It was almost three moons before Rhaegar returned, in the end. Three moons where the tunnels were made more habitable, where they received no word from the world beyond, where Lyanna tried not to go stir crazy, and three moons she chewed herself out for acting like a silly little girl in front of him. Her feelings must have been plain on her face, and she could only be thankful that Rhaegar was such a storybook prince so as to not mention it. She would have burnt up on the spot.

When he returned, it was a warm day like any other, the heat of Dorne still something she found unpleasant - she could only imagine how bad it would be below the mountains or in the deserts themselves. She was alerted to Rhaegar’s presence only when Alys hurried her off to their own chambers - their own cave - to bundle her into her riding dress.

“You must look your best,” Alys told her as she tugged her dress down into place. “It is only proper, before the Prince.” Candles set the room to flickering, and despite the stone walls, the mats and beds made it feel somewhat homey.

Lyanna grumbled as she worked with Alys to free her hair, resigning herself to the older girl’s mercies. “As if a riding dress is proper for an audience.”

“It is a sight better than those smallfolk dresses, or worse, trousers,” Alys said tartly, earning some more grumbles for her trouble.

A dress appropriate for a noblewoman would have been too unusual to add to their weekly supply drops, the exact sort of thing that would stand out to anyone hunting for a noblewoman where she shouldn’t be, at least according to Derron. Alys’ dresses were both too long and too bountiful, so Lyanna had been reduced to wearing dresses of simple homespun cloth that could be easily obtained in the same way as their foodstuff, or trousers the same as their protectors.

While the trousers were scandalously tight, they at least didn’t chafe like the smallfolk dresses did, so Lyanna had learnt to deal with stolen glances from the men, and anyway, the voice of shame had sounded a lot like Brandon and he had no room to talk with what she knew of his carrying on with Barbrey Ryswell.

Before she could blink, Lyanna found herself dressed and brushed and presented. Rhaegar was shadowed by Oswell as always, though Jon had apparently gone to see to something or other with Derron. The days had been so slow since the new year started that the rush of it all was near overwhelming, and she almost forgot to blush when Rhaegar took her hands in greeting once more.

“Lady Lyanna,” he said, smiling. He still had the dust of travel in his hair, and his plain armour made him seem like a valiant hedge knight. “I hope you have been well in my absence.”

“There is nothing to do here, and Derron forbid me from riding,” Lyanna said, mouth working without input from her head, and she was already cursing herself before she had finished speaking.

Rhaegar only laughed. They sat in one of the chambers that was partially exposed to the sky above, sunlight shining in to illuminate the room that had been purposed as a lounge for the men, full of small tables. There were a few tankards and dice sets left around, mute evidence of what the Targaryen guards used them for, but for the moment the chamber had been claimed for the two of them and their respective shadows alone.

“He has only your safety in mind,” Rhaegar told her, “but I think that a trot along the river would not be out of the question.”

It was not a chance for a proper gallop, for proper freedom, but still she thought she ought to be grateful. “Thank you, Rhaegar.”

“Think nothing of it. In fact, perhaps we could venture out for a walk along the river now,” Rhaegar offered. “I’ve never thought to explore further upstream.”

The chance to go further than the area immediately outside the tunnel system was one that Lyanna leapt at. “Yes! Let’s go now-” she cut herself off, realising she was already halfway out of her chair. She coughed. “Would you care to go now?”

Despite her worries, Rhaegar gave no sign of looking down on her for her enthusiasm, and soon they had left the caves behind to emerge into the early afternoon sun. The river - more a stream - was nearby, though the path that the men used to gather water was less than suited for use in a dress, but with Rhaegar’s steady arm offered for balance, they were soon strolling along the river’s edge. They made use of an old, old path that had once been neatly lined with small rocks on each side, though few remained, and there were tracks of erosion in the dirt where the rain had left its mark. Oswell led the way just out of earshot, and Alys brought up the rear the same.

After three moons almost confined to the tunnels, as livable as they were, the chance to go for a proper walk under the open sky was a boon. For all that the presence of the queer tree could be placated by small offerings of her blood, there was no true escape from it. She didn’t know if it was nothing but her own imaginings and fears, but even when she was the only one in the weirwood chamber, she never felt alone. Slipping out from its shadow was a relief, and the chance to see new things and marvel at a land so different to the North was almost an afterthought.

The red dirt was familiar to her now, for all it was so different to her home, but here and there she saw the most unusual insects, skittering and flying both. Some even landed on the water of the stream, and she saw one be eaten by a fish she had mistaken for a rock. There was even a strange bird with a long, thin beak and a purple throat that held her attention for a long moment when it landed on the branch of a thin tree that they passed.

But then she suddenly realised she was being a poor companion, and wrestled her attention back onto Rhaegar. She would ask after him, or his wife or children maybe. “What is happening in the north?” she asked, and immediately cursed her traitorous mouth.

A somber look came over Rhaegar. “Relations between the king and his highest subjects are most,” he hesitated, searching for the right word, “fractious.”

“It won’t come to war,” Lyanna said, her steps slowing. “Not when he failed to capture me. Surely.” The deaths of her people were still an open wound to her heart, but she still knew how other kingdoms would view the difference between a stolen Stark daughter and a mere murder of a daughter of a minor house.

Rhaegar’s arm, linked through her own, slipped down to find her hand and squeeze it gently. “Whatever comes of this, it is the fault only of the lords who order it, not yours,” he said. “War has yet to break out, despite high tensions, though there have been disputes between the high lords and their own bannermen loyal to Aerys.”

“But it isn’t war,” Lyanna said, calming some.

“Aerys has decided to lie and bluff, telling your father that he holds you as proof against his retaliation,” Rhaegar explained. “Of course, Lord Rickard knows from me that you are unharmed, but the insult remains.”

For all her father’s rage had never been aimed at her, it had still been frightening, the few times she had witnessed it. If he knew she was alive and free, then maybe… “What about the others? Lord Stannis, Lady Lysa, Elbert,” she asked. Her father wasn’t the only one with cause to be furious with the King.

Rhaegar took a moment to step over a fallen log that lay across the path, helping her at the same time. “They were as well as could be expected, the last I saw them,” he told her, “though I did not speak with them directly; I thought it unwise.”

The northern girl nodded, easily seeing how the king’s spymaster might see something in Rhaegar’s interest in the hostages. “I hope they remain so.” Lysa had been glum, almost a raincloud, when she had met her in Riverrun, and Robert had always made his brother sound like a stiff steel rod, while Ned had spoken highly of Elbert, but she wouldn’t wish any of them to come to harm.

“As do I, Lyanna,” Rhaegar said. “I am thankful that you are here, and not in King’s Landing.”

Lyanna shivered despite the warmth, and cast about for another topic. She spied the bird with the purple throat again. “Do you know what that bird is?”

“I do,” Rhaegar said, pleased. “Arthur spoke to me of it; they live all through the mountains of Dorne. They are a type of hummingbird, some call them a Garin Hummingbird…”

For the rest of the walk, Rhaegar did his best to keep her mind off the troubles of the kingdoms and how they might hurt her family. They spoke of birds, the strange fish that masked itself as a stone, and a curious insect that had pincers like a crab and a stinging tail that Rhaegar said could kill a man, but only after driving them insane with unearthly visions.

The sun cooled as it set, and by the time they returned to the caves, it was almost pleasant. It was with a bow and a smile that they agreed to do the same the next day, only ahorse, and Lyanna found pleasant dreams when she retired to bed.

X

The next day saw them return to the stream, this time on their mounts, and they ventured a little further, exploring places that likely hadn’t been seen by human eyes for decades. The fading path they followed ended at a natural stone amphitheatre, but Lyanna was determined to get the most out of the ride, and they didn’t linger, crossing the stream to explore the other side and what was on the other side of the next ridge. They threaded their way up a rise between hardy shrubs, disturbing a family of tiny sleeping owls and a pair of strange looking rodents with enormous ears, marvelling at the differences of the animals to those in their home kingdoms.

Rhaegar was the perfect companion, asking after the interests that a young maiden would be expected to have, and Lyanna did her best to answer as one, telling of her favourite flowers and dances. They spoke of little of importance, and she kept a firm grasp of her tongue, but she hadn’t been able to listen in when Rhaegar had been updating Derron on the state of the kingdoms, and eventually she could hold it no longer.

“How are the other kingdoms reacting to it all?” she asked, blunt as the Wall and making a lie of the demure mask she had done her best to wear all day.

They had reached the top of the ridge, and were taking in a vista of gullies and spurs below them. To the east, they could see the way the land fell on either side of it, turning from something one could ride up to a steep cliff, carved away at over the centuries by water runoff. Oswell and Alys were giving them space as always.

Rhaegar took his time in responding, considering where to start. “There are many conflicting interests,” he said at length. “While your apparent disappearance has aided your father’s position in many ways, in others it has complicated matters. I could spend weeks telling of the web of oaths and intrigue pulling lords this way or that, but I must be gone in two more days, so I will give you the broad strokes.”

Lyanna and Vhagar turned to face him more fully, listening intently.

“Aerys is both claiming that he holds you, and denying that he took you by force, something that blunts the claims of your father and those allied with him - Tully, Arryn, and Baratheon,” Rhaegar explained. “There was some unpleasantness when they sought to engage with the king - Lord America was involved, but he managed to escape - and the lords have since returned to their lands.” He glanced over, meeting her eyes. “They have called their banners, and so has Aerys.”

“You said it wasn’t war,” Lyanna said, a cold feeling spreading over her shoulders.

“It is not war,” Rhaegar said swiftly. “The banners have been called, but the armies do not march. It is posturing and negotiating, and I will see both sides brought to the table, where this will end in diplomacy, not fire and blood.”

If her father was calling his banners, she thought he was long past the mood for diplomacy. Maybe the other lords were less eager, holding him back while Aerys still held their family. “My father…mayhaps it would be best if I returned to him. I could testify that your father’s men tried to take me.”

Rhaegar grimaced, the expression odd on his fine features. “The Reach are posturing on their border with the Stormlands even as they muster at Highgarden, and to travel north would see us noticed immediately,” he said. “I had considered venturing south, to the family of your goodsister and then to take ship, but that would both make them complicit against the king and expose you to the risks of the sea. Any use of the authority necessary to get past the likely obstacles would be noticed and questioned by Varys.”

Lyanna tried to swallow, but it felt like there was a stone in her throat.

“The Wyls are close, and have access to sea, but I do not trust them, and Aerys has my- the Martells watched closely already, for he regards them with suspicion,” Rhaegar said, the words almost tumbling from him. He tried to smile at her. “Any move we could undertake comes with complications. I fear in my attempts to give your family options, I have guided you into a corner.”

“Then, the best thing is to stay here?” Lyanna asked, knowing the answer but not wanting to hear it. Vhagar shook his head, snorting.

“For now,” Rhaegar said. “But the moment it is worth the risk - I ride for Highgarden soon, and I will treat with Lord Tyrell. Aerys has given me commands to convey, but I also mean to speak with him as a man.” He reached down to scratch his horse’s ears. “I am hopeful that he will share my perspectives.”

Lyanna nodded, unsure what to ask or how to push further. The view over the mountains, once so new and interesting, now felt remote and lonely. She felt herself wishing for the presence of the weirwood, if only so she wouldn’t have to see exactly how far she was from the North.

Perhaps sensing her mood, Rhaegar tried to return their talk to lighter things, pointing out another unusual bird, but Lyanna found herself unmoved, even Vhagar doing little to lift her spirits. She was starting to think that she was going to be in the Red Mountains for a long time.

As they turned back to the caves, she consoled herself with the knowledge that at least it would be worth it, in the end. She might be a lonely northerner far to the south, but in doing so she was giving her father a stronger position to stand against the king. It would all be worth it. Eventually.

That night, Lyanna found the presence of the weirwood weighing heavier on her, and she gave it more than a lone drop of blood. She wasn’t sure if it helped.

The next day, Lyanna found herself slow to stir. On Alys’ advice, she forced herself out of bed to greet Vhagar, only to find him saddled and ready alongside Rhaegar’s Neferion, and they rode out once again. This time it seemed Rhaegar had a destination in mind, for there was no slow meandering as they explored and examined this or that. It was mid afternoon when they arrived at the natural stone amphitheater they had discovered earlier, but this time it was not strewn with hardy shrubs and animal leavings. Many hands seemed to have made light work of cleaning it up; there was a red and black blanket towards the water’s edge, and on it was a basket of food and a harp. Thankfully, the shadow of the mountain was already starting to creep over it.

Unbidden, Lyanna found herself smiling. She knew Rhaegar had seen her low mood, and here he was again, looking to lift her spirits. They dismounted, and she sent Vhagar on his way to the stream with a pat on his shoulder, while Oswell and Alys took their respective posts nearby. Rhaegar lounged back in his trim doublet, several buttons undone in consideration for the heat, and set to tuning his harp, while Lyanna did her best to seat herself in what she hoped was a ladylike fashion. She found herself suddenly ravenous, missed breakfast coming back to haunt her, and it was only narrowly that she remembered to offer some of the delicate cakes and biscuits to Rhaegar.

“No, please,” he said, “you savour them. I will feel terrible enough, feasting at Highgarden without you, and I will not deprive you of any of the few luxuries I was able to bring.”

Lyanna considered insisting, but then she felt her stomach gurgle. She was only thankful it was without noise, and she set about the food with the hunger of a wolf. It was no hearty food that she would take with her on overnight rides around her home, more the kind of things that would be expected on delicate platters in southern courts, and starting to go stale besides, but it was food, and she appreciated the effort he had gone to for her.

As she worked her way through the basket, Rhaegar found the pitch he wanted for his instrument, gentle plucking sounding over the burble of the stream.

“I wrote a song for you, last night,” Rhaegar said, casting his eyes not at her, but out over the stone and stream. “The poise with which you are shouldering your burdens inspired me, and I drew from what songs of the North my library holds.”

Lyanna stopped mid chew, swallowing dry and ruthlessly suppressing any expression when it pained her throat. “I, thank you, Rhaegar,” she said. She supposed she should be thankful that he was trying to comfort her again after what she put him through, ruining his tunic with her crying and sobbing.

Delicate harp notes started to float through the air, a slow medley rising. It was nothing like any northern song she had ever heard, but he had tried, and it wasn’t his fault no southron had any idea about the North.

It was a solemn piece, in the end, never going too fast or too high, but it was beautiful all the same, and she found herself smiling as she remembered back to the first time she had heard his music, back at Harrenhal before everything had turned for the worst. When the song was over, Rhaegar let the final note fade, before looking over to meet her gaze, violet eyes searching.

She tried to pin her shoulders back and stiffen her spine the way she had seen a gaggle of southron ladies do. “That was lovely. Does it have a name?”

“I had thought to call it ‘A Northern Rose’,” Rhaegar said, watching for her reaction carefully.

Lyanna thought back to how Brandon had poked fun at her early attempts at embroidery, and how she had felt. “It was lovely,” she said again. “I’m glad you shared it with me.”

For a moment he hesitated, but then he decided he was satisfied, and he gave her a small smile. “Would you like to hear more?”

“Of course,” she said, not even considering it. She would hardly deny him, not when he was doing his best to cheer her. She reached for another partly stale biscuit, nibbling on it as the harp filled the air once more.

When the shadow of the mountain grew deeper and the heat of the day started to flee, they called an end to the outing. Rhaegar rose, offering her his arm in turn. She accepted it, only to stumble as he shifted, and she was forced to catch herself on his chest.

Like a scalded shadow cat she jerked back, mortified, and quickly placed her hand in the crook of his arm as was proper. Perhaps if she pretended it had never happened, so would he.

The gods smiled on her that day, for he made no mention of it, and they made a leisurely walk of the journey back to the caves, speaking of little of note, save for Rhaegar’s imminent departure. Now and then annoyance slipped into his voice as he spoke about the journey into the Reach, but it swiftly disappeared.

When they reached the caves, it seemed that many of the men had gathered around a bonfire built up in the ruins outside it. They were full of cheer and drink, and Rhaegar was quick to guide her past them and into the tunnels, leaving Oswell and Alys to see to their mounts.

“Allow me to escort you to your chambers,” Rhaegar said. He took up a handy torch to light their way.

Lyanna made a noise of agreement, but her mind was elsewhere. The presence, the weight she was so used to had eased even further, barely noticeable, even as they went deeper into the mountain. Was it because she had given it more blood? Was it because her spirits had been lifted by Rhaegar’s kindness? She wasn’t sure. Her hand seemed to sting, but only where she had pricked herself to draw blood.

In time, they reached her living quarters, little talk passing between them as Lyanna’s mind was occupied with the mystery of the tree. She slipped her hand free from his arm so she could face him better.

“Thank you again for today,” Lyanna said. “Will I see you again before you leave?”

Confusion crossed Rhaegar’s face, but only for a moment. “Of course.”

“The songs were lovely,” she told him again. Before he could be more than reminded of her embarrassing stumble after his music, she opened the door. “Good evening, Rhaegar.” And then she slipped inside her room, the door closing behind her. She was over to her bed and collapsing into it within a moment, wrung out by the day. She barely heard the scrape of Rhaegar’s feet on the stone as he departed before she was asleep.

X

It was not another three moons before Rhaegar returned, but it was close. He arrived halfway through the fifth month of 282, and again he brought with him things to lift her spirits. They did not quite offset the news of rising tensions he brought likewise, though she could only be grateful that there had yet to be any battles, even if he confessed to hearing of small skirmishes between minor lords, using the dispute to settle old grievances. Even with the ill news, his arrival was a thing to be celebrated as a break to the unending monotony that was her concealment amongst the Red Mountains. The unchanging days had been starting to wear down at her, and even if her watering of the weirwood had kept its presence from weighing on her, it was still there, still watching.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

On that visit, there were no walks or rides along the stream. Instead, Rhaegar brought with him a map of the stars, and with her pored over it, searching for this or that constellation and telling the tales they knew of them, trying to puzzle out which were named by First Men, Andal, or Valyrian. Finding the Valyrians was easy - they always seemed to have something to do with dragons.

They exhausted that within two days, but Rhaegar was quick to suggest another avenue of entertainment - they would come up with their own stories for the stars, and compete for the most absurd. It was when she had hardly recovered from a fit of laughter at his retelling of the Swan as a cautionary tale for snooty noblewomen that she commented on her surprise that she had never heard of such a game before.

“Few men care to pass time with their wives in such a way,” Rhaegar had replied. “They prefer the training yard, or houses of ill repute. Perhaps their marriages would be happier if it were the reverse.”

It had seemed a strange segue to her, but perhaps he was speaking of something that gnawed at him, so she only nodded. When they had exhausted that avenue too, Lyanna found herself escorted to the stone amphitheater once again, but this time it was on a cool, cloudless night, with wine to warm them as they searched for the constellations they had renamed the days prior. Laying on the blanket as they stared up at the sky and murmured quietly to one another, Lyanna found herself wondering if Robert would ever think to do something similar with her.

Oh, Lyanna realised, the thought coming immediately on the heels of the one prior, this was almost romantic, wasn’t it.

Immediately, she scoured the thought from her mind, chastising herself for her foolishness. The prince, aiming to seduce her? She managed to muster a laugh at herself. Her mother might claim her to be growing into a beauty, but that was her mother, and Rhaegar was married and she betrothed, besides. Not to mention the fallout of him even trying. Perhaps if the situation had been different, the banners not called and his father not searching for her to foul ends, she might entertain the daydream, but no. Charlotte would have teased her feroci- Charlotte. Charlotte, who was still dead, and always would be.

The evening, once so pleasant, soured in an instant. Charlotte wouldn’t have sat placidly out of earshot as Alys was, she would have loomed disapprovingly as close as she could manage. Torrhen wouldn’t have patrolled the perimeter alone, he would have had his men do it while he stared at whoever she was speaking with. They had been dead for months, but it still hurt. She didn’t want to think about how Rodrik and Martyn had felt, and Torrhen’s father was alone now, and-

Rhaegar pointed out another constellation, and Lyanna forced herself to listen, even as she clenched a portion of the blanket tightly enough to hurt. Despite her efforts, Rhaegar seemed to ken to her change in mood, and try as she might, she couldn’t respond to his kindness with cheer. She wanted to fall into her mother’s arms, she wanted to tell the family of her murdered protectors how brave they had been.

She wanted to go home.

X

Once again, Rhaegar was aggravated when it came time for him to leave, but he did not shy away from his duty. Lyanna saw him off, sure to thank him for his efforts in making her exile bearable, and he promised to return once he had seen to his responsibilities with House Yronwood and the like. It was the seventh month of the year when he returned, bringing with him news of ever rising tensions as Aerys continued to fail to come to terms with those he had wronged, of taxes withheld and hostages threatened, of falling trade and suspiciously well organised banditry. Lyanna did her best to listen without adding to his burden with selfish questions, to help him as he helped her, but it was difficult. It was only the knowledge that her family was alive and well that let her hold her tongue.

His visit that time would be short - he was expected in the Crownlands and even his brief detour to check on her was almost too much. Still, again he put in the effort to lift her mood and break up the long days, weeks, months, that were her life. This visit he did not bring any star charts or picnic baskets, but he did invite Lyanna to watch him, Oswell, and Jon spar, working out the stiffness of travel.

The sun was warm that day as spring made its presence known, and the men fought without armour in loose tunics. Lyanna and Alys had perched themselves on the remnants of a crumbling wall, sharing between them some delicate Reach cheeses and Dornish peppers that Rhaegar had brought with him, and even some Dornish Red, as the men set about each other. The morning sun soon saw them work up a sweat, and a sly comment from Alys about how they would go about refreshing themselves in the stream afterwards had Lyanna blaming her sudden choking on the spiciness of the peppers.

They used dull steel, and though it wasn’t quite the sort of fighting Lyanna was most interested by, she supposed the skill on display was clear. The three were matched well enough, though Rhaegar seemed to have the edge, and they traded out as one or another won a touch. As the sun rose, they got flashier, goading one another into greater displays of skill, and if it weren’t for the occasional smile Rhaegar favoured her with, Lyanna would have thought them to have forgotten their audience. The exaggerated courtly bow he gave her after scoring a touch on Oswell had her giggling.

It was almost like they were boys showing off in the courtyard for any watching ladies, but she banished such fool thoughts from her head. It was a welcome spectacle - after moons with little more than her thoughts for company or whatever entertainment could be mustered up with what was on hand any new sight was welcome - but there was only so long she could give her full attention to watching them swat at each other with their swords before starting a conversation with Alys about their horses. They were skilled, that was undeniable, but her favoured bouts were those involving more brute strength and heavier weapons, such as hammers or the like.

Alys became a dramatically poorer conversational partner when the heat had the men doff their tunics and break for water, and Lyanna could not lie and say her eye did not wander, but she was determined not to be reduced to a stuttering little girl again. Their muscles were tight and well defined to be sure, but she preferred a bit more - broadness. A hushed conversation on the topic with Alys had the older woman suggesting that the men were still much too clothed to know if they possessed such ‘broadness’ for sure, and the two fell against each other in breathless giggles.

It was the lightest Lyanna had felt in moons, and the day ended in good cheer, the five of them sitting by a table by the stream, snacking on delicacies that Rhaegar had brought from Dorne. Alys was not quite flirting with Oswell and Jon, leaving Lyanna and Rhaegar to be entertained as they watched the back and forth. The only sour note came when Lyanna caught herself almost leaning into Rhaegar as the delicacies and the wine lulled her towards sleep, but the moment of panic as she almost put her head on his shoulder woke her up as surely as a swim in a northern river in the dead of winter. Ever the gallant knight, Rhaegar drew no attention to it, and the outing ended with smiles and the promise of an adventure the next day.

X

The adventure was not what Lyanna had expected - Rhaegar escorted her not to the horses, but deeper into the mountain, through the tunnels and all the way to the back exit that opened to the Prince’s Pass. There was no picnic basket, but there were horses, another small shaded corral for them established between the two spurs that masked the cave entrance. They set out on a ride, and it seemed that their destination was far enough away that Lyanna was already looking forward to galloping back.

In time, they came to a lonely plant on the edge of a ridge, not quite tree or shrub to Lyanna’s eye, but grimly holding on to its perch despite the harshness of the sky and the stone all the same. It even offered a bit of shade. When she and Rhaegar dismounted and availed themselves of it, however, the plant life of the Red Mountains was the last thing on her mind.

In the pass below them, there was an army. It was not on the march, but camped in squares of squares, stretching east to west. Tiny figures could be seen going about their days, and as she watched, a caravan arrived from the south, filled with supplies.

“Is that…?” Lyanna asked.

“The army of Dorne,” Rhaegar said. “Part of it, anyway.” He gestured behind them, towards Oswell and Alys. “They gather in the Boneway, as well. Some thirty thousand men all told.”

“Oh.” It had been one thing to be told of small, distant skirmishes, and that her father had called his banners, but to see an army gathered for war with her own eyes…

“I know it has been difficult for you these past moons, Lyanna,” Rhaegar told her, sympathetic. He put a hand on her shoulder. “You have borne it better than most. I want you to know that it is helping; I think that if you had chosen to risk the ride north, there would be open war by now.”

Lyanna bit her lip, but nodded. It would all be worth it. It had to be.

“I want you to know that I am making the most of the time you have given us,” he continued, letting his arm slip down, brushing gently at her wrist. “The lords of Dorne have agreed to hold their men in the Pass and the Boneway, and they will not march north and inflame tensions without my say so.”

“Good. That’s good.” Her words were distant, her eyes fixed on the army below.

“I would not see you take on a burden that is not yours to bear,” Rhaegar said. He turned, his attention on her, ignoring the army below. “The events of the- disagreement are not your doing.”

“You are kind,” she said, because she didn’t know what to say and that was the sort of thing ladies said to men when they were thoughtful. She continued to watch the caravan that had arrived, tiny figures seeming to swarm it.

“It is the least you deserve, Lyanna.”

“Where do the supplies come from?” she asked, abrupt, almost before he had finished speaking.

Rhaegar blinked at the sudden turn. “Pardon?”

“For the army.”

He took a moment to respond. “Wherever the quartermasters can arrange for, I suppose,” Rhaegar said. “The spring snowmelt serves for water, and all other needs are brought in by wagon.” The wind picked up, whispering through the shrub tree they stood under. “Is this something that…interests you?”

“Oh, no. I just wondered,” Lyanna said, keeping her voice light. Her father would have known. Knowing how your people were fed and where it came from was one of the first lessons any Stark learned. It was never cheap, and no kingdom - besides the Reach, perhaps - would go to the expense of mustering an army if they didn’t think they might need it. Rhaegar was trying to ease her worries, but ever since she had heard of her father calling his banners, she had known what was coming. Being told that it was not her burden was cold comfort, despite Rhaegar’s best efforts. She turned to him, expression pleasant. “Would you tell me of the Houses below?”

“Of course,” Rhaegar said, giving her a gallant smile. “There is House Manwoody of Kingsgrave in the van, for they are the closest, but also House Fowler and Blackmont…”

For all that Rhaegar knew much of the Houses of Dorne, there was only so much that could be told without devolving into boring minutiae, and they lapsed into a silence. The view was still a pleasant diversion, another novelty that she was grateful to Rhaegar for providing. Derron was such a stickler for her safety that even the short rides she took around the hideout exit left her feeling crowded from the men he insisted she take for guards.

Rhaegar sighed, drawing her eye. “I fear that my duties in the next moon will occupy me for longer than I planned,” he said. “I may not be able to see you again for some time.”

He had spoken about his responsibilities in the Crownlands, but Lyanna had not thought it would take all that much longer than his prior trips. “Is it so much further than Highgarden?” she asked, frowning. His visits, and the diversions he brought, were rare bright spots in her seclusion.

“No, but there are many with whom I must speak, and negotiations that cannot be rushed,” Rhaegar said. Tap tap-tap-tap went his fingers on his bicep. “And more eyes to watch me.”

“When do you think you might return?” Lyanna asked.

“This year, almost for certain,” he promised.

His words were not as reassuring as he had hoped. “This year? It is only the seventh month…”

“I know. I am sorry, Lyanna,” he said. He shifted, bumping his arm resting against hers, as if to provide comfort, but she did not respond to it. He sighed again. “You will need to be strong for a while longer, but when I return, things will change. I will have what I need to do what I must.”

For a moment, she didn’t understand. “You mean to move against your father.” To move against the king, his father…Rhaegar had already defied him, but it sounded like he spoke of something more.

Rhaegar met her eyes, grave, but only for a moment. He didn’t answer.

They returned to watching the army below. She could not imagine moving against her own father, but she could very easily imagine choking the life from Aerys with her own hands, tearing at his face, making it hurt. If waiting was what it would take to see Aerys face justice, then wait she would.

X

Bored. Bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored. Bored. Bored bored. Bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored. Bored. Bored bored bored. Bored bored bored bored bored bored bored. Bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored. Bored. Bored. Bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored-

There was a butterfly on the weirwood!

And it was gone.

Bored bored bored bored bored bored bored. Bored bored bored bored. Bored. Even the presence of the weirwood was no longer enough to occupy her mind, more a still lake than grinding ice against a shore.

Eight moons now she had spent in the Red Mountains, as the ninth month began, and she was near her limit. The short rides she was permitted to take along the stream and around the tunnel entrances were little more than cruel taunts, reminders of what she and Vhagar could have been doing. Not since she was first big enough to ride a proper horse had she spent so long without feeling the wind fly freely through her hair on an open gallop, two bodies working as one to push their limits.

Instead, her limits were being tested in another way. She cast her needle and thread aside, almost leaping to her feet, before not quite stomping over towards the architect of her boredom.

“If I cannot get out of these tunnels and ride, I am going to scream,” Lyanna said flatly.

Around the sunlit cave, the few other men present looked up warily, some instinct pricked at by the tone of her voice. Most of the guards were at their posts, seeing to other duties, or in their beds, but there were always some on their own time.

“I’ll have some men ready to escort you up the stream, Lady Stark,” Derron said, looking up from the gambeson he was fiddling with.

“I said ride, not trot along like a page boy on his first pony,” Lyanna said. He did her best to swallow down her frustration, but some of it peeked through. “Let me ride downstream.”

“You know why you cannot do that,” Derron said, setting his repair work down on the fossilised roots of the weirwood and turning to face her properly. “It is too dangerous.” He was soft spoken, but once his mind was set on something, she had never managed to change it.

Today would be different. “The ruins of Vulture’s Roost are less than a day away, we haven’t seen a single person between here and there for the last six moons, and that was a goatherd looking for lost goats,” Lyanna said flatly.

“Lady Stark-”

“Lady Stark is my mother.”

“Lady Lyanna,” Derron said, a study in patience. “It only takes a single goatherd to see a woman of northern looks in the Red Mountains and mention it at a tavern for it to become a whisper to be caught by the Master of Whisperers, to say nothing of all the other hazards of the mountains.”

Alys had joined the few men present in watching the show now, even as she continued with her embroidery. Entertainment was hard to come by, and had to be taken where it could be found.

Lyanna didn’t stamp her foot, but it was a close thing. She had reached her five and tenth nameday there in the mountains, and was above such things. “I’ve been here long enough to recognise the dangers-”

“I will not be the man who allowed a Stark to die a foolish death because they were bored,” Derron ground out, coming close to the end of his tether.

“If you don’t let us go for a proper ride, Vhagar is only going to keep causing trouble,” Lyanna warned. “And he might not be the only one biting people.” Maybe she wasn’t above such things.

Derron let out a great sigh. “My orders from the Prince are to keep you safe, and I will do so,” he said.

Lyanna felt like she was a kettle about to boil over, and took in a breath to match.

“However,” Derron said, and here he rubbed at the scar on his brow, “I understand your frustration. It is truly not safe for you to ride and gallop as you wish, but if you agree not to do so, I could agree to you exploring further afield than simply along the stream-”

“Yes, I agree,” Lyanna said instantly.

“-but only if you show me that I can trust you to do so,” Derron finished.

Lyanna regarded him suspiciously. “How will I do that?”

“One week of goo- responsible behaviour,” Derron said, pale face serious. “You give me one week without sneaking up on my men in the tunnels, without trying to slip your minders on rides, and,” and here a hint of smugness crept through, “without that monster you call a horse biting anyone.”

“Deal,” Lyanna said, just as sure as before. Vhagar wouldn’t bite a single person she didn’t want him to.

Derron blinked at her easy acceptance. “Then, starting tomorrow-”

“Today.”

“Today,” he agreed, sighing, “you will have a week to prove yourself.”

“If she’s starting today, can the lady take my job?” one of their spectators asked, sitting with his back against the chamber wall.

A frown crossed Derron’s face. “Bert, what are- ah, grooming duty.” He considered it, glancing at Lyanna.

“Come on, captain,” Bert pleaded, only partially joking. “I’ve only just healed from last time.”

“You don’t brush him right,” Lyanna told him, poking her tongue out at the man. She was fairly sure that Vhagar just liked the noises he made when he snapped at him, and she wasn’t at all still bitter over losing horribly to Bert at dice.

“I brush him exactly the same as you do, little lady,” Bert said, shaking his finger at her.

“Obviously not,” Lyanna said, pointedly looking down her nose at him, fighting a grin all the while.

“Yes, fine,” Derron said, cutting in before they could go any further. “Lady Lyanna will see to her beast, while Bert sees to the rest.”

“He’s not a beast,” Lyanna mumbled, but no one paid her words any attention.

“Would you like to go now, Lady Lyanna?” Bert asked, finding a hint of formality.

Lyanna glanced to Alys, and the woman gave her a nod after a moment’s thought. It was decided, and soon they had gathered what they needed and were making the journey to the eastern exit. A floppy hat was Lyanna’s most critical need; she had been badly burnt once by too long spent outside in the sun, and never again. Soon, they were passing through the heavy doors that had been placed on the tunnel exit, and arriving at the shaded corral that had been established using the still standing corner of a wall, some rope, and scavenged wood. The pair of guards on duty looked over from further out at their arrival, but quickly returned to their own conversation.

“We’ve got some new friends today,” Lyanna noted, taking the horses in. She glanced at the troughs within the corral, barrels cut vertically and repurposed, and saw that they were acceptably full.

“The captain wanted to swap some between the east and west stables,” Bert explained. He “We can’t run them as much as we should, but he thought this might calm them some.”

Lyanna hummed, even as she started seeing to Vhagar, taking up a brush from where it had been left close to hand. Vhagar had a spot under his chin that he loved having scratched, and she grinned as she set about it, watching as her lovely boy stuck his neck forward and out in joy. Bert likewise took up a brush, though Alys took a seat in a nearby patch of shade, returning to her embroidery.

They were quiet for a time as they focused on their task, and Bert went through three horses in the time it took her to give Vhagar the attention he deserved. By the time she was done he was much relaxed, and barely even eyeing Bert with mischief. She wasn’t ready to go back inside yet, and she cast about for another fine animal to care for, taking in the range of horses that made up the mounts of Rhaegar’s men. There were few that would suit her family’s personal stables, but they were fine enough animals, and she cast her eye over rounceys and the odd courser that she had come to know in her months in the mountains.

But then she saw the destrier.

It was a beautiful dark creature, and her first steps towards it were jerky and stiff. She forced herself to approach from the side, and she murmured soft nothings to it as she checked his hooves, taking her time as she fought against the sudden pounding of her heart. When she had checked them all, she paused at its front, carefully checking his teeth, rubbing one hand from its crown to its nose and back, examining the white splotch that ringed one eye.

“This is a fine animal,” she said to Bert, her voice even. She left the destrier’s face alone, and moved to start brushing him down, starting at the shoulder. “A match for any in my father’s stable, even.”

“Hmm?” Bert asked, onto his fourth horse now. “Oh, Balerion. He’s a fine one, all right.”

“Whose is he? One of Prince Rhaegar’s spares?”

“No, he’s the captain’s. Derron was given him as a gift by his lord father when he was accepted into the royal household’s guard,” Bert said. “I wish my father had that kind of coin to spare for a fourth son.”

Lyanna made a noise of agreement. “Has Derron had him long enough to put out for stud?” she asked, trying to sound uninterested.

“A few times, he even has a colt and a filly from him and a dam of Ser Dayne’s,” Bert said, sounding impressed.

“From Ser Arthur?” Lyanna asked, mirroring his tone.

“Aye. Oh, Vhagar and Balerion. Now all we need is a Meraxes,” Bert said.

“Don’t charge any archers on that one,” Lyanna managed to say, and Bert barked a laugh.

Lyanna managed to groom Balerion, and then two more, before she felt it safe enough to leave. She made her excuses, receiving a distracted farewell in turn. She wondered how he could speak to her so freely, but strangled such thoughts before they could bloom on her face.

Alys rose as she turned for the caves, frowning. “Are you well, Lyanna?” she asked, concern colouring her features as she peered down at her. “You seem flushed.”

Lyanna put on a smile. “Perhaps the heat.”

“You should rest,” Alys said. She bit her lip in worry. “I’ll have them bring some cool water.”

“My thanks.”

It was hard, walking steadily back through the tunnels as Alys watched her like she was an ungainly foal, but she managed it without doing anything untoward. The other woman ducked away once they reached the central chambers, leaving Lyanna to navigate the final turns to their chambers, keeping her head down as she passed one of the guards.

“Lady Lyanna.”

Lyanna stopped.

“Derron,” she said. Her heart leapt into her throat and tried to claw its way out. She forced herself to look up and meet his eyes.

The captain of Rhaegar’s guard was frowning, concern painted on his face just as clearly as it had been on Alys’. “Are you well?”

“Oh, yes,” Lyanna said. She fiddled with her braid, and managed a reassuring nod. “I mean to retire for a lie down,” she said. “The heat was a bit much,” she lied.

“I know you wish to explore further, but please do not push yourself,” Derron said. “It wouldn’t be any good to get Vhagar through a week of no biting only to be sick on your first chance to ride,” he joked, smiling as he invited her to share it.

She thought about the noise Charlotte made as she was killed. She thought about the distinctive marking on the face of the horse ridden by her murderer. She thought about the knife hidden in her skirts.

“Of course not,” Lyanna said, answering the joke with a faint smile of her own. “I will act as is expected of a Stark.”

They spoke for a few more moments, about what Lyanna couldn’t say, and then Derron continued with whatever errand he was on, while she continued to her chamber. She entered, shutting the door quietly behind her and proceeding to her bed. She sat, staring blankly at the wall for she didn’t know how long. Alys came, bringing with her a clay jug full of water cold enough that it had to be near fresh from the snowmelt. She departed after some fussing, leaving Lyanna alone once more.

The Stark girl waited until her footsteps had faded from hearing, and then waited some more. When she felt ready - not safe, she might never feel safe again - she lay down, turning to place her face down into her pillow. Then she screamed, letting out all the dread and pain and betrayal that she had been holding back ever since she saw the black horse with the white splotch around its eye. Derron’s horse. The horse ridden by the man who had murdered Charlotte, had killed her people, had been watching over her, guarding her, imprisoning her, for the last nine months. When she was done, she wiped her eyes on the pillow and drew in a great, heaving breath. She let it out shakily.

Then, she began to plot.