Of White Trees and Blue Roses

I own nothing. This all belongs to GRRM, and I'm just playing with the story he gave us.

~X~

Chapter Twenty Eight – The Road to Joy

Rhaegar and Lyanna kept up a punishing pace as they rode. They made it to the stoney hill where they would await Ser Oswell Whent with time to spare, but then their progress faltered. Once the sun fell below the horizon and the sky was a blaze of orange, pinks and reds fading into deep blues and purples, it was Arthur that requested they make camp for the night.

"You might not need to rest but the horses and I do. Plus, we aren't going to be able to see where we are going for much longer, and neither will anyone else. I say we make the most of tonight and then keep up the pace tomorrow once the sun rises, whether Oswell joins us or not. "

He looked at their new travelling companion to see if she had changed her mind after leaving her family far behind. The Stark girl's face was flushed with exertion and her eyes were bright, though her face was serious and determined rather than amused. Since she had chosen to come with them, she had proven that she was more than match for the men she rode with.

Stiff and sore, Arthur climbed down from his horse and walked over to Lyanna Stark to help her down, only to find that she had already dismounted herself. For his gallantry, the knight of the kingsguard received a scowl.

Having left as quickly as they did, they were somewhat unprepared for their journey. Still, they had the basics—the means to make a small fire, a little food and water, and cloaks with which to cover themselves. Arthur disappeared into the darkness for a short while and returned with two squirrels, which he then roasted on sticks after skinning.

As she accepted some charred meat, Lyanna laughed. "Not exactly royal fayre..."

The sides of the prince's mouth twitched. "If I'm honest, I prefer the simplicity. Give me campfire roasted squirrel over poached swan with almonds anytime."

Lyanna took a moment to decide whether she really believed him.

There was little in the way of conversation as the scrawny animals were picked clean, everyone choosing to reconcile the day's events in the privacy of their own minds.

It was Arthur that broke the silence first. "I will take the first watch. It will be a long ride tomorrow and you should both rest while you can."

Prince Rhaegar shook his head. "I doubt I will find much in the way of sleep tonight. I will keep lookout, Arthur."

Knowing his friend had never been one for resting, Arthur agreed and covered himself over with his long white cloak. Rhaegar offered his to Lyanna as she curled up within the circle of light by the fire, the rich black cloth blending in with her dark hair.

Once her eyes had closed, Rhaegar observed her in the flicking orange glow.

He half expected to wake up any second to find himself asleep somewhere far, far away from the Riverlands, with his head on a book as usual, but the aching in his muscles and joints reminded him that this was real. It all seemed a little too easy.

After seeing his best friend's sister and her newborn child safely to Starfall, and explaining the situation to her furious parents, they'd continued northwards. Most still believed they were on the original mission to force Eddard Stark to marry Ashara Dayne, but their commanders knew otherwise, each being one of Rhaegar's trusted friends.

The real plan had been to head north, hopefully coming across the Starks, where he would use the Knight of the Laughing Tree as justification for arresting Lyanna and taking her from her family. He had expected a fight, and as such had brought a small but capable force. In the end it had been much more than what was needed.

Lyanna Stark had fallen straight into his lap, and somehow that felt as if it had not happened by accident. This was meant to be, he told himself as he watched her sleeping, and then wondered which prophecy he was referring to—the direwolf knight or the three heads of the dragon.

Some time later, as he was feeding a little more dry wood to the dwindling fire, Rhaegar became aware of eyes on him in the darkness. He looked up to see that Lyanna was awake, and for a second he felt that paralysing lapse of thought as their gaze locked, much as it had for the first time on the tourney field.

"How much longer until dawn?" she asked, with an alertness that said her eyes had been open and on him for more than just a moment.

"A while yet, my lady." Rhaegar settled himself back into a seated position, with the fire safely between them both, though he secretly wanted to move closer.

Lyanna sat up and pulled the cloak that had been her blanket around her tightly. Though he felt the chill through his armour, he was well aware that she had lost hers when being pursued through the woods.

"I am sure that even princes need to sleep even just a little. Let me keep watch for a while."

Rhaegar shook his head. "No, I am used to staying up until almost dawn most nights. I will be fine. The road to the Red Mountains in Dorne is long, and once we arrive we will begin your training. You should rest while you can."

Lyanna looked at him for a moment until she replied, her voice giving a hint of her annoyance. "If the road is as long as you say then you will need to rest, too. Or is it perhaps that you think that as a woman I need my beauty sleep? If I'm to be trained as a knight then you should treat me like you would a male knight. I don't ask for any special treatment because of my sex."

She looked at the crown prince through the flames, the fire reflecting on his ruby encrusted breast plate. One second he was the heir to the throne of Westeros, the idol of many a maiden's dreams with his glittering armour and smooth, milky-white hair, and the next he was the young man in the hood, who knew of her secret jousting and approved of it—that was the thing that Lyanna's dreams were made of. Yet, she wasn't entirely oblivious to his handsomeness and suspected that maybe she was blushing a little.

Rhaegar got to his feet and walked around the circle toward her. Lyanna's pulse started racing, but then a strange kind of half-relief flushed throughout her as he paused, unsheathed his sword, and handed it to her.

"You are right, although it is worth noting that a good knight should always be chivalrous...and know how to accept chivalry gracefully." He smiled just a little, turning around and heading back to the spot on the opposite side of the fire. Before he could settle himself, however, he was startled to find Lyanna immediately behind him.

She stood there, holding out his thick, black cloak. For a second she thought he was going to refuse, but then he slowly took it from her hands, giving her an unfathomable look. Once she was unburdened, she quickly turned away, looking into the blackness, her ears listening for the slightest human sound.

More than once, the widest of grins stretched across her face. She lifted the blade of Valyrian steel, inspecting the dark ripples in the orange glow, and enjoying the weight in her hand.

This is it, she thought. This was what she'd always wanted—the path she'd always felt was the one she should be taking...though it did cross her mind that the empowerment did feel a little chilly without Rhaegar's cloak.

As she had done many times that day, she worried about the reaction of her family. She even felt guilty as she pictured Robert Baratheon, her betrothed, but then she shook her head. She didn't want to be a bride—she never had. She would have been a terrible wife, Lyanna decided; the Lord of Storm's End should marry a noble lady who was more suited to the task.

Ben...what would his reaction be? He was going to squire for Roose Bolton, though out of all of their father's bannermen he was the last one he would have chosen. He'd told Lyanna that he had nightmares about being flayed the first time he made a mistake.

He would be so jealous to find out that she was being taught by no less than Prince Rhaegar, and possibly even the elite members of the kingsguard. Lyanna stole a look at Ser Arthur Dayne, the famed Sword of the Morning—he would be a formidable teacher, though right now he was making noises much like a pig as he snored. But still, this was the kind of opportunity that every would-be knight would kill for, and somehow she'd been the lucky one.

As much as she didn't want to question the gift, Lyanna's eyes found the prince, flinching as he dreamed. Why had he made the offer?

Her mind went back to their journey through the countryside surrounding Harrenhal. He'd mentioned the spearwives beyond the wall, and how when the darkness came it wouldn't discriminate between man, woman, or child.

He had also praised her performance during the tourney; though Lyanna knew she wasn't a match for Ser Barristan the Bold or the prince himself, she told herself that she could be, given time and training. Did the prince see that, too?

How many women could be skilled with a sword, or a bow, or a lance if only they were given the chance at something more interesting than needlework? Some thought their sex weak, but that was because they were never allowed to grow strong—it wasn't seemly. It wasn't ladylike. It wasn't fair.

Lyanna thought some more and the image of Rhaegar riding down the tourney field sprung to mind. She recalled his expression as he handed over the rose crown. "...in honour of your beauty, and your spirit..."

Confused, Lyanna considered whether it might have been the former rather than the latter that might have inspired the decision to spirit her away. She felt a strange mixture of excitement and disappointment at the idea. But then again, how many times had she looked at the circle of thorns and dried, crumbling petals and mused over how handsome the hooded boy had been...how much she'd wished he'd actually kissed her beneath the oak tree...

A crack broke Lyanna's train of thought and she held the sword ready. Whoever it was must have already seen the fire—no doubt it could be seen for miles in the dark—so she called out, "Hello. Who goes there?"

A white cloaked figure appeared in the gloom, and Ser Oswell Whent answered with his name. Still, Lyanna waited until she could confirm it by seeing his face before lowering her borrowed Valyrian steel blade.

"My lady," he said with a nod, before his brow wrinkled. "Or should I call you 'Ser'?"

Lyanna could only answer with a smile, as she wasn't sure herself.

The white knight looked at his fellow kingsguard and the sleeping prince. "The lady guards while the men sleep? Something strikes me as wrong here."

"I can handle a sword as well as the next man," Lyanna said a little too quickly, and she regretted her choice of words as she was rewarded with a knowing smirk, similar to the ones her brother often gave.

"Then I can see why the good prince chose you to keep watch." Ser Oswell settled himself by the fire and pulled out an apple. "So you were the Knight of the Laughing Tree?"

Unsure of whether he was mocking her, and unwilling to reveal her brother's secret to a stranger, she simply nodded her head and sat herself nearby. "Prince Rhaegar is going to train me and knight me when the time comes."

Ser Oswell took a bite of his apple and frowned in her direction. There was a brief uncomfortable silence as he stared. "Well, you'll certainly be the prettiest knight I've ever laid eyes on, but will you be worth the bloodshed?"

"Bloodshed?"

"Don't be naive. You've not been gone a day and how many men do you think have already died for this—for you?"

"Died?" Lyanna swallowed hard.

"I counted at least five on the field today—the men guarding you."

Her heart sank as she pictured the faces of her father's men who she had enjoyed teasing so, as she left them far behind on her morning ride. Which five had fallen?

"I doubt they'll be the last. No doubt your family will follow the very obvious trail the good prince has arranged all the way to King's Landing. What then? You had best hope they find the king on a good day, and they are so very rare these days."

Lyanna looked into the fire. Her father wouldn't do anything rash, surely...

Ser Oswell threw the apple core into the flames, where it landed with a hiss.

"I have a lot of faith in the prince. He's a wise man, and one day he will be a good king. I hope for all our sake's that you're worth the trouble this will cause."

Lyanna's face grew harrowed as one hundred possible outcomes raced through her mind, some good, some bad, others indifferent. But she had made her choice now, hadn't she?

For a second she considered changing her mind. She would tell the prince that she appreciated his offer, but she didn't want anyone dying for her just so she could live out a dream—a dream that she'd cherished from the moment she first watched her older brothers fighting in the yard. She remembered the first time she'd picked up a wooden sword and promptly been chastised by her Septa for whacking Ned around the head with it. The first time she'd trained in secret with Benjen...the flush of her victory at Harrenhal...the feeling of recognition as Rhaegar had handed her the rose crown...

After all that, even to save the lives of others, could she really go back?

She pictured herself in Storm's End, a brood of squabbling children at her feet and a drunken, lecherous husband by her side. As she looked at Lady Lyanna Baratheon one thing struck her above all others—she looked miserable, her spirit broken.

There would be no more chances after this. If she couldn't run away and achieve her dream with the prince's assistance, then there was no hope. It was selfish and her ribcage felt constricted as she considered that people might lose their lives...people who she cared about.

No. She wasn't going back.