Note: The first part takes place while the Stark negotiations are going on. The second part begins the morning after


Her steps were sure and the path more so. Rhaelle could have walked to her destination with her eyes closed, it was so firmly ingrained in her mind. As she walked through the keep, she remembered that Brandon Stark would be meeting with the King just about now. And with her own deal set, the terms agreed, she was ready to finally leave the capital. The only thing that remained was a visit to her favorite spot - one of the few places that gave her peace in this monstrous castle.

When she lived in the Red Keep, none followed the old gods save her mother. And so its godswood was a place of respite from the clatter and noise of court. Before she was sent to Storm's End, she'd only known this grove - and that of her mother's home in the riverlands. It had been ages since she had visited Raventree Hall as a child, but she could still remember pieces of it. It had seemed like a new world compared to the capital - except that it was much older, a castle of ancient stones covered in moss. And the heart tree, she remembered it most of all. Old with barren branches that stretched to the sky, like a hand reaching out to grasp for something it lost. And at dusk, the bare limbs would find new leaves in the company of hundreds of ravens, black as her mother's hair. Her grandfather told her that the Brackens had poisoned the weirwood and it was dead. When the family had returned to King's Landing after that visit, young Rhaelle convinced herself that the great tree was still alive and somehow could see her through the oak tree here, faceless though it was.

The Red Keep's was a boring tree compared to a weirwood, even a supposedly dead one - but it was what her mother had. What they'd had . And by the gods, was it peaceful. So that was all that mattered. When she entered it on this morning, the plants and trees of the grove greeted the Targaryen princess, coupled with the light sounds of birds and insects chirping. Beyond that, she had expected to find the space empty. But perhaps she should not have been surprised that her expectations were summarily tossed to the wind.

Sitting before the heart tree was the Stark girl. The stirring of Rhaelle's arrival roused her to stand and look upon her new companion with caution.

"My lady," Lyanna Stark greeted her warily. Their eyes roamed the other, each with their own suspicion. "I did not think anyone else would come here." She began wiping away grass from her breeches though her eyes remained on the new arrival.

Rhaelle stared at her with a face that landed between blank and annoyed. "So," she sighed. "What do you pray for, Lady Lyanna?"

The girl gazed at her coldly. "That is between my gods and myself."

"My mother followed the old gods as well. They belong to no one person." Perhaps she should not have prolonged their engagement, but Rhaelle could not help it it seemed. "Tell me, did your gods give you their thoughts on your 'union' with the king?"

That provoked an even tighter face, with the girl's lips turned down in a grimace. "They saw with their own eyes. I need to ask that."

She was a slip of a thing, this northerner. And with a wildness in her eyes; one that did not bode well for the world they found themselves in, especially for women - not without something to balance it, to ensure thought and calculation instead of only action or bravado.

But she was not even a woman, was she?

"You're just a girl," Rhaelle pondered, tilting her head slightly as she appraised her once more.

Lyanna's grimace turned to righteous anger in a heartbeat. "I am not!"

"But you are," Rhaelle replied with a light laugh. "You do not even realize how dangerous a game you are playing."

That turned the youth's anger to confusion. "Game? What do you speak of?"

Did her father not teach her anything? The maester? Anyone? "You truly do not understand the repercussions of what you and my foolish nephew have done, do you?" Of course, Rhaegar was more at fault than this child but unfortunately she had become an actor in all this, nonetheless. And you will get as much blame as he - though you do not deserve as much.

And now the girl crumbled. "I did not mean for anyone to be hurt!" Her face had started to redden - from the sun or emotion, Rhaelle could not tell. Northerners were not meant for the south, in all manner of ways - that she knew. But then she saw a few tears begin to escape the girl's eyes.

"No, I suspect you did not." She walked closer to her and reaching into the hidden pockets of her dress, she produced a small hand cloth. 'Dry your eyes, girl."

After a brief moment of hesitation, the offering was accepted. "Thank you," Lyanna mumbled. "My lady."

When the northern girl offered the cloth back, Rhaelle refused politely. "No, you keep that. Though I hope you do not have such use for it again."

An awkward silence passed between them. Rhaelle was not going to leave, but it seemed the girl did not want to go either. Odd.

Well, if she insisted on staying, Rhaelle would have answers. "So, all of this began with a little crown of flowers, hmm? When Robert told me of you before that tourney, he did not describe a girl that would be swayed by such nonsense. But I see that he did not quite know you after all."

"It wasn't just that! It was - " She stopped herself short. And her eyes were as wide as they were naive.

"Well, go on, then. I'm quite curious." Lyanna gaped at her as though she wanted to speak but could not. Rhaelle could only roll her eyes. "No one can hear us here. No one comes to this part of the gardens."

Worrying her lip, the girl seemed to consider the older woman's words before finally speaking. "I...I was the knight, the one that the king had sought."

Rhaelle looked up, trying to recall what the girl spoke of and vaguely remembered hearing something of it after the tourney. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I needed to defend one of my father's men, a friend. Three squires had beat him. And so...so I joined the joust. I dressed in armor, hidden. And I beat the knights those horrible boys served. All of them." She spoke of the event as though it were a battle in a great war. Her face had become wistful. "I won. I won. And taught them all about honor."

When she was young and unaware of the world, Rhaelle might have been captivated by this. That was not quite her sentiment now however.

Mostly she was bored.

"Fascinating tale. You were brave to do so. Now I suppose you will eventually tell me what this has to do with anything?"

The girl's attention snapped back at her companion's bluntness, grimacing. "The king sent men searching. And Rhaegar came upon me. He saw my armor. The crown was to honor me."

"I'm sure that will make for a lovely song many years for now. You'll forgive me if I do not find much appealing in a tale of a man grown and already wedded and a girl barely flowered." Before the Stark girl could protest Rhaelle proceeded. "Now tell me - what did you think would happen?"

Lyanna wiped a stray and errant tear from her cheek. "What?"

"After he so gallantly crowned you and shamed his wife." The girl had the sense to blush in embarrassment at that chastisement. "Did you think you could somehow marry and all would be well?"

Grey eyes flashed at Rhaelle, first with annoyance - and then uncertainty. "The Targaryens..." She paused for a moment before clearing her throat. "They have taken more than one wife before. And I did not have any intention of being a..." Can you not even say the word?

Rhaelle hated the conqueror. It was because of him that others tried to make this absurd notion take root, no matter how shallow it truly was. "Perhaps that was done before, but not in many a year. And not by many nor without consequences. You did not listen to all your lessons, my dear"

And then Rhaelle remembered something that had been gnawing at her mind since that ridiculous first meeting with all parties. "Did you even spare her a thought?"

The girl let out an exasperated breath. "What do you mean?"

"No," Rhaelle nodded in confirmation as she began to slowly pace around the tree a bit in thought. "Of course you did not think of her. Well, answer me this. Would you have so casually dismissed my nephew's wife ," Rhaelle emphasized the word so there was no room for doubt what she meant, "if she had been the Lannister girl? Or a Tully or Tyrell?"

The realization seemed to take hold of the child-woman's face before a deep blush of embarrassment swept it away. The girl looked at her with an annoyed puzzlement. "I do not take your meaning."

The princess had paused her pacing now. Her eyes narrowed and she smiled knowingly. "Oh, but you do." Rhaelle knew she was of the few that did not dismiss or disdain the Dornish. Perhaps it was because she relished her Dornish heritage as much as her First Men and Targaryen. Sister-wives, pureblood - it was all a farce of the highest order. But the rest of Westeros regarded the Dornish as a people to either be mocked - or not worthy of thought at all. And Aerys and Rhaegar had used their kin for their own purposes, not with the care and respect they deserved.

And now Rhaelle had this one in front of her. She was not quite a woman. A youth in truth - but a privileged one who still had questions to answer.

"You are a mess of contradictions, are you not?" Rhaelle's voice had the appearance of softness but each word finished with a chilly edge. "You did not want my grandson because you believed he would not be true to you. And yet you foist that same burden on another woman." She took slow steps towards the girl as she spoke. "Then you tell me a tale of honor and yet you did not spare a thought for the other woman who has been dishonored, who would bear so many of the consequences of your actions." Rhaelle came to a stop right in front of Lyanna. "How should one reconcile all this, pray? Do you not see what is wrong with this picture you have painted of yourself? If this is northern honor, then perhaps you have done my house a favor in breaking the betrothal."

And for the first time, the girl was silent. Perhaps Rhaelle had been harsh. But she found she had little tolerance for nobles who shirk their duty. The small folk had the fortune to marry for love while fighting tooth and nail just to eat, to live. What was asked of her family and other lords and ladies was not much by comparison. Not much at all.

"Lady Lyanna, I shall not fault you for much of this - you are a child. My nephew, a man grown and wed and a prince-now-king at that, is far more to blame. But I will do you the courtesy it seems no others have deemed and give you some counsel now that this is to be your home." She paused to make sure she had her companion's complete and undivided attention. Confident of that, she proceeded. "Think before you act, girl. This world is already harsh as it is upon our sex, though we deserve it not. Everything you do ripples its way through the world. The smallest act can cause a storm. And realize that your burden is no greater than anyone else. When you mean justice for some but not others, then yours is a hollow justice that shall collapse upon itself."

It seemed perhaps her words had at least some impact for the girl seemed to study Rhaelle. Finally she gave a small bow of her head in acknowledgment. "I know I have insulted your house. It...it was not my intent."

"I don't suspect you cared much about that insult nor do I much care at this moment," Rhaelle waved her off. " But I suppose your brother will be dealing with a part of that now, won't he?"

"Brandon," Lyanna whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, he is meeting now with your gallant lover. And the queen . You may have a false balance of what justice is - but it is nothing compared to your fool king and his mad father." Lyanna looked to the keep quickly, her brows furrowing in worry. "Now unless you want more counsel from me, I shall pray. Alone."

Lyanna Stark looked upon Rhaelle once more, her eyes wide and unreadable, too full of a storm of emotions. "I shall not trouble you any longer." And without a word more, she was gone.

Rhaelle watched her run off before turning to look upon her intended companion. Staring at the heart tree brought a sad smile to her lips. She thought of her mother and how she would rest in her lap on cool afternoons here as a child, twirling dragon's breath in her hand. Then her thoughts drifted to the rest of her family, now long gone. Battle, illness...Summerhall. And as her eyes traced the lines of the heart tree, her mind traveled to the riverlands.

"Do you still talk to my lovely weirwood of Raventree? Do the ravens still cloak it by night?" The wind rustled by her, scattering leaves around the grass. She'd not been to her mother's home in decades. She had not yet met her cousin who now ruled though she'd heard he had a son who was dark of hair and as tall as his father and those before him. How odd to have family and not know them, she thought sadly.

"Well, my friend," she said to the tree. "The girl and I surely gave you more excitement than you normally receive. You may not have many visitors anymore, though surely even a faceless heart tree can observe much. So, tell me," Rhaelle prodded to her faceless oak. "What do you see without eyes?"


It was that part of the morning, somewhere between night and day - that point when it felt like time was paused. Clouds still coated the sky and the air was cool and fresh, untainted.

"Are you sure you want to meet with him? That you trust him?" Small puffs of cold breath surrounded her uncle's cautious words as they walked briskly through the keep to the large godswood. Elia's slippered feet were silent against the tile and her uncle had done her the favor of discarding his loud armor for their short journey.

The queen tugged her black cloak about her. Somehow it felt good to be cold and warm at once like this. "I am sure. He means me no harm, uncle," Elia replied quietly but with assurance. One part of her said this was reckless - and then the other said surely it was not. The queen did not want to further insult or harm Lord Stark, after all. He had wanted to meet, how could she refuse him?

Yes, this was prudent.

Of course, there was the small matter that they were meeting alone, in a slightly secret area and at an absurd hour.

Perhaps going forward it would be best not to take action before morning tea.

Her steps slowed for a moment - but only one moment, as her mind resolved itself once more.

Brandon was the Warden of the north, a key part of whatever alliance was occurring with the Vale, riverlands and stormlands. Rhaelle had warned her of what she had already dreaded, of the uncertainty she felt brewing quicker and quicker. Her husband chased dreams, the storm lord would surely not go quietly no matter the deal with his grandmother. And the realm plotted as always.

She must have allies and that's what Brandon was. An ally. No more, no less.

No more, she told herself.

When they reached the grove, it was near silent. The sounds of the day were still asleep and all that surrounded them was the occasional ponderous murmurs of the wind. It pushed her untied, long and wavy hair upwards as she entered the space where the heart tree lay. And there he was, standing before the tree, pacing methodically with his hands clasped behind his back. His dark locks floated up in a flourish each time he made a turn. At the rustle of her steps, he stopped quickly. Their eyes met.

Now it seemed even the wind had silenced itself, waiting for one of them to speak.

After a brief moment, a half smile emerged on Brandon's face. "I would say good morrow but that would not be quite right, would it?"

"It is neither morning nor evening," Elia replied quietly as she made her way towards him. Her uncle remained on the outside of the garden hedges that hid this spot. Even Varys's eyes did not reach here, she thought. She hoped. "It is a time that requires a new definition, I suppose."

The half-smile on his face became full and whole. "Then we shall have to decide upon one."

She had closed the distance between them with only a few steps remaining between them and so she halted. They stood before the oak tree that did not seem to watch them. "When we were here last, you said you did not think your gods saw you," she remembered, speaking softly as though raising her voice more would wake the world. "Do you still believe that?"

His eyes drifted to the heart tree. Brandon placed one hand on it, tentative yet reverent. "I do not know. I can only hope that they do. To know that they watch me, it gives me comfort."

Elia's eyes went to the tree as well, one hand matching his. Gently she began to trace its lines. "I've seen a few weirwoods, there are still some in the south. Tis a pity this is not one."

Brandon's hand seemed to follow the queen's movements, moving slowly up and down the bark. "This keep is too new and not of the First Men." His voice was quiet and she could only hum in agreement. And then in the course of one moment, their hands met with barely a brush. But it was like a current of fire. She let out a small gasp, retrieving the wayward limb quickly.

She straightened her back and looked upon him with an expression she hoped was neutral and did not reveal the turbulence of her emotions. "Are you ready for your journey?"

"As much as is possible. I will go to Storm's End from here. Ned is there." With an aggrieved sigh, he continued. "And I think perhaps I will have to speak with Robert."

"His grandmother has come to an agreement that should please him, no?" Surely the young man would see the sense in it.

That roused a bark of laughter from Brandon. "No," he shook his head with a rueful smile. "That arrangement is for the lady, her house and the stormlands. But Robert...this is not how he settles a matter. He only knows one way and it is not at a table in a grand keep."

Of course, she remembered, Rhaelle had said as much. Elia shivered and it was not from the chill that surrounded them. Seeing her discomfort, Brandon closed the gap between them and placed his hands on her arms, moving them up and down to warm her. "Apologies, I should not have asked you to come when it would be so chilly."

She should have stopped him from touching her like this. But it comforted her and felt as natural as the sun's shine on her skin. "There is no need to apologize," she replied quietly with a smile. "I am well, I assure you." She adjusted her shoulders slightly and the movement seemed to cause Brandon to cease his ministrations.

"Were you satisfied with the meeting yesterday?" she finally asked.

Her formality seemed to catch him off guard. "I do not yet know."

"Oh?" she asked casually, attempting to push down the bubbling nerves. "I thought you comported yourself well." She hated that her voice had become a wisp of what she wanted it to be.

Brandon studied her keenly. "Is it the air's chill that causes these nerves, my queen, or something else?"

She could not tell if he was offering her a gracious exit from the path they could head towards - or if he was attempting to guide her there. "The chill, of course."

With that answer, he looked down for a moment. Then slowly he made to take her hands in his. Elia's breath hitched, her body and heart utterly betraying the logical part of her brain in that moment.

"Your hands are cold. That shall not do," Brandon said quietly, his voice rumbling and traveling right through her. He ran his thumbs over her knuckles softly, soothing away the cold away. Elia knew she should take her hands away.

But she did not.

"What did you wish to speak of that you could not yesterday, Brandon?" Her voice had quieted even more as her eyes rested on their joined hands.

"You thought I 'comported' myself well, did you?" His tone was light and mischievous.

The queen glanced up at him then and smiled. It ran through Brandon like the hot springs in Winterfell's walls. "Yes, I did." Then her tone sobered. "How do you feel now that it is done?"

She could see something shift in his eyes at her question, as though he was searching for the answer. "I worry that my bannermen won't accept this, that it will not be enough. That they will want blood for father." His gaze drifted to the tree, though his hands continued to hold hers all the while. "I would not fault them either. Not when I feel it as well. But I do not know where to quench that thirst."

"You could not have waged war from here, Brandon." Her voice was soft but earnest, beckoning to him. "Aerys is gone, and war cannot bring your father back. Though I know that is cold comfort." It was him who had been holding her hands til that moment. But then he felt her grip his hands, and her hold brought him back from the darkness. "Sometimes you must also think of the living . The cost of war is great, and men too often forget that."

He cast her a wan smile. "As always, you are able to win with your words, my queen. Perhaps you should come speak to my bannermen," he teased and unconsciously tugged at her hands, pulling her just ever so closer.

"I do not think your northern bannermen would give much credence to my words," she said dryly.

"I have," he dared.

"Perhaps do not tell them that," she advised him with a laugh. But to Elia's surprise, Brandon's face was completely serious. His gaze made her feel like the ground had shifted and crumbled below them.

"I have no shame in my admiration for you." With one more step, he closed the small gap that remained between their bodies and joined hands. "I will never forget what you did for me. I need you to know that."

It was clear from the moment she saw him at Harrenhal - and since she had come to know him these past few months - that Brandon Stark did not do things in half measures. And so it was now, with his eyes completely full of emotion - earnest, bold and desperate. "Well," she began quietly, unable to look away, pull away, walk away. She could only stay. "I think you acted admirably yesterday and what you have done will help your people. You will make them see that."

"I've had dreams of late," Brandon murmured to her. "I'm traveling home and the journey is the same - but yet...it is not. It is not familiar. And when I arrive where Winterfell should be, it is gone. There is nothing but emptiness." He spoke as though he were a ghost seeking final rest.

Slowly Elia brought one hand up to cradle his face. "Home is not lost to you, Brandon. I have faith." Her voice was quiet, but steady and resolute.

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he leaned into her touch. "You did this that morning, when I first woke. It was the only thing that didn't make me feel like I was tearing apart inside." Then he turned his head slightly, angling in and his lips pressed against her palm. "Thank you," he whispered.

As she felt his lips graze against her skin, her heart was beating so fast, she felt like a sand steed running under the sun.

"Is it odd that after months here, I want to leave this cursed place...but yet I don't," the northern lord wondered. He watched her with a curious fascination, as though he were waiting for something.

"Why would you not want to leave, Brandon." Her voice was barely a whisper.

His other hand that still held hers dropped and rose, moving to brush some hair from her face. Not keen to leave that space just yet, his palm moved to cup her cheek gently, mirroring her own action. "Surely you know."

The queen's hand dropped from Brandon's face to his chest, gently bracing herself for support. And the gods knew she needed it greatly at that moment. His heart thrummed under her palm. "I think you overestimate me."

That summoned a wolfish smile from him as he leaned his head down towards her. "Never." And in a heartbeat, he had inclined his head just so to gently claim her lips. They were tender, soft as a petal. And seared like the sun.

Elia gasped before her surprise and mind alike were silenced and she responded to him. Her fingers wrapped into his tunic as she fell into their kiss deeper and deeper. And then, as though they had a mind of their own, her hands traveled up to his neck and then to his hair. Her fingers tangled into raven strands. The action roused a low groan of pleasure from Brandon as he pulled her flush against him.

This time, this moment, had no name and now seemed stretched on without measure - or it was all that these two people brought together by the worst of circumstances could do to try to stop the moment from ending.

A few moments later, Elia broke the kiss, catching her breath and letting her mind and body try to reconvene. Brandon leaned down, caressing his cheek against hers. It seemed he would not let their time end. He placed a kiss above her brows before slowly leaning his forehead against hers, catching his breath as well. "I have wanted to do that for some time."

Their breaths seemed to become synced, falling in step. "Brandon," she whispered. She realized she loved saying his name.

His eyes remained closed just as hers were, as though he were at prayer. "I would gladly wake to the sound of your voice calling to me."

"We cannot...this cannot be. Surely you know that."

"Aye," he murmured lowly. "This odd time has been our own, as was this." His thumb brushed across her lips.

Slowly she pulled back so that she could look upon him. "Catelyn Stark is a beautiful woman. And was her father's heir for many a year. Your future holds promise."

"She is a good woman," he agreed quietly. "Though the future does not seem to hold everything I desire."

That made her laugh with sadness. "It never does. So I suppose we must mourn what never was."

He caressed her hair, letting his hand wonder the length of her strands to her waist before holding on. "We had this moment, did we not?"

Elia let out a deep exhale. Her hands wandered over his face, tracing it. "I am glad you lived, Brandon Stark."

"If I can ever be of use, of help - do not hesitate. I owe you a debt and I shall pay it back as many times as I can."

"I want to believe that, I do," she breathed. "But when our time expires here, you will have to remember what surrounds us - including your sister."

Brandon grimaced with discomfort, with uncertainty. With the unbearable weight of a decision he hoped to never make. "She will not challenge you." Though he did not say it, his tone was pleading - whether for her to believe it or them both, she did not know.

Elia could only smile at him, forlorn. Perhaps the Stark girl did not think of herself as a challenge, but only because she did not regard Elia as someone to be challenged. But there was no point in wrapping Brandon into that now. Or rather, the queen did not want to. She did not want to force an answer she was unsure of it. "If I am in need of aid, you shall hear from me, I promise."

"Tis the least I can do." Brandon gently enclosed her face, looking at her as though he were memorizing every feature. After a moment of contemplation, he placed his lips on hers once more, chaste and seeking.

A sliver of light began to paint itself into the sky, peaking through the clouds. Time would begin its march again soon.

"The sun will rise shortly, the servants of the keep will have already begun their duties," she told him quietly, one hand gently running through his hair in meditation.

"I don't want this to be over, Elia." He spoke as though his voice would slay time from interrupting them.

"How can something end when it did not even begin?" she wondered.

"Will you see me off when we leave," he asked quietly. His hand had moved under her cloak to run along the cloth that covered her back.

"If you so desire, yes," she replied softly. "Yes."

"I do so desire, my queen."

Elia closed her eyes and her hands brought Brandon's down to lean against hers once more. "I will not lie. I find myself quite afraid. Everything feels precarious, brittle."

"Promise you will call to me if you should need aid."

She wanted to ask what she should do if his sister had a child, a boy, that could challenge her own. What would he do under the sway of northerners upset by Aerys or Rhaegar? Who wanted vengeance?

But that was more than she could bear at the moment. So instead she said, "I will try."

"Promise me," Brandon pleaded, pulling his head up to try to find an answer in her eyes. He needed her to tell him that this was simpler than it was, she realized.

Elia looked at the northern lord, trying to will herself to give him the answer he believed he could honor. Instead she pressed her lips to his once more. "Be safe, Brandon Stark."

And then she ran from the day's light.