"Father wants to see you in his tent," Benjen announced, poking his head through the tent flap. "Whatever did you do this time, sweet sister?"
"Nothing that concerns you," Lyanna replied, throwing a riding boot his way. Benjen dodged and ran away, laughter trailing in his wake. Lyanna simply dusted off her dress, brushing imaginary wrinkles away. She put down the sweet pea and calmly walked out of her tent top her father's.
It was no great surprise to see the Prince was there. She had expected his presence. Rickard broke off in the middle of a sentence at her arrival and gave the Prince a short nod. Lyanna was about to greet her father, but he walked past her, stopping only to kiss her temple softly. "I shall return later," he promised, leaving her alone with Rhaegar Targaryen.
"Lady Lyanna," he began, closing the distance between them in two long strides, "may I ask some questions of you." Rhaegar smiled almost benignly at her then. He could do whatever he wished and both of them were aware of that much.
"But of course, Your Grace," she offered, fixing her gaze on a point over his shoulder. If she looked him in the eyes, only the gods knew what would come out of her mouth.
"What would you be willing to do to protect the ones you love?" The question startled her. Lyanna had been expecting something about her absence on the previous eve, or perhaps a question of the mystery knight's identity.
"Anything," she answered quite without thinking.
The Prince frowned at her. "Anything at all?"
Blushing, Lyanna amended her reply. "Anything within the realm of possibility, Your Grace. There are, of course, endeavours at which I would fail even if I was willing to undertake them."
"Why is it that you despise Robert Baratheon so?" By that point both of them has sat on a low bench, facing one another. Rhaegar, however, kept a short, but glaring distance between them.
"Because I cannot respect him." Her response prompted a nod from the Prince. "He is not the worst possible choice, I reckon. But he is the worst for me. Your Grace, have you ever felt that a person simply did not understand. I dislike Robert not because of the myriad of flaws he exhibits daily, but he because he wants to cut away all those parts of me he cannot understand." She bit her lip in indecision. Should she continue? Lyanna did, anyway. "To be his wife in truth would be–"
"A cage without a door," Rhaegar supplied after her words had died down. Startled, Lyanna glanced at his face to see if he really did understand. A thoughtful, yet tender expression crossed his features. "I see, my lady."
They remained locked in a staring contest, neither willing to break the contact. Lyanna thought the distance between them to be slowly dissolving. Strangely, unexpectedly and quite without her wanting to, she felt a flare of heat shoot through her. Boldness might have helped. Impunity might have shocked the Prince enough to send him running for the hills. Out of the corner of her eye she spied his hand coming towards her. Lyanna was frozen. She felt his fingers touch the back of her head and her breath quickened. Her eyes closed voluntarily.
"I wondered where it had gone," the Prince's voice broke her out of her reverie. He held a small bloom in his hand, twirling it between his fingers. Instinctively, Lyanna brought a hand to the back of her head. Rhaegar gave her an odd smile. He placed the flower back in its original place. "I trust you shall employ stealth in any further moonlit walk you choose to take."
He stood to his feet, Lyanna remaining seated. He knew. Her heart hammered in her chest. He knew. Yet he hadn't done anything beside confirming the knowledge. "Your Grace, do you not wish to know where I went?"
A chuckle broke forth from the Prince. "Lady Lyanna, I trust you to discern the appropriate behaviour you should exhibit."
And with that he left her on her own, sitting on the bench and holding a hand to her heart. Her father entered the tent quietly and sat down next to her. He put an arm around her shoulders and gently pressed her to his chest. "Have you seen your gift?" Rickard asked her after a short moment of silence.
Lyanna shook her head. "A gift?" Another gift. Why would the Prince be making her gifts? He claimed that he trusted her. What need was there of such trinkets? "Father, do these gifts have a meaning which I do not know?"
Rickard considered her question in silence. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "They mean nothing, my child," he offered, then smiling, he added, "and they mean everything."
A small chest made its way into her lap. It had not been locked. She lifted the lid with care and peered inside with undisguised curiosity. A gasp left her lips at the sight before her. "Oh, it's very pretty." It was beautiful, like nothing she had ever seen before.
Nestled against black velvet, a golden hair comb adorned with three sapphire roses gleamed at Lyanna. She took out the comb and studied it in each and every one of its details. The craftsmanship was exquisite. "What is this?"
"A wedding gift," came the answer.
Understanding dawned upon Lyanna then. "It is to be soon, then?" Resignation made her bow her head. And fear. She was depending on the Prince's word, on his whim. If he decided he had no need of her, she would be Robert's. How would she endure that, Lyanna wondered.
"Upon your nameday. You shall be a lady wedded on the day you turn five and ten." Rickard took the comb from her hands and placed it in her hair. "The Prince has requested you wear this gift." He seemed to admire the glitter of the gems for a number of heartbeats.
Afterwards the gift was placed back in the chest and locked away. Lyanna lowered her gaze to the ground.
"Come, the melee shall begin and you must cheer for Robert," her father said.
Aye, she'd cheer. She would cheer every time Robert got hit.