"And all this for a crown of roses. What a strange world." Ned gazes at her with steady cold eyes. Lyanna returns his stare with one of her own, unflinching. "Dare I ask? 'Tis too late for what-ifs and might-have-beens."

"Ask if you so will," she replies calmly. She knows the question. She knows it well. Yet if Ned would hear the same words from her, then she will not hesitate to speak them.

"Could you not have found it in your heart to refuse?" The question glides against her, a reminder, a promise, a scold. "You have always been too stubborn by half."

"So I have," she agrees. And then she decides she won't answer the question after all because Ned has always known. Whatever explanation she would offer will forever be set up against the rigid demands of honour.

Lyanna is many things. Morally perfect is not one of them though. Her brother understands all to see that she does not mean to speak. So he fills the silence. "All is lost," he says with the knowledge of the newly deceased and the vanity of a man whose existence mattered.

"All has been lost before. Many times," she reminds him. He still thinks upon the world of the living. She wonders if he will be able to let go, but the two of them, Lyanna does truly understand, are tied still to the struggling.

"Is that supposed to bring me comfort?" he demands.

"Nay. If you seek comfort, 'tis the wrong place to find it."