thank you so very much for the reviews. you have no idea how much they mean and how much i appreciate them. feel free to leave more ... lots and lots of more

~oOo~

Rhaegar leaned against the window, arms folded across his chest as he looked down at the many tents that dotted the godseye below. The setting sun cast them in a golden light as the shadows began to grow and reach out in long lines across the ground. Small bonfires had begun to pop up randomly as the faint sounds of music and laughter drifted up occasionally to where he now stood. The tourney of singers would start tonight, something he normally enjoyed.

Rhaegar was not in a celebratory mood.

He stood in the large window of what had once been a great room within a ruined castle. He thought it had been the solar perhaps, once. It had been cleared and cleaned, the decay wiped from the walls and covered with tapestries and fine cloth in an attempt to make it suitable for the royal family. Elia slept in what were once considered the lord's chambers below him with her attendants and guards for their house in smaller side chambers close by. A separate room had even been prepared for their daughter and her wet nurse but Rhaegar knew she would be sleeping in her mother's room curled up next to her. There were some who would tell him this was detrimental for the child but he had always deferred to Elia's judgement in these matters. As long as she approved then he would not deny her. It seemed to be a source of comfort for them both.

Rhaegar's gaze drifted to the northern end of the godseye, to the camps closest to the godswood.

She was down there, somewhere, amongst the growing shadows and dimming light. She may attend some of the singers, she may even be dancing. He wondered what it would be like, to dance with her. To hold her closely, pressed against him, his hand on the small of her back.

He pushed the thought from his mind immediately. For him to think such things were beyond reprehensible. He should be ashamed.

He should be.

When he had found her in the woods he hand been surprised to say the least. But he had also been impressed. When he and Arthur had first seen the knight in the lineup they had thought it had been some sort of jest, the knight being so small that they could barely filled the seat they rode in. Rhaegar had actually been concerned that the knight would be hurt while Arthur had joked that perhaps they should attend to their armor as it seemed a squire has absconded with someone else's. But then the knight took to the run and all laughter stopped as they managed defeat three houses. Not major houses but solid victories nonetheless. Arthur had given him a waggish smile and made the comment that perhaps the armor belonged to the knight after all. It had all been quite entertaining and the small folk had loved it. Especially when it was learned that the ransom to be paid in order for the defeated to win back their belongings was to teach their squires respect and honor and what it means to be a knight. Yes, the small folk had enjoyed that immensely.

His father meanwhile, had not.

The mystery around the knight's identity had driven mad, sending him into one of his many episodic rages. Rhaegar did not hesitate when his father demanded the knight be found. He sent Arthur and Oswell away once the trail entered the godswood. Arthur was his brother but he was also a member of the kingsguard and therefore served the king. If they found the knight, they were duty bound to bring them before the king. Rhaegar had to be the one to find the knight. It had to be him and no other.

He had recognized her immediately. He made it a point to know who all of the lords were and those who followed their banners. His father had never placed much importance on the houses of the North, calling them backwoods and dull. But Rhaegar saw strength there and did not disregard their potential so easily. And the lady that had been before him only seemed to solidify that opinion.

He could not help but be impressed with her resolve, not to mention her skill. She was unlike anyone he had ever known, most certainly no woman he had ever known. She had somehow found a way to be unapologetic even while apologizing. She spoke to him boldly, bluntly, unabashedly. The sharpness of her tongue amused him to no end. She even started to change while he was in the clearing with him in the clearing with her! There was a strength of will there that he could not help but admire.

But despite how admirable or noble her intent may be, or how brave and fearless she was, what she had done had been impetuous and rash. If she had been found by anyone else she would have brought ruin on herself and her entire house.

But no one else had found her. He had seen to that. Fate, it seemed, had intervened in her favor.

Fate.

He did not know why he spoke so freely in front of her. Perhaps her willfulness was infectious. Perhaps there was some truth to the stories of magic within those ancient weirwood trees. He did not know. But while he was with her, while in her presence, he found himself giving voice to thoughts that he had not shared with anyone. Not even those closest to him. The crushing weight of duty and obligation were lifted and he found himself laughing, which some would say that in itself was quite the fete. He found himself watching her, studying her, fascinated with how she talked and moved. The way her chin would tilt up slightly when she perceived she was being challenged or how her right eyebrow would raise when she had doubt or was skeptical. He noticed how she would pull at her hair when she was frustrated and thought how even the stray lock of hair in her face only seemed to add to wildness of her beauty. He would find himself at times just staring at her and had to make a concerted effort to look away before he pushed at the boundaries of impropriety.

As they had left the godswood that evening, he had thought that would be the end. It had saddened him to have to part from her.

He had watched her ride off till he could not see her any longer.

He made his report and while his father raged, he returned to his chambers and barred his door, speaking to no one.

That night he dreamed of snow.

The following morning he gathered his attendants and arrived to the field.

He found her almost immediately. She sat with the rest of her house beneath their banners. He had become disappointed when he saw that she was leaving when his name came up on the lists. But then he saw that she had simply moved to the edges of the house seats to watch, and stood among the crowd in the back. His eye would wander to her to the point of distraction, to the point that it almost cost him the tilt. His gridded guard at taken quite the beating. It a comment from Arthur to pull his attention back.

"Are you trying to get your arse handed to you?"

He went on to win.

Finding her later that day had been an accident, he had not meant to. Or at least he thought he did not, he was no longer sure. He was returning from the godseye, where he had separated the armour into three bags and filled them with stones. Arthur had accompanied him and Rhaegar told him everything.

"The Stark girl?" he said in open surprise. "The one who poured the drink atop the boys head?"

"The same."

"Perhaps I am not so surprised after all," he chuckled with a shake of his head.

"Yes, she is quite exceptional," said Rhaegar as he dropped another rock in to the bag.

"You approve of these actions?"

"I approve of her intent and admire her strength."

"Is that all you approve of?"

Rhaegar stopped mid-motion and rested an arm on his knee as he turned to give his friend a flat look.

"It is just that I did happen to notice that she is not at all unpleasant to look at," Arthur observed.

"No, she is not."

"And, truth be told, you did not need to spend as much time in the woods with her as you did."

"No, I did not." Rhaegar returned his attention to the bag at his feet.

"The king …" Arthur began.

"Must not know," finished Rhaegar, dropping another rock.

"If he were to find out …"

"He would kill her." Rhaegar looked up at Arthur. "He must not know Arthur. I tell you this not only as your prince but as your friend."

Arthur watched him as he placed the last rock in the bag and stood up. He then walked over to where two other bags laden with rocks lay. He began to throw them into the water one after the other. They watched as the bags slowly disappeared within the dark depths of the godseye.

"It is fortunate for her that the king had entrusted you with this task," Arthur remarked.

"Yes," agreed Rhaegar, "fortunate indeed."

He had sent Arthur on ahead. He would return on his own, cut through the old sept and return to the kingspyre. He wanted to be alone. Arthur was accustomed to this.

He had made his way through the ruins along the base of the towers. Attempts at refurbishment were evident in some areas while the slow steady hand of time had taken others. Rhaegar chose the path with the most overgrowth. It seemed prudent to take the road less traveled to help in his efforts to avoid being seen. There were a few times where Rhaegar had actual concerns that he may have become lost within the twists and turns of the ruined hallways. There were a few times where he had left it to chance that he had made the correct choice. It was not till he heard the sounds from the crowd at the mummer show that he was able to truly orient himself again. He took the first opening he came to and went around the corner to find himself at the back of the crowd.

He had just put his hood up over his head when he saw her. She did not face him, but he knew.

Her hair tumbled free about her shoulders and down her back, its color a dark contrast to the pale gray of her dress. He thought it must compliment her eyes nicely. He watched her as she fidgeted with her cloak, growing restless where she sat.

How is it, he wondered, that of all the paths chosen, with all of the twists and turns made, is it that I find myself in this exact spot?

He looked to his right and could see an archway that led out, back to the main fairway. He could just go, just leave, simply walk away without her ever knowing.

Rhaegar looked back at where she now stood and smiled as he moved silently up behind her.

There would be a time when he would look back on this moment and know that simply walking away had never truly been an option.

It had all seemed innocent enough, when he took her hand. It felt good in his. He led her through that dark maze and into the clearing of what had once been a minor kitchen or servant's hall. He playfully thought how nice it would be if they could just keep running, keep a hold of her hand and just never stop.

It was a fleeting thought of course. A child's fancy. And Rhaegar had never been one for flights of fancy.

He could not tell you when the exact moment was when it changed. His feelings. He had stood there, watching her as she spoke, happily telling him everything he had done wrong in the tilt and what he needed to do to correct it. She would challenge and tease and he would find himself laughing in a way he rarely did. And yet again he found himself putting to words thoughts and feelings that he did not dare share. Like two kindred spirits they had found each other, lost and wondering in the dark.

Perhaps it was in that moment when he saw her, when he truly saw her. He had met her eyes. To call them grey would be an injustice. If he were feeling poetic perhaps he would say silver or ash. But for him, in this moment, they were the sea. A stormy and treacherous sea that tore at his heart and threatened to drag him down into their depths.

And for the first time with her, he found himself at a loss. An overwhelming need had come over him in that moment. The desire to take her into his arms, to press, to feel her lips against his, was staggering. He was suddenly uncertain of what to do, like an acrobat on a wire he teetered back and forth, struggling to find his balance, till he finally found his resolve and pushed himself away from the wall.

But by then she had looked away and the reality of their situation closed in around him. Just what did he think he was going to do after he went to her? Did he really think he could be so bold as to kiss this girl? Or that she even wanted him too? What gave him the right?

He remembered how his heart ached in his chest when she took his arm. He remembered being grateful for the dark so she could not see how his hands shook when she pressed against him as they walked. He remembered how he stuttered and stammered like some foolish boy when he asked her to watch him in the tilt.

That evening he had returned to his chambers and barred the door once more, seeking solitude.

He was fixated on her. She monopolized his thoughts to the point of torment. He found himself in an unfamiliar state of mind. He was unknowing and lost, incompetent and inexperienced. He flailed and struggled like some unseasoned squire put to test in his first tourney. There was no prophecy for this, no book or meditation that would calm his mind … or heart.

He wondered if this is what it felt like to be in love.

Or perhaps it was just that the madness that lay dormant in his blood had awoken.

That night he again dreamed of snow, except now he was lost within it as it swirled wildly around him.

When he arrived to the field that next morning he resolved to turn his mind onto the run and nothing more. He could feel her eyes upon him as he took to the tilt.

He was almost unseated twice.

He managed to emerge triumphant in spite of what seemed to be attempts at otherwise. He would make the final tilt tomorrow along with Ser Arther and Ser Barristan, lord Yhon and the eldest son of house Stark. Tonight there would be the tourney of singers, and much celebrating for the houses of the finalists and their bannermen. In the past Rhaegar would have taken some pleasure in this. He would don a cloak and hood and walk among the small folk and take some small escape in their revelries. Sometimes Arthur would join him. Even Oswell could be cajoled at times, something that brought Arthur endless amounts of amusement.

But not this time. Not tonight.

A light tapping from far end of the great room pulled Rhaegar from his thoughts. He did not move or speak. If it was Arthur he would simply enter, anyone else would leave. Rhaegar heard a creak and then the sound of a heavy latch falling into place as the door opened and closed. Footsteps echoed through the room as his friend made his way. There was a low thud on the table and the caw of a raven reverberated throughout the room. Arthur walked over to where Rhaegar stood looking out the window and leaned against the other side.

"You're not thinking about jumping are you?"

"Why, are you thinking about pushing me?"

"I just thought you might be a bit nervous," Arthur shrugged innocently, "since you have to face me tomorrow."

"That depends. Do you have enough lances this time?

Arthur winced as if in pain. "Oh well now that hurt," he said pointing at his chest, "right here. That hurt right here."

"Good, the weaker you are the better my odds."

"Considering the way you have been riding, you may need the help."

"Ah," rhaegar said as he looked down at the floor with a thin but amused smile, "I suppose I deserve that."

"Your mind is far afield as of late, more so than usual."

Arthur watched as Rhaegar moved away from the window and walked over to the table where the raven sat in its cage.

"Are you not going to tell me just what has garnered such ardent consideration?"

Rhaegar spared a quick glance for his friend before reaching over for a piece of parchment that he had written on earlier. He began folding it.

"It's the girl isn't it …"

Rhaegar could not help but notice that it was not a question. He pressed his seal onto the wax he had placed on the parchment.

"Arthur, may I ask you a question?"

Arthur answered with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Have you ever been in love?"

"In love?" Arthur blinked in surprise.

Rhaegar almost laughed outloud. It was the closest he had ever come to cracking his friend's unflappable exterior.

"Yes," he said.

"Why?"

"Have you?" Rhaegar persisted.

"Call Lewyn in here if you want to –"

"It is a yes or no question Arthur. Have you or have you not."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his brow furrowed in thought and irritation. He looked at rhaegar with a grimace.

"No," he said.

"No?"

"No," Arthur repeated.

"How do you know," Rhaegar asked, looking at his friend curiously.

"I think I would know if I were in love."

"Do you?" Rhaegar asked as he set the parchment on the raven's leg and gently pulled it from its cage. It cawed loudly. "Having never experienced it can you be so sure?"

"I am of the kingsguard," Arthur said solemnly, his hand moving over his heart. "Sworn to protect the king and the royal family with my own life, to obey his command and to keep his secrets. Forsaking all titles, never to marry or sire children, having no worldly allegiance except to my king. A brother for life, until my king or death release me … but preferably my king," he winked after a pause.

Rhaegar smiled as he walked to the window, but Arthur could see the sadness in his eyes.

"Do you know why the kingsguard take no wives and father no children? So they will not love, for love is the bane of honor and the death of duty. Modeled after the ancient vows of the Night's Watch. It has been said that my great-grandsire married for love and then conceded to his children, allowing them to marry for love as well. His reign fell to ruin as a result. While my grandfather compelled my father and mother to marry against their wishes. I believe it is safe to say they have never had love for the other and yet their reign shall end none the better."

Rhaegar released the raven and watched as it flew off into the horizon, becoming smaller and smaller until it became nothing more than a tiny black speck in the reddening sky. Rhaegar stood next to the window and realized that in this moment he stood upon a great precipice. A choice was now before him and whether he were to run or to leap, the cold winds of fate swirled like snow, wildly around him.

Arthur said nothing. Simply waited.

"Arthur", he said softly, "I need you to do something for me."

~oOo~

Lyanna looked at her reflection in the mirror and did not recognize who she saw. Her hair hung free about her shoulders but for two plaits loosely braided and pulled back on the sides. Small blue flowers were braided throughout the back. Her dress was made of much finer material than her normal clothing. A pale blue that almost looked silver in a certain light. It was also far more open around the neck and back and snugger around the waist than she was accustomed to. It was the finest dress she owned, made specifically for events like tonight. It was the first time she had ever worn it.

Lyanna looked at the girl in the mirror and thought she looked ridiculous.

There were to be musicians and singing all throughout the outer ruins of Harrenhall this night. The tourney of singers had already begun and the sound of voices lifted in song carried through the air. There was also to be much celebrating. All of the men and their families under her father's house would be outside to mark Brandon moving to the tilt tomorrow. All of the finalist's houses would be celebrating, fires and music would be lit throughout all of the camps at Harrenhal. Lyanna had never understood this tradition. On the eve of the tourney's greatest competition and the honoring of its greatest champion, all of the participants get fall down drunk. It had always seemed a little premature to her. After all, someone had to lose.

Lyanna could hear her brothers' laughter from the other side of the tent. Brandon was in a particularly boisterous mood have won a place in the final rounds tomorrow. While he had been unseated by Ser Arthur Dayne he had managed to unseat a knight from House Darry, which had been no small task, and secure a spot. There had been much revelry on the part of Robert and her brothers when he won. Robert had grabbed Ned and shook him back and forth as he shouted in triumph with Benjen and her father, arms raised in the air as Brandon did his victory lap. He left the field sore but grinning. Not even her recent transgressions mattered in that moment.

The prince would be continuing on as well, not that it really seemed to surprise anyone. Lyanna had to smile as she watched him. He no longer leaned to the left. She thought that he had changed his stance on almost every run, making him very hard to predict. She struggled to find a fault but she would be damned before she would let him know that.

She had remained in her house seats but as to whether he noticed or not was hard to tell, what with the visor he wore. There was much cheering for the prince as he completed his victory lap, especially from the small folk, whom he always graciously acknowledged. Lyanna found herself standing and clapping along with everyone else.

She wondered if he would be celebrating as well.

If he is, it will be with his wife, she thought bitterly.

The princess had been to every joust of course but this was the first time Lyanna had truly taken notice of her. She sat in the center box surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. She was a slender, delicate looking woman and quite pretty, much to Lyanna's dismay. She looked away from the princess, ashamed of her pettiness.

Robert had made a comment about Brandon having to face the prince in the final run tomorrow, bellowing something about dragons and wild wolves that got many of her father's bannermen to stomp their feet in support, causing a low rumble to reverberate throughout the stands. This had resulted in several good natured challenges and taunts from the Dornish seats. Mainly those beneath Martell or Dayne banners.

Lyanna had given an obligatory smile at the banter but she already knew what the outcome would most likely be from that contest. She loved her brother, even when he was being an ass, and wanted him to win but knew that in this particular instance, he would be outmatched. The prince was the superior rider. Still, it could be close.

The rest of the day plodded along for Lyanna. Fortunately for her, her father and brother were in such fine moods neither of them protested when she asked to go for her own ride around the encampments. As long as someone accompanied her of course. The two unfortunate bannermen tasked with accompanying her both groaned inwardly. Lyanna was well known for losing her chaperones when riding. Anyone who had been given the task in the past knew that it was not a pleasant ride as much as it was a game of keep up. This day would be no different. Lyanna smiled at the two bannermen. The two bannermen had winced in reply.

It did not take long for Lyanna to lose her companions. She was not even certain they were able to take to their mounts before she lost them. She rode along the edge of the godseye and looked out at the isle of faces. A holy place, Howland had called it. Lyanna supposed it was. Her father had told her and her brothers stories about the first men and the children of the forest and the order of the green men that are said to still reside there. She rode till she reached the shadow of Harrenhall, its great towers loomed over her.

He is up there somewhere, she thought, within that enormous monstrosity of a tower. Most likely celebrating with those closest to him. Like his family.

She grimaced at how loathsome she was becoming. This man had no interest in her. He was a prince. Destined to be a king. Married to a princess who one day will be his queen. Who in the seven hells was she to him? No one. Just some silly girl who suffered from delusions of grandeur. He is married and she is promised. That was no other reality than this.

Shouts in the distance grabbed Lyanna's attention and she turned to see her father's men riding hard to where she was.

Lyanna had rolled her eyes. They were going to have to do better than that. She spurred her horse to a run and made back towards her tents. She smiled with the memory of them returning to the encampment, believing they would have to report to her father their failure to stay with her only to find that not only had she returned but she had dressed for the evening as well. Ned had tsked at her and said she should stop tormenting those there to help her. Lyanna had stuck her tongue out him in response.

Eventually she came out to join the reverie with the rest of her kin. Robert was among the celebrants and looked to already be well into his cups, although he was nothing less than chivalrous Lyanna. He approached her and offered her his arm, asking her to allow him the honor to escort her to her seat. Lyanna graciously accepted of course, which pleased him to no end.

Lyanna looked at him from the corner of her eye and thought he was just as handsome as any prince. Tall and strong and quite handsome in his own right, any woman would be flattered to have his attentions. But then, many women have had his attentions, and many more will continue to have his attentions, something Lyanna had a difficult time reconciling.

Not that I have any right, she thought crossly, considering my own thoughts and actions over the last few days.

It really was shameless.

Robert led her to her seat and took his leave with a soft "my lady" and a light kiss to her hand. Lyanna genuinely smiled at the shy, awkward, uncertainty of his actions and thanked him in response. Robert's handsome face split into a wide smile and he cleared his throat and looked as if he wanted to say more but then changed his mind as he turned and made his way back towards his men and her brother Ned sat.

Lyanna had to admit that he could be quite endearing when he wished too. He really was very handsome and any woman would be fortunate to have his attentions.

Yes, very fortunate.

Music from the singer's tourney floated through the air to where they sat and it was not long before members of their party began to break out in the occasional song or dance themselves. Lyanna smiled politely and laughed where it was appropriate or expected but was not in the moment. She began to feel restless and somewhat resentful at the happy couples that danced jovially around her and was about to excuse herself to return to her tents when shouts from where Ned and Robert were grabbed at her attention. When she turned to see what had caused the commotion she understood why.

Approaching the tents was a large Dornish contingent and with them was none other than the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne. He walked to the tents with one of the most beautiful ladies that Lyanna had ever seen on his arm. Even if she had not noticed her brother Ned go from bright red to fish belly white in a matter of seconds she still would have known her to be the lady Ashara Dayne, Ser Arthur's sister. Staring at her made Lyanna feel that what she was wearing was all the more laughable. She was tall and slim and yet curved in places that men always fancied and Lyanna felt she still lacked. Her dress was in the style of Dorne and hugged her body, emphasizing those assets. Long dark hair fell in waves down her back, framing a face that bards sing about. She smiled and men swooned, she pouted and men scrambled to please her.

This is what a lady looked like. This is the type of lady who could have her pick of suitors in Westeros. This is what a lady who could steal the heart of a prince looked like. Lyanna knew she was not this lady.

Ser Arthur looked resplendent in gleaming white armor and stood tall over those around him. Even her father seemed small next to the legendary knight. And he was legendary. Considered one of the greatest swordsman to ever live. Lyanna had only heard stories about him. Stories of the Kingswood Brothers and how he defeated the Smiling Knight. He had always seemed larger than life to Lyanna in those stories. To see him before her now, shining like the fallen star his sword was famous for, she could see why. His hair was lighter than his sister's and streaked by the sun although his skin was not as dark as was the way with most Dornishmen. Still, he was the very image of what every young maid would wish her dream knight to be. Noble, handsome, and the closest friend and companion to the prince.

She watched as lady Ashara glided into the camp on her brother's arm all smiles and grace as the men fell each fell over the other to present themselves before her. Lyanna took some small comfort to see that her brothers were not among them. And then she felt pity as she saw Ned looked as if he were desperate to run. Brandon approached Ser Arthur, who practically shone in his brilliant white armor, and offered his hand in greeting and Ser Arthur accepted graciously. Her father then approached Ser Arthur and greeted him as well as Brandon moved to the lady Ashara, bending over her hand to place a kiss and then pushing Ned forward so he could do the same. The five of them stood and talked as Benjen ran up to give doe eyes to the lady and stare in awe at the knight. Lyanna could see her father introduce him and then gesture in her direction. She did not move as four sets of eyes turned their gaze to her.

Her father returned to talking to Ser Arthur as Ashara took Ned's arm and walked with him towards Lyanna. She suddenly understood how Ned must feel. Lyanna stood as they approached.

"Lady Ashara, I present to you my sister Lyanna Stark of Winterfell."

Bright violet eyes beneath dark lashes turned to Lyanna as her perfect heart shaped mouth became a beautiful smile.

"Lady Lyanna," her voice sang with just the slightest Dornish drawl that made her all the more charming, "you are even lovelier than your brothers have told me."

Lyanna's eyes widened in surprise as Ashara took her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on both of her cheeks.

"Well," Lyanna stuttered with her Northern brogue that made her feel all the more loutish, "they have been known to exaggerate."

"Nonsense. In fact they did not do you justice," the vision laughed and turned to her brother. "Why did you not tell me your sister was so beautiful my dear lord Eddard?" she scolded.

Ned, who had been standing as still as a statue looked to Lyanna, his eyes screamed with panic.

"You have to forgive my brothers lady Ashara," Lyanna quickly intervened, "to be fair, they once slew a boar and considered that the most beautiful sight ever seen."

The lady laughed and Lyanna likened it to the sound of bells.

"Ah yes, men. It is fortunate they have us to save them from themselves. Brothers especially." She hugged her brother's arm as she spoke and Lyanna wondered if Ned's face could become any pinker. Ashara then reached out and took Lyanna's hand. "You are very beautiful lady Lyanna, never doubt that. A true winter rose you are." She let go of Lyanna's hand. "I hope you brother has much success in the tilt tomorrow. He is a most worthy opponent. And now my lord, if you would be so kind to take me back to my brother. We must hurry if we are to see the singers this night. Good night lady Lyanna."

Lyanna did not say anything as her brother and the lady Ashara walked away. She only looked after them with surprise. Upon reaching the spot where her father, Ser Arthur and Brandon stood, Ned said his farewells and hastily returned to where Robert and several of his men greeted him with low whistles and the banging of cups against tables. The lady Ashara resumed charming her father and Brandon as she said her goodbyes. Ser Arthur Dayne stood off to the side as he waited for his sister, staring at Lyanna intently.

Lyanna did not notice though. Her attention had turned completely to the small piece of parchment that the lady Ashara had placed into her hand.

She opened it to see a sketch of a wierwood tree.