Admitting to one's mistakes was possibly one of the hardest things to do. Lyanna was not too infatuated with her own intellect that she could not do so though when necessary. It remained, however, one of the most unpleasant tasks she had ever been faced with. Nevertheless, her eyes fell upon young Jaime Lannister whose passionate recount of his encounter with the grinning terror, the one they called the Smiling Knight. She listened, nodding politely every once in a while.

"So young and already destined for greatness," she said at the end of it, shifting slightly in the saddle. Her mare snorted, as though she could read through the layered sweetness. "Your kin must be very proud, yes?" Something flittered across his face. Lyanna could not name the emotion whatever it was, he covered it within a moment's notice.

"I imagine they are, my lady." He was not a young fool chasing glory. But he was young and glory did find him. The only remaining piece of assessment regarded whether he was a fool or not. And that, she'd need more time to dwell upon before reaching conclusions. Likely as not, it would also require further demonstrations on his part.

"Come now, there is no need for modesty," she teased lightly. Jaime's face flushed. She wondered whether that was her doing. "I am certainly in awe." For all the good that did. "One can only hope all knights follow your example, ser,"

He chuckled, stirring the reins with one hand. Lyanna might have told him it would be better to do it with both, but then she needn't concern herself with Jaime Lannister. "You are rather good at flattery, my lady, I must admit. Do you not fear engaging my heart?" Surprise shot through her. One eyebrow raised in inquiry, she kept her gaze upon the young man. "It implies one of two things," Jaime explained of his own volition, "either you undervalue your appeal, or you undervalue mine. I've yet to decide which is worse."

It was her turn to chuckle. She'd not expected him to embroil her in such a game. "I assure you, ser, I undervalue neither of us." He cocked his head to the side, an unspoken question upon his lips. Strange how she hadn't noticed that despite his youth, he was still very charming. One of his many graces, Lyanna supposed, her own smile faltering slightly. "But even if I were to undervalue either one of us, I don't expect it might cause quite the ripples you are envisioning."

The knight shrugged. "Far be it from me to tell, my lady." She breathed out in relief. Jaime seemed pleased as well to move on to another subject. She followed his lead, more or less aware that his brother-in-arms broke away from her kin and waited for the both of them to reach his side.

Between the two men, Lyanna was not quite certain to whom her attention should go. Ser Arthur solved that quandary for her. "If you would be so good, Jaime, I believe Lord Stark wishes to put some questions to you." Dutifully, his young companion cantered off.

"If I did not know any better, ser," she began, twisting the reins tighter around her wrists, "I would call that an attempt to put some distance between Ser Jaime and me. But why ever would you do so, I wonder."

Predictably enough, his response was a soft chuckle. "You are most amusing, my lady. If I thought there was the slightest chance of danger regarding your conversation, the distance would have been of insurmountable nature." She paused, her mien turning serious as his words. But Arthur did not look bothered by her reaction; he seemed pleased. "You must understand, I made a promise of sorts to a mutual friend."

"A promise?" Lyanna supposed she ought to feel irate at being saddled with a guard dog. But then a guard dog let naught approach its mistress. Arthur was more in the vein of an annoying septa. "Am I so untrustworthy in his eyes?"

The knight shrugged. "That is a question best put to him." He had the right of it. Besides, what had she expected? She certainly did not trust her husband-to-be beyond the length to which she could throw him.

"What promise did you make precisely?" He drew somewhat closer. Lyanna leaned slightly in, half-amused at the antics and the expression he bore.

"That I would see you come to no harm." That made sense. "That is, if I should come upon you." A reasonable request; one she could imagine making for someone she took an interest in. Lyanna accepted the explanation signalling as much by way of a languid nod.

"It was noble of you to add to your burdens, ser." It could not have been an easy thing, to divide himself among so many requests; some of which he could never realistically refuse. That aside, his devotion to the task spoke of a certain dutiful bend to his character. Lyanna tucked away that bit of knowledge with firm expectation that she would benefit from it at aa later time. Indeed, for all his outgoing mannerisms, Arthur Dayne was, at heart, not much different than her poor brother Ned. "I meant to ask, about your sister," she paused, "is there a chance I shall see her at court?"

"Ashara, you mean, my lady?" She nodded, trying to recall whether she'd heard of any other sister of his. But her search yielded no result. Forced back into the current conversation, she did her best to focus. "You shall your fill of her at court, I imagine. My sister has long since cemented herself in the enviable position of court lady."

"Has she, indeed?" No matter; her objective was to find out what precisely the woman's feelings towards her brother were. "That is just as well; I feared I mightn't know any faces and have been much assailed by the notion, in spite of glad tidings."

"Never fear, my lady, you shall know as many people as you wish to." And then some, Lyanna considered silently. For her companion's benefit she plastered a tiny smile to her face.

"Your sister I mean to know particularly well, ser. I was pleasantly surprised by her candour at Harrenhal." While she doubted Lady Ashara had indeed much candour, for who did, in truth, involve themselves in court life and remain sincere; might be those who were simple. The man's sister was far from simple.

"And so you shall. Have you ever been to King's Landing before?" He smiled her way. She liked the smile. In her experience, men were the easier ones to read, by and large. In part due to the forthrightness encouraged in them, she guessed. She'd yet to hear of maesters , or parents for that matter, encouraging their strapping young heirs to engage in veiled behaviour outside political enterprise.

"If you mean to warn me about the," she paused, trying to find the right words, "customary miasma of the place, you needn't worry. That warning I have heard before." Not a delicate thing to say, but certainly not enough to shock her current partner.

"I wish I had thought to warn you nevertheless." His mien turned apologetic. "'Twas another matter I wished to bring up. " Presenting him with her interest, Lyanna urged the knight on. "If you can look beyond the appalling scents, and they truly are something frightening, then there are quite a few entertainments to be enjoyed there."

"Is that so?" Entertainments she was not against. Being only human, a woeful state but one she hadn't the faintest intention of altering, left Lyanna in such a position that she was vulnerable to foibles replicated in her brethren and in equal measure she was swayed by similar performances as they. "You know it well, I take it, King's Landing?"

"Like the back of my hand." And how proud he looked of the fact. She could not help her genuine response to that. "One is not always on duty, my lady. And when there is time, well, knights are not that different from other man at the end of the day, are they?" Weren't they? She shrugged amiably. "That is to say, I enjoy my walks."

"I see. I sometimes find myself cast adrift in Winter town, wandering aimlessly. You must have seen in when you visited my home." He nodded. "During summers it is deserted. Certainly there are very few who settle permanently within. But once winter arrives, it fills with people. Merchants, wandering mummers, singers."

"It must be quite the sight." Agreement came fast. "Might be you shall convince Rhaegar to bring us there come winter. I confess I grow curious."

"I do not suppose it has half the charm of court, but having grown so very near it, it remains dear to my heart." Dare she ask Rhaegar to accompany her though? It was an innocent enough request. It might aid in cementing a bond between them. "There are these cakes; they are served only in winter. I learned 'twas some sort of family recipe and as far as I can discern there is a healthy dose of honey and ginger involved. If only I could guess the rest."

"Now I am well and truly intrigued." She laughed. "No, my lady; do not mock me. Put the promise of good food before a man and you have half won him over." He was so easy to get along with. Like a brother. Her mind reminded her that she had, in effects, assimilated him to that same category earlier.

"Are you suggesting I use the same line of reasoning with His Grace?" It would be a good jest, if the man could appreciate it. But Lyanna was half afraid to try.

"I am suggesting precisely that." He had jested with her, true enough, a time or two. But that had not been at court where he had an image to maintain. Her head shook lightly in disbelief. But Ser Arthur was already painting her a picture of the feat, clearly invested in the notion.

Unable to help herself, she encouraged his exaggerations in turn with a giggle, attracting more than a pair or two of eyes. "No more, good ser. I am convinced." Might be after a year or two, once she had a better claim upon her husband's, well, for the lack of a better word, heart.

Would she though? Lyanna did wonder about that. It did not escape her that her betrothed was as guarded as she. He showed appreciation for her in some measure. That was undeniable, but he spoke not of his reasoning for choosing her. As far as she'd gleaned, it had to do with some sort of agreement between himself and her brother. It was not an upsetting thought. Marriages had been arranged for less. And she did not find him displeasing. But there was a tiny part of her that had hoped for something more, well, simply more.

Shaking her head, as though to dislodge the wayward thought, Lyanna ended up face to face with a concerned knight. "Are you well, my lady? You looked somewhat ill at ease."

"Did I? I apologise, ser. For a moment I was beset by the strangest thoughts." A sigh left her lips. "No matter. I would do better to give that little attention." There, she shoved away the unpleasant remnants and concentrated on what pleased her about the impending nuptials. She would have a husband who was more than easy of the eye, a position far elevated than before and quite possibly more resources than she knew what to do with. She would attain her goal and she would make it so that her marriage, even born out of political reasoning, turned into a fruitful venture.

"If you would like us to stop, we can." She shook her head and was momentarily warmed by his care.

"I assure you I am well." He left it at that, much to her approval. "Tell me, ser, have you been long living in those parts that you should know them like the back of your hand?"

"Long enough. I came to King's Landing as a squire and then, when His Grace and I became particular friends, the fact my lord had need to remain at court came as a blessing, I would say. But to give a clearer answer, I was two and ten or thereabouts."

And he was now older and, presumably wiser. Lyanna, not satisfied, continued with her line of questioning. It was not as though she had other pressing matters to attend to. "For whom did you squire that he should be so requested at court?"

"Ser, as he was known then, Ormond Yronwood. He has since gained lordship." And right proud he seemed of that. Lyanna, for her part, worked backwards through the Yronwood family-line, trying to place Ser Ormond, or lord; whatever he may be.

"Is that not Lord Edgar Yronwood's son? The same Lord Edgar felled in combat by Prince Oberyn?" Arthur confirmed her suspicions. "Where you present when," words failed her. Poison was the weapons of cowards and, occasionally, women according to Maester Walys. Another reason to dislike the Dornish Prince. She could not complain.

"Unfortunately, I was." That ought to provide ample entertainment. "By the look upon your face I can divine I am to be questioned upon the particulars of this adventure." She nodded, not even bothering to hide her curiosity. "Very well, ask away, my lady."

"Was the Prince's blade truly poisoned?" That had to have been the question upon the lips of all those she had ever hard discussing the subject. It remained a mystery. No one had ever been able to say with any amount of certainty whether it was the case or not.

The Dornishman sighed softly and for a brief moment she thought he would deny her after all. "I did not dare cut myself upon its edge and test whether it was poisoned. However, the symptoms I was able to observe in Lord Edgar certainly lent themselves to such a possibility."

"I suppose one cannot possibly ask for more. But why has the Crown not turned its attention upon this matter?" She bit her lip. "'Tis still a grave occurrence, poison or not."

"Lord Edgar put the challenge to the Prince. That he happened to lose was unfortunate. Yet even if he had won, it would have been useless to apply to King and council; the matter was of a personal nature. Besides, one must account for the Faith who would have judged the paramour far harsher than any of the men who fought over her."

"Lord Yronwood cannot have taken it too well. I never did hear what happened to the girl." He did not answer straight away. "Have you any notion?"

"Last I heard she was sent back down to the village." As she should have been. Lyanna nodded, her mind working upon the matter.

In fact, she wondered at the girl getting away with nary a punishment. One was accountable for one's deeds, after all. But then a thought struck her. Likely as not, the poor thing was some common labourer's get, who had little enough skill to make her way in the world, or otherwise knew she could rely on her charms to live a good life. In short, her encounter with the prince might have either threatened her or emboldened her.

"If you do not think it too forward of me, do you know whether Lord Yronwood's paramour was a willing participant in the affair with the Prince?" Just because Oberyn Martell was famed throughout the kingdoms for his skill as a lover, it did not follow that any woman would fall at his feet and bless the dust he trod upon.

"According to her, she was." Arthur shrugged. "Lord Yronwood was past his prime and the Prince, well, I need not point out the obvious." Even so, had she not considered the very real possibility of being caught in the act? The knight chuckled. "Not every single person will think their options through."

"Very true." It need not concern her in any case. Oberyn Martell would, inevitably, plague her for some time but she had no doubt she could contrive something to keep him from being too much in the way. "Might be we ought to leave poor Lord Yronwood and his tragedy behind."

"Might be we'd best do so." And that was the end of it, as far as Lyanna was concerned. The Dornish Prince was certainly not deserving of any further attention from her.

"You and His Grace were close from a start?" she questioned, settling for a subject which could not possibly lead her astray.

"Not at all. His Grace was not entirely kindly disposed towards those of us with an unwavering interest in blades as opposed to the infinitely more valuable attractions of a few hundred scrolls. He found us as insufferable as we found him, I daresay. But we were mere squires and he was the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Why do I get the feeling your reaction involved something potentially dangerous?" Boys had a way of landing themselves in all sorts of mischief.

"We teased him something fierce. Enough that it ended up in a scuffle." For some reason her memory supplied a mock-battle between Brandon and Ned, and she winced. Neither one of her brothers were very prone to holding back, even though the eldest was the more talented one.

"Who won?"

"To tell you truthfully, I haven't the faintest. For someone professing not to be interested in blades, His Grace certainly never seemed at a disadvantage. I can only conclude he took his training seriously despite his dislike for it. I imagine we would have reached some sort of conclusion, however the master-at-arms interrupted."

"My gods, I don't imagine he was happy about the scene."

"No one was, least of all me who got a healthy beating before His Grace could put an end to it."

"And you became thick as thieves after?"

"Not at all, if you would believe it. I was most put out at having been thus interrupted and His Grace seemed to agree, for the next we met was after sundown." Lyanna thought she understood that; after all, there had been no true resolution to the conflict. "He can be rather vicious; especially when he wants to win."

"So he came out the victor?" A wave of satisfaction followed his nod.

"By a hairsbreadth, but there you have it, my lady. I was bested. And then we became thick as thieves, as you put it."


The smell was about as enchanting as she had expected it to be. Lyanna could make no valid complaint on that front. Still, to her great fortune, a piece of fabric dabbed in fragrant oils had a beneficial effect upon the odious smell. Just like Catelyn promise it would.

Their arrival, noted by more than one single pair of eyes , stirred some interest, but nowhere near enough for the streets to fill. And truly, the person most worthy of recognition was Ser Arthur Dayne, who was the very same knight attracting admiring looks. Not that she could blame anyone.

By then, however, Lyanna had been pressed in her brother's company and showed little enough interest in the scenery, even one composed of narrow buildings and masses of people. Her mind was firmly set upon another matter altogether. Which matter, distressingly enough, remained elusive in spite of her best attempts at creating a believable picture of it. Wiser heads might have counselled a modicum of faith on her part, and she would have ignored them had they the audacity to proceed with such advice. Left to her own devices, she instead decided she would be best served by a dose of panic and an even greater share of rigid withdraw of palpable reaction.

The better she controlled the timid tendril of panic threatening to wrap themselves around her, the more she could pretend there existed nothing which might cause her discomfort. It was one of the instances in which Lyanna was happy enough lying to herself. Not that such a tactic would be admitted to once the unpleasantness was past. For all that, she remained locked at her brother's side, mute and blind by choice.

Her ruse carried her as far as the gates of the Red Keep; gates which had been thrown open in warm welcome, it appeared, as the horses rode past without as much as a single query put forth or objection raised. If anything, it seemed that she had been the only one giving in to panic. The rest of the realm remained serene in the face of such momentous happenings. This gave her little recourse but to force her own calmness forth and hope she did not give herself away.

Greeting went as those things usually did. Lyanna was helped down by her brother, her injured, sore ankle twinging with the tiniest amount of pain as she pushed through her curtsies. Her gritted teeth went by unnoticed, in part due to the Queen's cordial manner and her women's fluttering about, all questions and in part due to the notable absence of the King.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard took a moment to survey their party before he called his knights aside. Dearly as Lyanna wished she could be a fly on that wall and hear the conversation, her attention snapped back t the matter at hand once she found herself fairly thrust into the Prince's arms. Certainly it was nowhere near as vulgar a display as that, but it was made apparent by the Queen that she would walk within with her son. Lyanna had refusal to give.

"You appear to be favouring one leg above the other, my lady," Rhaegar whispered, apparently comfortable with a collection of curious eyes staring at him. Lyanna, who had no more than a tad of her usual balance, rewarded his observant nature with a grimace. "And hear I thought I'd asked Ser Dayne to see you come to no harm."

With that she was reminded of a young boy who retaliated at the teasing of his peers. Her grimace turned into a smile. "What shall you do, Your Grace? Challenge the man to meet you after sunset?" Shocking enough, her betrothed was not impervious. His eyes flashed. "I pray you wouldn't."

"I am not in the habit of issuing challenges I haven't the intention to win. What happened to your leg?" A mind incapable of letting go. Just as well. Lyanna's hold on his hand became firmer as she leaned more of her weight against him, in spite of the knowledge she needn't his support.

"So I am given to understand." His stare turned into a glare. "'Twas a mishap with the wheelhouse. Nothing more, Your Grace. A piece of wood managed to graze me." He paused, this time forcing her frame into stillness as well. "There was nothing poor Ser Dayne might have done."

He seemed to accept that, but nevertheless removed her hand from his arm. "Are you in pain?"

"No." She returned her hand to his arm. "Not at all, Your Grace. Might be we should not linger without."

His arm moved around her waist and she had little option but to allow her hand to drop. "'Tis not necessary, Your Grace. I can manage."

"I am certain you can, but you needn't." Thus she was obliged to allow him to have his way. Caught against him, there was some support for her, but most of all she managed to gather more attention that before, which did little to assuage her nervousness. "Allow our maester to take a look at your wound."

She had wanted a poultice after all. "If Your Grace insists."

"I do insist." She nodded, allowing him to help her up the stairs.

Once within the confines of rose-brick walls, they were served with ales and wines, salted bread and cheese. Lyanna took a morsel and washed it down with some wine. Her tolerance for ale she could not pride herself with. Her betrothed maintained his position for a short while, but before long he was drawn away by a few lords intent on hearing his opinion upon some matter Lyanna had little knowledge of.

She was not to be alone. The Queen took her son's place, stepping in the spot he'd vacated with the merest hint of a smile upon her lips. "You must let me take a better look at you," she cajoled in a soft voice, as Lyanna gave in to her instinct and took a step back. The Prince's mother reached out for her. "Surely I do not frighten you."

"Not at all," Lyanna answered, forcing herself to relax at the obvious perusal. She wondered what the other woman saw, and if she approved. It made no matter; however, it would bolster her confidence to know she had the approval.

Acutely aware of her shortcomings in the face of such scrutiny, she had little recourse but to put on her best front and hope it might please. She imagined the feeling was not uncommon in those undergoing any manner of inspection. But it still managed to rattle her. Especially considering the Queen gave no signs of either approval or disapproval. At least if she were found lacking, it would be easier to tolerate it if she was aware that such was the woman's opinion on her.

"That is good. I should hate to think my good-daughter walks the halls in fear of me." It was then that Lyanna took note of the two figures standing behind the Queen. Their garb marked them as women of the cloth, as it were, dedicated to the Seven. Lyanna was unable to place their order, but she did not expect it would matter.

The first of them was a corpulent woman, her forehead bathed in sweat. The grey broadcloth of her garments indicated she was not in a high position. The wimple covering her hair, if there was any there, for she might have shorn her locks as some of the devout sisters did, was a faded yellow hue. Her companion, on the other hand, presented herself much better. She wore pristine cloth on her head, her garments neat and clean. Somewhat younger than the other woman, she bore herself with a sense of dignity her sister-in-the-faith lacked. If she did not know any better, she might think one has been born to mean parents and the other to a well-off family. Not unheard of, to be sure.

The Queen was talking to her. Lyanna nodded, trying to catch up. "And once you are settled, I shall like nothing more than to know you better. Rhaegar wrote, of course, and he is truly the best son a mother could ask for. But he is still a man. Men leave out the most important of details."

The best son a mother could ask for. The words rang in her ears. There was something so very warming about hearing such assessments regarding her betrothed. "He wrote?" Of her, she presumed. As far as she was concerned, that was not something she had asked for. This woman had had ample time to prepare herself to face her son's betrothed. She had not had the same advantage.

"As he should." She nodded her head dutifully. There was little to say to that. But she would have to pay mind to the woman. That much she was certain of. "Come now, I mustn't keep you from your rest."

Scarcely had she managed to settle her trunks when a rap to the door called her attention. Tansy clucked her tongue and grumbled to herself but went to the door and opened in at her order. For her part, Lyanna was somewhat surprised to see a young woman in dark garb followed by the Grand Maester.

"My lady, I was informed you suffered a mishap." She felt her face heat up. Rhaegar had mentioned a maester, but she had been hoping it would be an acolyte rather than the old maester. Not certain she wanted his hands anywhere on her despite his impressive knowledge, she nonetheless nodded. "His Grace requested I have a look at your wound. This here," he nodded towards the young woman, "is Coryna."

"Her Majesty requested I remain in your company, my lady." That was not a bad thought at all. She breathed out in relief and delivered a second nod.

"Have a seat," she invited the woman, then motioned towards Tansy. She sat upon the other chair, not daring making use of the bed. Tansy knelt by her and set to releasing her wounded leg. The boot and stocking were put away.

Pycelle elected to have her leg hoisted up. Lyanna was thankful for the many layers clothing her. She did not think she might endure it otherwise. Alas, endure it she must. Lyanna bit her lower lip in an attempt to stifle a sound of revulsion at the cold fingers wrapping around her. It would not do to alienate him so early on. Aside from which, what was cold hands to cold hearts.

Smooth fingers traced the round ring. Her flesh smarted at his attempted inspection. Her first instinct was to draw away. She did not do so in the end. "It looks well cleaned to me. A poultice should suffice for it. If my lady is willing Coryna will be applying it for you as soon as I have prepared it."

"That is acceptable," she answered, her voice wavering only slightly. For that she could have hit herself. "You may come before suppertime to attend me, if you would be so kind."

"No, my lady. I am to remain with you on Her Majesty's orders."

"I see." It would be better to hold her complaints off for some time yet. "Well, then, I shall wait for the poultice, maetser." Understanding the dismissal without her further exerting herself, the man stood and bowed, retreating without, a murmured promise upon his lips.

Left with the servant girl and the companion, Lyanna set Tansy her tasks before allowing her to be off on her way. "Return to me before supper, Tansy, and, pray, do make certain there are no errands you leave unfinished." The servant girl nodded, effacing herself within moments. Once alone with the newly arrived woman, she bent to remove her other boot and stocking, contemplating whether she should ask about the Queen's edict.

"Are you sworn to the Faith?" she heard her own voice put forth.

"Not yet, my lady. I am a novice in the Faith and do not dare call myself by so lofty a title." Lofty? Lyanna smiled. There was little lofty about being forced into service, away from one's family, with no prospects and little to do besides watching the children of other ladies. But then, it might be a step up for girls born in a mud hut.

"A novice. It must be a difficult position to be in. Have you been in King's Landing long?" As she spoke, she rose from her seat and moved to the biggest of the chests, opening the lid in one flowing motion. She dragged out a thick kirtle, meant for comfort.

"Not very long, my lady. A few turns." A few turns was long enough to learn her way about the place, and gain a protectress, or so it appeared.

"If you are to remain with me, might be you would be willing to aid." She held out the dark material and the novice draped it over one arm, allowing her to turn. "Pray loosen those." And she did. Lyanna had not expected any different. "If you are only recently arrived here, where is it that you come from?"

"The Stormlands, my lady. My father worked the land for Lord Buckler." Born in a mud hut indeed. "My mother was the daughter of a brewer. They are both gone now."

Her heart went out to the girl. They were not so very different, despite their opposite stations. "I am sorry to hear that." She shrugged out of her kirtle, allowing it to fall to the floor. Lyanna stepped out of it and pushed it away with her injured foot, electing to rest on the good one. No sense in falling over and bruising her face.

The chemise and smallclothes followed. "I imagine the tub had already been filled in the other chamber." Coryne nodded, and opened the door for Lyanna.

On the other side there was but a tub waiting. The tall wooden structure must have been ages old. The wood was scratched, showing signs of use. She eyed the sheets spilling over the rim with a modicum of distrust. Were they thick enough to keep her skin from getting scalded?

There was only one way to find out. Lyanna climbed atop the footstool and tested the heat of the water. It seemed innocuous enough. She climbed over the edge and lowered herself enough that she was soon in a sitting position. She would not scald herself, but she felt as though low flames were running along her skin.

"Shall I wash your hair, my lady?" Coryna questioned. She felt the girl's hand upon her head, tugging the wet weight of her tresses.

"Do." Meantime, she would wash the rest of herself.


What woke her was the muffled sounds. For a moment, bleary-eyed and sluggish, she could only stare in confusion at the form towering over her. Her mind scrambled to make sense out of what stood before her. Frowning, Lyanna turned on her side and forced herself to a sitting position.

"Catelyn? Is aught amiss?" But her good-sister merely shook her head and smiled. Sinking deeper into her current state, she dragged herself to the edge of the bed, pursing her lips at the twinge of pain shooting through her leg.

"Why would anything be amiss?" her good-sister questioned, seeming genuinely amused. "'Tis only that you've spelt for so long and I was beginning to worry you would not wake in time to ready yourself for supper."

That fairly explained her presence. Still, Lyanna could not help but feel a little bit miffed at having been led astray. Her expectations thus let down, her frown turned into a light scowl. "You might have woken me earlier."

"I might have," Catelyn acknowledged, "but you were truly tired and I hadn't the heart. That aside, I am here now and Thyme has pressed your kirtle. Come, unless you hope to make an impression with your hair a bird's nest."

"Tansy," she corrected. Catelyn gave her a confused look. "This one is Tansy. Thyme remains at Winterfell."

A blush coloured her good-sister's cheeks. "I had no idea. And I kept calling her Thyme. This is the trouble with twins." Why that should be, Lyanna did not know; Catelyn had not met Thyme. To confuse them despite only hearing about the twin was something else. "Poor girl; and she did not correct me once."

"I expect Tansy has had her fair share of being called by her sister's name. You needn't fret." Having finally gathered her bearings, she climbed out of bed. She glanced down at her feet, noting for the first time that her ankle had been bound. Coryna must have come in while she was sleeping. "You ought to be readying yourself as well, good-sister." Unlike her, however, Catelyn's hair had been brushed and combed into an elaborate arrangement, she wore a fresh gown and looked, all in all, her best.

"I am more than prepared," Catelyn tsked softly.

Tansy opened the door. She carried a pair of hot irons. "M'lady, glad I am to see you awake. We must make haste."

"There, there; Tansy. The world is not coming to an end."