The Maiden in the Tower

"Come with me."

Grey eyes met the Crown Prince's purple ones in utter confusion. Behind her, her guards started muttering restlessly.

"Where?"

"Some place far away."

The confusion in those grey orbs grew deeper. "Far away? But I am on my way to my brother's wedding. They are expecting me…"

"They can do without you."

Something in his voice made Lyanna Stark grow uneasy. There was some impatience that she could not understand – and she disliked things that she did not understand. Her apprehension only grew when Ser Arthur Dayne moved his horse to stand between her and her companions. She tried to read the Prince's expression but the position of the sun only cast him in shadow, obscuring his features.

"What's going on here?" she asked imperiously, trying to sound as confident as her lord father when dispensing justice. "I mean, I am deeply honoured by the fact that you stopped to meet me, Your Grace, but I really have no time to waste."

"Lyanna," Rhaegar Targaryen said and despite everything, the tone of his voice stirred memories of the time she had felt the most beautiful lady in the entire realm, with his crown on her head and her heart beating wildly as he led her into the dance. "We have to talk."

"What for?" she asked guardedly. In the matter of minutes, her feelings changed again and she looked covertly at the road ahead, hoping to see Brandon and his party, some other lord headed for Riverrun for the wedding, anyone who could interrupt the intimacy Rhaegar was forcing on her and she did not feel comfortable with. But the white sun burned ever so mercilessly, the trees were brown with scorch, and the white road remained ever so empty.

"Come with me," Rhaegar said again, coming closer and reaching for her hands. Lyanna drew hers back. "You once told me you wanted a choice, didn't you? I never had a choice in anything. I want to choose you now."

The passion in his voice scared her, yet it was the same voice and tone she had listened to in awed delight after he unmasked her at Harrenhall. There, it had sounded so alluring and romantic, in the wood, against the clear water of the silver lake, with only the birds and small animals keeping them company; here, in the broad daylight, without the excitement of the tournament and her own hurt pride, it only sounded… ridiculous. He wanted to choose her? Who was stopping him? No one could and should order another's heart. Why did he need to declare it now? He had made it clear at Harrenhall. It had only brought whispers and unwanted attention to her. She had managed to calm Brandon and Robert down but she doubted she could do it again if Rhaegar kept going with those gallant and insulting gestures of his. How was she expected to start her life with Robert if she became an object of rumours for a second time around? And then, another thought, just as dismaying, came to her. "I've heard that Princess Elia has given us an heir," she said, formally. "I am overjoyed, Your Grace."

Something softened in his eyes. "So am I," he said. "Elia did her duty by this realm admirably."

And you're being less than admirable, Lyanna thought. She had never given a thought of the Dornish princess before but now, with the woman's husband wanting to choose her – whatever that meant – in the wake of the Princess almost dying giving him his heir, she suddenly pitied Elia Martell. Robert will never do this to me, ever, she thought, suddenly feeling a lot more forgiving of the young man who had disappointed her so. She had been ready to love him – how could she not? He was every maiden's dream. But hearing about that bastard girl of his, the bastard he had fathered while already being betrothed to her had hurt her deeply. And seeing him wink at that pretty serving wench had added salt to the wound. But for all of this, he was at least a man who would care for his wife's dignity. What kind of man this prince was, gallivanting around and having the nerve to choose another after the ordeal his princess had just gone through?

"Lyanna," he said again and all of a sudden, she disliked this intimate address. Even Robert was not allowed to call her that and wouldn't be until their wedding day. "Elia was never my choice. You are the first thing I choose for myself. Choose me."

Fear screamed through her. The purple eyes she had once gazed at in rapture now looked steely, intent on something that she could not see, fill with passion she could not reciprocate. It was so strange. After Harrenhall, she had spent months dreaming about him saying those words to her, yet now that he was in front of her, she only longed for him to be gone. She wanted the solidity of Winterfell, the comfort of her own world, the certainty of the steady feeling of the one who would not make grand gestures for her – but who would not demand the impossible from her either. Choose him? What did he expect? That she'd shirk her duty, cancel her wedding, become the mistress of a man who was as fickle as the south winds?

"My lady," the head of her guard said. Lyanna looked at him and almost rose in the saddle when she saw that Ser Oswell Whent had now joined his sword brother in barring her men's path to her. "We have to go."

"Yes, Ser Idval," she agreed and looked at Rhaegar. "I can't choose you," she said softly. "I am truly sorry. But what happened at Harrenhall happened then. My choice is with my betrothed and my honour. I cannot leave with you. And I don't want to."

Something shifted behind his eyes. Now, Lyanna's fear turned into a full-blown terror. She knew what would follow even before he said, "Lyanna, I fear the choice has already been made for us."

He did not force himself on her. Lyanna was a creature of honesty and she could not lie to herself and say that he did. He was simply there – every night and every day, until she became used to him. Not fond of him but used to him anyway. I'll never become fond of him, never, she often swore and yet the days went by and nothing happened – at least nothing that she had been apprised of – and he was the only one she had any contact with. Most of the men who had assisted him with her abduction – the men who had killed her own guards – were too lowborn to socialize with her and while Oswell Whent was known for his dark humour, even he seemed to find the situation unpalatable and did his best to stay away from her. Once, she approached Arthur Dayne in a moment he stood at the roof of that damned tower, staring at the mountains with love and longing. His family seat is near, Lyanna thought. His torment was obvious, although she doubted it had much to do with her situation. She had felt his silent disapproval at Harrenhall. She got what she bargained for, he was probably thinking. She was asking for it, trying to steal the Prince from Elia. Lyanna didn't even care how unfair it was. If she could make use of his remorse, she would do so.

"Ser Arthur," she said and the young knight startled and turned to look at her. "You were Princess Elia's man before you became Rhaegar's, were you not?"

The hateful look he shot her told her what the answer was. So that was where his regrets lay. It was good to possess this knowledge.

"Don't you want to end this situation for her? She's probably being humiliated over it right now, as we talk."

"As if you care…" he spat before getting a grip over himself.

Lyanna's hope blossomed… only to be crushed when Rhaegar joined them, his face set.

She was never allowed to stay alone with Arthur Dayne again.

So that only left Rhaegar.

He brought her presents. He spoke to her of love. It was hard not to listen to someone who said that they loved her. Was he sincere?

She tried to remember her duty, yet Robert's face faded mercilessly in the debilitating heat of this strange land, so different from her own. She remembered blue eyes but the ones following her every step were purple. Her hatred was mellowed against her will by the thought that Rhaegar had done it out of love for her. Deep inside, she knew it was desperation getting hold of her but she was powerless to do anything to prevent it. Robert didn't know where she was. Her father didn't know. Her brothers. Every day, she became a little more reconciled with the notion that she would spend her entire life here, in this hated Dorne, with the man who shadowed her every move. Dull indifference pervaded every corner of her soul in the absence of anything happening, the lack of any meaningful contact save the Prince. One day, she realized that she had lost track of how long she had been here. And in that same day,with no impulse and no joy, she yielded to Rhaegar Targaryen.

I love him, she thought two months later, feeling his hand over her flat belly. He behaved as if he already anticipating the secret she still hadn't told him. Something in his feverish belief in this prophecy of his scared her. Not for a moment did she believe that the child she would give him would be… what he expected. And she didn't think she could bear the look on his face when he realized he'd get his third head soon.

He was a little mad, of course, as many Targaryens were. And he was far from being the perfect prince she had so foolishly believed she had fallen in love with. But he was her best chance to make it out of this relatively unscathed. He was her babe's father. She had to love him. She had to.