A/N: So sorry for the delay in updating! I've been so busy recently that I literally have not had a moment to sit in peace and write. I hope to get another chapter up soon, I promise!

"Has Manderly sent any aid?" Rhaegar questioned, his irritation growing with every exchange between Lyanna and Jon.

"Not yet."

"Manderly is sworn to the North."

"My lady, it appears that with his capture of what remains of Winterfell and your army decimated, Stannis is the North now." Jon could barely conceal his amusement.

"A Southron Lord will never rule the North," Lyanna hissed, her contempt burning brightly behind those gray eyes.

Her mistake was realized too late, though the troubled expression which touched Rhaegar's features remained only fleetingly.

A rift was opening between them before Jon's eyes.

"We've also had word from Arthur. They've taken Bitterbridge and cut clean through the Tyrell supply lines to King's Landing. Highgarden is under siege from both sides, caught between the Dornish forces that came up through the mountain passes and your sister's Unsullied and Freedmen. Prince Doran's son travels with them, as her betrothed."

It was Lyanna who broke the stunned silence first, clutching the covers to herself.

"Your sister…?"

"The Golden Company is growing restless, Rhaegar. Highgarden is well provisioned to hold out under a long siege, far longer than it will take for reinforcements to be sent from Casterly Rock and the capitol. Daenerys's army will be trapped in the Reach, fighting on three fronts."

"Gather Strickland and his commanders."

With a perfunctory bow, Jon left the turmoil he had created inside the pavilion, feeling satisfied. The sun had breached the horizon, shining warmly on his face as he stepped into its light.

It was going to be a good day.

Lyanna drew the blankets closer as Rhaegar rose and began to dress, his mind quite clearly far away. She felt a numbness settle over her as the moments passed by and she watched his automatic movements, his distraction absolute.

"Were you going to tell me?" she finally asked him.

"No. There was no reason to." When he looked towards her, his focus slowly returned, though she could tell there were many and more things warring for attention in his mind. "I left Daenerys with Arthur when we sailed, they were to follow shortly afterwards, but a storm swept us North and laid waste to much of the fleet. We didn't make land where we had intended, I thought Jon and the others lost at first. I had no way of knowing whether Arthur and Daenerys had made the crossing or been taken by a storm as we had, and even if they hadn't, they would have been sailing for the Stormlands to meet us. There was no word of what had befallen them until now."

"You thought them dead," she realized, taken aback.

"I've been waiting."

"It seems your wait is over."

It was plain that nothing had changed, that eleven years had not managed to strip down the barrier which had stood between them. Which would always stand between them.

"Go to Sansa. She needs you."

"Winterfell needs me," Lyanna pointed out as she gathered what little dignity remained to her.

"You have no hope of taking it back from Stannis, Lyanna. Your host and your lords were massacred. There are not enough fighting men in the North to drive out both the Ironborn and the force Stannis took from Dragonstone. Are you going to ask those who are left to die for you as well?"

Rhaegar's words were meant to make her see reason, she knew, but there was no reason left for her to see. It had died along with Ned, Catelyn, and their children.

"Unless it is your intention to lend aid, I don't see what business it is of yours what I intend to do. You have a war of your own to wage, I believe."

"You know I don't have the numbers to split my forces. Go to Sansa in the Vale, she has no one but you now. If I manage to take back the Iron throne there will be time enough then to deal with the Ironborn, Stannis, and Bolton. Winterfell will be yours again."

Lyanna levelled him with an icy stare. "If you manage to take back the Iron throne, Winterfell will be yours again."

"Lyanna." Rhaegar's fingers wavered from snatching up his cloak where it hung across the back of the chair at the desk, and he crossed the pavilion instead.

Edging backward on the bed as he sat down, she raised her chin defiantly. "I will not stand by and do nothing."

"And Sansa?" he prompted her.

"Her family is gone. She deserves, at least, to have a home."

Long fingers brushed her tangled hair back from her face, causing Lyanna's muscles to tense. "Her family is not gone. Not yet."

"Please, go." She closed her eyes as his lips pressed warm against her temple. The feather mattress shifted when he stood and she heard each step that brought him closer to the doorway. "I'm not waiting for you this time, Rhaegar," she said, forcing her voice to carry clearly and without breaking.

When no response came she looked towards the exit, but she was alone in the pavilion.

A chill crept over Lyanna slowly in his absence and she drew the blankets more securely around her shoulders, shivering as she got up. She left her shift and ruined gown where they lay on the floor, searching instead inside the trunk at the foot of the bed. Rhaegar's scent enveloped her as she hauled out articles of his clothing which would be far more practical than her own for travelling and hastily drew them on. Nothing fit snugly, but with the aid of a spare swordbelt and a heavy cloak, she managed to make it all work. The garments were of good quality but plain enough so as not to draw unwanted attention, and she was grateful that Rhaegar wasn't of the taste to garishly display his house sigil all over everything he wore as so many nobles were wont to do.

There was no time to plan anything, and if she had stopped to try to come up with one she feared she might lose her nerve. Outside in the encampment surrounding the Twins a flurry of activity had picked up by the time she had finished. She guessed that marching orders had been swiftly given, following on the heels of the new information Jon had received.

With one last look around, Lyanna moved to the desk. Maps crowded across its surface, and she rolled up the two which seemed as though they might be of the most assistance to her. In lifting one she caught sight of a short blade and grabbed it, tucking it into the empty swordbelt. Rhaegar had probably been using it to open letters, but if she did manage to slip out of the encampment undetected, it would only improve her very slim chances of making it to Greywater Watch alive if she actually carried a weapon.

Drawing up the staked canvas, Lyanna crouched and scrambled out of the pavilion from a corner she knew to face away from the majority of the other tents nearby and where, hopefully, any guards Rhaegar had left to watch over her would not be looking. She straightened hurriedly and drew up the cloak's hood, having braided her hair back out of sight.

All around her the Golden Company worked in a practiced and efficient manner to tear down and pack up their shelters and other equipment. As she strode across the muddy courtyard she kept her head low. The portcullis was still lowered this early in the day, and Lyanna chewed the inside of her cheek in agitation as she cast about for another way to escape. From behind her a shout rang out and she heard the cry carry surely from one end of the bailey to the other, breaking into the regular din of dismantling the encampment. She glanced over her shoulder, spotting the dark smoke which billowed up from Rhaegar's pavilion and had to admit that while it had been done as a distraction, setting the fire had also brought with it a small measure of satisfaction.

"You, here."

Lyanna nearly stumbled when a fist connected with her chest, shoving at her a handful of reins she was obliged to snatch up while ducking her head in trepidation. She waited, but the sellsword had rushed past her along with not a few others, trying to keep order amidst the growing discord. The flames were well on the way to being put out already, she noticed. Tossing the reins back over the head of the horse she had been intrusted with, Lyanna clutched a fistful of coarse mane and vaulted up into the saddle. She wheeled the mount around just as the portcullis began to lurch upward to admit a scouting party and drove hard toward the gates, scattering men from her path. Curses followed after her, soon replaced by terse orders for her to be stopped.

Her heart was pounding so forcefully against her ribs that Lyanna felt it might explode at any moment as she noticed with a sense of dread that swords were being drawn at her approach. An arrow streaked past and she crouched lower in the saddle, directing her steed wide of the armed men, though this lengthened the distance to the portcullis and her freedom.

Pain lanced up her leg as another horse crashed into her own, trapping her calf in the stirrup between the two racing mounts. Her arm was seized in an iron grip, wrenching her sideways, and would have torn her from the saddle if it weren't for her pinned leg.

Releasing the reins, Lyanna fumbled with her free hand for the dagger in her belt, and drew it out the moment her fingers closed around the worn hilt. She slashed towards her harasser wildly as they bore down on the gates, still only half raised. As suddenly as the hand had grabbed her it fell away from her arm and she had to scrabble not to lose her seat when her horse broke free of the other, charging beneath the portcullis and straight through the bewildered scouting party.