Benjen, the youngest of the Stark children, had always held a certain sense of responsibility when it came to his older siblings. Lyanna loved him for it, because it made him unique amongst her brothers. Brandon was the warrior. Ned was the diplomat. And Benjen, the protector. The confidant. The friend. She'd always favored the youngest Stark, and he'd always favored her, so it was no surprise to her that he was the only one who had noticed her brief absence. He always did.
"Sister? Where did you disappear to before supper?" he asked as she took her rightful place at the Stark table. He smiled for good measure, letting her know he wasn't upset but curious, "I almost alerted the guards. I told myself, you know that Lyanna eats more than the lot of us, surely she must have been taken by some sort of monster."
She beamed at him and playfully rolled her dark eyes. She glanced around the rather large tent that was serving as the tournament's supper hall, marveling at the many noble families she saw. It never ceased to amaze her how large the world outside of the North was, and though she loved her home dearly, she wanted to take it all in while she could.
Rhaegar was staring at her as her eyes fell on the royal family's table. He was eating some sort of Dornish fruit, his eyes never leaving hers as he took a hearty bite of it. She bit her lip and turned back to her brother, "Yes, well, I convinced the monster to release me in time for supper."
Benjen smiled slightly and turned to listen in on a conversation taking place between the rest of the Starks. Ned glanced over at his younger sister, who's eyes were distant.
He smiled wryly when she noticed his gaze was directed at her, "So, I was not aware that your relationship with Rhaegar Targaryen was so amorous."
Neither was I, Lyanna thought to herself. She said nothing of the sort to her brother, "Oh, please. You know that a Targaryen's vanity is much fiercer than any jousting skills he possesses. He wanted to put on a show. I was not amused."
Ned shrugged slightly, "Neither was Robert."
Brandon snorted, "As if he needed another reason to despise the Targaryens."
"I suppose you could say his pride was 'burned'," Benjen added, causing the three Stark brothers to erupt into laughter.
Rickard Stark rolled his eyes, though could not stop the slow smile from creeping across his bearded face, "That's enough teasing your sister, now. She's got the most sense out of all of you as it is; don't risk showing the seven kingdoms that she is more serious, too."
Lyanna smiled gratefully at her father, and moments later found herself daydreaming about the kiss.
Rhaegar watched as Lyanna struggled to pay attention to her family. It was intoxicating, really, the thought that her own desire was drawing her away from what she knew. He studied every inch of her from across the large dining tent, making mental notes of everything he noticed. Her dark eyelashes seemed to flutter every time she found herself looking over at him. Her pale neck was long and beautiful, and exposed to him thanks to the way she had tied her hair in a knot at the back of her head. Her lips were parted, as though she was struggling to breathe otherwise, and he loved it. He loved every second of it.
Elia shifted uncomfortably beside him, his baby son bouncing in her lap cheerfully. He glanced at her momentarily, watching as a look of relief swept over her face when Aegon's nurse came to collect him.
Rhaegar loved his children. Aegon was his heir and the brightest babe he had ever seen. Everything about him was regal, as a Targaryen should be. And Rhaegar's daughter, Rhaenys, was still very young, but obviously very intelligent. She had had a gift for delighting people since the moment she was born, a gift that Rhaegar, too, possessed. However, that was where her resemblance to her father ended. Everything else about Rhaenys screamed Elia Martell.
Elia had always been beautiful. She had an exotic Dornish charm that had initially sparked his interest, though he could not pretend that he had ever loved her. They had been formally introduced shortly before their wedding, and though he knew that they were fond of one another, it was quite evident that they both could have been happier had they lived separate lives. But she was a loyal wife and a loving mother (when it suited her), and he could not help but feel some regret about the fact that he could not force himself to feel for her what he felt around Lyanna. Even worse was the fact that, even in the presence of his infant son, he could not pretend that children with Lyanna Stark were not extremely appealing to him.
Lyanna could hardly focus on her meal. Ned and Benjen were in deep conversation, marveling at the size and power of The Mountain, voicing opinions about who they believed would be ultimately victorious. Brandon and their father, Lord Rickard Stark, were discussing the subject of Brandon's betrothed, Catelyn Tully, who was seated at a neighboring table. She tried to distract herself by glances around at the different noble families. The Baratheons were not far, and she could see Robert and Renly laughing and drinking wine. She tried to focus her attention on Robert. He was so very sweet on her, always complimenting and making promises of the future they would have together. It made her feel sick to her stomach, because all she could think about was whether or not Rhaegar was still looking at her.
The next day of the tournament seemed to last a lifetime. Lyanna did her best to avoid him the entire day, making sure that she dismissed herself before he participated in the games so that he could not repeat his actions from the day before. The actions that led to his pulling her inside the tent of some unsuspecting man, the actions that had caused her so much embarrassment and harassment from her siblings.
And so, she lay in bed, hoping that she could see him every minute and also never see him again.
The Previous Day
Lyanna sat beside her family, carelessly picking at the stitching in her day gown. She despised the tournaments that her father always insisted she attend with him and her brothers. There was nothing worthwhile for her there. Seeing stupid, sometimes drunken men slice each other open for no actual reward whatsoever was not satisfying to her in the least. It was counter-productive, in her opinion. Why should the best knights be murdered by their allies rather than saving those skills for war?
War against who, however, she knew not, so she kept her opinions to herself.
Brandon was enthralled. Ned looked slightly uncomfortable. And Benjen seemed to avoid watching altogether. Her father, Rickard Stark, watched without blinking. As warden of the North, he was expected to be a certain way. He was expected to attend the tournaments that he was able to travel to and he was expected to be diplomatic and he was expected to be cold. He represented the North, after all, and whenever the royals and other nobles of the seven kingdoms saw him, they were reminded that winter was coming.
The announcer's voice had murmured like background noise until that moment, when he called, "Prince Rhaegar of the House Targaryen!"
Lyanna inhaled sharply when she saw him. It had been a year or two, she could not exactly remember, but the way he enchanted everyone in attendance seemed all too familiar to her. He had not changed at all. He still had a smile like the summer sun and all of the charisma a future king should possess. She felt breathless as he turned his gaze toward her.
The entire seven kingdoms stood still, and she could hear his voice serenading her as though they were once again in the Vale. '…But towards a knight, a fair fair knight, she found her heart was willed.'
Except he was not a knight at all. He was a prince, and the way she felt as she stared into his violet eyes shook her to her core. And the actions that followed seemed to both excite and anger her terribly.
Rhaegar did not drop his gaze from her face as he led his horse closer to the section of the audience where the Starks were seated. Past his father and his wife, past his children without so much as a glance in their direction. Lyanna's face burned with shame as he stopped right in front of her and placed his favor gently on her lap.
Present
Lyanna's eyes flew open and she jolted upright in her bed. The warm air of the Riverlands kissed her skin even through the thick cloth of her tent. A stream of perspiration fell from her brow, and she gasped slightly. Her mind had been constantly playing the scene from the previous day. It haunted her thoughts and her dreams.
She had scolded him in the tent of some unknown squire, though the effectiveness of her stern attitude toward him was nonexistent. He had tasted her lips as though they were some delicate, exotic fruit. He had whispered treasures to her and given her ideas that were nothing short of dangerous. She needed to get some air. She stood, placed a large shawl around her night dress and slipped her feet into her shoes.
Lyanna Stark had always been clever, much cleverer than the guards gave her credit for. She had been evading their attention since she was a child, and that night was no exception. She quickly exited the tent without being seen, and made her way to a nearby rivers edge to collect her thoughts.
But it seemed that the gods had other plans for her, because as she walked slowly and silently, a voice floated through the air, causing her to question whether or not she was still within a dream.
"…with black eyes and black hair; whose beauty condemned the hearts of men…"
She could not yet see him, though she could hear his angelic voice. If she could have frozen that moment in time, that innocent collection of seconds that allowed her all of the peace she had been seeking from the walk, she would have done so without question. A swift wind presented itself, blowing open her shawl and tossing a few strands of black hair around her face. She shivered slightly, causing the prince to turn from where he was standing waist deep in the river. Until that moment, the moonlight had not illuminated his silver hair or accented his fair, beautiful skin. Every inch of it. Lyanna gasped and felt her face turn crimson.
"A prince should not be completely exposed in such a public fashion," she said, shielding her eyes from his body with one small hand. However, after a few moments, her fingers seemed to part on their own accord, allowing her to see him anyway. Allowing her to imagine what his skin felt like against hers.
"A lady should not be roaming around at night on her own," he countered. He stood before her, as confidently as ever, and smiled wide. He was so beautiful that she could barely handle the sight of him. She swallowed as he added, "Oh, and a prince does whatever he wants."
He took a step toward her, removing himself that much more from the water, and she froze, "Do not come any closer, or I will scream."
Rhaegar's face looked amused, though he did halt his feet, "Are you afraid of me?"
"Yes," she whispered before she could stop herself.
He then continued to approach her, and her throat was so dry then that she could not even protest. She longed for him to be closer and hated herself for it. Rhaegar had closed the space between them when he said, "You have no reason to be."
Lyanna swalloet wed hard, "I have every reason to be."
"Do you?" he said, his eyes tracing every inch of her face with their gaze, "Why do you feel such a thing?"
"You represent everything that I have been constantly taught to avoid in a man," she said honestly.
"Yet you cannot, and neither can I," he said, smiling slightly.
"But the difference, my prince, is that I am at least making the effort."
"Indulge in the pleasure of that which others suspect of us already," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss the side of her neck. She shivered, as he had hoped she would, "Surrender yourself, Lyanna of House Stark."
"Surrender myself to…to you?" she asked breathlessly, blushing slightly as he raised a hand to trace the line of her clavicle, which was covered by a thin layer of cloth that made up her gown, "But…but Robert…and Elia…and my family…they only suspect it of us because you so daringly revealed something to them that does not even exist."
"They do not matter," he said, letting his fingers brush the area between her breasts, "Can you honestly tell me that you love that Baratheon boy?"
She blushed furiously at the touch of his hand, and looked up at him with slight panic and uncertainty in her dark eyes, "I care for him very deeply."
"But you do not love him, do you?" he said, shaking his head slightly, "Say you do marry him. Say you decide to never speak to me again after the tournament is over. Years from now, when you are a wife and mother to Baratheon children and the Lady of Storm's End, you will think of me. Every night that he is on top of you, old and fat and completely drunk, you will think of this opportunity that you denied yourself. You will think of how it would have felt to have my hands all over your skin, and to have my lips kiss every inch of your body. And you will be inexplicably unhappy."
Every inch of her skin was on fire, as was her temper, "Always so arrogant. What makes you think I even want your attention? I avoided you the entire day. I did not want to see you because I did not want to deal with your silly games or self-destructive desires. I do not want you."
"You need me," he said, shrugging, as though his words were common knowledge.
Her mouth fell open, "You are ridiculous."
"You are lovely."
And with that, he slammed his lips down against hers. She gasped, too excited to think about the reality of what was happening, and felt her arms fly up to wrap themselves around his neck. She pulled him in, and he continued to worship her mouth with his own. His tongue slipped past her plump, pouty lips, and a moan escaped her mouth before she could stop it. He conquered her tongue with his own, and his hands found her hips and pulled her body against his own. He was thinking of nothing but how amazing she felt in his arms. He removed his mouth from her own only to bend down and take one still covered nipple into his mouth. She cried out softly as she felt his tongue work her through the material of her nightgown. The shawl had disappeared and so had her judgement. All she could think about was the pleasure shooting through her thanks to his delicious mouth. He felt her fingers tangle themselves in his silver hair, and a shiver of something unspoken and completely sinful shot through his body and clearly revealed itself against her.
Lyanna's eyes shot open as she felt it. Rhaegar could feel the shift immediately, and pulled away from her so that he could look into her eyes. Her face communicated panic, but she did not pull her body away from him like he had expected. Instead he watched as her face slowly twisted into confusion. Her lovely dark hair fell around her shoulders, causing her to look wild and beautiful in the moonlight. The soft sound of the river behind him drowned out the somewhat awkward silence between them. Rhaegar felt frozen in time, waiting for what felt like centuries for her to say what he knew she wanted to.
"You represent everything that I have been constantly taught to avoid in a man," she said again, though there was an edge to her voice that had not been present before. She smiled slowly before kissing his lips for the briefest of moments.
Before he could respond or even react, she turned on her heel and walked quickly back toward her tent.