Winter was upon them. Rhaegar held his hand out, palm facing the sky, and watched a few snowflakes land on his skin. He closed his fingers around them, wondering how long it would take for them to melt. When he opened his fist again, they were gone. Nothing remained, but the ghost of a chill.

The barren branches of the great oak tree groan under the weight of the snow and the attack of the harsh winds that were blowing. The withered vines of smokeberry curled around the trunk of the tree, an intricate pattern to decorate the dark bark. Rhaegar touched the very same bark and gave a sot sigh. The premises was familiar, but in no way satisfactory. No red eyes watched him as he came up the path. There was no one kneeling in prayer and no feeling of quiet satisfaction bloomed in his chest.

Instead he found himself fighting back frustration. He thought coming to the godswodd would help. Running his fingers through windblown hair, Rhaegar took a few steps back, contemplating the scenery before him. He then turned around, signalling for Lewyn Martell to follow him. The Kingsguard gave a simple nod and did thus.

The walk back was accomplished in silence. Rhaegar had no words for Elia's kin. The Seven knew what foolishness his mouth might sprout if he allowed his lips to open. Damn that Northern girl and whatever witchcraft she'd wielded on him. She was a constant shadow, trailing in his wake, a presence that was both with him and not.

He tossed and turned when in repose, searching for her between silken sheets, only to come up empty-handed. Even the few incursions into Elia's sleeping chamber did not assuage the strange need. Nothing seemed to wash away the taste of her from his lips. Rhaegar cursed silently, drawing the thick, fur-collared cloak around himself. Even the blasted weather made it a point to put him in the mind of her.

As he was ascending the stairs, Oberyn Martell was coming down. No doubt he'd been visiting with his sister. Rhaegar held back a sigh of annoyance. Oberyn's general disdain for everyone who was not Elia or part of his family put him on edge. The fact that the Dornish Prince glared at him as they passed one another only strengthened his belief.

One day, he would put that insolent man in his place. There were certain circumstances in which one could accept such behaviour. But Oberyn seemed to not know when such moments presented themselves and instead chose to make a plague of his presence.

Elia was in the nursery, holding Rhaenys on her lap and writing a latter as a nursemaid fed their son. As soon as his daughter saw him, she jumped down and ran towards him. Rhaegar caught her and lifted her up in the air. Rhaenys giggled and squealed.

"You have finally deigned to grace us with your presence," Elia noted somewhat drily. Though her face had arranged itself in a placid manner, Rhaegar could hear the accusation in her voice. Instead of responding to that, he gave his daughter a soft smile before placing her to her feet. "What brings you here, husband?"

She was still angry. Well, he supposed he ought to have expected it of her. Elia was a rather calm person, who was rarely angered. But when that certain emotion manifested itself, it took her more than just a few days to dispel it. He had refused to discuss with her, yet again, a scheme to name a new member on his father's council. Only she had confronted him about it, instead of using her usual subtlety.

"Do you still wish to leave for Dragonstone come the new year?" If only she would agree. It could prove the salvation of his sanity. Rhaegar was not inclined to consider the various directions each and every player of the game tried to pull him in.

"Has His Majesty agreed?" Elia did not enjoy staying in King's Landing. Rhaegar could not blame her for it. The departure would work towards giving both of them peace. What a blessing that would be. "Truly?"

"Indeed, he said that there was no reason for the prolonged stay. He has met his grandson and was well pleased with the way we've carried out our duty." If Rhaenys had come as a disappointment to the King, Aegon was more acceptable in his eyes – though not entirely safe from Aerys' complaints. While the child had not had his sister's perceived misfortune of inheriting the looks of his mother, his scent carried that seed, intrinsic element that was Dornish, and thus not to the king's taste. He has, however, had the decency to not utter that thought before the entire court.

Small mercies, Rhaegar contemplated as he sat down, Rhaenys perched on his knee, were not to be discarded as having no value. Among other small mercies he could think of was the fact that Lyanna had been sent for. His mother, unable to endure not having more than one lady-in-waiting had sent for her a few days past.

"But you are still to remain by his side?" Elia's eyes slipped from her daughter's face to his as she posed the question. Rhaegar offered his reply by way of nodding. "His Majesty is aware you have a duty to your family also, isn't he?"

"My duty, Your Grace," he answered, somewhat uncomfortable, yet also frustrated, "is to my realm first and foremost. When the King no longer needs me, I too shall make for Dragonstone."

His wife pursed her lips. "I understand." She sat up and went to her son's crib. She took Aegon in her arms. Familiar with the routine, Rhaegar allowed her to coo and coddle the child. The attributes of a mother could not be stripped from her, though she sought to make use of them not only for the babe's comfort. "But you shall come to us every now and again, won't you?" she added as an afterthought.

"Of course." Whatever his feelings about the tactics, Rhaegar could not so easily break himself away from those dear to him as to cruelly refute any attempt at manipulation. Let his wife think herself the puppeteer if it pleased her. And he would pull strings of his own in turn.