Rhaegar took a swig of the pear bandy in his flask, still chuckling at Arthur's disapproving face. "If you pine after your homeland so much, you can take off whenever you so wish. Who knows, might be the Dornish Princess yet waits to wed. This is your chance, Arthur."
"There are duties you could attend to instead of running around on the high sea with a pack of marauders." If his mood were any less pleasant, Rhaegar might have retorted in a fiery fashion.
"I believe they call it sailing; one cannot run on water." He downed another mouthful of alcohol. "And I like the captain of this ship more than I did the last." Not that his own father was much of a leader; frankly, he was not much of a man. Rhaegar almost pitied the Seven Kingdoms.
The blue suited him well enough, a sight above the vermillion of before. In a crowd as colourful as he himself was, he remained undistinguishable. He walked the paved street leading to the great market, hoping to catch sight of some other of the crewmen. The captain had promised to leave any straggler behind, though he'd said that as he was winding his arms around a pair of buxom wenches, sign that he himself would be hard at work and late to rise.
He paused at the sight of a small crowd gathered around a gold and green tent.
"Come, one and all! Come see the famed mermaid in all her splendour!"
A worldly man, Rhaegar had seen a fair share of ingenious disguises. In his days as Prince many troupes had bent over backwards to awe and please him. There had been merfolk, of course, with flowing tails of twisted silk strands and glinting bits of chainmail. Their water had been painted broadcloth and the seaweeds in their hair mere flowers picked from the fields.
The mermaid in behind the glass was entirely different.
He pushed his way closer, eyes riveted to the scales adorning her bottom half, running from just beneath the soft belly to where toes might have been. Long fins crowned the endpoint. The mermaid held herself above-water with the use of a ladder.
Her eyes were the colour of steel and just as hard. Wide wet strands of hair clung heavily to her shoulders, running over her bare chest, obscuring what promised to be a delightful sight. Rhaegar almost missed her moving lips.
"What say you there, maiden of the waves?" he called out in the tongue of the land.
The girl's lips curled with something akin to disgust. "Kind patron, she speaks not our tongue."
From behind the glass a shocking string or words came. "The Others take you, you vile bastard."
Some unfortunate girl who had found herself pressed into a slave's life, though not long enough to learn the language. Odd indeed.
One day more, the captain had decreed. It was an opportunity he could not waste. Arthur in tow, Rhaegar, searched out the tent of the mermaid once more, pleased to find it there yet. He left his friend gawking at the sight, determined for himself to seek out the creature's owner.
"I should like above all a private viewing," he said to the lanky man fronting the whole show, passing on a small bag of coins. "For whatever fee might be named."
Money made the world go round whether in Westeros or in Essos as it turned out, and he was shown deeper within.
Her wrist was chained to a pole struck deep into the ground. A cloak of sorts had been thrown over her shoulders as the attendant explained it kept her from catching cold without the water. Rhaegar listened to a few of the lines before asking to be afforded some privacy. His designated host hesitated. "I shan't harm her. But an object of art is best admired in silence, I find."
The man left, promising him no more than a few minutes. It seemed he would have to act fast. His mermaid had not moved an inch, though she did shiver when they were finally alone.
"What is your name, girl?" She flinched and startled, then gasped finally with understanding. She lunged with quicker movement than he would have thought her capable of, clutching at his own cloak.
"Please, ser; I am Lyanna Stark. My father is a lord in Westeros. He will pay well if you take me back to him." All those words she said in one rush of breath, quick and quiet. Her eyes filled with tears. "I beg you."
But he was already halfway turned, heart galloping wildly. The anguished sob which followed him out the door was almost as painful as the stab of fear digging deep into his back.
"Stealing a man's property is somehow the first option on your list?" Rhaegar looked at the aghast Arthur, the question lingering.
"She is not property, whatever the laws of this wretched land may say. Do not let me betray my knightly oath, Your Grace. At the very least think of the poor girl who must be missed. I shall take her back to her family myself." An honourable exit if ever there was one.
"I think you are more of a pirate than you let on, my friend," Rhaegar teased. Arthur was right, he supposed; why let the girl suffer when he could aid?
"You do not understand," the girl said, pulling the furs covering her legs. Even in the low light Rhaegar could see the gleam of her fish's tail. "I cannot stand. At all. Broken legs would not permit it. And even if they did, I should fall over soon enough."
"Good gods; they've sewn those blasted scales onto the skin," Arthur gritted out.
Rhaegar felt faintly sick with the realization that her performance behind the glass had not been mere great flexibility.
He lifted the girl in his arms, motioning for Arthur to follow.
He stepped over the mermaid owner's corpse, barely containing the desire to stomp all over the unmolested flesh. A cut throat was a small price to pay for the atrocity he had wrought. "We need a healer."
The man held a wicked looking blade between his withered fingers. Rhaegar grunted as Lyanna buried her face into his shoulder, the strength of her movement surprising him almost to the point of falling over. Her hips were held down by straps along with her ankles. The knife inched closer to the wondrous tail. The healer had explained that first he must assess the damage done to the flesh pressed together beneath the water and only thereafter could he begin taking off the scales. His protégé whimpered and gripped him with all her might. In a compassionate mood, Rhaegar embraced her back.
Blackened skin ran along the inside of her thighs emanating an unpleasant odour. Lyanna was weeping in his shoulder, without doubt feeling both the sting of humiliation and the pain of the healer's ministrations. He bade the man stop and sent him from the room, having watched enough to know what he must do. For the coin he paid, the healer listened. "I shall call you back when we have need of you."
Taking hold of the soft cloth doused in vinegar, he tipped Lyanna's chin up, so their eyes might meet. "The sting will seem worth it once you are healed." Who would have thought her wounds would necessitate the healing touch of fire.
She slept. Rhaegar could not claim amazement. She had gone out like a light as soon as he'd claimed he was done with his task. Drawing a clean sheet over the wounds which had been lathered with ointment, he called the healer into the chamber. "What is to be done about the scales?"
"Taking more than the fins out at this point would be, I fear, too much for her body to take." He gave Rhaegar a long look. "There is a woman of great skill in the port; she might know of a proper way to build up the girl's strength speedily and other matters."
The squat woman inspired little enough confidence. She spoke the bastard Valyrian tongue of Tyrosh well. "She is clean," the woman assured him, dark eyes shining with something very like sympathy. "Her legs on the other hand need much care. Salt water has ruined the flesh and chafed her wound greatly." She had taken out a few rows of scales. "You may take likewise every other moon's turn. Too much and she collapses. Too little and her pain will be great." Rhaegar bit back a curse, deciding he would simply tell Lyanna she was on the mend. The hand upon his arm gave a soft squeeze.
"How long are you planning to remain here exactly?" Arthur questioned, having carefully closed the door of Lyanna's chamber. "She will take as long as half a year's time to heal by the looks of it."
"What of it?" Rhaegar asked back, rinsing away the thick film of liniment from his hands.
"I do not believe you are appreciating precisely the complications your actions engender. This is not some mere waif you've rescued, but Lord Stark's daughter." His friend crossed his arms over his chest for emphasis when Rhaegar failed to react.
To save himself the bother, he offered, "She could be lying."
The scales were a thick colourful band encircling her hips and running down just above her knees. Drowsy still with the comfort of milk of the poppy, Lyanna leaned heavily against him, fingers splayed over his shoulders, palm pressing down. There was a fresh chill in the air come upon a wind blowing from the west.
"Not long now," he told her, having managed to chip away a good portion of finicky small flakes. The damned brute had used smaller scales the further up her body we went.
"You will take me home soon then?" He did not answer her slurred question.
The loose Lysene garb suited her well. Beneath the thin silk he could just about make out the last remnants of her merkfolkhood. Through the white gauze the ring of mottled bruised pearls chained her to him.
Rhaegar decided her would keep her.
He suspected their close proximity had planted the desire within him first. Her Northern kin should have kept a better watch on her if they did not wish her stolen. And in any event, a corsair did not return treasure he had found.
Unaware of his musings, Lyanna pinned him with an expectant look. "Will I do then?"
More than she would ever know.
"What think you of Lorath?" Rhaegar asked his once-mermaid. His eyes drifted momentarily to the rich velvet running in waves after her every step. The bright red embraced brazen black. She would have chosen dull greys and winter blues, but the play of his house's colours upon her suited her better. That she had no inkling as to his identity added a layer of thrill to it all.
"Watery," she laughed, the answer impulsive. "And strange. It reminds me of home in a way." He was tempted to comment upon the overwhelming quantity of salt-water but stooped himself short at her expression. "I miss it. Even with all the wonderful sights."
He kissed her first in Braavos. They were about to board a ship with the crew he had commissioned. Lyanna had paused to buy a few buns from a stall before she made her way slowly to a small collection of street urchins. She handed them the food and did not even wait for their surprise to fade before she was back by his side.
His hands tugged at her waist before they'd even reached the gangplank. It was easy to draw her to him and easier to seal her lips with his. A few raucous remarks ranged rang out from the gathered men.
"But if we sail that way, then we are growing further apart from Westeros." Rhaegar did not acknowledge her outburst. Given they were in the middle of a vast body of water and she had nowhere to run to, her realization troubled him none. "Rhaegar, please; I need to go home?"
"Is there some urgent appointment you are about to miss?" he snapped, irritated by her willingness to forsake him.
"I told you; I am Lord Stark's daughter. I have responsibilities towards my house, my father and my people." He gave her an incredulous look. "And if you must know, I have already missed my betrothal feast."
She made her first attempt at escape in port in New Ghis. Rhaegar wasted no time in recapturing her. He put her in Dayne's arms and charged him with keeping her on the ship as he went about his business. Arthur shot him a glare, but nevertheless obeyed. Lyanna was less willing to follow the order. "You just wait and see if I do not make it onto another ship," she yelled after him.
Rhaegar found solace in a flask of strong wine and the company of his rough crew whose talk of their womenfolk buoyed him. "She has not been so bad, captain; my woman gave away all my possessions once in a fit of rage."
She lunged at him as soon as he stepped foot within the cabin. Caught against him and pushed back towards the hammock, she hurled invectives at his head, a few uncomplimentary words about his parentage and a promise of retribution. He kissed her soundly until she melted into his front, a mass of soft sighs and shining eyes.
How exactly they got from that point to twining together forged with passion and fire was both inexplicable and the most natural thing. She cried after, once she thought he slept. Rhaegar allowed her that much, careful not to betray his wakefulness.
There was no more mention of Westeros after they'd lain together. She never spoke one word of her betrothal again either. Lyanna would sometimes trace the bit of land longingly on the map when she thought he wasn't looking, but for the most part, she turned her attention to enjoying the new experiences he provided her with. He sometimes wondered if she missed her home or whoever her father had promised her to.
The suspicion would push and prod him at him until he had her safe in his hammock, whining softly at his movement beneath her. Her body certainly seemed to know it belonged with him.
Lyanna was sick as a dog in Volantis.
No matter what she ate, she hardly seemed capable of keeping it down. The healer told them her womb had borne fruit.
Rhaegar bought her a looping string of fine black pearls and all the cloth she could wish for. "They start nesting soon after they learn a babe is on the way and want the sun and moon," one of his men warned. For his part, Rhaegar would throw the stars in the bargain as well. For good measure, he brought her a small cradle they could nail into the floorboards of their cabin.
He should have steered away from Tyrosh, but Lyanna's time was nearing and he wanted her on land in the care of expert midwives.
He should have suspected the ruse could not last forever. By the time the Bull's face filled his vision and Lyanna's shrieks his ears, he knew he'd lost his ship and crew. Ser Darry filed in along with Oswell Whent whose sharp wide grin could rival a longsword.
"Your Grace, you are a most difficult man to find," Ser Hightower noted.
"Your Grace?" Lyanna's crisp voice parroted the words.
He should have probably guessed she would throw that blasted pitcher at him.
His hand shot out intercepting Darry. From behind him a pained gasp reverberated and with nary a concern for his own safety, Rhaegar swivelled around, his back towards three of the realm's most renowned fighters.
Lyanna doubled over, hands clutching at her middle. He rushed to her and made short work of steadying her. "Out," he snapped at the inopportune visitors. Might be encroaching invaders would be more accurate.
Jonothor Darry dared a short protest, but the Bull pulled him away as Whent spoke, "We can ensure they remain within just as easily from the other side of the door." The man paused, "Dayne, are you coming?"
"Do you need the midwife?" Rhaegar questioned, helping Lyanna onto the bed. Her brow was dotted with beads of sweat and her skin was pale beneath the bronze shine the sun had given her. When her hand clutched at his in a bid for patience he struggled against his mad impulse to demand she say something. Anything would do.
A sudden deep breath on her part broke the tension. Lyanna exhaled loudly. "No midwife. 'Tis stopping." She stroked a hand against her bulging middle. Relief seized him, but was quick to fade as her eyes narrowed into a glare. "How could you?"
"Lord Stark's daughter? I suppose she could be." Lyanna had sent him out with a flea in his ear, looking as regal as any descendant of old royal lines. That was how he found himself facing the four Kingsguards over a table laden with food and drink. "She disappeared from White Harbor and the timing fits well enough." Rhaegar cursed under his breath.
"Was she betrothed, this daughter of Lord Stark's?" Icy fingers dug into his chest stirring pain there and sickness into his stomach.
It was Oswell Whent who answered. "I heard tell she was promised to Robert Baratheon. That boy drank Lord Arryn's cellars dry when he learned of her disappearance. More distraught than her own brothers, he was."
He found her fast asleep. Rhaegar crept into their bedchamber, half-expecting a household object to some flying at his head. Instead, Lyanna slumbered, having spread herself out at an angle so that whole bed was occupied.
Annoyed yet from discovering she had not only spoken true but someone did await her return, he was none too gently when lifting her from the bed. She came to with a shriek and fought against him. "Keep still or I shall drop you," Rhaegar warned. Blessedly, she listened and relaxed against him.
He found the knot in his heart easing. One of her arms went about his shoulders.
Rhaegar did not manage to find sleep. Part of it was knowing that just beyond the door four armed men were stationed, waiting to drag him away. Another part of it was Lyanna slumbering easy by his side like she had no worry in the world. He turned on his side to a shallow grunt from his partner and wound an arm just above the swell where their child rested.
She mumbled something unintelligible and kicked at the covers. He tugged them back up and secured them under the weight of his arm. Let her try ridding herself of his care if she could.
"Your being there shan't help her in the least," Whent said with nary a thought to spare to his state of mind. Of course were it only a matter of stairs and doors, he should have had little trouble reaching her. But the brave knights in his service had seen fit to remove him from the house altogether, arm him with a pint and guard him like the proverbial treasure of kings. He would have rebelled against it were his head not half as woozy. "There we are, Your Grace, steady now." At least they hadn't gone far. It would be easy to return.
The midwife glared as he barrelled past her, throwing her the bag of coins in haste. His sole concern, however, lay with the woman and her swaddled babe. Pillows propped her up, the chamber smelled strongly of blood and lavender-water and Lyanna beamed gently at their child. "Come see," she said without even looking up and he could not fault her, for he was equally mesmerised.
He sat down upon the edge of the bed and peered at the tiny scrunched up face of the babe. He looked rather like an old merry drunk, but instead of repelling him, the feature only seemed to melt his heart.
"Is it Robert Baratheon?" The question stopped her short in her packing. To see their whole world reduced to chests and coffers rankled. She glanced at him over her shoulder, eyes as sharp as ever. "Your betrothed," Rhaegar clarified, just in case she hadn't understood.
Her jaw worked for a brief moment. "I hardly see what it matters now." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb, watching her. Her gaze flickered away. Her hands lingered upon a lid. "If you must know, then aye; it is Robert." She slammed the lid shut and turned to face him fully.
The cradle had been nailed to the floorboards of the ship and the child within secured with linens and embroidered cloth. Lyanna sang to the little tyke every night, though her voice was very nearly always breathy. Rhaegar thought of his harp, waiting for him on Dragonstone.
He drifted off to sleep with Lyanna's voice in his ears. Most nights there were no dreams. But at times there were storms and choppy waves and then winds howled ever so fiercely. Both he and Lyanna stayed awake then, minding their sleeping son. They dreamed together in such moment, he liked to believe.
The port of King's Landing boomed with life. He started at the many faces passing by through the lattice as the wheelhouse rolled ever forth. Lyanna was nursing their son, humming under her breath. She glanced at him then and again, might be having noted his solemn mood. "You are not happy to be home." To his ears that sounded like an observation.
"Astute observation," he answered, his darkening mood not allowing for any good faith. She shrank into herself at the unspoken reprimand and returned her attention to the boy. The wheelhouse jostled; the babe whimpered. Lyanna comforted him.
There was no more humming.
He put his hand on her waits and felt her stiffen. "I will help you down." As though he needed an excuse to touch the mother of his own offspring; her eyes widened ever so slightly and she deflated. He wondered just what she'd seen in his face.
No matter, she was in his grasp and down onto the pavement. He was about to say some words of comfort, hoping for a truce when he heard his mother's voice. He turned in time to see the Queen of the realm running before her septas, heeding no call thrown her way.
"My boy! You have come back."
"Lord Stark eagerly awaits word of her finding." The Spider was beyond doubt a crafty fellow. "Your Majesty will find the family most eager to please." Rhaegar's lips thinned into a narrow line, well-aware of the game that was being played.
"What of the child?" His father had of course seen the babe as seemed inordinately pleased both at its health and the very obvious maleness of the infant. "It is true they were never wed, but all we need is to remedy the situation." The Spider was not helping him for naught.
For the time being, however, he could not bring himself to care.
He found her in the Crown Princess' chambers. The audible sigh of relief coupled with the weight of her rushing in his arms had the most peculiar effect on his heart. It thundered in his chest and sparred with his ribcage. "Will they let me stay, do you think?"
"You will stay," he answered, "as is your right." She blinked up at him. "You are Lord Stark's daughter and I the King's son." Far from appearing thrilled, she paled a few shades under his very eyes. Lyanna took a step back and forced a tremulous smile upon her lips.
"Of course, Your Grace. I was not thinking." He started.
What had gone wrong?
There, it was done and over with. Rhaegar eyed the ribbon fasting their hands together, before closing his fingers over Lyanna's, cupping the smaller hand protectively in his. She jolted at his side and looked up at him before lowering her gaze.
Congratulatory words and well-wished swept past him.
Once they were within her bedchamber, he sat her down upon the bed, protesting when she would undo their bond. "You are not supposed to untie it until the morn."
She gave him a look. "I'd not heard that. In the North we merely pledge ourselves before gods and kin." She smiled though.
He held Lyanna between his knees as they leaned over little Aemon's cradle. He was not entirely oblivious to the attention, having cracked his eyes open just a sliver, peering lazily through dark lashes. "He shall be a fine boy when he grows," his wife opined.
"He is a very fine boy now." Rhaegar scowled even though she could not see him. Her only response was to laugh. "But he is also a very lonely boy." He gently arranged her braid over one shoulder, his fingertip trailing a soft line against her throat. Lyanna shivered and giggled.
"And you figure we ought to remedy it?" He hummed his agreement.
He'd been dreaming of the sea, choppy and riled in the storm, its strong waves threatening to overtake the ship and drag it to its dark depths, and woke to the feel of Lyanna's hand stroking his hair. Rhaegar stared up at her blearily; the serene face bathed in moonlights beamed down at him, her gentle smile more than enough to lull him back to sleep. He wondered, briefly, why she did not slumber, but much too tired to put further thought behind it, Rhaegar sank into a world of dreams, even the awareness of Lyanna's touch fading from his mind.
His sire watched him with a keen eye. "'Tis only natural they would wish to see her and ascertain her good health." Her family he understood well enough; it was young Baratheon that worried him.
"Naturally," he answered, electing to keep his worries to himself. Much as protesting the presence of the man would help vent his spleen, it would also give rise to the certainty of his affection for Lyanna; and that was aught best shrouded in a goodly dose of doubt.
"There might be some talk with the Baratheon heir joining them, but Her Grace is a sensible lady and any rumours will surely die a swift death," the Spider put in, as though to rub salt on an open wound.
"What is the matter?" Decked in the colours of his house, Lyanna stood but a small distance away. The golden glint of the heavily ornate necklace she wore warmed the colour of her usually pale skin. She'd been smiling the whole day long, ever so thankful to know her family was coming. Or might be to know that man would be arriving.
"Naught," he said after a too long pause, allowing his gaze to slide down to her feet, as though he'd been merely perusing her appearance. His wife drew in a sharp, audible breath and reached to touch his sleeve. He pulled away. "Let us go, lest we keep everyone waiting."
On the fourth night of conspicuous absence Lyanna sought him out on her own. She wore a long chemise, sturdy white linen obscuring his view of what lay beneath. The disadvantages of a new wardrobe was that lacking so many washings, he supposed.
Nevertheless, she climbed into his bed and pressed herself lengthwise against him. Rhaegar considered rejecting her; but it was the first time she had initiated such intimacy. He could not bring himself to do it in spite of the suspicion just beneath the thin veneer of politeness.
He used the opportunity to remind her, but mostly himself, that she was his wife.
She hugged her father, tears running down her face. Her brother benefitted from such warm attentions as well. But she paused before Robert and the two looked at one another as though quite in awe of the other's presence. Rhaegar, alert to even the most subtle of shifts in his wife's expression, narrowed his eyes into a stern glare, though his attention was then duly given to his good-father who would not be put off from his quest of learning how his daughter had been rescued. Thankfully a heavily censored account of his dealings with Lyanna was not difficult to produce.
She came to him with the note in the nursery. Their little Aemon was sleeping peacefully as she placed the small thing in his hand and bade him have a look. He obliged, raising one eyebrow at the contents. "I was wondering if you would join me."
"Now why would I do that?" He replaced the note in her own hand. "Whatever Robert wishes to say to you, my presence is bound to hinder him."
"Surely he can have naught of such a nature to say," she returned, displeasure written all across her face.
Unyielding, he transferred his attention to their son.
Arthur gave him a searching look. "You do not seem to me to be ailing for aught," his friend said. "And yet the words that come out of your mouth astonish me greatly.
"Just do as I say," Rhaegar snapped in no mood to be questioned. The Dornishman hissed softly in apparent annoyance, a gesture that would have earned a lesser man a good whipping, and turned on his heel with one last warning.
"I would not be so quick to test Her Grace's heart; whatever will you do if your worst fears are realized?" He'd asked himself the same question; the answer frightened him.
The Spider's curious smile did not deter him in the least. Rhaegar bade the man make himself scarce and then listened for the opening of the chamber's door and the titter of Lyanna's women as Robert was ushered within. He heard as well the sound of many a steps and the voice of his wife. "Whatever are you doing here?"
"I have to be certain," came the answer.
"Certain of what? I thought I made it clear already." His own heart picked up its pace as heavy footfalls rang in his ears.
"You think that now, but you cannot comprehend the true nature of the Dragons." Would wonders never cease; he agreed with Robert.
The laughter surprised him most. His wife rarely laughed. She smiled; occasionally, when the mood was light and their enthusiasm spent, she giggled quietly. She laughed for Robert though. Silence followed. And then words. "I think you are trying to say something vastly profound. Let me in turn be brief; I appreciate your concern, but it is not needed."
"Lyanna, an honourable man would have surely returned you to your father's home. He knew who you were." So she had told him that much. Rhaegar wondered just how much she had shared.
"That is quite enough, ser; I will say no more on the matter."
He did not hesitate to intrude upon her solitude as soon as her guest had left. Lyanna gasped at his appearance. "Your Grace, what are you–" His wife moved slightly, as though to make space beside her. He took her up on the offer and erased the distance between them. "Have you considered eavesdropping might lead to a great deal of regret?"
"All the time." But that usually did not stop him. "It helped me avoid marriage to a Dornish Princess, you know." Her eyes grew wide. She demanded an explanation. He obliged. "I suppose her family did not wish the rejection to be known."
She sat with her back against the headboard, shallow breaths moving her chest almost imperceptibly to sight, though Rhaegar certainly felt the subtle movements with his head pillowed against her breasts. He ought to rise and give her some breathing space. Alas, his body refused to move even an inch.
Small fingers slid through his hair. She kept breathing, not speaking even one word. Still, Rhaegar did not doubt there was a firm understanding between them. He did not speak either, having neither the strength, nor the willingness. If often happened by the end that all he wished to do was quietly lie beside her.
"I do not understand you," she admitted, rocking the sleeping Aemon ever so gently. "What more is there to want?" He pinned her with a hard stare, taking in the curls and silk. He doubted there was much she could do to diminish her attractiveness in his eyes. Nevertheless, he had to admit she could frustrate him beyond belief at times.
"Is that what you want; to be in the eye of the world at all times, to wonder when those closest to you turn traitor and stab you in the back, to always wonder if you made the right choice?" She frowned at his words.
The distance between them grew apace. In his defence, Lyanna had not attempted to bridge the gap once more and seemed content to deal with aloofness in her own time. Might be he had been wrong. Might be a sense of belonging was not enough.
Her question came back to haunt him. What more was there to want?
He looked up at the starlit sky and sighed. Might be it fell to him to make that step, that frightening, spine-tingling, heart-shrivelling step which would doubtless uncover more than he wished it to. It tended to come up that way in his experience.
Surprise shifted her features. "My goodness, dragons must be very strange creatures indeed." She kept a rather serious mien as she went on. "What are the circumstances of our union to do with its ultimate state? You are my husband; nothing and no one can take that away." Then she smiled. "I do not take exception to your actions."
"We aren't Rhaegar and Lyanna any longer," he pointed out. "You were wrought with me when you learned who I was."
"What you were. You are obviously Rhaegar and that I knew very well before learning of your claim to the throne."
It seemed she was not as coolheaded as one might believe on first sight. Rhaegar watched his wife examine Princess Elia Martell. The shoe was on the other foot, as it were, and he wasn't about to deprive himself of joy witnessing such a scene brought.
Her fingers entwined with his own, holding on tightly, as though she feared he might disappear. He squeezed right back, wondering just how scandalised their audience would be if he kissed her in view of all.
She looked towards him then and he could swear she encouraged him. To be fair, he never truly needed all that much encouragement. Leaning in, he whispered, "I've had my fill of this company; come, my lady, I've a mind to steal you away."
