His hand had fumbled trying to remove the blanket covering her, that first night. They had both been stripped for the bedding ceremony, but once the door was closed and it was only the two of them in the room, Stannis had handed a blanket to Lyanna, his eyes looking everywhere except at his naked wife, obviously expecting her to cover herself. He had covered himself with another blanket, and the two of them sat on opposite sides of the bed, not looking at each other, not saying a word, barely even breathing.

For a moment, Lyanna was almost relieved. Perhaps he means to go to sleep, she had thought. But then relief turned to annoyance. If not tonight, it would have to be some other night; they were married after all, and she was expected to provide him with an heir. That is your duty, her father had reminded her over and over again before the wedding. She was trapped now, in a cage both of her own making and not of her own making. She only wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

If she was truly honest with herself, what she really wanted was for there to be no way back at all. For the marriage to be consummated and therefore binding in the eyes of gods and men, so that she would never be tempted again. Never be tempted to cause hurt to another woman - no, to one woman in particular - in the name of love.

Her husband's hesitation – and perhaps even fear? - strengthened Lyanna's own resolve. She made her way quietly to his side of the bed, sitting beside him, as close as she dared. He said nothing at first, barely reacting to her presence. But then she caught him stealing a glance at her, quick as lightning, his face flushed. She waited for him to make the next move.

Waited … and waited … and waited, to no avail. Their breathing were almost synchronized now, she could feel it from the rise and fall of his chest, but still, he did nothing.

"Stannis," she called out his name finally, after her patience had worn thin. He turned to look at her. "Yes?" He snapped impatiently, his mouth frowning, as if she had distracted him from contemplating the mystery of existence itself. But his eyes betrayed him, they were telling a different story. She had never really noticed them before, those bottomless blue eyes. She stared and stared.

He stopped breathing. And then suddenly he was breathing as if he was underwater, a drowning man desperately grasping for shore. She took his right hand and guided it to her left shoulder. He pushed the blanket off on that side, while his left hand fumbled and shook nervously trying to push off the blanket on the other side. She grasped that hand and guided it too, slowly but surely, and then she was fully unclothed. He stared and stared.

She could not remember now if Stannis had removed the blanket covering himself on his own, or if she had done that, or if they had done it together; it had happened so quickly. He had called out her name, she recalled, called out her name questioningly, as if to make sure that she was certain.

"Lyanna?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she whispered.

"You're sure? About what?" Stannis asked.

How clueless could he be? She was about reply, when she suddenly realized that she was no longer in the land of memory, that her husband was really standing in front of her, fully clothed and not naked, looking at her with what passed as an amused expression for Stannis Baratheon.

"What are you sure about?" He asked again. "And why were you whispering?"

"Nothing." She was blushing, to her great consternation. "I was just ... thinking of something."

"Anything in particular?"

"Nothing important," she said firmly. "What did my father have to say?"

Stannis took a deep breath. "Are you sure you want to know?"

She did not hesitate. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Your father has chosen a side. Or perhaps … he has chosen his own side, I am not certain, he was quite vague. But whatever it is, he has not chosen the king."

"I didn't know there were sides to choose from," Lyanna said.

"Don't you?"

Lyanna met her husband's gaze, and held it. "No, you're right, I do know. I just don't want to admit it."

"I don't either," Stannis said softly.

"I don't want this night to end," Stannis had said to her that first night, after their union. She had laughed, and replied, "There will be other nights." He had frowned. "Not like this. Not when we have to."

It will be better when we don't have to, she had thought, but not said. Much better. And she had been proven right.

"Has Father chosen Rhaegar, then?" Lyanna was asking her husband now.

"I think so, yes, He spoke of a council, and a new king promising more autonomy for the north."

"A council? Not very likely," Lyanna scoffed. "King Aerys would go to war first." Surely her father could not be that naïve?

"Your father knows that."

And is willing to pay the price. "Perhaps … if I tell him … if I tell him about Rhaegar and myself -"

"What good will that do?" Stannis interrupted swiftly. "That is all in the past," he said firmly, and then paused for a long while, his face deeply troubled. "And I am worried it might even drive him to a more drastic path."

The Starks were kings once, her father had taught Lyanna and her brothers. King in the North.

If war really was coming, Stannis would have to choose too. The lord of the stormlands would have to pick a side as well.

It's not fair, Lyanna thought. She was only just beginning to know happiness again. Only just beginning to wake, after a long slumber of emptiness and numbness.

I have decided to be happy.

No, we have decided to be happy.

She took her husband's hand, and guided him to their bed. His hand did not fumble while undressing her, this time.