Months fly by, and Lyanna is a guest in what was once her home. Jon is growing, taller and taller, and solemn, and so much like his uncle that Catelyn remarks upon it as they put the children to sleep. Rhaegon and Aeron do well enough, they cannot yet walk yet, unlike Jon, but they can certainly wail and get into a lot of scrapes. Robb Stark has the Tully looks and Lyanna brushes his coppery hair with a smile, remarking that the firstborns take their looks from their mothers. Of course when the four of then band together only the Gods can keep them safe.

When Rhaegar comes to see her, Lyanna thinks her heart may burst. His dark armour, with it blood-red dragon of rubies, the silver hair and those eyes she knows so well. The realm is full of unrest, she knows. Her husband has made no move to see the King off the throne, but these are hard times. "Your Grace, Winterfell is yours," Eddard says. Lyanna sees her husband smile and smiles too, Rhaegon is in her arms, Aeron in Catelyn's and Jon holding onto her skirts. "Hopefully the road has not been too rough, Your Grace."

"Lord Stark, Lady Stark," he greets. Rhaegar nods to his hosts and to his wife. He picks Jon up. "My Lady, it is good to see you." He's brought men with him, and they need accommodation. Ned and Cat will be busy with that in any event, so when Rhaegar asks for a moment with his wife, they graciously agree. "I would show you something," he tells her. Then he takes her to a wheelhouse.

"Why have you brought me here?" Lyanna enters as she is bid, but the blood chills in her veins. She sees a woman, a nursemaid by the looks of her, and in her arms a babe. "Rhaegar, I would hear an explanation, if you will give it." The infant, a girl, has dark hair and darker eyes. She looks like a foreign Princess Lyanna has not yet forgotten. Without waiting for a word, she storms out the wheelhouse, because behind her eyes burns the image of Elia Martell.

"Lyanna, stop!" Rhgaegar follows her out, grabbing her arm, forcing her body to remain unmoving. "I had to bring her here. I had to." And even though she trashes against his iron clasp, Rhaegar won't let her go. "Listen to me."

"Don't you dare, Rhaegar Targaryen!" Lyanna growls out. "What could you possibly tell me? What?" Tears sting her eyes, and the taste of ash gathers in her mouth. "To show me this is cruel. I never thought you cruel, but you are your father's son." She's spiteful, maybe, on account of hurt.

They enter the rooms which have been given to her, and Lyanna is brutally pushes into the wall, stone digging into her back and shoulders. "You will listen," Rhaegar hisses, well and truly angered. When Lyanna's hand comes down towards his face he grabs it and slams it to the wall too. "They would have killed her. She's just a babe." Then he gathers her in his arms. "Arthur Dayne is a White Cloak."

"Arthur Dayne?" It all comes to her. Of course, Ser Arthur and Princess Elia. "I thought she was yours." The sob catches in her throat. And she finds it hard to look at him, part anger, part shame. "What do you want from me?"

"I have claimed her." He lets her go then. "The Martells will aid me, so long as I promise them my brother. The Council has agreed to name me Prince Regent. I would bring you with me." So long as no one find the identity of the bastard's mother.

Yet Lyanna cannot hear anything but the fact that he has claimed her. "You would have me acknowledge her as yours?" Does he want her to raise the child? "What of her mother? Does precious Elia not want her child?" Lyanna has given birth to three sons and she cannot image not having them in sight, knowing them safe, holding them and kissing them goodnight.

He hesitates, and Lyanna gives him a cutting glare. "The birthing left her weak," he says. Rhaegar looks away from his wife. "If word got out of the babe and its parentage, I will be forced to act against a man who is closer to me than my own brother."

"So release him from his vows." Lyanna knows what she sounds like, but she cannot help it. Ser Arthur is a good man, a kind man, who had no business taking such a vow. "All that it takes are a few words. Does he even know?"

"Elia told no member of her family who the father was. Naturally, they know the child is not mine, yet they are content enough to let me claim her." And so all hope of Arthur Dayne shouldering the burden he has helped create disappears. "I will not force this upon you, my Lady."

"You already have," she replies morosely. "You've made your decision, and I have to follow." What would it look like for the future King to change his decisions on the whims of a woman? Not to mention that Lyanna is already part of a plot. "Let this be the last time, though, you do something like this to me." She does not have to elaborate. "Have you named her?"

"Rhaenys," he answers instantly. He's given her a Targaryen name, a sign of his claim on the child. Other will be less likely to question her origins, not that they would ask this to Rhaegar's face, or Lyanna's face. Or so he hopes. "Rhaenys shall be her name." His eyes ask her forgiveness even as he bestows that name to the babe in the wheelhouse.

"Rhaenys," Lyanna echoes. She nods her head, almost tiredly, and shakes his hand off of her arm when he does venture to touch her. "I would have a few hours of peace, my Lord." The coldness of her voice and the barrier she raises between them are deliberate. "Mayhap you should visit with your sons while I rest."

The door closes with a loud noise. Lyanna sits on the bed and weeps.