Dear Readers! I am apologizing beforehand if this new update isn't up to my previous standards. Things haven't been quite easy for me recently. I have had to start my life all over again it seems. Since it is frowned upon for single females to live by themselves in my country, I have had to move in with my uncle and aunt after my parents passed away since I do not have any siblings. So, things have been...not what I am used to, to put it simply.

Inspiration has been running dry for me and even though I want to write to distract myself from the mess my life is in right now, I can't quite manage to write what I want to write. But I have tried my best and I have tried very hard to get back into the stories and the characters. This is what I have come up with. I hope you like it. You will finally get to know more about my tenacious OC.

Please tell me how you like this chapter and leave me your input in reviews. It will help me improve. Thanks once more for all your kind support through my time of grief. It has helped. Anyways, please enjoy, review and Happy Reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own A song of ice and fire...

His Secret Wisdom

Chapter Four

After he had brought her a fresh goblet of water did she take a small sip, then abruptly scrunched up her nose, simultaneously in the most unladylike and endearing manner as if the very taste of the water was disgusting. Rhaegar was drinking in her every little action, expression and body language like a man dying of thirst. He would never admit it, but it offended him just a little that reaction to the cleanest and sweetest tasting water from their private wells was not good enough for her. What kind of water did her kind drink then?

She slowly swirled the water in her mouth, looking so uncouth but swallowed it down nonetheless. Then with a little shrug after a look at the contents of the goblet, she drank it all down in a single gulp. Rhaegar smiled at the action. Nothing fazed her, not even water that she didn't like the taste of. She really was unlike any woman he had ever met. If it was any other noble woman in her place, she would have flung the goblet away and demanded for something else in the most temperamental of fits, and in the most tamest of situations a lady would set the goblet aside and not touch or look at it in the entirety of the event. She had on the other hand, not let the liquid bother her and drank it down in a single swallow. Very much like a man.

He was so very curious about this strange woman, her upbringing, her position in her society and her family. What kind of a life did she have before she tumbled into his bedchambers? What kind of a life would make a woman like she was? Everything about her was interesting and he wanted to know all about it.

She tapped her finger nails in a strange rhythm on the wood of the table, a strange and unusual habit as she asked him matter-of-factly, "Aren't you curious as to how I know so much about Targaryens despite being from another world?"

He was silent for a moment, matching her unwavering golden gaze with his own confident lavender gaze. He thought about it and then answered it calmly and logically, "I am assuming from books; history books and word of the mouth. Mayhaps your tutors taught you well."

She gave in a look so incredulous, it was insulting. She let out a chuckle, it was soft, airy, musical and it made his heart jump. He decided he loved this feeling and the vision before him. He would do whatever it took to make her laugh, even if it was a few jokes at his own expense but it would always be when they were both alone. Nobody else should ever see her laughing. She was a phenomenal beauty, there was no doubt about that even in the darkness of the night, but when she laughed, she looked ethereal and utterly mesmerizing, as if she cast a spell on all those who watched her.

Her cheeks gained a flush, her lips pulled into a beautiful smile and her eyes, those eyes looked like they had stars in their molten gold gaze. Her laughter was a soothing warm balm to his hardened and melancholic cold heart. Her lips still held a smile in them when she chirped at him in her usual impetuous manner, "You are one conceited prince, no offense. Very optimistic of you to think of your heritage like that, but in this case you are completely off the mark."

Her words brought him down from the light feeling he had gained only moments before. It was becoming a norm with him; being stunned by this unpredictable nature of hers. Nothing with her was ever simple and nothing about her was docile and soft. While other women loved to be admired, complimented and fawned over by men, she didn't. If anything, the very actions agitated her and infuriated her.

She would not even let him enjoy the sheer radiance of her simple laughter, even at his own expense. Her sharp tongue just had to lash out at whatever flaw she saw next in him and the infuriating part about this trait of hers was that, he couldn't even call her unfair or condemn her for it when she was right every single time.

He ran a hand through his long moon-kissed hair, exasperated by her nature yet still so very much fascinated; he asked her as patiently as he could, "Pray tell, my lady, what is the mark then?"

She gave him a smirk so mischievous that it tickled something in his heart and his lips tugged up into a similar smirk. The golden eyed beauty declared with an unfaltering confidence, "In my world, magic does not exist."

Rhaegar rolled his eyes at her exuberance, he was not in the mood for the bits and pieces of facts she was throwing at him. He needed more. He deadpanned, "Yes, the same can be said for my realm as well. Most of the magic has ceased to exist."

He watched her huff and roll her eyes in irritation. He was puzzled; she argued back vehemently, "No, Targaryen, you don't get it. I didn't say magic ceased to exist in my world. I meant magic never existed in my world in the first place. Even if centuries from now, magic ceased to exist completely in this world, you people would still have proof of magic once existing, be it by the remains of dragons, Valyrian steel, recorded scriptures about magic, or even mysterious magical artifacts from the Free Cities. Hell, as long as the Faceless Men exist, magic exists. But from the world I come from, magic never existed to begin with. No flying, fire breathing majestic creatures in our histories, or any inexplicable magical phenomenon. Nothing but cold logic and with time, inventions and advancements that came with necessity."

He could follow the logic behind each and every one of her words but imagining such a world was near to impossible. Such a world would be so dull, so bleak. How could such a world produce such a fiery and magnificent creature such as herself? She explained further, her eyes lighting up with a fire that had nothing to do with the light from the candles, no it was her passionate nature shinning through those molten eyes and he felt the warmth of it; he was being swept up by it, "Look at me, I am the prime example of how different our worlds are. The way I speak, my manners, my attitude, my clothing, have you ever met a woman like me?"

He could only shake in head slowly, still dazed and caught up in her mesmerizing eyes and the zest in her voice, "In my world, we are much more advanced than how you live. This way of living, your way of living is very, very primitive to us and I mean no offense by that. From where I am from, everybody are equals, men and women. Women have professions, they are leaders, and they work alongside men with the same education, the same stations, the same accomplishments and above all the same respect. Women are not considered weak and helpless. A female child born to a family isn't looked down upon or discarded. Neither do they hope for a son to be born to be the heir to a family. A daughter can do every little or big thing a son can accomplish. Women are thinkers, healers, builders, farmers, warriors as well as being wives and mothers."

That explained a lot about her, Rhaegar stared at her with blazing violet eyes. She was not raised to be a meek little girl whose only interest would be to look pretty and one day land a profitable match and produce a few heirs for her lord husband, Rhaegar told himself feverently. His eyes roamed over her facial features as he thought, she was raised to walk amongst men fearlessly, with her head held high. She was a thinker, a warrior and a nurturer and he couldn't wait to find out what more was there to her. She was a natural leader, it was obvious.

But as he looked into her more and more, he realized that this girl, with her searing fire, steel tenacity, her cold logic and intellect, her warm kindness and that tongue which was both sweet ambrosia and biting poison, was in some ways his match. She walked like a Queen, thought like a Queen, looked like a Queen and spoke like a Queen.

But was she the kind of woman who made men Kings or was she the kind who ruled over as the one Queen after defeating numerous Kings to take what she wanted? Rhaegar did not know, but he was becoming near obsessed with this enigma of a woman who came from this fascinating world.

She gave him a moment to process her words before she leaned in closer, caressing the empty goblet before her with her long pale and thin fingers as she spoke, softer now, as if not to spook him, "There is no monarchy, no nobility. All people are equal. Someone from lesser backgrounds can work hard and become rich by succeeding in his or her career and similarly someone with more opportunities or born into privilege is not destined to remain so for their lifetime if they are not smart about it. We don't have kings or queens; we have governing systems with leaders in charge of different sectors of our lands. These leaders have all sorts of people working for them. We, the people of the land choose all our leaders. It's a very complex and different governing system than yours but effective in many ways. That is the world I come from."

What a strange world she came from, this kingless world of hers! There must be utter and complete chaos if commoners with no education and no proper rearing could be selected to run sections of her realm. But then again, she had just said something about even the poorest person having opportunities to rise above their stations, maybe that was it. These people were provided with equal education, training and had equal opportunities. Like she had said, all men and women were equal.

But how was that possible? Where was the line of command, authority and who set the examples for others to follow? She was right, it was all very complex and confusing and he was sure that she hadn't even begun to properly explain everything to him or given him all the information about her world.

She let out a long sigh. Then pursed her lips, scrunched up her nose and then sighed once more. She waved a hand dismissively and then said adamantly, "But all of this is important when concerning me, but when it comes to my purpose here, pay no attention to it. It is of no importance. Now, the most vital piece of information you need to know about my presence here is that, you were right."

He was stunned. Did she say what he thought she said? He looked at her with sheer incredulity, "Pardon me?"

She snorted, so unladylike, "Yeah. Yeah. Don't let it get to your head. You got only a small section of it right. I do know of you from books. In fact, you and this world does not exist in history books, but are a part of a large and epic tale, a made up story from this series of books enjoyed by young adults and adults. A long tale about magic, kings, queens, knights, families, wars, betrayals, love, tragedies, horror and the ugliness humans can possess in them."

"Surely, you are jesting," he whispered in disbelief. This was unfathomable. How could his reality be only a make-belief tale in her world? How could someone think of such brutal reality to be nothing more than a leisurely read? How could she deny his existence and all his experiences and all that of all the people in his world as nothing more than a dreary little story worth nothing more than words etched on pages? This was insulting and so very heart-breaking.

She let out a small sigh and shook her head. Her eyes looked so beautifully sad as she assured him, "I wish I was joking. But I am not."

His eyes held onto hers as if they were the beacons that could lead him out of the dark tunnel he was aimlessly walking in. He asked her, his voice but a soft whisper, "So you have read these…these stories about my world?"

She gave him a small smile which he noticed did not reach her eyes at all. She answered wryly, "No, actually. I usually do not prefer to read fictional tales. In fact, I do not read books at all if I can help it. It isn't that I dislike reading books, but I usually have a lot more to do in my daily life than to sit for hours reading a book for pleasure. One of my very best of friends is a huge Game of Thrones fan."

He couldn't quite figure out he managed to do it once more. Catch his mind drowning in the murky depths of depression and drag it out to remain dazed and fascinated by her sunny odd ways. All of a sudden he was wrenched from his poisonous thoughts about the impending doom of his life to wondering about the kind of life she led and what kind of a person she was.

It was downright tragic how he was more concerned about her disliking of reading as a hobby than what knowledge about his world she was about to part. It was disappointing to him that she did not enjoy being lost in the world of books or pursued knowledge as voraciously as he did. He would have loved nothing more than to share the love of books with her.

It took him an enormous effort on his part to stop staring at the slight pout on her mouth and force his mind to cease empathizing with her too busy life for the simplest pleasure that only books could provide. He concentrated on the things she had just shared with him and something just did not sit right with him. He asked her, taken aback and ever so bewildered, "Pardon, what game? How can one become a fan?"

She blinked owlishly at him, looking stunned for a moment. He looked at her questioningly and waited patiently for an explanation as she rolled her eyes. She looked enlightened for the briefest of moments as if a sudden realization washed over her. He drank in her expressions like a man dying of thirst, such a truly fascinating creature she was.

She began with a slow lick of her lip, slightly hesitant and plenty earnest, "Oh, right. You see, the books about your world, the first one is called the Game of Thrones. So usually one refers to all the books with that name and a fan means a person who likes something very much. For example, I am a fan of running, martial arts, fencing, certain kinds of music and people in my world, things like that."

His mind was quickly trying to grasp her odd language and the even odder things of her world. Why on earth would people call themselves fans of all things when they admired something? But what his mind really clutched on were the morsels of information about herself. All his mind could do was paint pictures of her.

She liked running, how peculiar! She was most certainly nothing like any of the ladies of his world. Not even women of the commoner folks who were used to the hardened way of life were used to such activities. His eyes gleamed with interest as her ears perked up at her confession of her love for fencing and martial arts. He felt downright insatiable to know and see what kind of martial arts she participated in or what kind of blade work she had learnt.

He was sure that she had fast reflexes considering her love for running. Her frame was not muscular, so he knew for sure that she had learnt more defensive moves that offensive, certainly no wrestling moves. But he was already impressed. He eyed her delicate looking hands. Such beautiful pale hands, she must have a light short sword. Who was her teacher, he wondered, and how close was she to her teacher?

His heart leapt at the thought of her enjoying music. Finally, he had something in common with her. Other than the martial arts and fencing; but then again, he was wise enough to not say it out loud that his kind of martial arts and swordsmanship was far, far different than hers. It was an obvious fact that such tasks were certainly better performed by men than women. What she accomplished he was sure, was far more impressive than all the women he knew. Especially when it came to her intellect.

But music, oh music was something they could both enjoy as equals. He felt warmth spread throughout his body at the thought of spending hours with her going over various songs and tunes, lyrics and rhythm. Music was the language of hearts and it pleased him immensely that she was interested in such conversations.

His purple eyes darkened and narrowed at her with interest as he declared, impressed, "That explains a lot."

She looked at him coyly with her exotic golden eyes, making a thrill shoot out his body. He watched her with a smile on his lips, that slight toss of her head was the eerily familiar gesture that seemed women across all sorts of worlds knew by instinct. It amused him how utterly feminine that single gesture was. He couldn't take his eyes of her.

With an impish smile she remarked cheekily and then continued on with her explanation, "I am sure it does. Now as I was saying, this best friend of mine, she has a certain exuberant interest in the books about your world. She tried to get me to read some of those books, but I was far too busy. Later on, there was, I suppose you could call it a play-act on those books. She made me watch them and I liked it somewhat. But I still didn't read the books. So one night when she was staying over, she summarized what she had read. That is how I know of you and so much about your world."

So, the incidents and people of his world were sort of a tale and the tale's characters. She watched a play-act and liked it. His world was but a story her friend entertained her with before her bedtime. He could not decide for the life of him whether to be flattered or feel violated over the invasion of his privacy.

It was not a matter of doubt anymore, she knew him intimately. Rhaegar smirked darkly; he was literally the prince of her fairy tales. In the end flattery won out. He asked her, with more arrogance than curiosity, "You know a lot about me, then?"

She stared back at him with a blank expression. She was not at all amused by his arrogance. She replied dismissively, letting out all the hot air he was puffing up with, "Not much, but a general idea of you."

He was so very much intrigued. She was dancing around something and he was sure that something was very significant facts about his life. He was enjoying this banter between them, even if the topics of their discussion were dark and certainly worrying. He never knew that curiosity could feel so delicious. His voice was all but a smooth purr as he questioned, "What idea is that?"

She remained silent and unmoving. She kept on staring at him with her eerie golden eyes. He felt the blood in his veins rush in his veins hotly and for the first time in a very long, long time a woman's gaze made him feel more than a little intimidated. No, not intimidated per say. She made him feel naked and vulnerable under her gaze. Who was this woman and how could she make him feel so many things?

There was a sad smile on her lips that made his heart lurch, her eyes unblinking and earnest staring into his own eyes unwaveringly; her voice was so solemn that when she finally spoke it beseeched him, "That you are a very sad prince who has noble ideas about ruling his kingdom. A prince who wants to be nothing like his father. A prince who might have made a better ruler than this kingdom had seen in a long, long time. A prince who was mislead by his own obsession and belief in a downright silly superstition and made terrible choices that almost burned his own kingdom to the ground. A prince who hurt entirely too many people with his insensitive decisions but good intentions. A prince who died too young and he certainly didn't live long enough to see the destruction that he, himself had laid to his own lands and people."

His head throbbed with heat and fire; it was as if someone was banging on war drums in his ears and his vision went red. It was as if she had brought the storm inside in chambers with her words and it was raging a fury in that very room around them. How dare she! How could she possibly provoke him in such a manner? How could she dare to make a jest such as this?

His voice was the crack of a whip and it dripped venom as he commanded her icily, "You will mind your tongue before you speak, woman. You know nothing of me and yet you condemn me as such. What you speak of is treason and is downright insulting!"

She stared back at him fearlessly, her eyes glaring fire at him and her voice spouting out self-righteously, "But what I speak is true nonetheless. Why else do you think that old woman sent me here? At this specific time?"

He glared at her, his hands tightening into fists. It burned at him how easily she could sway his temper with her twisted logic and that brazen attitude. He gritted out coldly, "What do you mean by that?"

She spoke, clearly, passionately and with solid logic, "The story from the books start nearly two decades after your death, but she sent me here, to you while you still breathe and have yet to make any of the disastrous decisions. Before she pushed me into that tornado like black hole she told me that my one job was to make a difference, to help you write a different ending to your story."

He really wasn't surprised. Nothing about this surprised him anymore. The more he tried to untangle this web that croon wove around him, the more tangled he got in it. He asked her dryly, truly tired and exasperated, "So, you are here to supposedly save me, is that it?

Thankfully enough, the lady had a sense of humor, or at least for the moment was not pushing him anymore. Did he look that defeated that she ceased to pick at him? Oh, how low he had fallen!

She gave him a sunny smile and shrugged, she went on in her own quirky way, "Apparently! Save you as well as your kingdom. Do you know what I wanted to be when I finished my studies?"

He had to admit, her smile lightened something drastically in him. His heart sang every time she graced him with such a smile. He was once more pulled into the spell she was casting with her words. He asked, half-amused and half-serious, "What is that?"

She leaned forward on her elbows. The flames from the candles were creating the most erotic lines of shadows and glowing smooth skin down her throat, those delicate looking collar bones and further down her chemise. Could he even call what she was wearing a chemise? It took all his self-restraint to not look there and force his eyes into his like a proper noble man would. Her eyes sparkled in a way that she was almost making him feel the enthusiasm she felt.

She chirped happily, pride shinning in her voice, "My father works in a place called a crisis management firm. They help mostly leaders, rulers and people in high and influential places to run their empires smoothly, without any scandal, problem or simply to continue staying in position of high power. But they also help those who desperately need help and cannot fight powerful people. The head of the firm is a woman and my inspiration. I want to work there when I am done with all my schooling."

This time, however her words made sense and there was nothing odd about this. She managed to impress him once more. What high ambition from a woman and that impressed him! She certainly did have the wits to achieve exactly what she wanted. He returned eagerly, wanting to know more about this enigma of a woman who was supposedly his savior, "So, you want to become a helper to a king? Like a council member?"

She gave a sharp nod and an equally sharp smile, "An invisible one, yes."

So that was the reason behind the croon's choice. He declared with a suddenly clear vision, metaphorically speaking, "That is why she picked you."

She pointed a finger at him and exclaimed, "Exactly. If she needed someone with knowledge of your future my best friend would have been a better pick. Hell, any of the Game of Thrones fans would be a better pick and believe me there are thousands of those. But no, that old hag picked me. She wants me to be your little helper."

He gave her finger a brief look. That was extremely unladylike. Her logic fit so perfectly. Who cared about what ladylike grace she possessed or not when she possessed that cunning mind! He agreed, "That makes sense. But why would she do any of this?"

She shook her head and looked down at the table with a frown. She sighed and said with slight exasperation which for some reason tickled him, "I don't know. All I know is that she told me that she wants to see a different ending. I think she is meddling, to be honest. Pushing and pulling at us as if we were merely some helpless pawns to play for her entertainment."

Once more, he agreed with her. The lady did have a way with words; there was no doubt about that. He gave a regal nod of his silver-haired head, "True."

She continued on, as if she didn't even hear him, with a distant look in her eyes, "I also think she picked me because I am more resilient, am a survivor at core and because of my father's training."

He chirped out, "Your father's training?"

She nodded her head swiftly and answered, "Yes. My father was absent for the longest time in my life. He had abandoned my mother and me before I was even born. But years later when I was perhaps eight, he walked right back into our lives. But my mother and I had moved on and we certainly didn't need him in our lives anymore."

Her words were tugging at his heart so viciously. She didn't have a smooth and perfect life as he had assumed. She had suffered and fought and survived. What kind of unprivileged and harassed life must she have had! Listening to the ugly whispers from people and to live without the guidance and protection of her own father, she had learnt to be strong the hard way. He felt no pity for her, but empathy and a curious amount of pride in her.

He was even impressed with her mother. Her lady mother must have been quite the formidable lady to raise such an impressive and strong daughter without any support from the child's father. He felt a deep pit of loathing form in his stomach at the mention of her father's cruel actions. How could he leave behind such a woman and such an extraordinary child? If the beauty of the woman before him was anything to go by and assuming that she inherited said beauty and her other attributes from her mother, her father certainly had no reason to leave her mother. He loathed men such as her father and such arrogance to walk back into their lives as if nothing he did was wrong!

She continued on passionately, laying before him her story in plain words, "It is an understatement when I say that my father and I didn't get along. Then one day he asked my mother that he wants to be a part of my upbringing. That was not a meeting that went well, but later along the line he ended up picking up a long line of activities to do with me."

He felt righteous fury on her behalf towards that man who sired her. He eagerly listened to her story, as she presented him with more pieces to the puzzles that would for once make him understand her. She confided with spirit, once more weaving a spell around him, trapping her mind and capturing his attention to the fullest extent, "We had many things in common. My grandfather had put me in certain hand-to-hand combat lessons and I loved them. Turns out my father is an expert and quite deadly at hand-to-hand combat. So he took over my training as well as put me in other lessons as well. Not only can I fight quite well with my bare hands and knives, I am a swordswoman. My father is brilliant when it comes to any kind of combat. He fights to protect and kill."

Her father certainly sounded like a formidable man. A warrior and he certainly raised his daughter to be a warrior as well, both in body and spirit. But what kind of man, what kind of warrior had no honor? After all where was the honor in abandoning one's wife and children? From the sound of the lady's words, the man in question had apparently returned and tried to make up for his past transgressions. She certainly accepted his apology but did not forgive him for his abandonment. She forgave but did not forget.

The picture of this woman before him was slowly and steadily becoming clearer to him and she impressed him more and more. She was clearly very close to her kin and took pride in them as well. The more he stared at her the more he saw it, a warrior's daughter.

What truly warmed his heart was her opening up to him. She knew almost everything about him and knew of his future as well. That knowledge though came somewhat unfairly to her. She did not take the time to get to know him as a person; to her he had been nothing more than ink etched. She did not earn his trust or earn the privilege of knowing his most private of memories.

It thrilled him and excited him to no end that she was leveling them on plain field. She was telling him of herself so that she could build something with him. She was establishing a relation between them, one of trust and knowing their mission assigned by that mad old croon, a relation of commitment. But of course her attempts at sating his insatiable curiosity was only making him more and more fascinated with her.

She smiled warmly at him, her voice the sweetest of honeyed mead, "My mother is a criminal lawyer. She is someone who has studied the laws of my world extensively and fights for justice. She is a brilliant strategist and can work through and out of any and all kinds of laws to get what she wants. I plan on studying law like her and then joining the firm my father works at."

He listened to each of her word, utterly enthralled. If her father was formidable, her mother was even more so. No wonder she was such an impressive woman with exceptional qualities of both mind and body. A woman who studied the laws of a land and fought for justice; the opposition the woman must have faced head on and fearlessly for what was right! What an awe-inspiring woman! This woman was also the same woman who raised a daughter single handedly facing all sorts of stigma following the abandonment from her spouse. What astounding people she was sired from…

He continued to stare at her in awe, his roaming all over her in silent admiration while she stared back with a small, but warm smile. Finally, all he managed was a soft remark, "So you have studied like a scholar and trained like a soldier and you plan on becoming an invisible council member to leaders and people who need help?"

Her small smile stretched into a smug smirk as she shrugged, "More or less."

He leaned back and drawled slowly, "I am very impressed."

She retorted cheekily, not even flushing the slightest bit, "Not my aim, but thank you nonetheless."

His eyes dropped back to her dainty looking hands and he couldn't help but ask one of the questions that had been hounding him for a while, "What kind of sword do you use, if I may be so bold to ask?"

She narrowed her golden eyes at him, her lips pursed, she asked with the slightest hint of indignation, "You are asking me that because I look too slight to carry a heavy sword, aren't you?"

He blinked once and decided to tread with care and caution. Women after all were sensitive and unpredictable creatures. In this matter he had no way but to go with the truth. So he replied both delicately and without a shred of emotion, "Not my intention to insult you, but yes."

She gave him a lion's grin as she proclaimed, "I am not insulted. I use a rapier."

A pale eyebrow rose in response as he repeated, "A rapier?"

She nodded, proud to the bone, "Yes, I have three. My grandfather gave me one and my father gave me my other two."

He shook his head lightly. He felt a sort of affection towards her. How odd! He was so used to feeling close to nothing, almost numb; this was such a surprising and contrasting thing to feel about someone he had just met and that too under such extraordinary circumstances. He admitted softly and in a daze, "You are most certainly the most unique woman I have come across in my lifetime and I am even more certain I will never meet someone quite like you ever again."

She dropped her eyes to the table, almost shyly. But of course that was a misunderstanding quickly cleared by her inelegant snort and wry reply, "That's a given considering the fact that I was literally dragged out of my own reality because of my uniqueness. We certainly have a long ride ahead of us."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her familiar reaction. She really couldn't take compliments well. Her ungraciousness was quickly becoming quite familiar to him. He asked her with his most charming grin, amused, unbearably curious and finally tired of waiting, "May I know your name then?"

She blinked once and stared at him in what seemed like genuine horror before she burst out in a tinkling laughter. She gasped out and answered primly, though she looked thoroughly amused, "Oh, right. I never gave you my name. That was rude of me. My grandmother would have swatted me for such an appalling misconduct."

He grinned at her, finding her utterly delightful. He teased back smoothly, "I find your grandmother immensely impressive if she can intimidate you."

She gave him a narrow-eyed look, and stated with a flourish, "Ah, the brooding prince has developed a sense of humor then. Good, it will come handy in the future. And as for my grandmother, she is the most fiercely passionate woman I know, so yes, you should be impressed. Call me Sophie."

Sophie. So-phie. Her name, this astonishing woman who seemed like was made of all things awe-inspiring, whose eyes burned with fire, lightening and rays of the sun, her name was Sophie. He had never heard of such a name. Sophie. Such an odd name. His mind played the word over and over again, brushing the small word over each of her remarkable memory he had. Sophie. The most fascinating woman he had ever come across was named Sophie.

Her name fell from his lips like a caress and the rest of the words just slipped out thoughtlessly, "Sophie? I have never come across such a name."

She sent a short glare his way before retorting snootily, "Like Rhaegar is such a common name in my world. If anything your name sounds stranger than mine. My name is Sophia. It means wisdom."

There was a shot of electricity that ran up his spine. His blood pumped faster in his body and his ear drums throbbed. Wisdom. He swore he could hear that familiarly horrific cackle of the croon in the distant.

He stood up, feeling faint and fired up at the same time. His hands slapping on the table with a thud, making his guest lean back and stare up at him in surprise. He could guess that he looked quite possibly mad and it was utterly ungentlemanly of him to behave in such a manner in front of a lady.

He demanded, looking intensely into her face, in case he missed the slightest of flicker of an emotion that might give him the truth, "Pardon? Did you just say wisdom?"

She looked utterly perturbed as she snapped back, her temper flaring back at his unreasonable ways, "Yes. Why? Don't tell me you have never come across even that word!"

With a silent awed gasp, he sat back down. She stared at him warily, completely on guard and clearly thinking him mad. He just couldn't stop staring at her. He found all the answers to the questions that left him confounded for all these years. All this time after that old croon had left him with the most mystifying of prophetic words, he finally found what she had given him clues about. Finally, it all made sense.

His words to her were no more than a soft prayer leaving his lips as he resisted the urge to clutch her to him and yell out to the world, "You're it. You're what she was talking about. Wisdom. My wisdom."