Prince Rhaegar was not in the city to observe them, however. Nor could he be found in Dragonstone with Princess Elia and their young son, Aegon. With the coming of the new year, the crown prince had taken to the road with half a dozen of his closest friends and confidants, on a journey that would ultimately lead him back to the riverlands, not ten leagues from Harrenhal... where Rhaegar would once again come face-to-face with Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, and with her light a fire that would consume his house and kin and all those he loved—and half the realm besides. But that tale is too well-known to warrant repeating here.

- The World of Ice and Fire

"You ride like a northman, milady," Harwin said when he'd drawn them to a halt. "Your aunt was the same. Lady Lyanna. But my father was master of horse, remember."

- A Storm of Swords

282 AC, The God's Eye

The trees were black and bare, their clawed branches tipped with frost. But the woods had a green smell to them.

"Bides far to being a fair day, m'lady," Hullen offered. He might have near two-score years to his name but that day, he felt as sprightly as a lad of Harwin's age. The Citadel had decreed that it was still winter but on days like this, it was hard not to dream of spring.

"Hmph," said his young mistress. Lady Lyanna had drawn the hood of her scarlet cloak as far down as it could go, her usually sunny face now in shadow. Usually she liked to ride with her hair and face bare. His lady was utterly indifferent to freckles. But perhaps she feared to catch a chill today, so soon before her brother's wedding.

Hullen tried again. "Rained something fierce last night," he said. "But the world seems the better for it today, doesn't it now?" Washed bright and pure in day's light, he thought, remembering the words of a song his Myra liked to sing when she was combing her hair by the fire. He missed her but he cheered himself with the thought that soon the young lord's wedding would be over and done with and he could ride back to her again.

"I suppose," Lady Lyanna said, somewhat ungraciously. There was many a highborn lady who'd look down her nose at a common groom, but that had never been Lady Lyanna's way. Not before, at least. Wounded, Hullen retreated.

"Growing up at last, she is," Rosto said in an undertone, when Hullen rode down the column to join him. Lord Rickard had sent five groomsmen and three serving-boys to escort his daughter to the God's Eye. "She's five-and-ten now, you can't expect her to stay a child forever, old man."

"Aye," Hullen sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Too high n' mighty for the likes of us now, I suppose. And me, foolish sap, still remembering the day I put her on her first pony." She'd taken to the rein like a fish to water, he remembered fondly.

Rosto shrugged, with a what-have-you. "Lord Tully raises some fine blood stock," he began, "I was thinking of trading some of our grey geldings for-"

But the matter of horseflesh, usually of such absorbing interest to Hullen held no savor today. "What ails her?" he demanded, squinting at the slim, straight figure of his young mistress. She rode as though she had an iron rod for a spine. "She's been as sulky as a winter storm since we rode out."

"Prob'ly too many green apples at Lord Whent's banquet," Rosto said indifferently. "Feasted like a boar last night, she did."

Hullen swatted at him and Rosto ducked, laughing. "Watch your tongue about m'lady." Hullen cherished Lord Rickard's girl as though she were his own. Not that he had any girls. Myra gave me three, he thought. But they'd all died before they could lisp "Da" to him, gods bless their sweet souls. That made Lady Lyanna, born days after Mildryd's death, all the more precious to him.

They had set out from Harrenhal at dawn and it not being ten leagues to the God's Eye from the castle, they reached their destination before the noonday meal. The men that had been sent to escort her ladyship camped out on the broad, flat sward that edged the great lake - setting up a cookfire and tending to their horses.

Lady Lyanna dismounted and handed her mare to Harwin, pausing to ruffle the lad's hair fondly. When she pushed back the hood of her cloak, Hullen thought that her face seemed unusually pale. "Slept ill, m'lady?" he asked her, recognizing the symptoms.

She jumped, startled. She was as fidgety as a filly first being brought to the rein, he thought. "Strange beds are hard to sleep in," she said, forcing a smile. She had a scrap of paper in her hands that she twisted restlessly round and round her fingers.

Hullen frowned. "The Whents are kin to the Tullys," he reminded her. "Hardly strangers. And you've slept peacefully at Harrenhal before."

She sighed. "I was up all night, thinking. About this place."

That he could understand. Every northman had grown up hearing tales of the God's Eye and the isle that sat, silent and brooding, within it. "Aye," he said sagely, "This is a holy place, this is." Weirwoods still stood tall and proud on this land. That was why Lady Lyanna had come here, days before her brother's wedding, to pray that he find happiness and good fortune with his southron bride.

"I wish we could go to the island," she said wistfully. She pointed to the speck of land that they could just about see from the shore.

Hullen fixed a stern look on her. "Stuff and nonsense, m'lady. No one goes to the Isle of Faces. T'would be foolhardy and what's more, t'would be blasphemous. Some things are not meant for mortal eyes to see."

"Howland went," she said.

Hullen spat, to show her what he thought of her little swamp-trotter friend. Howland Reed, the Lady Lyanna's creature whom she'd taken a fancy to at the Tourney of Harrenhal. It went against all his firmly-held notions of right and wrong. "He's a frogman," he said. "They're different."

"Hardly human, you mean?" she asked, with that familiar spark in her eye.

Hullen shrugged. He was a simple man with simple, solid opinions that he'd been handed down from his father. They'd always served him well and he saw no reason not to defend them. "Well if you were to ask me, m'lady - then yes. There's northern folk and there's southron folk - and then there's the frogmen."

"No wonder you're a groom," Lady Lyanna said, with the thoughtless cruelty of a fifteen-year-old girl. "You say and think the stupidest things."

Hullen bowed to her. "Aye, I'm a groom, m'lady, and a good one to boot. I know my place. Its serving you and I'm proud to. But you're a great lady and you have your place too. And I hope you know it."

"Serving Robert," she said bitterly and turned her face away.

She barely ate, nibbling at a dry hunk of bread as though she were a fish instead of a girl with a healthy appetite. She did not join in the singing or the gossip about what Lord Tully would gift the young lord Brandon on the morning after the wedding. "My head's all in a muddle," she said, crumbling the last of her bread with twitching fingers, "I can't pray when I'm in such a state."

"I'll brew m'lady a tisane," Noren offered. "You look feverish-"

She laughed it off, but there was a brittle, high-strung quality to her laughter. "No, no, thank you," she said. "Nothing a short ride won't clear." She stood and dusted off her gown. Hullen rose too, abandoning his bread and cheese. "A short ride alone, thank you," she said sharply.

Rosto opened his mouth, no doubt to remind her that Lord Rickard would have their skins if anything happened to her, but Hullen gave him a look. She was in a contrary mood and anything they said would only serve to inflame her only further. The Riverlands made for smooth riding, but he had no wish to tear helter-skelter across the country after a headstrong girl. Better let her think that she'd won her own way and then follow her quietly.

"I'll be back within the hour," she said, saddling her dun mare herself. She clambered on, astride as she rode in the north. "Don't worry, Father Hullen!" she said brightly, waving to

He gave the lass a few minutes' start. She was not hard to find in the winter forest, her scarlet cloak a bright spot among all that black and gray. She set a brisk pace, but not a gallop and it was not difficult to trail after her quietly. Nerves, he thought. She's on edge with Brandon's wedding, doesn't want to lose him to a wife now, does she? And with her own wedding so close... It was no secret that Lady Lyanna had small liking for her betrothed.

Hullen thought they would make a handsome couple - both so mettlesome and full of life. Myra had laughed when he'd ventured that opinion to her though. Oh Hul, she'd said fondly, cupping his face between her palms. You might know all there is to about horses but when it comes to what women want, you're a fool. You can't gild pig-iron and call it Valyrian steel and Lady Lyanna knows that.

Young Lord Robert's the true steel, he'd told her. He'd seen the lad fight, hadn't he? A fine husband he'd make.

It takes more than a hammer to make a man out of a boy, Myra had said mysteriously and then would offer no other answer after he pressed her. Go to, you'll only laugh and call me a foolish woman if I tell you what I think of the Baratheon boy.

Wrapped in his musings, Hullen barely noticed at first that Lady Lyanna had come to a stop at a small clearing. She sat still as a cornered vixen, hands clenching the reins as though waiting for something terrible. And then he saw, past her, wound around the bough of a bare tree, a garland of blue roses. They turned his blood to ice.

Before he could shout out a warning to her, a man on a black stallion rode into the clearing. He was armored from head to heel in black steel, but only a fool would not know him for the Prince of Dragonstone. Hullen sat as though rooted to his saddle, mouth agape like a village idiot. Lady Lyanna turned her head, so like a little, lost girl in her scarlet cloak that at last he found his tongue. The Wolf and the girl in the red hood. Just like a fairy story gone horribly wrong.

"My lady, no-" he bellowed and then he felt the blow. He caught only a glimpse of a white cloak, heard only Lady Lyanna scream before his world went black.

A/N: Think of this as a sequel to my other story "The Year of the False Spring"... which I have no idea when I'll start again.