thank you again for the wonderful reviews a positive feed back. they keep me going!

loved the season finale tonight too. getting closer and closer to the story of the these two. come on winds of winter!

~oOo~

Lyanna made her way along the edge of the godswood and stared into the darkness, a small piece of parchment clutched in her hand. It had been easy enough to leave undetected. Her father had returned to his tents early followed surprisingly by Brandon. Lyanna had thought Brandon would remain up well into the night. Perhaps he was serious about winning after all.

Eddard remained but his attention was monopolized by Robert and his companions. Benjen had made a valiant effort to keep pace with Ned and Rob but in the end exhaustion won out. Robert was well into his cups by now and while Ned guided a very sleepy Ben to his tent, Lyanna slipped away completely unnoticed. She had even managed to avoid detection from Howland.

She walked along the edge of the wild till she found the small trail she had taken on her first foray into the godswood. She never hesitated as she passed through the threshold of trees and was enveloped by darkness. She had not even questioned as to whether or not she should even go. It was something other than common sense that guided her now.

The sun had set and night was upon the woods and it seemed as if it had taken on another life in the absence of light. Noises came from the dark around her. The snapping of branches, the rustling of leaves, the whispering of wind and wings murmuring though the black canopy of trees above her. Lyanna kept her eyes trained forward. She did not know of any bird that moved in such a manner at night nor did she care to know. It was of no concern for her for she was a part of the woods now. She walked along the faint trail as if she had known it all her life. These woods held no fear for her. Wolves are not afraid of the woods.

Lyanna suddenly came to a halt, her cloak catching on a root causing her head to snap back with a little yelp.

Of course, some wolves see better in the dark than others, she thought bitterly.

Lyanna angrily yanked at the hem and attempted to pull herself free with a silent curse. Unsuccessful on her attempt she knelt down and began to work her cloak free when she heard a sound from somewhere in front of her. While the sound occasional sounds of music from the festival could be heard Lyanna knew this was not the same. Her eyes went wide as froze in place, holding her breath. After a moment she heard it again, soft hushed whispers and the sound of laughter, like the tinkling of bells.

Lyanna carefully began to tear away at the piece of her cloak that was trapped in the brambles, remaining low as she squinted into the dark towards where the noises were originating from. After a moment she realized she had come to the same clearing where she had been waiting for Ben and Howland and apparently it was a very popular meeting place. In the center were two figures entwined around the other almost as intricately as the roots she now found her cloak ensnared in. Every so often a soft gasp or moan would reached Lyanna's ears causing her face to burn. She could not see who the man was but the woman was clear enough although even if Lyanna could not see her face she would know the woman just by her laugh alone. The lady Ashara Dayne pulled at the tunic of the man atop of her as he pulled at her skirts, lifting them up so her legs could wrap around him, her milky white skin luminescent in the moonlight. Her beautiful face looked up towards the sky as her back arched, nails raking across the man's back as he buried his face in her chest.

Lyanna's attempts to free her cloak began slightly more frantic as the sounds from the clearing became heightened and much more intense.

Oh bloody hells, bloody fucking hells.

Lyanna considered removing her cloak and leaving it behind but if it should be found then there was a possibility she could be found. But the thought of having to remain here and listen to … to … this.

Lyanna had finally come to the conclusion that her only option was to curl up into a ball and cover her ears when a hand suddenly came from behind her and covered her mouth. Lyanna felt herself be pulled back against someone and immediately delivered a sharp elbow to the offender's ribs. She heard a soft "omf" and brought her arm forward for another blow when she felt her something grab her wrist as her arm became constrained. She then bit down as hard as she could on the hand over her mouth and felt a moment's satisfaction as she heard her attacker grunt in pain. But only a moment of satisfaction, because as she bit down till she tasted blood she also caught a brief glimpse of white gold hair. Lyanna stopped struggling as her assailant relaxed their grip and moved in front of her. She found herself looking into deep indigo eyes.

Oh by all the old gods and the new, this is not happening.

The prince let go of her wrist and brought a finger to his lips. Lyanna rolled her eyes and nodded her head yes. The prince gave her a ghost of a smile and removed his hand from her mouth and then reached down and began to carefully tear at her cloak.

Lyanna sat there as the prince freed her cloak and pretended not to hear the sounds that were very obviously coming from the clearing beside them. After a moment she was free and he took her hand, moving in front of her as he led her away from the clearing.

They walked a familiar trail and Lyanna was not surprised when they came upon the weirwood tree. She found herself much more aware of her surroundings than before, especially since the godswood seemed to be a popular destination for lovers seeking to have a tryst.

So what does that make you, she thought caustically.

The woods opened up to a familiar space and Lyanna looked up to see the terrible old heart tree scowling down at her. The prince turned to her and placed a finger to his lips once more as he disappeared into the surrounding darkness. Lyanna stood there alone, the faint sound of music floated through the air as the great tree stared down in judgement at her. After a moment he returned.

"I can find no trace of anyone having been here. I believe that we are alone."

They stood and stared at each other for several seconds before Lyanna began to giggle and the prince began to smile. Lyanna was unsure of whether she laughed because of the awkwardness of the scene they stumbled upon or because of her nerves at meeting with him again. The prince just grinned and looked down at his hand.

"The wolves of the north have sharp teeth," he said with a little half smile.

"The dragons of Dragonstone have thin skin," she sniffed in reply. "What did you think would happen sneaking up on me like that?"

"I had thought you would have thanked me. You would still be huddled in the bushes had I not come along."

"I will have you know that I had everything under complete control," she huffed and marched over to where he stood, snatching his hand and turning it over to look at it.

"Of course you did."

"Oh it's barely even a scratch you big ninny," she scoffed. "I suppose I broke your ribs as well?"

"Now that you mention it …." Rhaegar rubbed at his side tenderly.

"Oh stop your whining. Are you truly so easily brought down by some little girl?"

"This was not just any little girl," he said looking at Lyanna. "You look lovely."

"Ah this? Yes. I mean thank you. I was, we were celebrating. Brandon and the joust," she stammered, pulling her hand from his. She thought she must sound like a buffoon. Still, she took off her cloak and set it down upon the roots and took a seat, arranging her dress around her nonchalantly.

"Yes, he has moved up to the final lists as well," the prince said as moved so he could lean against an old tree next to her. "I could not help but notice you had kept your seats today."

"I could not help but notice you almost lost yours," she retored.

Rhaegar smiled. "I never once believed you would not notice."

"You did stop leaning to the left though, I will give you that."

"You are too kind," he responded with an incline of his head.

"Don't be smug."

"Never."

Lyanna gave the prince a disparaging look as he grinned at her. She shook her head and looked down at where her hands lay in her lap, fidgeting with the piece of parchment still in her hand. They sat in what could only be called an awkward silence once more. Lyanna found it deafening. It seemed to Lyanna as if he wanted to speak as he stood before her, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. She found it fascinating how he could make floundering look graceful.

"You do look lovely this night," he finally said after a pause.

"So I heard," she muttered back.

Rhaegar looked at her confused. "What do you mean?"

"Oh nothing, forgive me. That was rude. Earlier this evening Ser Arthur Dayne and his sister, the lady Ashara came by our tents," Lyanna held up the parchment. "But then you already knew that yes?"

"Ah yes," the prince said, now looking down at his hands, "I suppose I did."

"Yes, well she had compared me to a winter rose, which was rather amusing coming from her."

"And why is that?"

"Because she is beautiful," she said incredulously. "Have you never seen the lady Ashara?"

"I have met her before yes," he replied, looking down. Lyanna's eyes narrowed. Was he smiling?

"Then you know how beautiful she is."

"I have heard her described as such yes."

"Have you? And you do not find these comments coming from one like her to one like me to be somewhat absurd?"

Rhaegar looked at Lyanna curiously. "I have never known the lady Ashara to be insincere. Do you feel that you are somehow unworthy of this?"

"I suppose you are going to tell that I am?"

"Indeed. In truth, I must admit that I am somewhat perturbed that I had not thought of such a compliment myself. 'A true winter rose'," he mused, "it suits you."

Lyanna studied the prince who met her stare unflinching. In that moment it seemed as if the air would ignite, sparking and electric with ozone. His eyes held hers and she spoke before she even realized what she was saying.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"I … I needed to see you."

"Why do you need to see me?"

Rhaegar looked at Lyanna, the sadness in his eyes mad her heart ache.

"Is that not obvious," he said softly.

Lyanna did not speak. She could not even if she had wanted to for her throat had gone suddenly dry. She looked down and away, suddenly afraid of what might happen if she continued to look into his eyes.

The music continued to drift through the woods. The voices of the singers carried through the night.

"Jenny of Oldstones," she said.

"What?"

"The song, Jenny of Oldstones. That is what they are singing."

"With the flowers in her hair."

"Yes!" she laughed.

"Would you like to dance?"

Lyanna blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Dance," he repeated, "you do dance in the north, do you not?"

Lyanna gave him a flat look.

"When occasion calls for it."

"What better occasion is there than standing before an angry weir tree in the middle of a dark woods?" He grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. Lyanna laughed.

"You can barely hear the music," she protested weakly.

"I can improvise," he smiled.

He took her hand once more in his as his other hand lightly lay against her lower back. Lyanna gripped her skirts in her free hand so as not to trip on them. He pulled her close.

"Relax," he said.

"I am relaxed," she snapped.

"Oh I can tell."

"Just get on with it," she sighed.

Rhaegar smiled and listened to the music that drifted through the trees. After a moment he began to hum softly and gently led Lyanna to the music.

"Jenny of Oldstones," he sang softly, "with the flowers in her hair …"

He guided Lyanna around the small clearing as he sang. She had worried about falling or tripping on a root or moss but he led her expertly. They would spin and she would laugh and she found herself becoming lost in his voice.

"In the high halls of the kings who are gone …"

His voice had a light, husky quality to it. She could close her eyes without fear of falling as his voice wrapped around her.

"Jenny would dance with her ghosts …"

It was a sad song. A song of longing. A song of memory. Of lost loves and love lost. The kind of song to make girls weep. The words sang of sacrifice and loss. There would be no happy endings, not for poor Jenny. She rested her head against his chest as he spun her carefully along the edge of the stream.

"Jenny of Oldstones," he sang softly, "with the flowers in her hair …"

It took a second for Lyanna to realize that he had stopped singing and that they were no longer moving. She looked up to meet dark purple eyes that stared back down at her. She thought she may drown in the sorrow she saw there. She felt his hands move to the side of her face as he gently wiped away a tear she had not known she shed. Her world was spinning. She no longer knew where she was.

"You are married …" she whispered.

"I know," he replied sadly.

"I am promised …"

"I know."

His lips brushed against hers as he spoke and she shivered at the touch. They stood there, still as stone for a moment, mouths barely touching. Too frightened to go any further, too reckless to stop. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest, surely he could hear it. She was helpless she realized, they both were. She was sinking beneath a dizzying tide of warmth that swept her up, leaving her limp. After what seemed an eternity, his lips gently covered hers, soft and tender. One hand moved from the side of her face to the small of her back as she pulled herself closer against him. Her lips parted beneath his as the kiss intensified and she clung to him, the last solid thing in her rapidly spiraling world.

She would give everything to him, to this man. She would give him all of her. Mind, body, and soul if he wished it. She would lay her body upon the ground and give herself entirely for there could never be another who would make her feel this way. It terrified her, the certainty of this.

Eventually the kiss came to a slow reluctant halt although one did not move away from the other. They stood, their foreheads pressed together, lips just barely touching, clinging to the other. She felt his arms around her, she could feel them trembling, or perhaps it was her. She could no longer tell. All coherent thought had fled.

"Lyanna," his voice came out a throaty whisper as his lips brushed hers when he spoke. "My winter rose. My Jenny of Oldstones."

Lyanna gave a sad, soft little laugh. She would lose herself to him if she stayed. She would lose herself forever.

"No," she said gently, "this cannot be. You are married, you have a child. I am promised. It is done. There is no changing this. What place in this world is there for us? You cannot acknowledge me and if you did, what then? You your self have said that your father is not in his right mind and you would walk away and leave others to his mercy? You would walk away and throw a kingdom into turmoil and for what? Some girl from the north?"

"You are not just some girl –"

"I am just some girl," she spat angrily, pushing herself back and away from him. "All I would ever be is just some girl! You must be mad not to know that! Just some girl who is never to be spoken of, never to be known or acknowledged. Some secret to be kept as just another tryst at a tourney –"

"Do you truly believe me to be so base as this," he voice came out a pained rasp that caused Lyanna to flinch, "to treat you in such a manner? Do not mistake me for some boy who plays the game of bedding the seven. I have weighed the risk against my worth and know I am found wanting." He shut his eyes tight as his hands clenched into fists. "My life has been determined since the day I was born. Since before I was born. I have only ever done what is expected of me. I have lived my life according to a prophecy that I do not even understand … not anymore."

Rhaegar opened his eyes and looked at Lyanna and it seemed to her that his eyes burned with a queer light. He dropped to his knees before her.

"You said to me once that one cannot lie when in the presence of a weir tree. I tell you now, Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, with all of your old gods as witness, whether this is madness or love I cannot say but I know now that I can no longer deny what I feel. It consumes me, my thoughts, my dreams, so much so that I cannot accept that my finding you was strictly by a cup of chance. If you do not feel the same then you have but to say it and I will leave and trouble you no more …"

Lyanna stood silent before him. She could feel the heavy blood red stare of the heart tree bearing down on her. She brought trembling hands to the side of his face as her eyesight blurred from the welling of her tears.

"I do not believe in prophecies," she whispered, "they are silly, fanciful things made up of words that can be translated for the wants of whoever needs them." Her fingers wound their way through his hair as he brought his head to rest against her chest. "But I tell you now, Rhaegar Targaryen of Dragonstone, with the old gods and the new as my witness that if this is fate, then the fates have decreed that you have my heart and for me there can be no other." Rhaegar brought his arms around her waist and held her tight. "But fate is also cruel … for our paths have already been laid out before us … you are married and I am promised. There is no changing this."

She took her hands from his hair, moving them to where his held on to her waist and gently freed herself from his grip. His arms hung limp at his sides as he sat back on his knees. He did not look up at her.

Lyanna kept her head turned from him as she grabbed her cloak from the tree. She did not want him to see the shame of her tears.

She moved quickly to the edge of the clearing, stopping just short of the tree line. She did not look back to see that he still knelt, motionless in the dark.

"You are the Prince of Dragonstone," she called out, "the future ruler of the seven kingdoms. In time this will be nothing more than some child's fancy to you. A fleeting memory in a lifetime of achievements my lord." She tried to laugh but it came out sounding hollow and bitter to her ears. Her words nothing more than a cold knife to her heart.

She disappeared into the woods, never hearing the prince's response.

"No," he whispered sadly, "it won't."

~oOo~

Lyanna woke the next morning to a bustle of energy and excitement from her brothers. The conversations were loud and raucous. Food was thrown and rowdy behavior prevailed throughout their morning meal. Even Ned piped up with several comments of his own, much to Brandon and Benjen's amusement. Her father sat at the head of the table smiling as he ate, patiently waiting for them to finish and move on. Their excitement was infectious. All who entered the room, from bannermen to serving maid left with a smile and a jump in their step.

Lyanna was grateful for this for it pulled attention away from herself.

She did not sleep well that night, if in fact she had slept at all. While everything moved swiftly around her, she felt as if she trudged through waist deep water that was only getting higher as continued on. She had waited as long as she could in hopes that the swelling had gone down after crying herself to sleep. When she woke she had been horrified at her appearance, her face red and puffy, her nose raw and runny. She had called for a basin of cold water and held her face in it till she could not hold her breath any longer.

Lyanna was disgusted with her weakness. She was behaving like some ridiculous little git. She had no place in his world. She was a fool to have allowed herself to ever believe otherwise. This was not like her.

But then Lyanna no longer knew what she was like.

She knew nothing.

She dressed in her house colors. She wore a high collar grey dress with white trim. She was a Stark after all and would look the part this day. Her hair she left free about her shoulders. She did not even bother to pull it back.

Brandon left for the tilt early with her brothers in tow. A pack of wolves on the move. She was envious of their joy and ashamed at herself for feeling relief when they left. She was sitting at the table of the now quiet tent, staring at her plate when she felt a hand cup her chin and pull her face upwards. Lyanna looked up to see her father staring down at her. He studied her face with concern.

"Are you not well?"

"I am fine." She forced out a smile.

He looked at her a moment longer before bending down and placing a kiss atop her head.

They arrived to the tourney and took their seats beneath their house banners snapping proudly in the breeze. They were near the end of the honored seats. House Royce with their banner of runestones flew next to theirs with the Targaryen dragon banner in the middle followed a plain white banner representing those of the kingsguard. While Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan did not fly their traditional house banners, their houses were given honor seats among the other champions and so banners for house Dayne and Selmy flew as well. Lyanna looked over towards the Targaryen seats and saw the princess sitting with her ladies.

The seats were full this day, the final day of the tourney. The crowds roared their excitement as the champions took to the field. Lord Dayne rode led the champions out onto the field first in his deep red armor covered in runes. He was followed by Ser Barristan who was followed by Ser Arthur both shining in gleaming silver armor, white shields at their sides. The Dornish stands cried out cheers to the Sword of the Morning. Brandon rode out next. He sat tall in his saddle, wearing his gray armor with white chainmail beneath and a great direwolf engraved across his chest. The shouts around her were deafening, with Benjen and Rob competing for who could be the loudest. Still Lyanna could not help but smile as she saw her brother ride out and she thought he belonged there among the champions. But it was not till the last rider took the field that the crowd truly opened up.

The Prince of Dragonstone rode out in his night black armor atop a stallion of the same color. Gold chainmail winked out from beneath the black and brilliant red dragon snaked across his chest while another dragon sat atop his helm. The small folk cheered as they did for no other on the field.

The champions circled the tilt, making their way all the way around till they returned to the honored seats stopped, lined up in a row. After the crowd died down the king made his entrance. The crowd hushed as he made his way to the high seats, hunched over and pale, even from here she could see the long twisting nails that seemed to drip from his fingertips like snakes. She could not help but wonder how one so old and twisted could be responsible for the creation of something as beautiful as his son.

Lyanna turned as faced forward as the king took his seat. She looked at the champions lined up before her. She did not want to look him so of course she did. She did not think he looked at her. His visor was down so she could not tell but his helm remained turned towards the king so she did not think he took notice of her. Not that he would. Not that he ever would again, not after last night. She looked away, afraid her traitorous female heart would give her away.

The king took his seat and the champions left the field to the roar of the crowd. The first two riders took to the tilt as the others rode off to their squires. Lord Yohn took one end and the prince the other.

It would take three lances for the prince to unseat Lord Yohn Royce. The final run delivered a crushing blow to the old lord you jumped up from the ground with a loud barking laugh as he walked off the field to the cheers and whistles of the crowd. It was a resounding win for the prince.

Lyanna looked to see the prince return to his end of the tilt and wait as Brandon took the field.

Lyanna had held her breath and prayed that Brandon would win. Truly she wished he would. She also wished that she could say that her reasons for wanting him to win was due to the bonds of sisterly love and devotion to family. But she was far too selfish for that. Her reasons were petty and cruel. She simply did not wish to see the prince crown the princess.

Lyanna hated herself in that moment.

But it mattered little in the end. Brandon did not win, much as Lyanna had expected. Although it had taken more lances than she had thought. It took four lances in the end. Four lances and the prince had unseated her brother. Brandon had ridden hard and put up a good fight. Had this been a race there would have been no way the prince would have won. But they were not racing.

Still, four lances was nothing to scoff at. Especially since the prince brought down Ser Arthur with the same amount.

The crowd was working themselves into a frenzy with the prince's concurrent victories.

"The dragon has taken the field," someone shouted from somewhere within the Dornish seats, "and seeks to crown his queen!"

Dornish seats went wild with that.

Lyanna looked away as the prince and Ser Barristan took to the tilt.

"You're quiet today," Ned said from where he sat next to her.

"I have nothing to say I suppose."

"Well that's new," said Ben from behind them. He quickly jumped back to avoid the elbow aimed at his shin. The crowd around them cheered as the riders began the run.

"Get off Ben! I'm not in the mood today."

"Sit back Ben," chided Ned.

A loud crash from the field drew their attention back to the tilt as the crowd cheered.

"Are you not well though?" Ned asked again. "You seem to be elsewhere today."

"No Ned," she said a bit more sharply than she intended. She looked at her brother's face and immediately regretted her tone. Dear sweet Ned. Lyanna rarely worried because she knew that Ned worried enough for everyone. "No," she said much more gently than before, "I'm fine. I promise. Just disappointed for Bran is all. I had hoped he would win."

It was not exactly a lie. But her reply seemed to satisfy Ned.

"We knew the prince would be a challenge. Four lances is still well done."

"Perhaps Ser Barristan will emerge triumphant."

There was another crash as the crowd cheered.

"Not this time I'm afraid," Ned observed.

The sound of hooves thundering down the tilt pulled her caused her to look just in time to see the prince unseat Ser Barristan. The crowd rose to their feet and cheered like mad.

"The tilt was his from the moment he took to the field," Ned said as he clapped.

The prince took his victory lap around the tilt as the crowd roared. As he finished up his lap an attendant from house Whent came forth with a crown of blue winter roses and hung it on the end of the prince's lance. Whistles and shouts came from the crowd as the prince rode out to crown the queen of love and beauty.

Lyanna felt ill. She did not wish to see this. She wanted to leave.

She placed her arm around Ned's. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," he said, "I suppose everyone knows how this part ends."

"What the bloody hell," Benjen exclaimed from behind them.

Lyanna and Ned both turned simultaneously around to give Ben a mixed look of surprise and amusement.

"Ben!" cried Ned with a laugh. But Ben did not take any notice of them. Indeed, no one took any notice of him. Lyanna noticed how Ben and all those around him had gone quiet as they stared onto the field in shock. In fact Lyanna began to notice how the entire crowd had gone eerily quiet.

She and Ned both followed Ben's line of sight back towards the field to find the prince astride his great black stallion with his lance extended before them, a wreath of blue winter roses dangling from the end.

Lyanna did not move. She could not move. She did not even breathe.

After a moment the prince nudged his stallion forward till the crown was over Lyanna's lap and gently set it down. He then raised his lance and rode off of the field.