Were you thinking of him when you were kissing me?

Or did you kiss me to try to erase the thought of him?

He did not know which possibility would be worse, and so never asked the question.

What are you trying to prove to yourself? He had asked her instead. She had looked at him as if he had committed a great betrayal. But what had he betrayed, exactly? The illusion they were trying to maintain that happiness was a possibility for them? The illusion she wanted to preserve that nothing had changed between them?

We were better off when I did not care, he thought. When it did not matter to him what she felt, or thought, about Rhaegar Targaryen. When he could not care less what was, or was not, in her heart. He wanted desperately to blame her. His wife. Lyanna. For showing him hopeful glimpses of something else. For making him want to banish the coldness from his own heart. But in the end, he blamed only himself.

I should have known better. The constant refrain of his life.

He should have known better than to believe that the gods would protect his mother and his father.

He should have known better than to believe that Robert would miss his brothers, when he had a new one waiting at the Eyrie.

He should have known better than to believe that happiness was something he was capable of.

They were lying side by side, not sleeping, not talking, not touching, faces turned away from each other. He counted the rise and fall of her breathing, imagined the thoughts running through her head, tried to envision the fear running through her heart. What was it she feared, exactly?

Living a life she does not wish to live, a voice replied in his head. With a man she does not wish to live it with. He thought the voice sounded like Rhaegar's at first, but it was only his own harsh voice. Deriding him. Mocking him.

We said the vows, we are married, we are having a child together. This is our life now, whatever our wishes might be. It is our duty.

She was getting restless, tossing and turning next to him. Or perhaps she had fallen asleep, and was troubled by a dream again? He turned his face slightly to sneak a glance. She was wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He finally understood what she had really meant when she told him about the expression on Elia Martell's face. He saw it on Lyanna's face now. Resignation. Hopelessness. A look beyond anger or sadness.

His breath caught. Did I cause this? Did I do this to you? The way Rhaegar did to his wife? Not with the things that I did, but with all the things that I didn't do.

He had not asked her about her dream, for one. The dream that had troubled her enough to wake her from her sleep.

He stared at the ceiling too, trying to see what it was she was seeing. "What was the dream that woke you before?" He blurted out, before he lost the courage.

She did not reply for ages. Did not take her eyes off the ceiling, or even gave any indication that she had heard his question. He repeated the question.

"Why do you want to know?" She finally asked, her eyes still fixated on the ceiling. Not looking at him.

His own eyes strayed from the ceiling to look at her. He caught her glancing at him very briefly, before she turned her eyes upward again. He was looking at her as he answered her question.

"Because I am your husband, and it is my duty to know. And to ask, if I do not know. You told me that once."

She finally turned to look at him. "I didn't think you'd remember that."

"I remember everything," he replied.

"I wish … you'd forget some things. Let go of certain things, not hold on to things for so long," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"You wish that I am different. That I am not who I am."

"No!" She protested, her voice much louder suddenly. "Just … sometimes …I wish … " She paused. "You are not the only one who is different now, you know. Marriage has made me different too. You have made me different too."

"And that makes you sad?" He asked.

"Yes. No … I don't know. It makes me afraid, actually. Afraid that I won't be who I am anymore. That everything would just be … drowned out. Doesn't that scare you too?"

Does it? He had never examined the question before. "I don't know," he replied. "I don't think I can ever really be anything other than who I am. As I am now."

He realized with a jolt that it was that thought that truly terrified him. Not the thought of marriage or Lyanna making him different, but the thought that he was not capable of ever being different. Of changing. Of crossing the distance between them and meeting her somewhere in the middle. Lyanna must have known that too, when she talked of her fear of being drowned out.

He cannot promise her anything about himself. Only about what he would never ask of her. "I don't expect you to be anyone other than yourself."

She smiled, a sad, wry smile. "Oh, Stannis. It's not about what you expect. It's about … me. Myself. I don't think I can explain it. Not now anyway."

"I'll wait until you can," he replied.

Her hand was suddenly touching his face. She brought her lips closer to his ears, and whispered. "I dreamt of you. And the king. Riding into a great big storm."

"His Grace?" That was a surprise.

"I begged you not to go with him. But you wouldn't listen. You wouldn't even turn around so I could look at your face. And then you both … just … disappeared. Like you were never there in the first place."

He swept back the hair falling messily over her eyes. "It was only a dream. It doesn't mean anything."

"How far would you follow him? His Grace?" Her voice was insistent, almost desperate.

"He is my king."

"And it is your duty to be loyal to him?"

"Yes, it is."

"Will you promise me one thing? That you will remember your duty to your family too? To .. your wife, and your little brother." She took his hand and placed it on her belly. "And to our child."

"I promise."

"Thank you," she smiled. "Now tell me about your dream."

I dreamt that we grew old together. And you were sad and unhappy. And full of regrets. He could not tell his wife this. Would not tell his wife this. But he could not lie to her either. So he borrowed her words instead.

"I … don't think I can explain it. Not now anyway." This was not an untruth, he told himself. He truly did not understand why he had dreamt what he did.

She frowned at first, but then burst into a laugh. "I'll wait until you can," she said, after she had stopped laughing.