Lyanna could feel her ribs creaking and bruising, but she paid them no mind, only tightening her own grip around her brother’s torso. Brandon had buried his face in her shoulder, and she could feel his tears on her neck, but she wouldn’t say anything until he said something about her own.

“A fine deed,” she heard Yohn say from somewhere behind her.

They stood in the middle of a muddy lane, blocking traffic and drawing attention as soldiers and servants wondered just who it was that had seen Brandon Stark come sprinting out of his command tent rather than wait for them to come to him. Their raiments gave no clues, not after travelling in disguise, but there were those who were starting to recognise them all the same.

“That’s Lord America,” a cart driver hissed to his companion, stuck waiting behind Brandon.

“I thought he was with the Vale?” the companion whispered back.

“No, my Vale cousin said he was with the Rivermen.”

Brandon’s grip grew tighter, and she had to give in. She pounded on his back. “Let go, you troll,” she wheezed.

“You’re alive,” Brandon said, marvelling, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You’re unhurt.” He released her from his grip, but only so he could take her by the shoulders, inspecting her with the stern eye of a big brother.

“I’m alive,” Lyanna said. “Steve and the others, they got me out.”

Joy and relief were suddenly overshadowed in his face, dark eyes watching from under a heavy brow. “Who was it?” he demanded, low and quiet. “Who took you from us?”

Lyanna stilled, and her gaze cast around. The lane they were blocking was in a small cluster of homes a short way from the holdfast of Loamhedge. They were not part of the village that surrounded the fort, but it had been claimed for use in the ongoing siege, and there were many who had slowed in their tasks or stopped in their journey to gawk, and she could hear her name spreading amongst the watchers. She recognised Ser Ryswell and Ethan Glover working their way closer, having fallen behind Brandon’s haste. “Not here,” she said. Steve had spoken to her about the advantage to be had in keeping certain things quiet until the right moment, and she wasn’t going to ruin that.

“Not here,” Brandon said, and he seemed to be realising the same thing. He looked past her, taking in the party that had escorted her. “Beron, Howland, Yohn - Steve. All of you. Thank you.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Steve said, and his tone had a funny note to it, almost like he was mocking himself.

“I - you must join us at the lodge, we’ve commandeered the lord’s hunting lodge, I’ll send word to my father and Ned - Ethan, take care of - you will want to shed the muck of the road, I’ll have servants draw baths,” Brandon said, his words running away with him. His arms were near to shaking, so racing was his heartbeat.

“Someone else can arrange all that,” Steve said. She tore her eyes from her brother and turned to see him scratching at his beard. “Catching up with your sister is more important.”

Yohn and Brynden echoed him, and Brandon accepted it with a slow nod. He took a breath, looking around. “We were planning another feint on the fort, but I suppose that will have to wait,” he said. It was clearly not high on his list of concerns. “Mark will show you to the servants who can help.”

Steve nodded. “You all go ahead,” he said to the others. “I’ll take the fort and then join you.”

There were those who looked twice, sure that they had misheard, but they weren’t part of Steve’s group.

“I’ll not say no to a proper bed,” Yohn said. He was looking back towards the fort, taking in what banners he could see displayed just out of bowshot from its walls, and nodding to himself as he judged his claim to such a thing to be secure.

“Where’s father?” Lyanna asked of her brother, completely uninterested in hearing anyone doubt the man who had led her rescue. “Where’s Ned?”

Brandon blinked, dragging his mind back to what was important. “They’re at the main camp, just a few miles north. Ned thought I could bait some of Hightower’s forces-” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “Not important. Ethan, send a rider. They’ll want to join us.” He looked back to Lyanna, smiling again, but it was almost like there was something weighing it down. “We’ve much to talk about.”

X

The hunting lodge had on its walls too many mounted heads of beasts that hardly seemed worth the trouble, but it was a private place for reunions to be had and conversations held. The fire in its main room had been stoked, casting light over heavy wooden tables and cushioned chairs, window shutters along the top of one wall opened to let in the fading daylight.

Lyanna sat in one of the deep armchairs, and beside her was her father. He hadn’t let go of her hand or said more than her name ever since he and Ned had arrived at a gallop, their escort barely keeping up. Across from her in another armchair was Brandon, while Ned lurked off to the side. All were listening as she spoke, recounting the tale of her abduction and her rescue. Natasha was perched on the knuckles of her free hand in open view, and the scorpion was the only thing that had put an early end to Brandon’s rage after she had mentioned the cloaks. Her voice was starting to grow hoarse from talking, but then she was speaking of Derron’s death, and she was done. She lapsed into silence, drained. None of her family seemed quick to break it as they absorbed the tale.

“Do not venture too deeply into its mind,” her father said at length. Hearing the deepness of his voice after so long was a balm. “I have heard no tales of any skinchanger to take such a creature as their companion, but I have heard many that speak of the unwary being coloured by their beast for the worse.”

Brandon stirred. “Father, what about-”

The Lord of Winterfell raised one hand slightly, not looking away from her, and Brandon subsided. “I do not know how a scorpion might change you,” her father said. “Speak with the young Reed if you trust him enough. He will know more.”

“I was going to ask Nan,” Lyanna admitted. “But I trust Howland too.”

A nod of acceptance was her answer, and then he turned to Brandon. “Rhaegar is mine. He will right his wrong.”

Brandon sat back in his chair, satisfied.

“Where is Steve?” Ned asked from his spot leaning against a table bench.

“He said he was going to take the holdfast,” Brandon said, and there was a thread of doubt in his tone.

“Goodbrook.”

Brandon pulled a face, acknowledging the point.

“There is to be a meeting in two days,” her father said. “Jon, Robert, and Hoster will attend.”

“The delay will cost us a chance,” Ned said, frowning now. “Robert could advance without risk before Hightower learns that he has lost Loamhedge. Must we meet in person?”

“Remember the larger battlefield, son,” Rickard said.

Brandon huffed a laugh, and Ned’s frown deepened; the words were far more often said to the elder of the two. A moment later though, Ned’s expression cleared, and he glanced at her for a scant moment.

“Truly?” he asked.

“There is only one path, now, but it must be declared.”

Lyanna shared a look with Brandon; it was their own turn to frown now. They both hated it when Ned and their father would have conversations that went over their heads, but Ned would only smug at them and father would make them work it out themselves. There was no smugness on Ned’s face now, though.

“First, there are things that must be said between us,” her father said, turning back to her. “There are things that you must be told, my daughter. “Things that will cause joy and sorrow both. Things that I ordered kept from you until now.”

“What?” Lyanna demanded. Something roiled, low in her chest. “What is it?”

Grey eyes flicked to Ned, and it seemed to be an instruction.

“You have a niece and nephew,” he said. “Arya and Alistair Stark. They are six months old.”

“Oh. Oh!” Lyanna couldn’t help but exclaim. She felt a smile spread wide across her face, even as her stomach did flip flops, her father’s words pulling her down as Ned’s pulled her up. Alistair was a Dayne name, but Arya had been named for their grandmother. “What do they look like?”

“Arya takes after me, while Alistair resembles his mother,” Ned said.

She felt like she should tease him, but she also felt like she might be sick.

“Mother anointed them with the blood of the heart tree,” Ned continued. “The North knows them.”

Her grip on her father’s hand grew tight, and he gave a squeeze in turn. “What else?” she demanded. “Where are the dark wings?”

Ned let out a slow breath, gathering himself, while Brandon closed his eyes. They were both beaten to it.

“Your mother is dead, Lyanna. She passed days after the twins were birthed.”

“No,” she said, the words slipping out. “No. I would have known.”

None of them spoke, but the weight each bore told the truth plainly, wounds plain to see. They watched as she was wounded just as they had been, but where theirs had started to scar and heal, hers were bleeding freely. She was standing, she realised, breaths coming in sharp and short. She had torn her hand free from her father’s to hold it to her chest.

“Lyanna,” he said. He tried to rise, but his leg failed him, and he sank back into his seat. It was the first time she had ever seen weakness from him.

Lyanna fled.

X X X

Loamhedge was no fine castle, no storied keep, but with the efforts of a small army of servants and tradesmen, it would not embarrass as the site of an important meeting between the Lords Stark, Tully, Arryn, and Baratheon. Shattered doors were replaced and bent metal bars repaired as powerful lords began to arrive over the next few days. Little thought was given to pageantry beyond the bare minimum, and all could feel that there was more in the offing than a simple strategy meeting. Rumours moved faster than a raven’s wings, and the unforgiving faces of the grey hosts did little to make a lie of the gossip. Grave moves were in the making, and those with the worth to have their words considered were gathering.

Lyanna knew little of that, however, and cared to know even less. She ate when food was brought to her, and bathed when tubs were filled, but she hardly spoke, and it was a struggle to rise from her bed. The past year she had spent yearning to see her mother again, and now she never would. Her mother had died not knowing if she was alive or dead, in one piece of being cut up for threats. She spent hours staring at the ceiling of her room, unseeing.

Her father visited once, Brandon visited constantly for scant moments at a time, and Ned would sit by her bed for hours, but she rejected all other visitors. Even those who had rescued her were rejected - they had kept the news from her on her father’s order, but they had still done it. Passing time felt like wading through thick autumn slurry, and the sun outside her window didn’t seem to move, but then she blinked, and it was dusk.

The door to her room creaked open, and she found herself looking over, if only because there had been no knock, as there had been from every other visitor hesitant to disturb her.

It was Alys.

“Lyanna,” she said, voice hushed.

She didn’t answer, but she did look over. Alys was carrying a tray, backing into the room, and looking awkward in a way that a companion of a year straight probably shouldn’t. She used one foot to close the door behind her, and in doing so revealed the steaming pot she carried.

As she walked over to her bed, hints of the gawky girl she had once been shone through, as she seemed unsure of whether to take the chair nearby, or to sit on the edge of the bed. She chose neither in the end, standing awkwardly by the bed.

“I brought tea,” she said, for all that it was obvious. She almost fidgeted under Lyanna’s gaze. They had hardly spoken ever since she had killed Derron.

Lyanna looked to her bedside table, shifting one arm towards it, and Alys was quick to set the tray down. She was quick to arrange the two cups she had brought for pouring, and Lyanna watched her work. There was a familiar scent to it, and her nose twitched.

One cup was placed within arm’s reach, while Alys cradled the other. She took a sip, doing her best to hide her wince, but Lyanna saw it.

“It’s very different,” Alys said, almost embarrassed. She took another sip as if to apologise, only to wince again.

Lyanna realised why the smell was so familiar, and she found herself rising to reach out, only to be stymied by her sheets. Alys set her own cup down, helping her rise and fussing with her pillows, setting them to support her back, even handing the cup to her. She inhaled the steam wafting from it, and the memory of another place came to her, of a time she was sick and a caring figure had brought her that same tea, smoothing sweat slick hair from a hot forehead and humming soothing songs. She closed her eyes against the tears the memory brought, and took a long, steady sip, luxuriating in the prickling that ran across her tongue.

“I had to speak with Lord Stark to get it,” Alys confessed.

“You went to my father?” she croaked. She took another sip to soothe her throat.

“I think he had been saving it,” Alys said, shifting from foot to foot.

“You can-” something caught in her throat, and she cleared it. “You can sit, Alys.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Alys sat swiftly, almost spilling her tea. There was a silence as both inspected their cups.

“I’m sorry,” Lyanna blurted out.

“No!” Alys said, looking up, vehement. “I wanted to tell you, but-”

Lyanna felt something in her chest seize as Alys started to confess.

“-I didn’t know how to talk to you, not after Lord Steve explained how Rhaegar had done what he did,” Alys continued, apparently blind to the near heart attack she had just caused. “The prince was the one to place me in your service, and how could you trust me after that?” she said, words almost tumbling over themselves. She set herself, taking a breath. “I didn’t know what he did, what Derron did, and I wanted to be there for you, but you couldn’t trust me. I could have been part of his plot. I’m sorry.”

Silence fell after her words, broken only by a distant shout and the sound of weapons on shields as men drilled in the courtyard. Lyanna stared into her tea as she thought. Alys had been chosen by the Prince to watch her, to serve as her chaperone when his goal was to - to make her his own…but she had never hurt her, never spoken of her knife, or of how she sacrificed to the weirwood.

She refused to let Rhaegar hurt her further.

“I didn’t want to see you after what I did to Derron,” Lyanna admitted. “Then it was just easier not to talk to you. I’m sorry.”

“That…” Alys trailed off, clearly remembering what she had seen. She swallowed, but firmed, setting her jaw. “He deserved it. He killed your people.”

Charlotte’s sound of pain was a distant thing now, numbed by time and revenge, but she still heard it, and she bit her cheek, trying to dispel it.

“How did you do it?” Alys asked. “Derron.”

“He was only wearing a gambeson for armour, so I knew if I stabbed him hard enough, straight on, my knife would go through it,” Lyanna said. Her eyes were unseeing as she thought back to his look of agony and shock, and her tea warmed her hands pleasantly.

“Oh,” Alys said. She fiddled with her cup.

Conversation stalled again, neither knowing what to say after touching on such raw wounds. Lyanna wanted to ask if Alys still wanted to attend to her, but she felt like she had missed her chance.

“Lord Tully and Lord Arryn arrived today,” Alys said abruptly. “I heard that Lord Baratheon is expected early tomorrow, too.”

Lyanna made a sound of acknowledgement. What would Robert think of her now, she wondered.

“The servants prepare for an important council,” Alys added, encouraging, watching Lyanna for her reaction.

“Mmm,” Lyanna said, sagging back into her pillows. How could she attend any meeting, be put on display for lords, when all she wanted to do was curl up and weep? Let the lords have their meeting, her brothers would tell her-

“Men can only keep you in the dark if you allow it, daughter mine.”

Words from the past blindsided her, but even as the memory of the voice speaking them brought pain, so did it force her to listen.

“Alys,” she said, and something in her tone had the woman straightening. “I need a dress in Stark colours, and a handmaiden to attend me.” She swallowed, looking over to her friend. “Will you help me?”

Alys smiled, bringing a prettiness to her blocky face. “I will, my lady.”

X

What had once been the feast hall of Loamhedge was now a large meeting room, tables and benches removed but for a single round table in its middle. Despite the crowd of nobles within it, there were but four banners hanging from its walls, one on each - the wolf, the trout, the falcon, and the stag. The high lords of each kingdom stood beneath them, and their most mighty vassals stood with them. From her position at her father’s side, Lyanna saw the colours of Royce, Waynwood, Redfort, and Belmore, of Blackwood, Bracken, Mallister, and Vance, of Errol, Estermont, Swann, and Rogers. She knew without looking that her family was bracketed by Manderly, Karstark, Bolton, and Umber. Save for Harrenhal she had never witnessed such a gathering of nobility and strength. She and Alys were the only women in the entire hall of proud lords, lords whose bloodlines were long and storied, though they all paled before that of the Starks.

Those proud lords and their retinues were shouting and booming, furious and raging. Many were stabbing fingers at the two cloaks that lay on the table in the middle of the hall, mute evidence to Lyanna’s testimony. The furor had been going on for more than a minute now, and every time it seemed to be slowing, it picked up anew.

Lyanna looked down the hall to her betrothed. He had hardly moved since her father had thrown the cloaks down, and his face was utterly blank. Somehow, that worried her more than any raging could.

Someone had had enough of the posturing and the shouting. Steve was stepping forward from the corner where he had been leaning, fixing his shield to his arm as he went. He caught Brandon’s eye, and made a gesture. Whatever Brandon’s response was, he had to make the gesture again, more insistently, before her brother agreed, and then she watched as he stepped forward, loosing Ice from its sheath. Lyanna was not alone in feeling her eyes widen as Brandon swung the Valyrian steel directly at the foreign hero.

A pure note rang through the air, bouncing off the stone walls and stilling all argument. Pointed looks from elder nobles saw their vassals and retinues settle, returning to their places, and then her father was stepping forward again as Steve and Brandon gave way. More than a few eyes followed the sword and the shield before her father drew their attention again.

“House Stark will not accept Aerys, nor any of his line, to reign over them from the Iron Throne,” he said, repeating the words that had set the clamour in motion to begin with. “House Stark claims the right to deliver retribution upon Rhaegar Targaryen. House Stark claims grievance against House Targaryen,” her father finished, his voice low and hard.

“Who would rule, if not the Targaryens?” Hoster Tully asked, raising a hand to stop the furor before it could begin again. “A return to the days of a divided Westeros would not raise the fortunes of any kingdom.”

A low muttering rose in the room, though none disagreed, and it was only Rickard’s children who knew him well enough to see the satisfied set to his shoulders. There were men who were raising Aegon’s name, and making mention of the benefits of a long regency, but there were more who were starting to look down the hall, towards the stag banner.

“When we began this fight, we named Aerys as unfit to be king,” Jon Arryn said, raising his voice to cut across the room. “Now, it is clear that the son follows after the father. The entire line has indeed proven themselves unfit to rule.” He paused, looking around, standing tall in his shining plate. “But there is another line.”

Those present followed his gaze, followed it to Robert, and took in the warrior who had arrived only that morning, still weathered from the latest skirmish, a half healed cut on his cheek. He stared back, face still blank.

“It is the only claim,” Rickard said. His gaze swept the room. “Is there any here who would contest this?”

None did.

“By his grandmother the Princess Rhaelle, daughter of King Aegon V, Lord Robert has the claim,” Hoster declared. “What of his character?”

“Five men tried to drag me from my horse in the ambush last week, and Lord Robert slew three of them,” Wyman Manderly said, broad shoulders flexing as he spoke. “I speak for his strength.”

“Lord Robert led us deep into the Reach, bearding the foe in their own home,” an Errol lord said. “I speak for his leadership.”

“I know him as a dutiful son of the Warrior, and of the Seven,” Elbert spoke. He looked to Robert, and gave him a nod. “I speak for his faith.”

“I watched Lord Robert take counsel from his lords, and learn from his elders,” Brynden said, cutting off Blackwood and Bracken both. “I’ll speak for his wisdom.”

The weight of the moment seemed to settle on the lords, and many looked about, regarding each other, perhaps realising that this would be a time that they told their grandchildren about. None seemed to have anything to say that had not already been said. Then, slowly, all began to look towards the stag banner and the man beneath it.

“This war was caused by Aerys’ cruelty, and Rhaegar’s madness, and I will not bow to their get and risk it all again,” Robert said. His words were short and clipped, and he looked about, taking a slow, controlled breath. “By blood, by steel, and by the will of the gods, I will be your king.”

Lyanna wasn’t sure who was first, but soon swords were ringing free from their sheaths, raised to the heavens as their owners raised their voices in turn.

“Baratheon King! BARATHEON KING! BARATHEON KING!”

Down the hall, over the cloaks that said so much about Rhaegar’s plans for her, Lyanna met Robert’s eyes. Her betrothed. The man who would be king. She couldn’t help but swallow, and something passed between them - but then their view was cut as lords abandoned their positions to mix and mingle, shouts of acclamation shifting into enthusiastic discussion. A new king was present, and no lord would miss their chance to speak with him.

Robert was not the only one so besieged, though she at least had her brothers to blunt the charge. The names of sisters and wives were mentioned, almost thrown at her, for all that the lords were ostensibly speaking to Ned or Brandon. Her father had marched off to speak with Jon and Hoster, and it felt like an hour before she was finally free to move on her own. She went straight for the mightiest warrior there, Alys at her back.

“Lord Steve,” she said, finding the man speaking with her cousin and Lord Swann. They halted their conversation as she approached.

“Lady Lyanna,” Steve said. His smile was polite, but his look was assessing. “Or is it Queen Lyanna now?”

She held back a shiver as ice fingers crawled up her spine, but she was sure Steve saw it all the same. “Not yet.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I need the service of one of your ladies this eve,” Lyanna said, half asking, half telling. She eyed the other two, and leaned in, lowering her voice. “One who can fight.” The two men politely pretended not to hear.

“Will they need to?” Steve asked. “Or is this a propriety thing?”

“No. They shouldn’t,” Lyanna said. “My father is establishing a new guard for me, but it will take a short time for a suitable lady to arrive,” she lied.

“My lady, Naerys, can help you,” Steve said. “If anyone tries anything, they won’t see her coming.” A thought occurred to him. “You met her briefly, back at Harrenhal.”

“My thanks,” Lyanna said. She remembered her vaguely, a pretty woman with blonde hair and a nice smile. She felt disappointed that it wouldn’t be Keladry, but she pushed it aside. “I should only need her assistance for a short time.”

“I can’t spare her for long, but she’ll be happy to get you settled,” Steve said, before turning his attention to Alys. He was apparently ignorant of the looks he was getting from those close enough to eavesdrop. “I’m glad to see the two of you have come to an understanding.”

Alys curtsied deeply. “Thank you for your advice, Ser Steve.”

Steve nodded. “If you want, I’d be happy for you to join the training sessions I hold for the women in my service,” he offered. “If you’re not comfortable with a man leading them, Keladry often takes sessions.”

“I - I don’t know,” Alys said, taken aback but not displeased. She glanced at Lyanna. “I think I would like that, but of course I must speak with my father first.”

“Hnn,” Steve said. “The offer is there for you too, Lyanna.”

Lyanna almost blurted out a yes before thinking - but then she wondered what was stopping her. If she was going to be Queen - be Robert’s Queen - then she could do almost whatever she wanted. She could ride anywhere, learn any weapon, have any trainer.

Maybe Keladry would like to be her lady in waiting-cum-weapon master.

“Thank you for the offer,” she said calmly, with the proper amount of decorum. “Once things have settled, I would like that.”

For some reason, Steve and Beron were sharing an amused look, and Lord Swann was smoothing over his brown goatee and moustache, hiding his mouth.

“Do you think you might extend such an offer to more, once we are victorious?” Lord Swann asked Steve, one finger tapping at his lip.

“You’re thinking for your niece?” Steve asked.

“Just so,” Lord Swann said. He turned so as to better include Lyanna in the conversation. “My niece, Lady Jeyne, was rescued by Lord Steve from the Kingswood Brotherhood,” he explained. “Though she suffered no depravities, the ordeal has left its marks upon her.”

“I see,” Lyanna said, some of her cheer leaving her.

For a moment, Lord Swann hesitated, but then he soldiered on. “Perhaps you might like to meet her. She was rescued almost a year and a half ago now. I would think it would do your spirits well.”

House Swann was one of Robert’s principal bannermen, Lyanna knew, even if she knew little of its members. His question of Steve was promising, though, even if she didn’t need to talk about what she had been through - their ordeals were entirely different. She had poisoned and stabbed and - “I will look to see her at court, once the war is won,” she said.

Swann beamed. “Thank you, your- my lady.”

The conversation didn’t end there, but they were joined by others, Steve and Lord Swann drifting away to continue their conversation. Beron stayed by her side until Brandon came to relieve him, supervising as lords made implied offerings and sought favour, and Alys was a constant shadow. It was some time until the gathering finally dispersed, and when it did, the day was well into the afternoon. She claimed fatigue to avoid an invitation to her brothers that included her, and then she and Alys were escaping back to her room to wait.

“Lyanna,” came the voice of her father, just as she was about to turn around the corner of the hallway.

She stopped - he couldn’t possibly know her plan, even if he knew about her request of Steve - and turned to face him. “Father?”

He came to a halt before her, conversations of other lingering lords echoing down the stone halls distantly. He looked tired, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow from the effort of standing unaided for so long.

“I am proud of you, daughter,” he said. The crows feet around his eyes were deeper than she remembered, but his gaze was still dark and piercing. “Your mother would be too.”

Lyanna felt her throat constricting, and she swallowed. She nodded stiffly, unable to find words.

A hand came up to brush an errant lock of hair from her forehead. “You will make a fine Queen,” he murmured. Someone called for him, and he glanced back. He gave her a final look, and then departed, limping only slightly.

Lyanna did not wait until he was gone before turning to continue on her way. She had something to do, and she was not going to be diverted.

X

Night had fallen by the time all was ready. Naerys had arrived before dusk, and had swiftly been told of her plan, agreeing without question and even making suggestions to help. Lyanna wasted a moment wishing she’d had her for a conspirator long ago, but didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

The torches of the holdfast were lit by the time the three women emerged from Lyanna’s room, and for all that there seemed to be a raucous celebration taking place beyond the walls, the fort itself was quiet. They passed no one, and soon they were approaching the door that Alys had identified as their goal.

A guard stood before it, and at the sight of three cloaked figures, his hand went to the sword at his hip. Lyanna pulled her hood back, and the man paused. He did not give way immediately, first checking that her two companions were only women, but soon he was, giving a single knock to the door before pushing it open.

Lyanna spared a moment to think about the sword that Naerys was wearing on her leg, under her dress but with its hilt easily reachable through a special pocket, before putting the thought aside for later. She looked around the sitting room they stood in; it had belonged to the lord of Loamhedge before Steve had happened by, and now it had been claimed for the highest ranking lord present. A look to Alys and Naerys had them linger in the sitting room while she ventured further in, entering the only other room still lit, and found the one she was searching for.

He sat slumped at a desk, looking out an open window but clearly unseeing. There was a goblet of wine before him. It was untouched.

“Robert,” she said.

It took a moment for her presence to register. He looked up, frowning faintly in confusion. For a moment he just stared at her, but then he took in a sharp breath. “Lyanna.”

She approached him, stopping just in arm’s reach, and for a long moment they only looked at each other. It was the first time they had seen each other since Riverrun.

“I wanted to see you,” Robert blurted. He shifted, chair shifting with him, so that he could face her front on. “Only, Ned told me you had heard the news, and I remembered…”

He had lost his parents to a shipwreck, been forced to watch, even. Learning of her own mother’s death the way she had - how could she hold her own grief as anything approaching that?

“How did you-” her voice caught in her throat, dry as tinder.

He took her meaning all the same. “Not well,” he said, looking down at his knees. He was too big for the chair, almost crammed into it. “I drank. Picked fights I shouldn’t have.” He was quiet for a moment. “That’s when I had Mya.”

Lyanna controlled her breathing. This wasn’t how she had thought the conversation would go.

“She’ll never endanger your position, Lyanna,” he said, looking up, blue eyes fixed on her, desperate to make her understand. “I’ll not father another, but - she’s my daughter. My little Mya.”

A cheer from outside rose up, jarring the moment.

“It’s not her fault. Being born,” Lyanna said. She swallowed. “I came here to tell you something. But now you’re all.” A gesture completely failed to encompass what she meant, but he seemed to understand, a faint huff escaping him.

“Sorry,” he said.

“I don’t think you’ve got a fat head,” she told him. It wasn’t what she’d meant to say at all. “Ugh.”

A snort escaped him, and he held up his hands when she glared. She took another breath, fortifying herself.

“You are going to be King,” she said, cutting through what little levity there was. “I will be your Queen. We are going to be honest with each other, open, and we will never lie or mislead each other, not even with kind lies, not even when it hurts.” She reached into her cloak and pulled out the knife that she had sacrificed to the heart tree with, that she had butchered Derron with. “If you can’t, I will give you a pathetic, lingering death in your bed.”

A riot of emotion swept over Robert’s face - incredulity, joy, relief - and then he was on his feet, sweeping her into his arms, uncaring of the blade that she could plunge so easily into his gut. She barely had time to nudge Natasha to move before he was cradling the back of her head, pressing his face into her hair. He was shaking slightly, but she could also feel him smiling.

Her arms came up in turn, and she returned his embrace as best she could. Maybe things would be ok.