Had she contrived to be placed in such a position? Certainly. Lyanna looked towards the man with no measure of regret, knowing very well that a mistake this could not be called. It was a choice, simple as that. So the woman, stern-faced in the silvery moonlight, waited for the acknowledgement, still seated upon the stairs.
"I hope I do not overstep my bounds, Lady Baratheon," Arthur Dayne enunciated clearly, a reminder of what she risked, "but I advise returning to your bedchamber." There was understanding in his eyes, not the allowing kind, the one which allowed that there might come some good out of it all, but the one which told her he still disapproved. Heart squeezing painfully, Lyanna shook her head. "Your last chance, my lady."
The warning came too late. Lyanna did not believe there was any saving her. Once more she shook her head. "You have tried your best, ser knight. Take consolation in that if you must." She stood to her feet and took the hand he silently held out. Allowing him to guide her further down the steps, Lyanna said not another word. It was folly, what she was doing. She knew it. And knew it well. And yet, not once did her step falter.
"You give in with ease," she said after a moment's consideration to ease the tension bubbling between the two of them.
"In spite of my better judgement," Arthur agreed. As for his reasoning, Lyanna suspected it had all to do with the King. The not yet minted one. She asked anyway. Ser Dayne checked his step and gazed down at her in a manner a father might when scolding his children. The paternal gesture was lost of Lyanna. She had never taken well to a scolding anyway. "Did it ever occur to you that there are bonds in this world, my lady, a man would happily die for?"
"All the time," she returned with a cheerless smile. "Is that your reasoning? Your vow?"
"Not entirely." The knight led her around a darkened corner. "I don't expect you'd heard, but I was just a boy when I was sent to King's Landing to keep company with His Majesty. I barely remember it myself. But I've known shortly thereafter that if ever there was a calling for me, then that was deeply entwined with His Highness' destiny. He's been my brother throughout most of my life."
A brother. Lyanna nodded her head. "Happy is the man who can inspire such devotion." And happier was she for knowing a man like Arthur Dayne had made his vows to the one she loved.
The Kingsguard threw her another look. "To you, my lady, he will only ever be an unreachable goal." The truth sliced at her heart. Lyanna endured with little of the grace she'd been taught. In fact, shed nearly scowled. And yet she was glad as well. "On this path, there is only ruin."
"If it be, then I shall take it all upon my shoulders." Her promise was met with a sceptical shake of the head. "I cannot be to him what you are, good ser. And I am well aware that time is not on my side. But for the moment, I know I can bring some comfort."
"And how much freer shall the blood flow when you are no longer for him to see and talk to?" That she had only half considered. She would not back down however, thus he too as well pressed forth. "If there was any way, my lady, believe you me, none of us would have hesitated."
"I won't harm him," she said just as stubbornly as before, even as her mind told her it was a lie. She would harm them both.
"Not intentionally." The only allowance he made on the point. "I cannot stop you, my lady, anymore than I can stop the rain from falling. If His Highness shall prove capable of it, then he shall order you back. If not, I pray you, think about the good turn I have done you in the past, and be merciful."
How did one destroy a heart gently? Lyanna gave her word, nonetheless. What loss was there to bear that she'd not done so before? "There are times I wish I'd had feigned illness and not gone to that tourney."
"Oft, is it?" he questioned, a small sharp smile twisting his lips.
"Almost never." Lyanna laughed, she knew not why. "It would have been kinder for us all, I suppose. But I find these days that I am neither kind, nor anywhere as compassionate as I should be." She waited for his agreement, but he formulated none. Lyanna looked up at him to see his staring down into her face. She shuddered lightly.
"It is both my duty and my desire to act as a shield, my lady. There are many battles in which this protection is of great aid. This, however, is not one of them." Something flickered in his eyes and he let go of her hand. Grabbing onto one of the torched he held it out and the wall parted. "Yet I can avenge as well."
"I shall be very wary then, ser." The words she'd spoken lightly. The warning, though, she'd taken quite seriously. Ser Dayne was not making jests. He was making her a promise and she knew that he could and would carry it through if need be. "How many paces?"
"Twenty, thereabout." He guided her through the tunnel, and unsurprisingly made quick work of their journey. "I shall return before the sun rises. If it is any later, then I fear for us all."
"No later, ser. When the sun rises." As if that was of much help. Lyanna allowed the thought to slip by as the wall parted once more, allowing her entrance in a large bedchamber. Not the King's, though. Just as well that it wasn't. She stepped within, the gap in the wall closing behind her.
Uninhabited, the bedchamber seemed cheerless. Lyanna took a few moments to look about, natural curiosity not held at bay. Certainly she'd been in a man's bedchamber. Robert's for one, and unpleasant though the experience had been she had by and by took notice of the habits exhibited. Rhaegar, however, proved orderly to the chaos that had been her late husband. She could see neatly placed books and scrolls, a small harp in a corner and upon the wall his lance. She assumed the weapon belonged to him for it was in his bedchamber. The truth of it was that she did not remember seeing this weapon at the tourney. It might have been, it might not have been. She could not make the distinction.
Gaze travelling father, Lyanna zeroed in of the bed. Without a second thought she walked towards it, staring at the empty space as if it might summon Rhaegar. Lyanna remained there until she heard the creaking of the door. Upon that moment, her body retreated within the shadows and her eyes attached themselves to the entering figure. Without even realising it, she held her breath.
The King entered his bedchamber with nary a care for the fact that his boots spread half melted snow mixed with dirt and tiny pebbles upon the pristine rugs. Some things did not vary in men, she saw. And yet Lyanna found that detail to be the least important.
For Rhaegar, sharp man that he was, instantly perceived something to be off. And when his eyes found her in the shadows she swore his face went white. Turning, he spoke a quick command over his shoulder, she assumed to his squire and closed the door. Then he bolted it. Not that Lyanna found issue with that.
When he did not turn to face her, however, she moved from her spot, crossing the room as if she were in a dream. Once reaching his back, her hand shot forth to land upon one shoulder, fingers gripping loosely.
"By the gods, you are real." The words took her aback. Her touch retreated, not from any desire of parting though. Still, he did not turn. "You cannot be here."
"I will it; to be here." Ever aware that her words came out strangled, the woman crossed th line she'd felt him impose. Her arms circled his waist, front pressing to his back. Lyanna clung to his unabashedly. "I am real. I am here."
Feeling the muscles in his back tense, Lyanna considered letting him go. And yet, for some reason, selfish and depraved though she knew it to be, the she-wolf held on. "I am as real as can be. Can you not feel me?"
She heard the curse and stopped herself from making a sound in response. The only chance she had was to wait it out. Lyanna leaned more heavily onto him, waiting. There were still hours until sunrise."
"I shall have them take Dayne's head." The promise left her feeling chilled though she thought it not to be true.
"Better than you don't," Lyanna whispered.
"Flogged at the very least." That was grumble.
Lyanna let it be. "Will you not face me."
"Much as I desire it," she heard him say, his own hand resting upon hers, fingers wrapping around one of her wrists, "I do not think it wise."
"Well I shan't be disappearing for some hours yet. Even you shall tire of staring at that door eventually." Lyanna had not meant it as a jest. That it came out in such a manner was most unfortunate. Her words faltered as she struggled to carry on despite her amusement. "Look at me. If you want me gone after, I promise I shall leave." She was lying, of course. If he wanted her gone, she would simply beg him to let her stay awhile longer.
The sharp intake of breath had her let him go as she felt the fight leave his body. The man turned around slowly, as if any sharp movement might send them both careering. It well might. Lyanna waited patiently until he was facing her. And then, as if she'd done it a thousand other times, her arms locked around him. "I am deeply sorry for your loss."
Confusion lingered between them for a few moments, his arms held slack at his sides. Lyanna continued to embrace him. And then it all came together. "I am not," she heard the words. His own arms came about her, one hand resting on the small of her back, fingers pressing into her flesh through the thick material of her kirtle. "It was time he met the Stranger."
"You've never been very good a liar," she murmured back, letting go. Rhaegar still held her when she dropped back to her regular height, toes no longer able to hold her up. She cupped his face between her palms. "Your pain is my pain." Her thumb brushed the corner of his lips. She hoped he understood.
"And what would you know about comforting a man's grief?" he questioned, not unkindly, but in a rather pained manner. There was a spark of a challenge he offered and the chance of a retreat should she wish it.
"I know enough," Lyanna offered, guiding his face towards hers. She pressed her lips to kiss in a chaste manner. "More than enough for now."
He chuckled, caught her by the shoulders and twisted her offering around to burden her with it. "You have made a mistake." She felt the pressure upon her shoulders ease, only to form once more at her waist as she was hoisted up in the air. "A grave mistake."
"Might be. But it is my mistake to make." That much he could not argue, surely. Lyanna wrapped her limbs around him to secure herself.
"A better man would send you off." Lyanna hoped it was not remorse she heard in his voice. At least not towards what she was offering.
"A better man, I expect, would not have tied himself to me in the first place. Might be the mistake is just as much yours." That silenced him long enough for her to give him a second kiss. This time she did not allow any room for misunderstandings. "I would not love a better man any better than I do you."
A thick blanket of snow covered the endless stretch of land in sight. The undisturbed mounds of white were outlined by an eerie glow, spilling forth from behind a lazily rolling cloud. Deserts had seemed more inviting than the abandoned flatlands. Alas, Jon thought, quivering lightly in the cool night, it was all but a dream. A vision.
While the experience did not become more pleasant, he did not feel the need to bolt that he'd felt the last time. Now the child was more curious than anything. He moved through the accumulated snow one step at a time, eyeing the branches above with a critical stare. The darkness didn't allow for much discerning, but with any luck, flapping wings would be spotted sooner of later. Unfortunately for Jon, wings did not seem to be flapping anywhere nearby.
In fact, everything was still and quiet. Rather like a vast tomb. The thought stopped the child in his tracks. He looked about himself with muted worry but did not move any swifter than before. Could it be that those creatures the one-eyed Bloodraven had spoken about were lurking even now behind the tree line, lying in wait of some unlucky life form to serve as their feast? Gulping softly, Jon turned around.
A scream left his lips just as soon.
Lurching through the cold night air was a lumbering figure, striding towards him with purposeful alacrity. On its shoulder sat perched a second form, small, but familiar in a manner. Before he could understand better what he'd seen, the two figures disappeared, as if a cloud of smoke had been dispelled by a gust of wind. Nothing was left of them and Jon found himself alone once more. He had to keep moving.
Which was exactly what he did. Jon continued walking in the direction he had picked, wondering how long the dream would last. Usually, something would have happened by this point. However, besides the two figures he'd seen, there was little else to take notice of. Branches lowered beneath the weight of snow, the land slept and the moon deigned to feed the night sky crumbs of its light. There was nothing unusual.
Until, of course, something unusual did appear.
Rising from among its brethren, a tall tree stood in the middle of the path. Jon looked at the gnarled branches and twisted shape. It was no weirwood. However, upon the bark, keep scratch marks revealed oozing sap the colour of congealed blood. Making his way closer, Jon studied the wounds. He gazed to his right, then to his left, wondering if whatever had made the gashes was still about. Gods, it must have been quite wide. The thick slashes seemed the work of an axe, but for the jagged dorm.
Something crunched beneath his boot and made him stop. Jon looked down from whence the sound had come. There was nothing but snow. Lifting his foot off of the ground, he continued to search beneath his shadow. He found nothing.
Again he took a step forth and this too was accompanied by a frightful crunching sound. Almost a wail of sorrow to the child's ears. Kneeling in the snow, Jon felt something sharp puncture his knee. With a yelp of pain he drew backwards, arms working to move the snow away and see what it was that had wounded him.
To his great shock, rather unpleasantly, it was the carcass of a wolf that he discovered. The poor beast had been torn apart by the looks of its bare bones. Here and there but if flesh and tuffs of air could be seen, but to the child's mind, what he was witnessing was the aftermath of a feast of flesh. He'd seen those creatures feed, and if they could stomach murdering babes, surely they would not shy from doing the same to wild creatures.
"Poor beasty," Jon found himself whispering. But his pity was wasted on the dead. They would never return no matter how hard he cried. So the child climbed back up on uneasy feet. He made his way past the tree and farther into the wooded area, careful of his steps. Mayhap those monsters had fed and now slumbered. He should have a care and not wake them. Bloodraven has told him upon their last meeting that he has saved him. From that Jon surmised there was some danger even if he walked the realm of dreams only.
Before long, his mind was actively trying to find the danger for want of anything better to do. Truth be told, Jon had never been comfortable in the dark. It was good for resting hours, of course, and more than adequate for when one wished to sneak about, but there had always been something that bothered him when wrapped in thick veils of utter blackness.
Mother's presence had been of great aid and comfort to him. Yet in the realm of dreams, this house of smoke and looking-glass, he hadn't her hand to hold on to and could not summon her either. He was on his own. Taking heart in the fact that he'd seen nothing of those murderous beasts though did make Jon feel better. Might be he would only need to walk until someone shook him awake. That was as much a comfort as could be. The boy continued upon the path with less worry than before.
And to think he'd been frightened. If he thought about it, the deep snows and dark nights were not half as bad as Daenerys Targaryen and her constant chattering. Not to mention the ungodly caterwauling spilling past her lips when anyone dared to naysay her. Might be she should be the one walking there dreams and being frightened out of her wits. That would work to quieten her.
The uncharitable thought was not to be long enjoyed by the child, however. Jon had no sooner thought of Daenerys that the image of her father came to mind. The man who had grabbed onto him, calling Jon by a name not his own. The same man Jon had let die. Chilled by the knowledge, the boy had to shake off the heaviness before he could move.
As soon as that was done, aught else caught his attention. From behind a tree, a shadow moved, sharp sounds came from close by and the long hooting of an owl had his stumbling for the nearest shield he could find. Hidden behind a tree, Jon watched as a man made his way through the trees upon a fine steed.
What struck the child was the visage of the stranger. Tall and broad shouldered, a warrior by the weapons he carried, the man looked about with eyes of living silver. The colour oddly matched with russet tresses gave Jon pause. The angular features spoke of Northerner blood, and those eyes as well. He could do little else but watch as the man dismounted and tied his horse so it might's run off into the night.
To the child's surprise, the man took off his cloak and spread it upon the ground. He whistled long and looked over his shoulder, as if expecting someone or something to emerge in his wake. Jon continued to stare, gazing at shifting shadows until from the darkness a second man appeared followed by a daintier horse upon which a woman had been mounted.
And this one left no doubt in Jon's mind of her origin. The limber creature looked ahead despite the burden in her arms and for one moment Jon was completely arrested by the sight of her. Proudly perched atop the horse, a tiny woman with downward stretching frown was brought to the first man's side. Long, bone straight tresses fell over her shoulders in tangles. She gazed upon the man with light blue eyes, similar to those of his uncle.
What exactly was he seeing? Jon bit back a sound of confusion. The woman was helped down from her horse by the second man who picked her up as if she were a child. And beside him she might have well been. But as soon as the giant had her upon the ground he retreated back to the shadows leaving man and woman on their own.
The petulance did not disappear from the female's features even as the male turned towards her and cupped her face in his hands. "Your frown hurts me so," he said, thick voice reverberating through the otherwise silent premises. "I pray you, do not take on so."
Tightly pressed lips parted for a moment, eyes flashing angrily. Before the nameless woman could say a thing, however, the bundle in her arms emitted a soft cry, stealing her attention away. Jon leaned in to better see the man wrapping both woman and babe in his heavy cloak. The wide garment engulfed the elfin creature, nearly hiding her shape from sight but for the parting allowing the last dregs of it. "Greta," the man called to her, harsh syllables somehow coming along smoothly. "Gretel, my Margareta."
None of that seemed to attract Greta's attention. She fussed over the child in her arms and stubbornly refused to meet the man's eye. That was until, having mayhap had his fill of her obstinacy, he caught her face between his hands once more and lifted her head so she might be forced to stare at him.
"Greta, 'tis for the best." Calming words were flung back in his face as Greta foot kicked out viciously.
"That 'tis so, I've no doubt. You have had your fun and now you return me to my father's halls ruined." She pulled out of his grasp. "The fault lies with me." The man accepted her abuse with nary a protest, but Jon noted the subtle tensing of muscles in his face.
"Ruined?" he echoed, his own mouth falling into a straight line. Wide hands perched upon her shoulders, no doubt exerting a taxing grip by the manner of her grimace. "Is that what you would call yourself, Greta? Ruined?"
She might have agreed but for his mouth putting a stop to all words. Jon barely resisted the urge to make a sound of mild disgust at the scene. He would have looked away as well but for the fact that it all proved rather fascinating. Not the kiss, but the manner in which the woman softened considerably under such treatment.
When they came apart, she was no longer frowning. Yet she smiled not either. "You foolish man," she said, evading another one of his embraces. "You have naught to worry over in your Wilding kingdom."
"Your lord father," he snorted, as if amused by the title, "needs an heir. He shan't bring you harm. Or to our son."
Greta gave him a weak smile. "Aye. He needs an heir." She said nothing more for the second man returned.
"We need to go," he told the first man, the father of Greta's son.
"Are you certain you won't be lost?" the man questioned Greta who shook her hand, removing herself from near him to stand next to a tree. "Fare thee well, beloved."
To that she said nothing and the man untied his horse, mounting. Greta hugged her child closer to her chest and watched the scene unfold before her, not once making a sound. The shadows swallowed the father of her child and his companion and away they went.
"Bael, Bael," she sighed, rocking the babe with slow flowing motions. "You fool." A right fool, Jon thought, looking at Greta with her too-large cloak and now tear-filled eyes. She made a soft sound of discontentment, mayhap choking upon a sob.
Before Jon could hear aught else all shapes around him began melting away, the woman and her child thinning into dark lines until there was nothing left of them. Somewhat stunned, Jon reached out unconsciously.
Waking with a start, the child's vision was filled with the dark colour of the tapestry hanging from the wall as he came to. Snoring softly at his side was his mother's maid.
The rattling door woke Lyanna. She knew not how long she had slept, but by the looks of it Dayne was late. One glance towards a high window confirmed her fears. The sunlight could be seen quite clearly. Stricken, Lyanna shot out from beneath the covers, eyes searching frantically for her kirtle. It was only a few moments later that she realised the door never opened.
With that, Lyanna looked to see the bar firmly in place. Relief washed over her. Not enough to make her give up her search though. The kirtle, though it had been thrown somewhere out of the way, surfaced in time for the wall to part, forming a thin gap through which Rhaegar entered, giving her quite the fright.
But he merely held a finger to his lips, urging her to keep silent. The man looked her up and down appreciatively and then pointed towards a door she'd not seen before. Taking his meaning Lyanna saw herself out of sight and continued to redress even as she heard the door creaking on its hinges. Muffled voices reached her and though she could not understand what was being said over the pounding of her own heart, the churning of her stomach indicated that it was not something she would enjoy hearing.
Best that she had the time to make herself decent before she bore the news, whichever manner they belonged to, she supposed.
It took mere moments for Rhaegar to come for her after she heard the door close.
The look on his face was telling.
Guilt punched a hole through him. Rhaegar gazed at his lady wife and found that he could barely hold her stare. Weakened from her journey, but not nearly enough so to be missing her smile, Elia proudly held her son forth, showing him to Rhaegar with hope shining in her gaze. What manner of monster would crush such a look?
Daeron Targaryen gurgled softly, clearly displeased to be taken out of his mother's hold. Rhaegar gazed down into the boy's tiny face. Awash with that queer combination between queasiness and blind devotion, he could no more regret Daeron appearance in his life than he could wish the stars would not shine. "He is perfect," she whispered, more to the child than to Elia. She, of course, would already know just how glad he was.
But when he looked up, the King saw relief in his lady wife's face, not understanding. The thought struck him then. "He is perfect." The repetition produced a smile from Elia. Rhaegar held her gaze for a few moments before looking back at his youngest son. Utterly perfect.
Relief stole over him then. He had thought, to his utter horror, that he might resent Elia when he'd heard word that she had arrived. With Lyanna's taste still upon his lips, his heart had wrenched so painfully, he had actually considered the possibility of resenting her.
To know that he did not was both a blessing and a curse. "We shall wait until all is in order to take him to Baelor's Sept," Elia offered, hands reaching out for the babe.
Glad for the lack of turmoil her words produced, Rhaegar's gaze continued to linger upon her golden skin.
A/N: Clues for those who are as clueless as I am:
1) ABBBAABBABAABAA AAABBAAAAABBAAA ABAABABBBAABBAB BABBAABAAAABABBABABB AAABBAABAAAABABABAAAABBABABAAABAABBAABAAABABBBBAAA BAABAAABAAAABAA BAABAABBBAABBAAAABAABAABBAABBBABAAAABBABAABBA BAABBAABBBAAAAABAABB BAABAAAABAAAAAABAAABBAABA AABBBABAAAABBAA AABABABBBABAAAB ABABBABAAAAABABAABAA
2) AAAABABABBABBBAABBBAAAABBBAAABAAAAABABABAABAAABBAB ABAAABAABA BAAABAABAABAABAABBBBABBBAABBABBAABAABAAAAAAABABABBAABAA AABABABBBABAAAB ABBAAABBBABAABABAABB AAABBBAAABAABAAAAAAAABBAABAABA AABBBABBBABABBAAABAABABABAABAABAAAB BAABAABBBAABBAAAABAA AAAAABAAABAABAA AABABBAAABABBBAABBAA AAAAAABBABABBBABAABBAABBBAABAABAAAB AABABABBBABAAABAAABAAABAA BAABAAABAAAABAAABABAABAAAABBABAABBA BAABBABBBA ABBAAAAAAAABABAAABAA BABAABAABAAABAA ABBBAAABAB ABAABABBBAABBAB
3) AABAABABABAABAABAAABBBAAAABBBAABBABAABAA AABBBAAAAABAABA BAABAABBBAABBAAAABAABAABBAABBBABAAAABBABAABBA BAABBABBBA ABBBBBAAABABBBABAABBAABAAAAABABAABB AAAAAABBABAAABB AAABAABBBAABBAAABBAAABBBAABBAB AABAAABBABAABAAABBAAABAAAAABAABAABA AAAAABAAABAABAA AABAAAAAAABAABABBAAA AABAAABBABABBBABABAAAABBAAABBB BAABBABBBA AABABABAAAABBABAAABB
4) AAAAABAAABBAABBAABBBBABAABAAAB ABAAABAABA BABABAABAABAAABBBAAA ABAAAABBABBAABBAABAABAAABAABAABAABABAABBAABAAAAABB ABAAAABBAB BAABBAABBBAABAA BAABAABAAABAABBBABAAAAAAABAABBABAAAABBBAABBAB AAAAABAABB AABBBAAAAAABBABAAABB AAAAAABBABAAABB ABBABABBBABAABB ABBBAABBABABABBBBAAA AABABABBBABAAAB AABBBABAAABAABA BAABAABAAABAABABAABBAABAABAAAB BAABA BAABAAAAAAABABAAABAA
5) AAAABBAAABAAAAAABBABAAABBABBBAABBAB AAAAAABABBBABBAAAAAABBAAABAABA AABABABAAAABBABAAABB BAABA BAABBBAAABABBBABABAAAAAABABABBAABAA
*Margaretha Stark's name from Margareth Karstark.
