i. Visenya looked at her father with wide eyes, innocent and pained. "Am I?" she insisted, her small voice raised in pitch. "Tell me, father, am I a bastard. Truly?" Small fists clenched into fine silk skirts. She started sobbing, her shoulders shaking with grief and tormented emotion.

"You are my daughter," Rhaegar replied. He longed to ask who had spoken those words to her. But in his mind, he already knew. "That is what matters." Visenya continued weeping even as he took her in his arms. He kissed the top of her head and his thoughts slid towards a woman far, far away. "Hush, my dearling."

ii. "Bastard," Aegon taunted lightly when the Septa turned her head away for a moment. Visenya bit her lip, teeth slicing through the skin. The taste of blood was on her tongue.

"Don't speak to her, brother," Rhaenys cut in, her voice hushed. "You know mother doesn't like it when we do."

Visenya's eyes fell on her paper and she continued writing. It was no use trying to stop the Prince and the Princess. And they did not speak an untruth, after all, so why should she be bothered? And yet, bother her it did. Visenya blinked the hurt away. What else was there to do?

iii. "Your mother?" Rhaegar looked up from the documents he'd been poring over. "What do you want to know about your mother?" He was watching her attentively, waiting for her answer.

"I don't know," Visenya whispered. "Did she love me?"

Tenderness bloomed behind her father's eyes. Sometimes, his expression looked so downcast when they spoke about her. Visenya was almost always afraid to ask, just in case that was the day when her father grew tired of her. Aegon and Rhaenys seemed to think that it would happen soon. And then, there were times when his whole countenance mellowed at the mention of her mother.

"More than you could ever imagine," the answer came.

iv. Rhaenys scowled at Aegon when he broke the lemon cake in two and handed one half to Visenya. The youngest accepted the offering with a confused countenance. The last time she had been given anything from them, she'd felt sick for days.

"It's your nameday," Aegon said, shrugging his shoulders. "I managed to take this from Septa Laera." That Septa had a sweet tooth and very cook cakes. "Come on, it's good." He took a bite of his own.

Visenya followed his example, though she still had her doubts. How strange it all was. She half expected to be hit by something.

She wasn't. Aegon revealed the rest of the cakes.

v. "There are times when I expect to see Lyanna in her face," Rhaegar confessed as he watched his youngest daughter. "She does have her spirit."

Arthur gave a short nod. "Your Majesty, if I may be so bold," he waited for the approval to come, "why do you not call her back."

"If I call her back, I won't be able to let go again." Rhaegar downed his wine and pushed the cup away. "I am not as strong as all of you seem to think I am." He couldn't trust himself in that matter. But there would come a day when he would see her again.

vi. "Is it good?" Lyanna asked, putting some more food on her son's plate. How she enjoyed watching him eat. The boy was growing and growing before her eyes. "Have I the right present?"

"It's very good." Jon took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Mother, you didn't have to though. I am six-and-ten. I hardly expect to have you running around the market anymore."

It was a tradition with them. Every nameday of her son's was marked with a Northern dish. Lyanna would go to the market and pick everything herself. Never had she allowed anyone to cook on the special day. She did everything herself.

vii. The sword cut through the air. Jon twisted around, holding the shield up. "Tell me again," he pleaded, looking so much like a boy to her eyes that Lyanna could not help the amused smile that crossed her lips. "Come, mother, you promised you would tell me."

"Have I?" she questioned gently. "This old mind of mine." His laughter mingled with her own. "Very well, then, where shall I begin?" She waited for the weapons to be put away.

"At the beginning, of course." Jon sat down next to her. "One should always start at the beginning, mother. It makes for an easier understanding."

viii. "Do you reckon he thinks about us sometimes?" The question flew past his lips before he could stop it. Mother was only ever willing to speak about his father on his nameday. But sometimes, the many questions seemed to make her sad. Though Jon hadn't understood when he'd been younger, age tended to wise one up.

"I think he does. He does love us." Her conviction rang through him. Jon wondered if it was true. There had been not one word from his father. Yet he'd been given swords and armour. As a little boy there had been many toys. But never had he seen the man, not heard his voice.

ix. "Lys? Why would you want to go to Lys?" His mother eyed him with mild suspicion. Jon hid a chagrined blush. "Whatever scheme is passing through your head, you had best tell me right now." If only her sternness were able to convince him anymore.

Jon laughed lightly. "Mother, I wish to travel. There is a whole world out there." And he wanted to see it all. "Haven't you grown tired of this place?"

"A whole world to see," she repeated. For the first time, Jon noticed a silver streak in her hair. "I am a mother. When become a parent, you will understand what is so frightening about such words."

"But I may go?" he prompted.

"You have my blessings," she replied.

x. It was raining. Lyanna looked at the cloudy sky and smiled to herself. Jon's latest letter had reached her from Volantis. He had sent her silks and figurines and all sorts of interesting things. Lyanna had wondered at all the presents in the beginning, but he'd told her in one of his letters that trade suited him just fine.

She was glad that he found something he enjoyed. But she missed him something dreadful. Still, he'd promised to return soon and visit with her, since she never did accept any of his invitations to join him. Lyanna folded the letter and added it to the neat pile that documented all her son's adventures.