Her dream was not of him, or his voice, that night. When he had said that one word, 'Father', she had thought her heart would stop beating. A voice she had not heard in ages. They had avoided looking at each other, even glancing at each other, the whole time she was at the king's pavilion. It was deliberate on her part, and she knew, as much as she knew anything at all, that it was deliberate on his part too.

Instead, she dreamt of her husband. And the king. Riding into a great storm.

"What did he whisper to you earlier? His Grace?" Lyanna had asked her husband as they were preparing for bed.

"He wanted to know if the stormlords would be loyal to him. If I would be loyal to him," Stannis replied, without looking at her.

"That's an odd question to ask. In peacetime. It's not like there's a war going on."

"I suppose," her husband shrugged.

"What did you tell him?"

"That he is my king, it is my duty to be loyal to him." Stannis paused, hesitated for a moment before continuing. "He mentioned my Targaryen blood for some reason. It's … odd."

Lyanna smiled. "I forgot about that sometimes. Your Targaryen blood."

"It's not anything worth remembering. I never even met my Targaryen grandmother, she was dead long before I was born."

"Still, it's strange to think that your father and the king are cousins. Were they close?"

He turned to look at her, his expression wary and distracted. Surely her question about his father and the king could not be the source of that?

"I don't know," he finally replied. "But I know that my father was concerned about His Grace. Towards … well, towards the end. He's surrounded by vipers and liars whispering poisonous words in his ears, I heard him say to my mother more than once."

"He seems to think that everyone is against him. The king, I mean," Lyanna said.

"Perhaps they are," had been Stannis' final words on the matter.

She could not fall asleep again, after being awakened by her dream. She had called out to her husband in the dream, but he had not turned around. Let me see your face, she had implored. Turn around. Her plea had fallen on deaf ears. He had ridden straight into the path of the storm, following his king. The king had been laughing and cackling all the way, the sound of his laughter chilling Lyanna to the bones.

She stared at her husband's sleeping face now, lying next to her, safe from the storm. It was a plain face, she knew. His hair was already thinning, she envisioned him going completely bald in ten, fifteen years. Perhaps even less. He was grinding his teeth in his sleep again, the sound reverberating in the silent room. The mouth that rarely smiled and almost never laughed was shaped into a grimace suddenly. Perhaps he was having a bad dream of his own.

He was mumbling something under his breath, something she could not catch. Should she wake him? Before she could decide, bottomless blue eyes were staring at her, looking dazed and confused. Confusion turned quickly to alarm.

"What's wrong?" He asked. "Did something happen?"

"You were having a bad dream."

He looked embarrassed. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I was already awake."

"You can't sleep? Is it the baby?"

She laughed. "No. It's too early for the baby to start kicking, you know."

"Then …"

"I was dreaming too. And it woke me."

"Something unpleasant?"

"Something … that I don't understand. Yet."

Ask me what it is, she implored in her head. So I can ask you about your dream too.

"We've both had a long day," was all he said, however. They were still staring at each other.

There's something you want to ask me. Not about my dream, but about something else, she finally realized.

For the briefest of moment, she thought he was about to ask his question, his mouth opening, only to snap shut again. He was gazing at her so intently, it was as if he was seeing her, truly seeing her, for the very first time. Before she realized what she was doing, she had started kissing him. Her husband responded at first, but then stopped.

"What are you trying to prove to yourself?" He asked.

The words felt like a slap, even though his tone was sad rather than angry. She had not been trying to prove anything, to herself or to her husband, this time. The unfairness of the accusation angered her. Lyanna turned her face away.

"You told me once it didn't matter. If I loved him. Were those merely words?" She said after a while.

"I was … different … then. Marriage has made me different. You have made me different."

"So it's my fault?"

"No, it's mine. For allowing it to happen."

She had thought she was the only one who feared losing herself - in this marriage, in this union, in this life they were trying to build - but perhaps it was a fear her husband had shared too.

How far could you blame marriage for losing yourself? She had wondered before.

Or maybe 'blame' was the wrong word. Maybe it was something that just happened, naturally, when two people were trying to build a life together. In the push-and-pull of who she was, and who he was, and trying to find a common space to occupy, together.

If that is the case, Lyanna wondered, then why are we both resisting it so hard?