Tunnels unwound in a maze of halls crossing and cutting each other off. Thick red stone bathed in shallow torchlight, setting it ablaze, burning with a malicious tint. Or so it seemed to the eyes of Rhaegar. There was something about these hidden passages, something not quite benevolent. The feeling was only accentuated by the deep silence that had settled over the tiny space. Not even mice scurried about. Save for himself, there was not another soul.

Growing up, Rhaegar had been terrified of these walls. In his young age, he'd been certain something was hiding in behind the layer of bricks. And then he'd found the tunnels. Instead of announcing his find, Rhaegar had kept his silence, exploring these tangled corridors a little at a time, during the long hours of the night when he could not sleep. For most of the time he avoided using them. However, the current situation left him with no recourse.

Thus Rhaegar found himself making use of the knowledge he possessed to reach the one person he wished to see the face of. Reluctant to rouse suspicions, for more than seven days he'd kept his distance from Lyanna Stark, commonly addressed as Lady Baratheon at court. He had thought it best not to disturb her, to at least allow the young woman to find her feet.

But alas, he could wait no longer. It was torture to know her so close yet be unable to spend time with her. And so he had left the coldness of his bed in search of Lyanna, hopeful that at the very least she would allow him to sit with her.

It would be absurd to presume her regard had changed in such short a time span. The last time he'd been with her, the poor child hadn't even recognised the burning desire in his voice as something that went beyond mere lust. But mayhap he could wake in her heart the same burning longing that kept him up at night and wrenched his heart painfully in her absence. Perhaps in time, she would come to at least entertain for him a fraction of what he felt towards her. And even that he would gladly take.

Never had he felt thus. Never had another person made such an impact upon him. But the gods knew he would not have it any differently. He would find a way to bring her happiness.

Finally reaching his destination, Rhaegar's fingers searched for the loose brick. But he did not have long to search. Something rustled, a faint sound in the night as the bricks parted. He had taken no more than a step into the room when a gasp reached his ears.

Far from being asleep as he though to find her, Lyanna Stark had hidden herself into a corner of the room, holding a small dagger in her hand. Wonder was painted on her face. Lips parted and wyes wide with surprise, the young woman dropped her weapon and rushed forwards, giving free rein to her impulses.

Not waiting for anything more, the Prince wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground to make up for the discrepancy in their heights, more noticeable than even when they were standing. The fait scent of mint drifted from her and her already small frame had only seemed to have grown thinner.

"Lyanna," he whispered in her hair as she clutched him tightly, almost bruisingly. He set her down a moment later, taking the time to study her. He'd not been wrong. Placing both hands on her shoulders, Rhaegar leaned in towards her.

She however gave him no chance to question her appearance. Fierce as the direwolf of her house and twice as bold, she demanded hi nearness, arching upwards, guiding his hand to fall around her waist. "Did you know he was dying?" she questioned, her grey eyes losing their glimmer of joy. There was little doubt in his mind that she spoke of her husband.

Wearily, Rhaegar pulled away from her. His eyes glided over her face. "I knew the nature of his illness." There was little point in being dishonest.

The young woman looked away momentarily. "Why did you not tell me?" It was not anger in her voice, Rhaegar realised, but hurt.

Because, in his own experience, women tended to pity the sick. They would try to assuage the suffering, to offer succour. And he hadn't wanted to share her tenderness with Robert. But still, to tell her that was too much of a betrayal and too soon. "I thought it best that you should find out on your own."

Yet Lyanna surprised him even more. "I was so worried." Her breath had broken into uneven patterns, as if she were ready to weep. "Gods be good. I know 'tis a sin, it must be, but I have never felt so relieved."

Those were the words of a young mind, a woman who had yet to learn that in court secrets were to be protected. Rhaegar, however, did not have the heart to speak of it. He took her by the hand and pulled her in his arms. Again he the scent of mint followed her. Frail bones and too pale skin; it worried him. Rhaegar kissed the top of her head.

"Tell me the truth, Lyanna," he spoke, still holding her tightly, "are you unwell?"

It was her turn to break their embrace. She looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I believe it is to be expected. I could not think of how to tell you." She looked down between them, one hand timidly guiding his towards her middle.

His very breath was knocked out of him. Rhaegar stared dumbfounded at their hands, watching her fingers slide between his, keeping his palm pressed there. He hadn't expected that she would conceive so very soon.

"Oh, Lyanna," he allowed himself to breathe out before looking up into her eyes. She stared back at him unabashedly.

And then he could no longer hold back. He kissed her, picking her up in his arms and depositing her on the bed. Lyanna pulled him with her, curling into his side as soon as both of them were on the mattress. "I wanted you to be the first to know." The admission brought a smile on his lips; Rhaegar brushed from her face a strand of hair but said nothing.

He held her in the darkness; listen to her breathing grown even.