"I thought I might find you here."
Lyanna was startled by the voice suddenly cutting through the revered silence of the Harrenhal godswood. She turned to find the Dragon lord before her.
"Your highness," she said, standing up from the grass. She was about to dip into a curtsey, but was stopped by a hand.
"That's not necessary." He walked closer to the white-barked tree. After a moment, he cleared his throat.
"I have something that belongs to you." He walked a few feet away and picked up a large object from the ground, obscured by a fallen log.
"I'm afraid you left this behind in your haste, at the Tourney." He laid it in the grass in front of her feet. Lyanna looked down at the shield and clenched her jaw. He knew. He was just toying with her now.
She held her head up high in defiance. "I don't know what you mean, your highness."
Rhaegar slowly began to walk around the edge of the small stream that trickled around the heart tree. "Admittedly, it was a challenge for me to determine the identity of the knight, what with an undetermined crest and unrecognizable armor, but this person had the uncanny ability of riding a horse much better than most." He paused a moment to look at Lyanna. Her face did not betray her thoughts, but she turned from him all the same, feigning disinterest. Rheagar smiled.
"Interestingly enough," he continued, "was the stature of this knight- shorter than the average man." He stole another glance at her back. She bristled. "But that doesn't mean much. Men of the Iron Isles are known for their small height. However, there's the matter of the armor. All the pieces were mismatched, suggesting this person did not have access of their own to a complete set. Perhaps the knight had to steal mail from other knights so as to not arouse suspicion by taking one whole."
A small bead of cold sweat trickled down the she-wolf's brow. She despised his arrogance.
"Then of course, the final puzzle: the shield. Who would choose the image of a single laughing Weirwood tree as their crest? It would have to be someone who believed a Weirwood tree to have great significance, someone who possibly worshipped the Old Gods. As many know, there are very few remaining heart trees south of the neck, leading to their obvious prevalence in the North. There are even older houses north of the Neck that have godswoods with heart trees at their center. Maybe this knight believed as many northerners do, that events of great importance occur in front of a Weirwood, such as strong oaths, a marriage…tourneys?" He was close to her now.
"Maybe," he whispered, "it was someone, like you." The hair on the back of Lyanna's neck stood on end as Rhaegar spoke low into her ear. She whipped around to face him and found herself mere inches away.
"I don't-"
"Careful, my lady," he said, cutting her off with a smirk. "It is said to be impossible to lie in front of a weirwood."
"I don't think I like what you're implying, your Highness," she gulped, pursing her lips tightly.
"Fear not, Lyanna of House Stark. I have no intention of betraying you. In fact, I admire you for unseating those men." He cupped her chin with his hand and moved her face gently upwards to meet his violet eyes.
"I wish there more women in Westeros like you, Lady Lyanna."
Lyanna blinked.
"I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again before taking your leave of Harrenhal, my lady," he said, bowed slightly before leaving the godswood. As Lyanna watched the prince's retreating back, she reached within the folds of her cloak and removed one of the tourney crown's blue winter roses- a flower that blooms in resilience, an impossible love blossoms.