, eating as swiftly as he could without disturbing the conversation. He swallowed the last of it. “He arranged other opportunities for the last of those not loyal to you shortly before I left.”
“I have two tasks for you,” Rhaegar told the man. “First, you will send my word to Darry, and have them send it on to Lord Arryn,” Rhaegar told him. “If we are to vanish, my hand in this cannot be seen, but I would let them know that I am working to secure the safety of the hostages. Better Varys find that than the truth, should he investigate.”
“Your will, milord.”
“Second, contact Derron, and inform him that I need him and his men at Summerhall. Quietly.”
Lyanna watched and listened as Rhaegar gave instructions to his man, and Eliar questioned and clarified. Partway through, she felt her leg begin to tremble as she realised that she truly wasn’t going to get to go home any time soon. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop it.
Rhaegar noticed. “Jon, I think Lyanna would enjoy a stroll around the village. Would you escort her.”
Jon was quick to rise, and Lyanna started to move a slow beat later. She didn’t want to go, but she didn’t want to stay, either. They spent an awkward half an hour doing circuits of the village. Another time, she might have felt bad for the way the smallfolk tried to ignore them as they went about their end of day tasks under the setting sun, but she was too far adrift in her own thoughts. It was all she could do not to think about the things she didn’t wish to think about, but that only left her thinking about her father, and her mother, and what they would be thinking could have happened to her until Rhaegar found a safe way to send word that she was unhurt.
Eventually, it was time to return to the inn. Eliar was gone, as was the inn girl. The inn itself had three guest rooms on the floor above, and they would have them all - one for Lyanna, one for Rhaegar, and one for Oswell and Jon to share. She was escorted to her room in a fugue, and she remembered the door being closed behind her.
Lyanna blinked at the sound of knocking on her chamber door. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, and there was a lantern lit in the corner, its candle still casting light. The room itself was simple and plain, only a hay stuffed mattress on a wonky bed and a basin for washing one’s face. Through the cracked shutters, she could spy moonlight. The knock at her door sounded again.
She rose to open the door. It was Rhaegar. He had his harp, but she was already returning to take her seat again. A moment later, the bed shifted as he joined her.
The plucking of strings filled the air, but then they faltered, fading away.
“I am sorry,” Rhaegar said at length. “I know you enjoy my music, and I had thought to take your mind away from your grief.”
“I, I thought I would see my father again soon,” Lyanna said. She could feel herself starting to shake, all the emotion that she had bottled away starting to rise. “My brothers.” She had told herself so many times in the past week that she only had to hold out until she saw them again, until she could return North, return home.
“You will see them again, in time,” Rhaegar murmured.
She hardly heard him. She needed to see them now, needed to tell Martyn and Rodrik how brave their sister had been before she had gotten her killed, needed to tell Torrhen’s father - she was sobbing, great heaving gasps that threatened to suffocate her. Rhaegar’s arm was around her, and she was sobbing into his chest as everything she had been ignoring and pushing down came rushing up at once.
He was a poor substitute for her father.
X
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Their journey to Summerhall was swift, unhindered by any martial troubles. Whatever was going on between the king and her family, at least it did not seem to have come to the point of open warfare. There was no mustering of banners, no skirmishing in the borderlands between kingdoms - her choice to hide herself away had been the correct one, so far.
It had not been entirely without trouble. The farther south they rode, the more it had felt like she was dragging some ever increasing weight behind her, lashed to her heart by harsh ropes and cruel hooks. She had managed to avoid embarrassing herself in front of - against - Rhaegar again, but she knew she had been poor company even until they had passed Tumbleton. She had spent many nights staring into the campfire, hardly talking, and he had gone to such lengths to buoy her spirits - questioning her about everything that made her love her home, listening as she went into exhaustive detail about her ideal horse, playing music each night, almost serenading her - that she felt ungrateful, looking back now that they were nearing the Red Mountains. He must have thought her to be just a silly girl, unable to control herself, and it had taken his departure for two weeks to be seen and to attend to his duties, to wake her up to herself. She thought she had driven him away, the one who was doing so much to help her, and her mood had grown even darker.
But then he had returned, he and Oswell, and she had put to use every last lesson of etiquette that she had once disdained and looked down on, determined to show her gratitude. Her father would have no cause to be more disappointed in her once she saw him again, and Rhaegar seemed to appreciate her efforts, always ready to lift her with a smile.
“How much longer until we reach Summerhall?” Lyanna asked, trying to hide her interest. The tales of Summerhall had always fascinated her, but she didn’t think it would be right to show that in front of the man who had been born there amidst the death of so much family.
“We ought to arrive before dusk tomorrow, and if not, early in the next morning,” Oswell said. As was his wont, he was at the head of their small group, leading the way down a road that likely saw more cattle than people.
“And your man, he has already prepared it for our stay?” Lyanna asked, hopeful now. She was not some wilting southern lady, but she was in dire need of a bath that wasn’t in a cold stream, and she would never again in her life stow her bag of necessities on any horse but her own. The hissed conversation she had been forced to have with Oswell when she had realised her moonblood was upon her was a humiliation she never wanted to face again, and she regretted sending him off in the night to the village they had passed through earlier that day not a bit.
“Did I not tell you?” Rhaegar asked, frowning in thought. He was riding beside her in the middle of their group, as was their habit. “We are meeting with my people at Summerhall, but we will not linger there. Our goal is elsewhere.”
Her stomach sank. Despite herself, Lyanna couldn’t help but feel unhappy - how much further south would they be going? All the way to the coast? She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to banish the ungrateful feelings. “Oh?” she asked.
Rhaegar’s frown was banished by an almost boyish excitement. He started to smile, and Lyanna felt herself smiling in turn. “I had dragged Jon into the library at the Keep-”
“Again,” Jon said, behind them.
“-yes, again, and we were reading old accounts of the Dornish Wars, and the Vulture Kings-”
“We were meant to be finding the answer to a question on heraldry that the maester had put to us.”
“-and I found an account by one of my ancestors of a hidden cave network they found that they suspected to be the hideout of a Vulture King,” Rhaegar finished, his excitement only growing, for all that it was as graceful as anything else he did. “On one of my visits to Summerhall, I took the time to search for it.”
“And?” Lyanna asked, eager, his enthusiasm infectious.
“I found it,” Rhaegar said. “There is a ruin that was once called the Vulture’s Roost, and perhaps a day beyond it, the caves.” He shook his head, almost marveling. “It is a wonder what knowledge from my ancestors can be useful, even over a century later.”
Lyanna could only agree; she remembered, one winter evening, playing hide and seek with her brothers and thinking her father’s solar a wonderful place to hide. Of course she had quickly grown bored, and turned to entertaining herself with a book that had turned out to be the journal of Edrick Snowbeard. She supposed that for a House as young as the Targaryens, a century was an impressive time. Not everyone could boast a lineage eight thousand years long. She frowned as she remembered why exactly she had grown so bored - Brandon and Benjen had stopped looking for her inside an hour.
They rode onwards for a time, enjoying the day. A cool spring breeze made the sun almost bearable for Lyanna, and she was even able to pretend that she was simply out for an extended ride, something that she was managing more and more as time and distance separated her from bad memories.
That was brought to an end when Rhaegar fell silent after a conversation about his time on Dragonstone, however.
“I’m afraid I must warn you, Lyanna,” he said, nudging his horse over to be closer to hers and speaking quietly. “The men I have called to join us are drawn from my household guard.” He glanced at her from the side of his eye. “Just as the men that Aerys sent after you were.”
The reality of the situation came crashing back into the forefront of her thoughts, but she was saved from having to think of a response by Vhagar’s sudden ill temperament, the stallion tossing his head. She stroked his neck, calming him, and when he settled, she glanced over to Rhaegar.
He was watching her with sympathy in his purple eyes. “I had them remove their dragons and red embellishments, but to replace their armour entirely would have drawn too much attention.”
“I, yes. Thank you, Rhaegar,” she said.
He gave her a warm smile. “It is nothing, Lyanna. Their purpose will be to protect you, but I know that seeing them will not be easy at first.”
She felt the urge to unleash Vhagar, but as she had ever since that day in the woods she throttled it. It may have been a feeling of pure freedom, but her saviours had asked her not to, and a comment about the risks of tiring out her mount and then finding danger had been enough to persuade her fully. She knew she wouldn’t be so lucky as to be rescued a second time.
When they made it to Summerhall, there was a company of some fifty men waiting for them. Not inside, of course - there was something about the fire-scarred ruins that had all avoiding them, instead having established a small camp on what had once been the castle lawns. The black gambesons and matte armour of the men had left Lyanna disquieted when she first glimpsed them, but she pushed the feeling down.
These men were not the ones who had ambushed her people, who had murdered Charlotte and Torr- these men were not the same men.
As Rhaegar had said, they had pulled the red stitching from their clothing and managed a messy black dye over the dragons on their tabards to make it easier on her. Rhaegar was quickly caught up in discussions with their leader, Derron, a slight Crownlander with a quiet voice and a scar across one brow, while Jon led Lyanna off to the side and out of the way, where a woman was standing by the lakeside.
“Lady Lyanna, this is Lady Alys Farring,” Jon told her, coming to a stop between the two.
Lyanna peered up at the woman. She was tall, and had a blocky face, but when she smiled at her there was a kindness that showed through. She was older than Brandon, but not by much.
“Lady Lyanna,” Alys said. Her voice was warm, sympathetic, and she gave a perfect curtsey.
“Lady Alys,” Lyanna said, wary but not sure why.
“Rhaegar has arranged for Lady Alys to serve as your lady in waiting,” Jon explained. “We had little choice on our journey south, but it is not proper for you to go without.”
Ah, she thought, that would be why. “Won’t this risk Varys finding out?” she asked, to cover for her frown.
“Prince Rhaegar told my lord father that I was to wait on the Princess,” Alys explained.
Lyanna’s frown deepened. “But won’t-”
“We implied that she would have to do a service first. Any who look deeper will find that service would be to look after the bastard child of an unnamed Kingsguard,” Jon said, speaking quickly but not quite shortly.
Lyanna closed her mouth, swallowing the question of if she could still not risk a message to her father in her own hand. Rhaegar had promised her that he had told her father that she was safe, but he still feared Varys’ reach.
“I shall take my leave,” Jon said, satisfied that there were no further issues he had to deal with. “My ladies.” He gave a short bow, and strode off, back towards Rhaegar.
A wary eye turned back to Alys. The woman just smiled at her, making no move to invade her space or give instructions. Somehow, it made her even more skitti- no, wary. She was wary. She would not be taken in by this southron’s smiles.
“Would you like to meet my horse?” Alys offered.
Maybe she could learn to tolerate her.
X
They went unchallenged as they made their way along the Boneway, slipping past the castle of Blackhaven in dribs and drabs so as not to draw attention. The road was often treacherous, and moving a large group through it would be time consuming to say the least, but Lyanna relished the challenges, she and Vhagar doing their best impression of a mountain goat whenever the road rose steeply.
After a time, they came to the river Wyl, and one of the men thought it the perfect time to regale Alys of the tale of a Wyl lord from the First Dornish War. He got as far as the man’s arrival at a wedding before Alys made a sound of disgust and thumped his horse’s rump, turning away and pulling Lyanna with her as the man was carried away, laughing. Lyanna would have complained at being handled so, but the telling of the story had been reminding her of the tale of Danny Flint, and she was well rid of the man.
They followed the river west, and the path eased some, but only at times. Here and there they had to follow narrow paths along steep cliffs, single file, where any misstep would have seen them fall off the edge and into the river far below. One time, Lyanna had leaned out over the edge to get a better look at the way the water coursed against the base of the cliff, secure in Vhagar counter balancing her. Only once, though, as Rhaegar’s voice reached a pitch she hadn’t thought him capable of in demanding she sit back in her saddle, and the gossip around the campfires that night spoke of a wolf’s lack of fear - foolishness - and a dragon’s concern.
Still west they went, until they came to the ruins of a castle. It was old, its shattered walls long since weathered by age, but the telltale scars of dragonfire could still be seen in melted stones and faded scorch marks. They ignored it for the most part, save for a small group that Derron dispatched to check it for any bandits that might have been lurking within, and by the time the sun was turning to red, casting deep shadows over the peaks, they reached their destination.
It looked like nothing more than the ruins of some noble retreat, nestled up against the side of the mountain, at least at first. The stone walls of what once might have been a fortified manor rose from the earth, knee high at the outside, but rising higher the closer one got to the mountainside. They had left the river - more a stream at that point - behind to reach it, going far enough that its burbling and splashing was just out of earshot, but Rhaegar led them unerringly forward until they were at the back of the ruin. The walls there had been built against the mountain face, and still were for the most part, even if the ceiling was long gone. At the back of the large ‘room’ there was a black hole in the mountain.
The setting sun had well and truly cast the ruin in shadow by that time, and no matter how she squinted, Lyanna couldn’t make out any details within what had to be the entrance to the caves that Rhaegar had spoken of. The decision was made to make camp amongst the ruins that night, and Lyanna was glad for it. Something about the entrance to the cave was…off. Not quite in the way that going deep into her family crypts made her feel, but close. There was something eerie about it, and she spent a long minute glaring at the jagged entrance, but it seemed that she was the only one to think so.
The next morning, Derron sent a group into the caves, equipped with a bundle of oil soaked torches. It would have been Rhaegar leading them, but Oswell put his foot down. Lyanna couldn’t help but feel that would be the last anyone ever saw of the men sent. It wasn’t, of course, and they returned just as the sun reached its peak, speaking of old tunnels and untouched passages.
“It’s not quite a warren, captain, my lords, but there are many branching paths,” the leader of the group to investigate said. “The largest chamber we found had a long dead tree in it, but the main tunnel looked to continue on past it.”
“A tree?” Derron asked. “In the tunnels?”
“The chamber was exposed,” the scout leader explained. “Couple of holes in the roof that let the sun in, and rain I suppose.”
“If this was truly the hideout of a Vulture King, he would have wanted another exit,” Rhaegar remarked. “It is likely that the tunnels open to the other side of the peak.”
“We will have to make sure, and set a guard there if so,” Oswell said.
They were gathered in the room that held the cave entrance to listen to the report, the leaders at least. Lyanna had invited herself along, Alys following, and no one had told her to leave. The cool mountain air had Lyanna feeling almost pleasant, for all that the others had bundled up.
“How many side tunnels?” Jon asked.
“A goodly number,” the scout said. “More than we could map with the torches we have on hand, and I don’t think we’d have the use for them anyway.”
Jon was nodding. “There are enough villages within several days travel that we can maintain supplies…”
Lyanna quickly grew bored with the conversation, as the men discussed the merits of establishing themselves within the tunnel network or in the ruins outside. She wasn’t about to leave though - her mother had always taught her that the easiest way to be excluded was to be uninterested.
Eventually, the decision was made to do a mix of both. Appropriate chambers within the mountain would be found and used for shelter for some, while others and their mounts would stay outside as guards. With the safe return of the scouts, Oswell unwound enough to permit Rhaegar to enter the tunnels, and Lyanna found herself reconsidering the benefits of pushing to be included when she found herself being swept along on the excursion. The cave entrance seemed to loom as they approached, tall and wide enough to allow even a horse easy entry, and she felt like it was going to swallow her whole.
A gentle touch at her wrist captured her attention, and she looked to see Rhaegar giving her an encouraging nod. She swallowed, looking about as she felt something a lot like hate being levelled at her. But a quick glance showed that no one was staring, there were no knives being sharpened, no false friends lying their way into stabbing range. There were only her slowed steps, and Rhaegar offering support. She managed a smile, mustering the courage to return the nod and continue forward, and Rhaegar squeezed her wrist before letting go.
Things didn’t improve as they entered the dark, though they did change. The focused hate became more general, less targeted but more present, and she felt herself shaking for a moment. She thought of Vhagar, of how her brave stallion wouldn’t let a little fear of the dark slow him down, and let out a breath as a touch of open skies and cool mountain winds came with it. By the time a new torch had been lit and handed to Rhaegar to lead the way, she had her fear in her grip and tightly bundled down.
The prince led the way forward fearlessly, and Lyanna found herself swept forward alongside him, Oswell and Jon behind them, Alys and Derron and some few of his men behind them. She distracted herself from whatever was weighing down upon her by inspecting the tunnels as they were revealed by flickering torchlight; the floor was smooth, and so were the walls, but only so high as her shoulders - above that they were rough, clearly chipped away at with picks or other tools, and so was the ceiling. What it meant she didn’t know.
For a long time they walked, long enough that Lyanna found her legs tiring in new and unpleasant ways, reminding her of her very first adventures in the saddle. The torch started to gutter, and the darkness seemed to press in around her, but it was quickly used to light the next, and they continued on. Soft murmurs rose from the men behind them, but they were loud in the stillness of the passage, and they soon quieted themselves. Perhaps it was fear of lordly censure, or perhaps it was the way a sudden wind gusted down the tunnel, setting Lyanna to shivering.
Eventually, they reached their goal. The slow twisting and turning of the tunnel made it a surprise, and as they rounded a bend they found light waiting for them. It was what was illuminated that made Lyanna startle, however. She let go of Rhaegar’s hand - she couldn’t remember taking it in the first place - and hurried forward.
It was the tree that the scouts had spoken of, but it was no simple desert shrub, dropped in by a passing bird and somehow finding purchase amidst the dirt, sustained by the sun and rain that came through the several holes in the rocky ceiling. It was huge, dominating the centre of the round chamber, and its white wood marked it as weirwood. But something was off about it. There was no red, no leaves or sap, only skeletal branches. The weirwood was dead.
“How extraordinary,” Rhaegar said, coming to a stop beside her. “I’ve never seen a heart tree like this. Many burnt or hewn, but never like this.”
Another time, Lyanna would have scowled at the mention of desecrated heart trees, but now she was too caught up in the sight of the one before her. Its roots were still sunk through the smooth stone floor, for all that they were no longer living, and she knelt to run a hand over them. They felt much as the stone did.
“The walls, and the roof,” Oswell said, “they are perfectly smooth. I can’t imagine what tools carved them.”
“Water, perhaps?” Rhaegar suggested.
“From where, though?” Jon asked, peering up through the holes above. “I cannot spy a peak or height from which it might have flowed.”
Lyanna ignored them, circling the tree and watching its trunk, stepping carefully over the roots. When she found what she sought, she froze for a long moment, and simply stared at the face.
All good heart trees had faces carved into them, but this one was different. Something about the face carved into it was off. It had all the parts one would expect - eyes, nose, mouth - but something about them was…strange. Eyes just a little bit too round, nose too angular, expression too other. There was something queer about it, and she didn’t like it. Thankfully, it didn’t give her the impression of following her with its gaze that the face of the heart tree back home in Winterfell did. Maybe it was the stiffness of the tree, the lack of boughs swaying in the wind, but maybe it was something else. On top of the unfriendly presence she could still feel, she was set to shivering, and she didn’t know why. A heart tree was supposed to be a place of peace, but there was little of that here. She felt like an outsider.
A sudden mad urge came over her, and she retrieved the small knife that she had taken to carrying from her skirts. Carefully, she pricked her hand, just on the outside of her palm, and watched as a heavy bead of blood welled up. She flicked her hand towards the tree, and watched as it splashed against the white stone bark. It trickled down for a moment, but then it must have fallen into some small crevice, for it disappeared.
The heavy presence didn’t vanish, but it did ease, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.
The men finished their conversation, having settled the cause of the smooth walls to their satisfaction, and it seemed only Alys had noticed what she had done, but she said nothing. A handkerchief was produced and handed over, and Lyanna accepted it after stowing her knife away.
There was little more excitement for the day, only watching as Rhaegar’s men brought in supplies and set about making the tunnels liveable. They found another large chamber exposed to the sky, and it became the sleeping quarters for most of the men, but also others less exposed that once might have been store rooms, and they became useful for this and that. Lyanna was uninvolved in it all, either because she was a noble woman or because she was frowning at all who came near, still sensitive to whatever it was about that place that set her spine to shivering. They ate their first proper meal since Summerhall, finally having the time to cook something more than game and trail rations, and that took her mind off things.
When Rhaegar approached her that evening as she was seeing to Vhagar, she found herself distracted even further.
“I will be leaving tomorrow,” Rhaegar told her. He upturned a bucket and took it for a seat, the light of the moon making his hair shimmer like liquid silver.
Lyanna’s brushing of Vhagar slowed. “Leaving where?” The rest of the horses had been taken to the nearby stream to drink, but she had already seen to Vhagar’s needs, leaving the three of them in the ruins alone.
“King’s Landing. Aerys makes demands of me, and I can’t be seen to have disappeared,” Rhaegar said. “I am known to visit Summerhall, but that will only hold for so long.”
“Oh,” Lyanna said. She continued to brush, keeping the prince in the corner of her eye. “When do you think it will be safe to contact my father?”
“My second message to him should reach him soon, if it has not already,” Rhaegar said. “I have hidden it in the guise of negotiating for the release of the other hostages.”
Lyanna said nothing. She had meant for a message of her own, but Rhaegar and the others were sure that a message in her own hand would become known to Varys, and through him, Aerys.
“I know that this is difficult,” Rhaegar said, sympathetic, “but you truly are helping your family and their allies this way.”
“What if something happens?” Lyanna asked. “What if Aerys kills the others because my father won’t hand me over?”
“He won’t,” Rhaegar said. “My father may be a paranoid wretch, but he is cunning, and to harm them would lead to open war.”
The thought of her father going to war, Ned and Brandon beside him, sent a frisson of fear down her spine that had nothing to do with the strange aura of the tunnels. Vhagar turned his head, reaching back to nip her sleeve, reminding her to keep brushing.
“How long will you be gone?” she asked.
“A moon, perhaps two,” he said. “It will depend on what fruits my efforts have borne.”
“Oswell and Jon will be going with you, won’t they,” Lyanna said. She had come to like them well enough, for all that Oswell delighted in bloody jokes and Jon seemed to have a poor opinion of his home kingdom.
“I am afraid so,” Rhaegar said. “That is the main reason I sought out Lady Farring. I know you do not require a chaperone to haunt your footsteps, but I thought you might like a friend.”
Lyanna finished her brushing, setting the brush down on Vhagar’s back, before turning to face Rhaegar more fully. Even in a ruin, sitting on a wooden bucket, he looked princely. “Thank you,” she said. “Alys has made things better.” She tried not to be stiff, but she didn’t think she succeeded.
Rhaegar rose, stepping closer to her. “This past month and some have not been easy, I know, but you have proven to be a very strong woman, Lyanna,” he said. He reached forward, taking her hand, and smiled for her.
Her heart skipped a beat. She must have smelled strongly of horse. “Only with your help.” She felt like her face must be terribly red.
“Even so. I will look forward to seeing you again when I return,” he said, and his thumb ran over her hand, softly.
Lyanna felt her throat bob, and fought the urge to fiddle with her hair, all the while feeling like she was stealing from Cook’s kitchen. “You also, Rhaegar.”
The moonlight glinted off his purple eyes as he almost seemed to lean forward, and her heart felt like it might burst. But it was only for a moment, and then he was bending down to lay a courtly kiss upon her knuckles, barely brushing them. Nothing more was said, and then he left her there alone with nothing but her thoughts for company.
She looked up at the stars, taking in the Shadowcat and the Moonmaid. It was a new year.