I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair, damn my horseface, damn my small breasts of a thirteen-year old and damn my brother Brandon for falling off a horse and breaking his leg and subjecting me into this matter. After I finish brushing my hair, I walk out the tent into a sunny day. The air is filled with smell of sweat, vomit and horse shit, and I inhale deeply to leave the divine essence in my nostrils. How much I love tourneys! My inner goddess is dancing and clapping her hands as I walk down the path to find Rhaegar Targaryen's tent. The skirts are swirling around my thin pale legs as I'm taking last few steps before I stand right in front of the great tent made of red and black velvet. Oh my, this is truly beautiful. I am overwhelmed by Rhaegar's massive, majestic, burly tent which surmounts proudly in the air and leaves me stare agape at the enormous object. My subconcious grins at me and I blush slighty at the thought of brushing my face against the soft sweet colossus. I shake my head and walk straight in the tent.

There is a man standing in the middle of the tent, staring into the papers and not noticing my presence. As he looks up, my head turns and I fall down into the wet, warm mud. He quickly stands up and jumps near me to help to get back on my feet. He looks down at me and the mere sight at him makes me dizzy. He's leaning over me like a giant, sending an odd vibration from his muscular body and glowing in the darkness of the tent. He reaches out his hand and looks deeply in my eyes. Oh my, is all I can think of. Oh my, oh my, oh my. His eyes are violet, like a painful bruise after three days, and his hair which falls down his manly shoulders has the color of moonlight during the full moon. He smiles at me and I feel the waterfall flowing between my legs, sinking right into my blue dress. I flush deeply, my cheeks turn into two swollen radishes and I lash my eyelashes at him, blowing the warm air right into his face. He looks puzzled so he cocks his head aside, then to the other side, until I finally connect his hand with mine and he helps me to get up. His hand is so soft, like the evening air, and so warm and sweaty. Soon I have my hand all wet but so are my calves, humid by the spring of happiness flowing from my sweet bloom.

"Are you well, my lady?" He speaks and I widen my eyes. I am astonished by his white teeth, so pale and brittle. I stare agape at him for countless of time and I watch him nervously cock his eyebrows and purse his lips.

"Should I find a maester?" He asks and I gasp at the beatiful sound of his voice. This is how heaven sounds, like soft velvet, sleeping pussy, boiled potato...

It takes few more moments until I find the right words to whisper passionately. "Nah."

He walks to his table, slowly taking a seat, elegant as a butterfly and hot as the summer sunshine. He pierces me with his eyes and beckons at one of the chairs. When I do not react and keep standing with my mouth opened, he sigh and raises his sharp voice. "Take a seat, my lady, so we can discuss the reason why you're here." I blindly obey his voice and sit into the soft chair.

He coughs silenlty. "So?"

"Yes, My Prince?" I ask and feel shivering down my spine because of his words. I think he really likes me.

"The reason why you're here, lady Stark?"

"Oh yes, of course." I try to smile and inside I feel like an idiot. "My brother Brandon asked me to ask you..." And then something sudden hits me, something I am not quite used to - a coherent thought. "Are you gay, Prince Rhaegar?" I blurt. His face is a calm sea before the storm. I can't read anything from it, not that I can read well anyway. When he doesn't reply, I raise my eyebrows but with ashamed blush on my cheeks.

"Is that what your brother asks?" He finally says with that sexy voice of his.

"... Yes?" I try to say but from my mouth comes only wordless growl. His hesitating makes me sure he is gay. How did I not see this sooner? This explains everything - the harp, the songs, the hair conditioners all over the tent, Jon Connighton... It all suddenly makes sense and my inner goddess cries in the corner while my subconcious pokes her with a stick. Did you really think someone like Prince Rhaegar could like you and have a normal totally not BDSM relationship with you?

"I don't think that this is something you should ask someone like me about but no... I am not gay, my lady." My inner goddes starts dancing and I feel like screaming. Not gay, oh my, not gay!

After few more moments of awkward silence, he opens his mouth again and I spot a glimpse of his tounge, which turns me on so I probably humid the chair which I sit on.

"Is there anything else you'd like?" I don't hear the obvious discommodity in his voice because I'm too busy arguing with my inner goddes and subconcious.

"No, no, my prince. I thank you for your time." I stand up from the chair and notice the wet pool of my sweet fluid in the middle of the seat. Oh, how much I'd like to wipe it all over his face! He walks near me and grabs my arm gently. When our bodies connect, I feel something I would describe as electric shock if I knew what that was. He leads my out of his tent, so graceful and noble.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you. I hope we meet again, Lyanna Stark." He kisses my hand and then everything goes black and numb. I faint again.