i.

Tywin Lannister threw the approaching man a hard stare. The King's bastard met it with a fierce glare of his own, the hand not holding the child going for his sword. The Valyrian steel glinted menacingly as he drew it out a fraction.

The girl in his arms hadn't stopped her caterwauling even as Lord Bolton named her Rickard Stark's bastard and asked for her blood to be spilled along with her patriarch's. "Ser Waters, hand over the child." The Lord Hand's demand was rewarded with an intensifying of child's weeping and the bastard fully baring his weapon.

"If you want her, you shall have to take her yourself." The act of defiance was witnessed by the King who seemed more amused than anything else. "Your Grace," he addressed his father, "'twas your promise I might take anything I wished from Winterfell."

The courtyard broke out in whispers and murmurs.

ii.

"You do realise you've done yourself a great disservice, don't you?" Arthur questioned, eyes fixed upon the child that had huddled herself in a corner of Rhaegar's tent and was watching them back quietly. "At least she's quiet now."

The first available maester had cleaned the wound she'd sported and bandaged it properly. And she had stopped crying after that. A strange stillness had come over her. "What do I care for those fools and their words?"

"Aye, you wouldn't," his friend snorted. "But what do you know about caring for a child? I never thought I'd see the day when you would willingly play nursemaid for a whelp. And not even one of your father's at that."

"Watch that tongue of yours, Dayne. Go find some camp follower to bother, won't you?" Rhaegar looked at the child again. She hadn't moved. Not even an inch.

Arthur laughed. "Fine. I'll leave you be then."

"Wise choice."

iii.

The bowl of food flew straight out of his hand. Lyanna Snow gave him a hard stare, much too out of place of a face of such a young child, and slunk back to her corner, tears brimming in her eyes. He followed her movements for a brief period before shrugging and sitting down on a stool.

Why had he saved her? His father had asked the question as well, though not in such terms. Because he could. That had been his answer.

Before he could take more than two bites of his food the girl caught his attention again. "Don't eat that off the ground," he called to her. She startled and drew back. With a grimace, he beckoned her over. "Come."

A little hesitation marred her features, but in the end, she did as she was told. Rhaegar suspected she was hungrier than she looked. He pushed a spoonful to her lips. She downed it all. "Don't throw this on the ground as well. I won't get you another," he promised, pressing the spoon into one of her hands and the bowl in another.

And Lyanna listened.

iv.

Rhaegar woke with a start, hand clutching the bone-hilt of his dagger. Eyes searched the darkness for any hidden threats. There were none. He kept stock still for what seemed an endless moment, waiting. In case anything or anyone proved foolish enough to try challenging him.

Instead, the bundle of furs lying in that same wretched corner of his tent was moving sporadically, whimpers drawing forth from the child beneath the covers. He thought of leaving it be, since it was no issue of his what manner of dreams plagued her. But the sounds truly were pitiful.

Climbing to his feet, Rhaegar discarded the knife and stalked toward her. He knelt down and peeled the furs down, just a smidge. As he was doing that, the girl moved. Skin touched skin and Rhaegar quickly pulled his hand back. She was burning.

Tentatively, he touched the back of his hand to her forehead, feeling the wet, hot skin pressed against his. Cleary she laboured under a merciless fever.

v.

She carried on in the same manner for much the rest of the road, holding onto life by the skin of her teeth. "It's to be expected," the maester explained, swabbing at the scar that had formed over her wound with a mixture of wine and milk of the poppy. "It would have been kinder to leave her to her fate."

Which he didn't do. Rhaegar dismissed the man and managed to the best of his abilities with the child.

And when the King came to see her, claiming that he'd heard it through the grapevine, he was unsure about why he consumed himself over the matter. She would live or she would die. It was that simple. "If she lives to reach King's Landing," the man began, "then I shall consider taking Winterfell from Bolton and giving it to her." He'd laughed and went away.

King's Landing was quite close by anyhow.

vi.

Rhaella Targaryen was kind. She'd always been so. Even when he'd been brought before her as proof of her husband's infidelity, she had said naught and simply took him in her care. The very same maternal instinct pushed her towards Lyanna Snow.

"Poor child," she whispered, brushing her fingers through sweat-slicked hair. "I've always known your heart was kind." That she said to him. Rhaegar looked away. "Pretend all you wish with the world, but you cannot fool me. I raised you."

"She has no one left," he settled upon saying.

"So I understand." The Queen's attention returned to the child. "Pycelle will see her through. The wound is clean and closed. She just needs some rest."

Not too long ago, he himself had been all alone. Wars were as such. Rest would help with the burden, but 'twould not ease it much.

"Don't think to disappear though. You are the one who rescued her. You are responsible for her now." And that frightened him more than it should.

vii.

"You need to put those thoughts out of your head." Arthur clapped a hand to his shoulder. "And I know just how."

Arthur's solution, it turned out, was the age tried method. Drinking. It was as good an escape as any, so they drank and drank until they had no more coin left and the host threatened to kick them out. To which Rhaegar replied with a glare and a fist to the man's face.

What ensued was a brawl fit for songs.

"Nothing like a little bloodletting to ease the mind," his friend had said after they were done, going out the door into the streets. "Tell me it doesn't feel better," came the challenge.

Rhaegar shook his head. "Better." But that did not mean he was less worried. Even with the bruised and bloodied knuckles, sporting wounds of his own and quite exerted, his mind still hadn't let go of the matter of Lyanna.

viii.

By the time she was coming to, Rhaegar was trying his best to ignore the painfully pulsing headache and his own annoyance at the slowness of it all. Pycelle had, as the Queen had intimated, done all he could for the child.

He'd not been patient or gracious about it, assuring all present that his talents were wasted on such a low born creature – at least according to the servants. But he had feared retribution too much not to work diligently.

Turning his thoughts away from the unpleasant subject, Rhaegar touched the back of his hand to Lyanna's forehead as if to make sure the last vestiges of fever were gone. Her temperature seemed normal, as far as he could discern.

Without a word, he helped her sit up and then pressed the rim of a cup to her lips. She took a few sips of water before pulling back.

xi.

Shaena pushed and prodded until he had little choice but to give in to her demands or lose his mind trying to ignore her. Somehow, Rhaegar decided that she couldn't do Lyanna much harm to have someone close in age to her about.

"I'll be good and careful," his half-sister promised. "I won't bother her."

Daeron promised him the same thing, clinging to his sister's arm. "I want to see her too."

Lyanna welcomed them with her customary quietness. A spark of interest lit her eyes at the sight of them, but otherwise she was much as she'd been before. Shaena tried to get her to speak, but all her questioned were answered through signs.

"Can you not talk?" the little Princess questioned, brows furrowing in concern. "Are you hurt here?" She touched her throat as if to demonstrate.

Lyanna shook her head emphatically. She touched her own throat and shrugged.

"Exhaustion," Pycelle ruled when he was asked.

x.

Exhaustion was much more permanent than Rhaegar would have believed. A week did nothing to quell it, nor a month, not even a year. Lyanna herself has seemed to accept the fact that she would no longer be able to produce sounds with a sort of astounded calmness he couldn't quite credit.

"Sometimes there is nothing to be done," Rhaella told him quietly when he asked what should be done. "She will either heal in her own time, or she won't. That choice is out of your hands."

She seemed well enough otherwise to be sure. Certainly, there was a sadness about her, but she ate well and played with Shaena and Daeron all day long despite that. Little Aegon was still under the strict care of an army of nursemaids, but she visited with him as well when she could.

Some matters were best left alone, Rhaegar decided. If she spoke, she spoke. If not, he would just be glad she had pulled through as it were.