The situation spiralled. A thousand people, maybe more, cheering and jovial, silent and horrified in the span of ten seconds. Lyanna's hands clutched the seat beneath her until her knuckles turned white. She shook her head, just a little, her eyes locked with the foolish, lovesick, violet ones gazing back at her. She wanted to speak but she felt so ashamed, so completely mortified, she couldn't. She dared not turn to look at the princess. But she felt that beautiful woman's doe eyes glued to her with all the rest of them.

You're a damned fool, Rhaegar.

She did the only thing she could think to do. Because he stood before her, that blue crown of roses and thorns extended out before him, and she knew that no living or dead thing would move him from his place except her acceptance. She lowered her head and closed her eyes. The crowds around her stirred and she heard the whispers. No one dared cry out in protest, not even Robert who she had glimpsed, red and shaking from across the fields. She felt the crown lower into her lap. She felt the eyes of thousands lay judgement at her feet. She heard someone let out a cheer and the moment was over. She opened her eyes and saw her family, her friends, gawking at her as though she'd just been stripped naked. Rhaegar Targaryen rode on, his head turned and his eyes never leaving her.

The moment ended, but it echoed with thunderous reverence. Nothing could be undone now. Rhaegar had seen to that.

"You are an insolent girl!" The words thundered from the lips of her father. He was never cross with her and now, she knew, he was furious. She felt Ned at her side, felt him put a hand on her arm and hold her aside.

"Surely you cannot think Lyanna would be so careless. This slight to Princess Elia is the fault of Rhaegar Targaryen and no other."

But it was her fault. Passionate tears burned her eyes. It was all she could do not to let them fall. She couldn't live this lie anymore. It had never been in her nature to be so bloody passive. Robert was her friend but she did not love him. Her heart didn't fill with sickly joy when she laid eyes on Robert. She didn't yearn for Robert.

She turned on her heel and fled her father's tent. She heard Ned call after her but she ran instead. She stumbled through the dark, pulling her furred hood over her dark hair. The men were drinking and feasting so hardly anyone paid her any mind as she ran. She ran until she heard the harp and when she lifted her head she realized that she had reached the edges of the wood. She could hear the music in the night, light and lilting and incomparably morose. The moonlight filtered silver through the trees and she followed the sound, enchanted and unable to return to the drunken spectacle she had left behind.

She felt pain in her hand as she walked and when she glanced down she laughed humourlessly. She'd been carrying that damn crown around with her all afternoon and forgotten it completely until she'd squeezed it so tightly that the thorns pricked her hands. Even in the darkness, she could see the petals of the blue roses were tinged with her blood. She walked awhile longer until the music was upon her and she spotted its source. His back was to her but she knew that long silver hair like it was her own.

"That's a pretty song," she called out to him. She knew better than to sneak up on a dragon.

His music didn't stop immediately. Instead, it changed pitched for a bar or two until she paced forward and came to stand before him. He sat against a rock, his long hair in a thick and untamed braid over one shoulder. His harp rested against his knee and he plucked with bandaged fingers.

"That's all they are, pretty songs," she continued.

His fingers slowed to a stop and finally his violet eyes lifted to look at her.

"You're angry," he said.

"Furious. Humiliated. Shamed." She tossed the crown at his feet and set her shoulders back in defiance. "How could you?"

Rhaegar faltered and set his harp aside. He lifted the crown of roses from the ground and stood. The chain of flowers looked hilariously small in his strong hands and as he approached her, she tilted her head back to look up at him. Most men were afraid of Rhaegar Targaryen, but Lyanna stood as still and frozen and calm as a winter's lake.

"How could I not? I cannot live this way. Every waking moment of my life, I lie to that poor woman-"

"Your wife."

"I did not choose her. And if I had known you before she was thrust upon me, I would have died before marrying her or any other woman that was not you."

She shook her head violently, putting a hand to his chest to keep him from closing the space between them. She felt his broad chest beneath the light linen of his tunic, glimpsed the scars that riddled his skin. She smelled that familiar smell. Like a forest fire.

"Everyone saw us! My father is furious. And poor Robert… Did you see his face? If he didn't want to kill you before, he surely does now." She grabbed his wrist when he tried to push her hair back from her face and locked eyes with him; grey and violet.

"What are you so afraid of?" Rhaegar asked. His smile was playful, not so deeply grave as her own expression. He put the infernal crown atop her head and his smile lightened and then disappeared completely. She hated when he looked at her like this. Like he saw into her soul. Like he knew every thought she'd ever had. This man knew her to her core.

"I'm afraid of the sort of misery my selfish heart will bring rain upon the people I love, Rhaegar." She lowered her hands to her sides and let his body press to hers. "I'm afraid if I give in now..."

"You are Lyanna Stark." He brought his hands to cup her face, tilting it back so that her lips parted and he drew closer still. "And you aren't afraid of anything." The way he said it, with perfect certainly and such deep conviction, she believed him. She rocked herself up onto the tips of her toes and kissed him. She sealed her love and her heart to his lips.