Her father spent hours cloistered in his room with Ned before he finally left Storm's End. "Jon Arryn" and "Hoster Tully", Lyanna caught those names between snatches of overheard conversations between Lord Rickard and Ned. Was that where her father and his men were headed? To the Eyrie or Riverrun? Ned was tight-lipped when Lyanna questioned him.

"I made a promise to Father, Lya," he told her, sounding sad and regretful.

"I will not betray my own father!" Lyanna replied, offended by the implication of Ned's words.

"Perhaps it is better that you do not know. For your own sake," Ned said, with a strict finality in his voice that told Lyanna that pressing him further would be futile. Ned can be very stubborn and obstinate in his own way.

"You must look after yourself and the baby," her father told her before he left. "A boy or a girl, it matters not to me. It will still be my first grandchild," Rickard Stark said, his hand stroking Lyanna's belly. "But of course, your husband would be more pleased with a male heir."

Would he? She had forgotten what would please Stannis, if she had ever known it in the first place. His letters to her from King's Landing were vague and confided nothing. He is wary of spies, she told herself. Lord Varys must have spies running all over the city, intercepting letters and messages. Accordingly, Lyanna made sure her letters to Stannis were vague as well. She told him about Renly's progress in his lessons, about the cook she had to dismiss after being found stealing from the pantry, about the flowers blooming in the garden, but made no mention of her father, or even of Ned.

If we had known each other better, we could have written what we really wanted to write to each other in a way that only we could understand, she thought. Alas, she and Stannis did not have that. There was no secret language or special signs at their disposal. But she wondered if perhaps not saying something was in truth saying it out loud.

She spent the day after her father's departure in a hazy cloud. Ned had taken Renly riding in the woods to pacify him. Renly had become very attached to Lord Rickard, who was always willing to indulge him in his play-acting and games. Renly was the one who cried the loudest when Rickard Stark and his horse were finally out of sight. Lyanna wanted to cry too, but she knew she could not, not in front of the people she was supposed to lead in her husband's absence, in her position as the lady of Storm's End.

The steward sent up the household accounts for Lyanna to examine, which took up most of her morning. She spent part of the afternoon adjudicating a dispute between the new cook and the rest of the kitchen staff, and the other part sitting with Maester Cressen while the smallfolks aired out their troubles and grievances. It was a relief to have so much to do, in a way, for it left her with no time to think. About her father. About her husband.

About herself.

But now she was alone in the solar while Renly was having his lessons and Ned was training with the men with swords and lances in the courtyard. She had wielded a sword once, a lifetime ago. She wondered how those men loyal to her husband would react if she were to come down and join them in their daily training.

Never mind how Stannis himself would react. Not favorably, she suspected.

"You are with child. How could you even consider –" she imagined Stannis' disapproval frown.

"Not now, of course. Not at this moment. But later, after our baby is born," she would tell him.

Would she? Or would she keep silent instead, for the sake of peace?

"My lady?" Maester Cressen's voice was a welcomed interruption. "I thought you might like some company," Cressen continued, looking at her kindly.

She must have not been very successful in hiding her turbulent emotions, if Cressen was worried about her. The maester was only trying to be helpful, Lyanna reminded herself. She smiled and said, "Thank you, maester."

Cressen took a seat next to her. They sat together in silence for a while, watching the men with their swords and lances in the courtyard. "Your brother is a very proficient sword-fighter," Cressen broke the silence.

"He is," Lyanna agreed. "Brandon is better with a lance, and Benjen can ride a horse faster than most men, but sword has always been Ned's specialty."

Cressen regarded her thoughtfully. "And what about you, my lady? Which one is your specialty?"

The question startled Lyanna. She stared at the maester questioningly. "I'm not sure … I don't know what you mean, Maester."

Cressen cleared his throat. "Forgive me if that was an impertinent question, my lady. But Lord Robert did mention something about your … talents with horses and swords."

Robert? Robert had seen her in her element at Winterfell, riding alongside her brothers, true, but Lyanna had no indication that Robert had ever known about her sword-fighting. Only her brothers knew, and they were sworn to secrecy, least Rickard Stark might be displeased with his sons indulging their sister in activities that should be reserved for men.

"What exactly did Robert say about my horse-riding and sword-fighting?" Lyanna asked Cressen.

"Only that you are not like any woman he had come across before," Cressen replied. "A wild northern girl, Robert said, bold and fearless."

Did Robert see her as a challenge? Someone he could tame and subdue, like breaking in a horse? Or was she being unfair? Lyanna did not know the answer to that. And it hardly mattered to anyone now, what Robert thought.

"You taught me to be fearless," Rhaegar had told her under the starless night at Harrenhal. "When you donned that armor and fought off those knights bigger and stronger than you are to right an injustice, you taught me to set aside my fear, and how to be free." Knight of the Laughing Tree, they had called the mystery knight. Knight of the Free, Rhaegar had called her.

But Rhaegar was not free and neither was she. And running away would not have made them any freer, Lyanna realized the moment she saw the look on Elia Martell's face, as she watched her husband holding the hands of another woman.

But perhaps if I had gone with Rhaegar then, there would not be the threat of war now. With Rhaegar gone, there would be no gathering of lords supporting Rhaegar over his father. No rebellion brewing.

Her father would be safe. Her brothers. Stannis.

Could a single act really have that strong a consequence?

Maester Cressen was watching her carefully. "Is something troubling you, my lady?" He asked.

My father. My husband. My life. The choices I made. The choices I didn't make. Everything.

"I hope Renly is not too upset about my father leaving," she said to Cressen instead.

"Lord Rickard has been very generous and kind to Renly," Cressen replied. "Renly never knew his own father. I fear that because of that, he gets too attached at times, my lady."

Lyanna nodded. "It is to be expected." She paused, before asking. "What was Lord Steffon like? Stannis speaks very little of him with me."

"He was a man like other men, with both strengths and flaws. Not always the wisest of lord, though he was miles better than most, in my humble estimation," Cressen replied. "But Lord Steffon loved his wife and sons dearly."

"It must have been a great blow to Robert, Stannis and Renly, losing both parents at the same time."

"Renly was too young to know anything at the time. Lord Robert and Lord Stannis, yes, it was a great blow to them. But you must understand the feeling yourself, my lady, having lost your own lady mother as a young child."

Lyanna closed her eyes. Her mother's face was an indistinct blur to her now, to her great regret. Forgive me, Mother. I promised to remember you forever, but I can barely recall your face now.

"I still have my father," Lyanna replied softly.

At dinner that night, Lyanna and Ned regaled Renly with stories of Rickard Stark trying to entertain his children at Winterfell, to Renly's great delight. "More," Renly kept saying. "Tell me more." In truth, Ned knew much less than Lyanna, having left Winterfell at eight to be fostered at the Eyrie. His eyes opened up in amazement listening to some of the stories Lyanna told; they were news to him as they were to Renly.

She had been the one to stay home, to stay at Winterfell with her father while her brothers were sent away to be fostered. But then she was married off and sent away while her brothers came home with their brides. It was a circle of sort, Lyanna thought, but a strange one to her way of thinking.

Before she could continue this train of thought, Maester Cressen burst in holding a letter. "My lady, your lord father and his company –"

"What about my father?" Lyanna interrupted.

"They were ambushed by the king's men and captured not far outside the gates of Storm's End."

This was her nightmare coming to life. "Where is my father now?" Ned was asking Cressen.

"On his way to King's Landing, to be tried for treason and fomenting a rebellion," Cressen replied.

Something the maester said caught Lyanna's attention. "Where did you say my father was captured?" She asked.

"A few miles outside the gates of Storm's End, my lady."

"Were the king's men waiting to ambush my father's company?" Lyanna persisted with her questions.

Cressen hesitated, as if he knew where her questions were leading. "I … I'm not certain my lady."

"But you said they were ambushed! If they were ambushed, then that must mean the king's men were waiting for them."

"My lady –"

"What does it matter, Lya? The important thing is to find out what will happen to Father. I must write to Brandon," Ned said.

It mattered. It mattered a great deal if the king's men were waiting for her father. Someone must have told them to wait. Someone must have told them that Rickard Stark would be leaving Storm's End that day. Someone who told Lyanna to get her father to leave in the first place.

Ned was staring at her quizzically. No, Ned must not know of her suspicion. It was only a suspicion at this point. What if she was wrong and her brothers reacted based on her flawed suspicion? It was too great a risk to take. She would have to keep her suspicion to herself. She would have to find out on her own if her suspicion was warranted.

"You're right, you must write to Brandon right away," she told Ned, turning her face away. Ned left the dining room hastily. Cressen approached Lyanna as she started to leave the room, whispering desperately, "My lady, Lord Stannis would not … he … he … would never …"

Lyanna was deaf to the maester's entreaties. She rushed to her room, locked the door and proceeded to re-read every letter Stannis had sent her since he left for King's Landing, desperately seeking a clue, any clue. There was none to be found. Furious and exhausted beyond measure, she wrote a painfully short letter to her husband.

"Tell me this is not your doing," she wrote, as she tried unsuccessfully to stem the tears from running down her cheeks. Please, she added silently, but did not write on the letter to Stannis, along with other unspoken words.Tell me you did not betray my father. Tell me you did not betray us, you and me, and whatever fragile bond we have worked so hard to create together.