~oOo~

The forest was becoming dark and more dense the further in they traveled. The trail began to take on a soft, spongy layer of bright green moss as ferns and great tangles of roots caused the path they followed to narrow and fade. The trees had become so numerous that they almost seemed to press in towards them, shutting out the sun. The trees of the godswood at Winterfell were hard and forbidding, made solemn after weathering thousands of unrelenting winters. They did not curve and bend in great sweeping waves the way the willows and elm did here. Nor did they reach the heights of the redwoods or brush the ground with broad, massive branches that were draped with moss and dotted with mushrooms and tiny blooms as the great oaks around her.

Every so often Lyanna would sneak a look at the man who walked along the other side of her horse. Talk had been minimal so far as they made their way through the wood, so focused he was on the task at hand.

His Grace, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. How had she come to this?

She felt a pang of guilt at her suspicious nature. The prince had been had been nothing but respectful as far as she could tell. After they had come to the agreement that she would be accompanying him she had decided she needed to change. She had sweat through the tunic she wore and it was beginning to itch and irritate her skin. She had packed a shift and an over dress that was split and cut for riding and, as one who is accustomed to living with four brothers, she moved to the opposite side of her mount and began to shed the offending garments in favor of the fresh ones. When she had finished, she looked over to find the prince had turned his back to her while she changed. Had this been under different circumstances, Lyanna would have laughed out loud. Instead she found herself working out just how swiftly she could mount and ride off before the prince could intervene. She knew she could too. His head would barely turn towards his shoulder before she would be gone. Once in the saddle none could catch her, save Domeric, and that was simply out of sheer luck as far as Lyanna was concerned.

Her eyes had remained on his back as her hand tightened around the reins. He did not turn. Her other hand moved to the back of the mare's neck. He still did not turn. She watched him as he stood there, his back to her, looking up to the trees as he fidgeted with the hem of his tunic. She watched as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands making the same aimless motion. His head would tilt slightly, but never turn.

He was waiting for her to give him permission.

All she had to do was climb into the saddle. Not even completely, just one foot into the stirrup was all she needed to be off. She watched him as he looked everywhere except behind him.

Her grip on the reins relaxed as her other hand fell away from the mare's neck.

The trail had become increasingly faint the further they went. So much so that Lyanna was about to question the wisdom of continuing when suddenly the trail opened up once more and Lyanna found herself in a clearing with a small stream, and in its center, a weirwood tree.

She had heard stories, long rambling tales spun by old Nan that spoke of the First Men and the Children meeting beneath the heart tree at Harrenhal, before there was a Harrenhal even. Her brothers had given her descriptions as well during the journey here. Speaking of a terrifying face filled with hatred and how no good would come to any who looked upon it. Its' eyes cry tears of blood while the very air about it hung heavy with unspoken curses. Her brothers had laughed as they spoke while Lyanna had ground her teeth in an attempt not to show her annoyance.

She wondered if they were even aware of how close to accurate they were.

The heart tree itself was immense. Roots spread out, old gnarled fingers that snaked and tangled their way through the fallen leaves, digging and weaving through the blanket of soft, spongy green moss while the heads of golden brown mushrooms peeking out of dark craggy places from beneath. They led her eyes upwards to the massive trunk that had become twisted and bent with age and crowned with a canopy of great, wide branches covered in ivy and grey moss. All of which framed the face.

Lyanna was not disappointed.

A warped, grotesque visage. Its mouth a contorted rictus of rage and eyes that flared out with malevolence. It was a scarred face. Extensive scars that were carved deep and oozing blood red sap like tears.

Lyanna could see where the stories came from, the legendary heart tree of Harrenhal that exuded hate and vengeance, cursing all who came here. But when she looked upon it now hate and anger is not what she saw.

"It is everything I imagined it to be," she whispered.

"Terrible is it not?" The prince spoke from behind her.

"No."

"No?" The prince looked over at her. "Are you not frightened?"

"No my lord," she replied, one eyebrow cocked up. "Are you?"

He smiled and looked back at the tree. "I suppose nothing frightens you."

"Several things do actually," Lyanna shrugged, "but not this."

They stood in silence for a moment. Lyanna's gaze upon the heart tree while the prince's was on her. She could not help but be acutely aware of his eyes on her.

"You follow the old gods then," the prince spoke, breaking the silence.

"Many Northmen do your grace."

"That was not what I asked."

"I know." Lyanna said, sparing him a quick glance and a small smile. She turned back to her horse and began to remove the bag with the armor and shield. "So, we are to leave this here then? Seems fitting I suppose …"

"No."

"No?" It was her turn to give a questioning look.

"No. The armor will go to the bottom of the God's Eye, the shield will go with me. My father, will not be satisfied with merely a verbal report. I will need some physical evidence to support my account."

"Which will be …"

Her voice trailed off as her question hung in the air between them.

"That I followed the knight's trail into the godswood were it disappeared."

Lyanna blinked, her brow furrowing for only the briefest of seconds as he spoke before she regained her composure. Her expression remained carefully neutral as her head tilted slightly while she considers him.

"You know, it is said that it is impossible to lie when in the presence of a heart tree. I would imagine that to be especially true in the presence of one as old and terrible as this."

"Then there is no reason to doubt me."

"No," she said thoughtfully, "I suppose there isn't."

Lyanna considered him for a moment longer before finally breaking her gaze and turn back to her horse. She finished untying the bag and let it drop to the ground with a clattering of metal.

"So my lord," she called out as she began to unfasten the saddle, "what are we doing here then?"

"Waiting." The prince said from beside her as he to unfasten the saddle as well. Lyanna gave a little jump at the sound of his voice. She had not heard him walk up and now he stood so close she felt as if she should move. I bloody well will not move, she thought stubbornly. I was here first and this is my horse. I didn't ask for help nor do I need it. The prince reached over her to remove the saddle and Lyanna gave him a little nudge in response.

"Waiting?" she asked innocently as she pulled the saddle down herself and set it on the ground.

"Yes waiting," he answered. His hands still hovered over where the saddle had been before he slowly brought them down to rest on the mare's back. Lyanna turned back around in time to see the prince turn back towards her horse and pull the riding blanket from its back. If she had not known better, she could have sworn she had seen him grinning. "I thought that it would be best. Let a little time pass, to allow the initial excitement to die down."

Lyanna sighed. I really have done it this time, haven't I.

"Did I truly cause that much of a ruckus?"

Rhaegar looked back at her. This time she was certain he was grinning, violet eyes sparkling.

"Yes my lady, truly you did."

"Bah, that was not my intent!" she growled, raking her fingers through her hair in frustration. She pulled her hair free from its tie as she walked over to the bag with the armor and began to dig. "I never wanted any of this, ever." She rummaged angrily through the bag and pulled out the tunic she had worn earlier. She got up and stomped over to the small stream. "They were bullies, nothing more. Picking on one less than half their size and for no other reason than they could. They deserve far worse than what they received and are far less deserving of being knights. Someone needed to call out their wrong doing." She dunked the tunic in the stream, getting it good and soaked before walking back over to her horse. "You know," she said pointing at the prince, "if I were a man, none of this would be of issue. If I were a man I could have simply entered the tourney no matter how poorly I ride. But I am not a man. Never mind that I can out ride any man here. Never mind that I can out joust at least three of them. None of that matters. Because I am not a man." Lyanna dropped down in front of her horse and began to wipe the mare's legs with the wet tunic.

"No you are not," the prince agreed. "Although I believe you are far more worthy than any man here."

Lyanna looked up at the prince with a scowl.

"You mock me your grace –"

"No I –"

"Not all of us are born to such privilege –"

"My lady I –"

"- to be free to do as we will –"

"My lady –"

"- when we will and you would be wise to –"

"Lady Lyanna please!"

Lyanna stopped mid wipe and looked at the prince who was now kneeling next to her, grasping her wrist.

"I was not mocking you. I would never … I would not do such a thing. I meant what I said and mean no disrespect … please."

His eyes were locked on hers once more and once more, Lyanna was the first to look away. This time in shame. This was not one of her brothers she could cow down or out shout. This was His Grace, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron throne. The realization of what she had done began to dawn on her.

"Forgive me your grace. It is I who have disrespected you. I have a habit of forgetting myself and becoming insolent as I did just now. Do you … are you going to bring me before the king?"

The prince looked at her with surprise. "No," he said emphatically, "no of course not. I gave you my word. In front of a weirtree no less. Of course not. If I may?" He let go of Lyanna's wrist and took the wet tunic from her hands and tore it in half. He handed one half back to Lyanna.

Lyanna felt her heart calm in her chest as she took the rag from him. The relief she felt was palpable.

"Thank you, your grace is indeed merciful."

"Rhaegar."

Lyanna said nothing, only looked at the prince.

"Please, you will call me Rhaegar. And I will call you Lyanna, if you allow it. And we will be just a boy and a girl. Two friends exploring the godswood and cleaning off the legs of a horse. Agreed?"

The prince looked at her and it seemed to Lyanna as if there was something unspoken there, in his eyes. Some small spark of hope that seemed to be fighting an undercurrent of sadness.

"Alright," she said slowly, "agreed … Rhaegar."

The name sounded strange coming from her lips and her mouth became a tight thin line as she tried to remain disapproving while suppressing a smile.

"Wonderful! Thank you Lyanna."

Lyanna shook her head and resumed wiping off the mare's legs.

"Lyanna, if I may ask you a question?"

"Why certainly Rhaegar, by all means ask away."

"Why are we cleaning paint off the legs of your horse?"

With that, Lyanna lost the last shred of her composure and laughed. She stood up and walked over to the little stream, once more soaking the torn tunic and then returning to her horse.

"She is one of ours and I couldn't risk someone recognizing her now could I? I was able to cover her flank and head with the riding armor and blanket but as only three of her cannons are white, she would still be recognizable. We painted them black to disguise her as well."

"We?"

"Ben. Benjen. He's the youngest of my brothers."

"Is he the one you poured the drink on?"

Lyanna's eyes widened with shock. "Oh gods, you saw that?" Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Rhaegar smiled. "I believe everyone saw that."

Lyanna rolled her eyes. "Ugh, well, he deserved it," she sniffed indignantly.

"And what did he do to deserve such retribution, if I may ask."

"Well if you must know, he laughed at me."

Rhaegar paused and looked at Lyanna. "Laughed …"

"Yes."

"At you …"

"Yes," she repeated.

"Hmm," the prince said as he began to clean the mare's leg once more. "Seems a bit extreme …"

"You don't know Ben …," Lyanna muttered back.

"You are close then? To your brothers."

"One could say they raised me, much too old Nan's horror," she answered with a smile. "Perhaps that is why I vex my father. Besides, it's much easier to blame them for my shortcomings."

Rhaegar looked at over at Lyanna. "Shortcomings? What shortcomings?"

"Ah well," Lyanna laughed as she leaned back on one arm and wiped at her forehead with the other, "perhaps it is that I would rather be riding than doing embroidery. Or perhaps because I prefer to practice swords instead of being sent off to become a good wife. Or perhaps it is a simple as me being far too stubborn and willful and not a proper lady. The list could go on I am certain. And what with this," Lyanna gestured toward her horse and the bag of armor," well, if my father found out about this, it would simply solidify that opinion."

"But your father is not going to find out," Rhaegar said.

"Yes," Lyanna agreed, looking down at her hands as she absently twisted the filthy rag with her fingers, "and yet, knowing that only makes me feel even worse."

Rhaegar stood up and walked over to where Lyanna sat, gently took the dirty rag from her hands and then walked over to the stream where he began to rinse them out.

"You love your father," he said, his back to her as he knelt," it's only natural to feel guilt. You would never intentionally do something to hurt one you love but, sometimes, when faced with the decision of doing what you know in your heart is right, you have to make that choice. You have to take that chance and simply hope that in the end it was the right one."

Rhaegar stood up and walked over to Lyanna and sat down next to her.

"Never mind who you hurt along the way?" she asked.

"If it were easy," he said with a shrug, "then everyone would do it."

Lyanna laughed as she shook her head. "Forgive me but I don't think you could understand what it is like to be born a woman. To be born into this world with duty and expectation laid upon you before your first nameday and then traded off like so much chattle to build the sake of an alliance or tradition and not be allowed one word against it."

Now it was Rhaegar's turn to laugh. "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure. I may understand more than you know."

Lyanna smiled as she looked at the prince. She liked it when he smiled. She gave him a playful kick to his leg.

"Well, aren't we a pair?" she grinned as she leaned over and took one of the rags from him and began to wipe at her hands. "It was your fault by the way."

The prince who had been watching her blinked with surprise when she spoke. "Pardon me?"

"When my brother required a drink atop his head. I was crying due to your song," Lyanna laughed, "because it was beautiful. And so I cried. And then he laughed and said … well, never mind what he said. Suffice it to say, he deserved it and ultimately it was your fault."

"What did he say?" Rhaegar asked amused but Lyanna shook her head. "Please," he implored with mock concern, "I must know, especially if the fault is my own."

"No," Lyanna refused laughing, "just accept your guilt and move on."

"Without knowing the full extent of the charges I'm afraid I can accept nothing."

"Fine then. Continue your life of denial."

They looked at each other as they laughed. Lyanna found herself noticing the way his eyes would crinkle at the ends or how his brow line would raise in surprise when she would swat at him playfully. She saw how one corner of his mouth would raise just slightly higher than the other when smiled and noted how even the flaws added to the perfection. She took in how his hair seemed to make the color of his eyes more pronounced and wished he wore colors that would complement them rather than the dour black and red of his house. She was fascinated by the color, almost a pale lilac in the center surrounded by dark purple or indigo. She thought that perhaps she could stare at them for hours and then it dawned on her that she was staring at them. Rather intently. And he stared back at her, his face indecipherable.

He reached over then, a slow movement, his hand going to the side of her face where it hovered for the briefest of seconds before it began to wipe. Lyanna realized it was wet.

"You have some paint …" he said, his voice trailing off as he dabbed at her cheek with the wet rag. Lyanna blinked.

"Oh, thank you, yes," she stammered as she took the rag from his hand. Stupid, stupid girl! She thought angrily. Lyanna looked away as she began wiping furiously at her face. Stupid, silly, moon eyed girl!

The prince watched Lyanna for a moment before also looking away. He leaned back against a large root, long legs stretched out before him as he crossed one foot over the other.

"So," he said, breaking the silence between them, "you are promised to Robert Baratheon are you not?"

The question startled Lyanna but she tried not to show it. "Yes I am," she replied.

"But you do not love him."

This time Lyanna did show her shock. "What?"

"You do not love him."

"What are you … that is none of your concern sir. What would make you presume to know the secrets of my heart?"

"When you said you would rather have a sword than be a wife I assumed …" Rhaegar shrugged.

"Well you assume too much," spat back indignantly.

"So you do not love him then."

"I never said that!"

"You never said you did."

"I never said anything! This is not a proper conversation. We are not having this conversation!" Lyanna huffed and stood up, stomping over to the back with the armor and stuffing the rags down in it.

"So now we are worried about propriety?" Rhaegar asked amused.

"Taking part in joust is one thing," Lyanna said crisply, "talking about the intimate details of one's life is another." She spun around and looked at the prince. "Do you love your wife sir?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lyanna regretted them. The prince said nothing at first, only stared at her with that same unreadable expression. Her heart began to pound and she thought that she had gone too far this time, overstepping her bounds. He was a prince after all and her lord and future king. If she thought these were improper questions for one to ask her, then what would he think?

But the prince did not condemn her for her impudence and drag her off on the back of her horse to his father. Rather, he looked away and at his hands that rested across his chest where he sat.

"Elia is a beautiful woman, and a wonderful mother. A man could not ask for a finer wife or the land a more gracious queen. You ask if I love my wife and I will answer honestly. My duty as a husband and a father demands it and it is the right thing to do, so yes, there is love there. But while I love my wife, I am not in love with her."

Lyanna should find this revelation abhorrent and cruel. She knew that she should. She walked back over to where he sat and set down next to him.

They remained by the weirtree for a while more. The conversation remained casual and light. Lyanna entertained the prince with stories of her and her brothers when they were younger and would delight in tormenting dear old Nan. The prince listened politely, asking questions about Winterfell and the wildings. Lyanna knew little of the later other than what she heard her father and brothers talking about with each other or other lords. The prince even surprised her with a story about dragon eggs being hidden in the depths of Winterfell's crypts, something he immediately regretted mentioning when she resolved to find them. Lyanna had become acutely aware of his presence and felt flustered by it. The prince was nothing but respectful of course, although it seemed to Lyanna that he avoided her eyes a bit more, keeping his to his hands or hers or to canopy of trees above them. It was during one of those moments that his attention was completely pulled by the sound of chirping and squeaks from above. Lyanna watched him as his mouth pressed into a thin line and he stood up and extended his hand to her.

"It is time to go," was all he said.

Lyanna took his hand and it seemed to her as if that perhaps he had held it for just a moment too long. Just long enough to make her look up at him as he turned and let go.

They walked the trail through the woods in a similar silence as when they came. Upon approaching the treeline, Lyanna could see that dusk was well upon them. She felt she would easily make her tent in the dark. She turned to the prince to thank him but he spoke before she could.

"If you take this trail further over, you will find an opening that will bring you out near the Kingspyre. You should be able to make it to your father's encampment unnoticed. I will exit out of the main trail. When the men see me with the shield, word will spread and others will come to see. This should help you all the more. Leave the bag with me. I will hide it and return at a later time to dispose of it."

He stopped talking then and stood there as if waiting. Lyanna was suddenly unsure of what to do. She walked over to him and standing on her tiptoes leaned up and quickly kissed his cheek. The prince stiffened as she did and she felt her face flush with embarrassment once more. She moved back quickly.

"Thank you, your Grace. I owe you a debt I am afraid I won't be able to repay."

She thought he may speak but she did not wait. She tuned and jumped lightly and easily to the back of her horse. She looked over her shoulder to see the prince had turned away as he adjusted something on the back of the shield.

"It would seem the Silver Prince has stolen another heart."

Rhaegar turned back and looked at Lyanna. "What," he whispered.

"That's what he said … Benjen. He said it would seem the Silver Prince has stolen another heart … so I poured a drink over his head … your grace."

Lyanna spurred her horse down the trail.

"My Lady," he said as he watched her disappear into the shadows.