Explanations and Horrifications

A Song of Ice and Fire, and all associated media, are the property of George R. R. Martin.

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Bran kept a firm grip on Lyanna's shoulder as they entered the inn, blissfully ignorant of the distrustful stares sent their way, his eyes never leaving her for long. As though she would vanish if he wasn't paying attention. Of course, considering that she vanished into the night the eve of his wedding, his fears weren't unwarranted.

When they entered one of the rooms Thoros rented for them—which ended being most of them, with the addition of Bran and his party—her brother say her down on the bed. He sat beside her, his hands on her shoulders, and smiled tiredly at her. "Oh, Lya—This—I didn't even hope that—" He devolved into half-hearted stammering, looking like a man twice his age, hunched over with worry.

Lyanna smiled, and hugged him once more. "I'm glad we found you as well." He squeezed her back just shy of crushing her ribs. "I'll be frank, I did not expect us to meet here."

Bran huffed. "Gods, if not for those Maesters I'd already be at King's Landing." Lyanna pulled back; brow furrowed. Her brother let her go and leaned back against the bedpost. "Ah, there's dozens of Maesters inspecting the Kingsroad—the material they remade it with, rather." He clenched his hands into fists. "They forced us into lines like shepherds would their sheep, down specific paths so as to not 'damage their findings' or some other such nonsense. I had half a mind to demand them to move in the name of House Stark, but Elbert stopped me—reminded me that we don't know how deep Rhaegar's plot to abscond with you is." Lyanna flinched, but Bran didn't notice. "I'm glad I listened to him—we'd have missed you and your…friends…?" He trailed off with an arched brow.

"Randy and Thoros are friends—they've both saved my life." Well, Thoros threatened her at first, but he'd more than made up for it.

Bran nodded. "I'll make sure they're rewarded—though it may have to wait. I don't think it would be appropriate to dip into our coffers as we raise the banners."

Lyanna nodded along when Bran spoke of a reward—a position in the Stark household guard for Thoros, and something that Randy wouldn't just shove into his gullet. But she froze at his last words. "…What?"

Bran sighed, eyes softening with pity. "Aye, I know. I want nothing more to do with those sister-fucking scum either, but we cannot let this crime go unpunished, Lyanna. Princes are not so high above the law to ignore the kidnapping of maiden of your standing."

There was a momentary flash of irritation—was she only worth so much trouble because of her name? But it quickly vanished as she recalled the horrifying tale of the would-have-been fate of her family.

"No!" She reached forward and gathered his hands in her own. "Bran, you can't march down to King's Landing!"

"What?!" Her brother stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. "Lyanna, what Rhaegar did to you, what he was no doubt planning to do—he needs to answer for it! I understand if you don't want to even think of the man anymore—I assure you we are returning to Winterfell come first light—but after I wed Catelyn Tully, I promise you, that kidnapper and would-be raper—"

"He didn't kidnap me!" Lyanna shouted back.

Bran leaned back, pulling his hands away with wide eyes. "W-What?"

Shame flooded Lyanna. She dipped her head down. "…Rhaegar didn't kidnap me from Riverrun. I willingly left with him."

For the longest time, her brother said nothing. But then, it started. From a young age, one could always tell when Brandon's rage—his wolf's blood—started to get the better of him. It was his breathing—short, deep inhales and exhales through his nostrils. Then, his hands would tremble, his neck pulsed, and a vein would protrude on his forehead.

It was funny to witness, until he grew into an adult and you bore full witness to his mounting fury.

When he spoke, it was in a whisper. Quiet as a winter wind. "You…what?"

Lyanna dared to look up. She regretted it instantly—his eyes…she'd only seen that kind of deep, black anger at Harrenhall, when Rhaegar crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty. Numbly, she mused that it was only appropriate she witness it again, in the current circumstances.

She gulped. "I left with Rhaegar. He wished to take me away, and I let him."

Bran shot up to his feet, hands fisted into his hair as he paced around the room. The only sounds to rumble through his throat were low, wolf-like growls. Finally, he levelled a stern, furious glare down at her. "Are you fucking serious, Lyanna? Do you know how much work Father, Ned and I have had to do to combat the rumors that you're Rhaegar's whore—gods, Baratheon alone! And now I find out you've been warming his bed all along?!"

"I never slept with Rhaegar!" Lyanna shouted back. "I-I'm not his whore! I didn't even think he wanted me like that!" Dreamed it, perhaps, but no more.

Bran stared incredulously at her. "…Fucking hells, you're serious. You really didn't—are you slow in the fucking head? What other fucking reason would a married man have to abscond with an unmarried maiden, Lyanna?! How can you be so godsdamn stupid?!" He reached out to her with clawed hands, looming over her.

She tried to fight it, but that look in his eyes, manic and wild—Lyanna fell back with a frightened yelp. Bran froze, his anger fading as he looked her over. A bit of shame and worry leaked into his features, before it was wiped away, his long face hardening until it was akin to one of the unfeeling statues in Winterfell's crypts.

He stepped back and stood at his full height. "…How long had you been corresponding with Rhaegar?" He spoke with the full-authority of the Lord he was born to be.

Lyanna took a deep, steadying breath. "He sent me a letter as we left Harrenhal. I wrote back the first week we returned to Winterfell."

"The first—!" Bran swallowed thickly, cutting off his own outburst. "…How? I'd think Maester Walys would have informed father that you were regularly conversing with the Crown Prince."

Lyanna looked away. "Do you remember how I said I started corresponding with Ashara Dayne? For Ned's sake?"

"Fucking hells, Lya, now you're implicating the Daynes?"

She flinched, but continued. "I-It was Rhaegar's idea. Arthur Dayne and his sister were both in the Red Keep and use the same sigil and I…" She trailed off under the weight of his glare. "Anyway, we just…wrote to each."

"About what?"

Lyanna pursed her lips. "It typically went that Rhaegar would ask me a question about my life—how I was raised, what it's like to be a Stark, my thoughts on the future—I'd respond, then he would ask another question and we'd do it over again." She frowned. "Actually, that was it entirely. He would never answer any questions I asked about him or his life."

Bran took a deep breath. "Why…would you do that? Was there such a lack of people to speak to in Winterfell? Myself, Benjen, Old Nan, hell even Wylis, regardless of the fact that his mind is gone!" Bran stepped forward; face twisted into a sneer. "Why secretly converse with the fucking prince—the man that everyone thinks you whore for?!"

"Because he was the first person to ever listen to me!" Lyanna shouted back. Bran blinked, leaning away as Lyanna steadied her heart. "I was the Knight of the Laughing Tree, back at Harrenhal."

"Obviously." Lyanna stared at her brother in shock. "Lyanna, please, don't insult my intelligence—it could only be you. The one day this 'mystery knight' turns up is also the one day you—and Benjen—do not attend the tourney? That the only knights he challenged were the ones whose squires beat Howland Reed? The godsdamned Weirwood tree as their coat of arms?" He arched a brow. "Not to mention that horrible accent you tried to effect—what was that, some bastardization of all the Clan tongues put together?"

Lyanna flushed. "I was going for Umber."

"You failed," her brother said, before breaking out into a barking laugh. Lyanna joined him, and for a moment they forgot all the shadows hanging over them and enjoy each other's company. But all too soon, Bran's face hardened, all humor escaping him.

"Rhaegar found you out, didn't he? He didn't come across that shield, you gave it to him."

"Yes." Lyanna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She remembered the burst of panic and fear that came upon her when she saw Rhaegar. His expression was inscrutable, and he eyed Lyanna as if she were some sort of exotic animal. But then he opened his mouth, and honeyed words flowed from his silver tongue and she found herself flattered by his attention, despite the unease worming around in her belly.

She should have heeded her instincts.

"Rhaegar's first letter was filled with nothing but praises for what I'd done as the Knight of the Laughing Tree, and after that he just…validated every fear and worry I had about the future."

Her brother groaned. "Your fucking marriage."

"Yes," Lyanna bit out. "My fucking marriage."

"Everyone gets married Lya—we don't all get a choice as to who."

"Ned's got a choice," Lyanna spat, only for shame to quickly flood her being. Because, in another life, he wouldn't have had a choice.

Bran inhaled sharply. "Do you mean to tell me that this is all because you're jealous of Ned?"

"No!" Lyanna rapidly replied. "Gods, no!" Something softened in her brother's gaze, a kind of relief seeping through his frame. Lyanna scowled. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

"I'm trying to figure that out," Bran countered. He rubbed his temples. "Fine, you've exchanged letters with the prince for months. I'm willing to believe that you, at least, did not have any adulterous intentions." He straightened, and looked her dead in the eye. "But why, in the name of the Old, the New, and even the fucking Drowned, did you run away with him?"

Lyanna turned away—looking back, it was such a stupid, petty reason.

"Lyanna," Bran growled.

She gulped. "I…When Rhaegar informed that he would also be in the Riverlands, I didn't think anything of it. I'd just assumed that he would be attending your wedding as a guest. Even when I met him on my first ride out of Riverrun and he said he wasn't there for the wedding, I didn't care to ask why he was there."

"You met him not two days—"

"Bran." Lyanna managed not to wince at how small her voice was. "Please, let me finish." Her brother closed his jaw with an audible snap, his fury brimming just under the surface. "I didn't think anything about leaving with Rhaegar until…Until I found that letter from Barbrey Ryswell in your room. When I went up to grab the wedding cloak to adjust it for Lady Catelyn," she clarified

Bran blinked, and paled. "Y-You saw it?"

Lyanna nodded slowly. "I read it. I read all about the love Barbrey professed for you, the love you, I can see, reciprocate." Bran shifted uncomfortably. "And I just…Catelyn is such a sweet woman." Lyanna allowed herself a small smile at the thought of her brother's betrothed. "Patient, kind, but stubborn, and with a steady sense of righteousness and duty. Any man would be lucky to marry her." She narrowed her eyes at her brother. "And you're fucking another woman on the side."

"It's not like that," Bran protested, eyes turned away.

"But it is!" Lyanna stressed. "Still, to your credit, you're at least discrete with your dalliances."

Bran huffed. "Lya, he—"

Lyanna cut him off. "Robert doesn't care who's bed he falls into so long as they have a full set of teeth and a decent pair of tits!" She sniffed. "And maybe not even the first one." Bran opened his mouth—to either defend Robert, or perhaps himself—but Lyanna barreled onward.

"I just…I saw myself in Catelyn after reading that letter. And I see Robert in you." She smiled sadly at her brother. "And you're not going to stop seeing Barbrey anymore than Robert will stop seeking out his whores."

Bran's features softened, dipping into a sort of melancholy. "…Do you think so little of me?"

She gulped. "I think that if you were going to stop seeing Barbrey, you wouldn't have kept that letter." Her brother winced, and said nothing more on the subject. "Anyway…Rhaegar's promise to run away was more appealing after that, and when he started saying that he could get me out of my future marriage…" she trailed off lamely.

Bran cleared his throat. "About that. Since you did leave with Rhaegar, what happened? Why are you here, with some smallfolk and a Red Priest, instead of with Rhaegar and his men." His face hardened once more. "What did he do?"

"Rhaegar didn't do anything to me," Lyanna said, almost weary of repeating herself. "But…he did want to marry me."

"…What?"

Lyanna, very, very quickly, outlaid the extend of Rhaegar's madness. His belief in prophecy and Lyanna's supposed place in it.

Bran's jaw dropped steadily the more he heard. When Lyanna had finished, he looked very much like the trout on his betrothed's sigil. When he finally found his voice, it came out in a wheezy laugh. "Fuck me, he's as mad as his father."

"Worse," Lyanna replied, deadpan. "I don't think Aerys holds any delusions that he's insane."

Bran didn't laugh like she hoped he would. Instead, his eyes widened and he said, "Gods, Rhaegar targeted you, like a hare in the woods. He fit you into his twisted scheme and he led you into a trap and…" He stared at Lyanna, long and hard. Slowly, he sat back on the bed, and pulled her into a hug. Lyanna eagerly reciprocated, holding him tight.

"Oh, Lya," he said, voice soft. "I'm still angry that you just…ran away, regardless of your reasons." She just nodded—it was so terribly stupid of her. "But you're here now. We're going to go home, and you'll be safe for the rest of your days." He pressed a light kiss atop her head. She felt his lips twist into a frown, however. "But there's still Rhaegar we need to consider. He must face the consequences of what he's done." He pulled back, and stared at her questioningly. "How did you get away from him? And what do those men—Randy and Thoros—have to do with it?"

Lyanna gulped—she hadn't thought of how to tell Bran, or anyone, what happened on the Isle of Faces. Not only because it was, frankly, fantastical beyond even the tales from the Age of Heroes, but also because it wasn't just her tale to tell.

Randy hadn't said much about his personal life, but she knew that he was a private individual. After all, if he weren't rumors of a man of his abilities, at the very least, would be spread from Dorne to beyond the Wall.

At the very least, she could relay the bare facts.

"Randy." She took a deep breath. "Killed Gerold Hightower and the Septon Rhaegar brought along, as well as rendering Arthur Dayne, Oswell Whent, and Rhaegar himself incapable of following us as we fled."

Bran chuckled. Then laughed. But when Lyanna didn't join him, he trailed off into dull shock. "Good gods, you're serious." He held his arms out. "Lya, how would that even be possible? Is he some sort of Faceless Man?"

"No, that would make things simpler." Bran arched a brow at her response. She shook her head. "It'd be easier if we asked him ourselves."

"As you say," Bran replied, skeptical. "But it can wait after you bathe. And change out of those rags." Lyanna looked down at her clothes. They did look rather ratty." He reached over and squeezed her hands. "…I'm so glad you're safe." Lyanna said nothing, merely squeezing his hands back.

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It felt good to bathe. Really, really good. Scraping off the stink and grime from the weeks on the road was akin to erasing any hint of Rhaegar he may have left on her. She felt reborn. Wiser. Less of a stupid little girl and more of a woman grown.

Even the simple, rough-spun clothing Bran got her felt divine compared to her practically ruined clothes. They bore those new symbols so popular within the Reach—asymmetrical crosses patterned in circles across the hem and sleeves.

She exited the room, and smiled at Bran as he pushed himself off the wall.

"Cleanliness looks good on you," he teased. Lyanna lightly swat his arm, which did little more than make him laugh as he draped an arm over her shoulders. He led them down onto the main floor, and they spotted their party.

It was easy, when Thoros and Randy were in the middle of a drinking contest with some locals.

Bran's retinue—who looked like they hadn't touched a drop—stared at Thoros and Randy in unabashed shock. Ethan Glover noticed her and Bran first, and cleared his throat. "Ah, Bran, Lady Lyanna!" The other men—Kyle Royce, Jeffrey Mallister, and Elbert Arryn—quickly offered greetings, but didn't look away from the spectacle before them.

Kyle spoke with no small amount of awe and disgust. "I don't know where they're putting all that ale away," he said. "Thoros at least looks like he knows his way around a mug. But Randy…"

"It's, er, always the ones you least expect?" Elbert offered.

"He's quick-witted," Jeffrey said. At their questioning gazes, he elaborated. "While you two were gone, we were getting odd looks form the smallfolk. Randy, and Thoros, took it upon themselves to mingle." He nodded at the crowed, who were cheering loudly as the last local smallfolk, looking greener than anything else, gave up the competition. "They made fast friends, and now none of these smallfolk think of us as odd. Or if they do, they're keeping it to themselves."

Thoros and Randy stumbled back to them—well, Thoros stumbled, Randy kept him from slamming into things. "My friends—we are friends, correct?—I do wish you'd have joined us! It was a contest worthy of a song!" His head lolled to the side, and his smile widened upon seeing Lyanna. "Ah, my lady! I see you've found yourself a bath." Whatever drunken haze he was in, his eyes cleared in an instant as he looked over Lyanna. A weight seemed to lift off his shoulders.

Randy narrowed his eyes at her. In fact, he leaned closer, a low hum rumbling through his throat. Lyanna blushed under the attention. She then scowled when Bran none-too-subtly pushed her behind him.

"Something to say…friend?" he asked icily.

Randy grinned wanly. "Just…admiring those crosses on Lyanna's clothes. Never thought I'd see something like that here."

Lyanna smiled. "They look good on me?"

"You're a cute girl, Lyanna, you look good in anything." Lyanna blushed at his words. Her brother and them noblemen around them looked torn between wanting to admonish Randy for speaking so casually to a woman of her standing, or impressed at how smoothly his compliment flowed from his lips.

Thoros just chuckled, and drank from a mug he procured from…somewhere. After taking a long swig he said, "I asked to innkeeper to keep some stew warm for you two, my lord, my lady."

Bran nodded. "I appreciate the thought." He would have said more, but a shout from the side interrupted him.

"Hey, get off!" Ethan yelled, swatting at a cat that had climbed up his lap and onto the table. The cat did not budge. In fact, it stared directly at Randy. Lyanna's heart hammered as she looked into its eyes—she recognized that intelligent gleam.

"We've got a problem," the cat said in Bloodraven's voice.

"…Did that cat just talk?" Elbert asked—the only one, other than Randy, Thoros, and Lyanna herself, who's jaw didn't drop.

"Yes," Randy replied as he picked the cat up and headed for the exit. Lyanna and Thoros—despite her brother's protests—quickly followed.

He led them to the stables. The stableman arched a brow at them, but when Randy tossed a couple silvers his way and told him to 'get drunk' he was all too quick to leave them alone.

Randy placed Bloodraven on a stool just as Bran and the others joined them. "Lyanna," Bran asked, what is going on?"

"Ah, brother." Lyanna, despite her terrible unease, managed to smirk. "Say hello to Bloodraven. Bloodraven, my brother. And—"

"I know who they are," Bloodraven said with a huff. He focused on Randy. "Goldcloaks from King's Landing are travelling up the road, seeking you and Lyanna. They'll be here in the morning, perhaps sooner."

Cacophony erupted from Bran and the others. Until Randy held his right arm up, and it elongated to clamp over her brother's mouth. To make things worse, the flesh along his stretched arm bubbled, and more hands sprouted to clamp over the mouths of the other now-screaming men, keep their arms at their sides, and drag them into the stable and against its walls.

"Shut it," Randy said to them with a stern frown. Bran stared at Lyanna, eyes wide and imploring—and with no small amount of fear. She just shrugged, and turned her attention to the matter at hand.

"Can you slow the goldcloaks down?" Randy asked.

"I've tried," Bloodraven bitterly replied. "But I underestimated how weak my powers have become. I could only warg into two horses force them to kill their masters before I had to retreat. And the men barely stopped to bury them."

Randy arched a brow. "You've warged into more animals than that in a row."

"The horses fought back," Bloodraven replied. "It takes more effort to turn a tamed animal against its master compared to training a wild one against a stranger. The bonds—be they fear or love—run deep."

"Really? I know animals—certain kinds, at least—can feel emotions as well as any man, but they're so strong as to fight back against a warg?"

"It's a delicate balance," Bloodraven replied. He licked his fur. "You have to frame your intent as beneficial or neutral to their owner. Of course, before you came along, I could simply exert my will over their own and do whatever the hell I wanted, when I had more than enough power. If I were to try that now, however, it would destroy the animals' minds."

"In light of the circumstances I think it would be an appropriate measure."

"I'm not going to destroy some poor animal's mind just to benefit myself." Bloodraven scoffed. "They don't know any better."

Randy narrowed his eyes. "And children do?"

Bloodraven hissed, his fur standing on end. "That's different! The boy was damned regardless! I saved him!"

"You ruined his life."

"I helped him fly!"

"While this conversation is fascinating," Thoros interjected impatiently. "Could you please tell us of these goldcloaks?"

Bloodraven and Randy glared at each other, before they softened. "Aye, Thoros," Bloodraven said. "They are a dedicated group, as I said. The first of many, on orders from Prince Rhaegar."

Lyanna gasped. "How did he reach King's Landing and organize this so soon?

"He wouldn't have had to," Randy said bitterly. "He just needed to get himself to a keep with a rookery. Dammit!" He stomped his foot against the ground. "I can't believe I missed that."

"You think you're mad?" Bloodraven queried. "I call myself 'Bloodraven', how do you think I feel?"

"Yes, yes, you're both fools," Lyanna said before Randy could reply. "But that's not going to solve anything." She frowned at Randy. "Couldn't you just…you know…" she drew her thumb across her neck, and mimed eating an apple.

Randy smirked. "I'm not sure if I like where your head's at, but that would just escalate the situation. Also—sorry, one second." He turned towards the men he had wrapped up against the wall. "Could you guys not try to chew on my hands? It's not going to get you anywhere, and honestly, I might start biting back." To emphasize this, his flesh bubbled, and mouths sprouted up from his arms, snapping at Bran and the others.

An acrid scent wafted into the stables. But it was too dark to see just who had soiled themselves.

Lyanna prayed it wasn't her brother.

Randy huffed and turned back to them. "Where was I…Ah, right. Sooner or later Rhaegar, and his father, need to be dealt with."

Thoros and Lyanna exchanged worried stares. Thoros said, "Dealt with meaning…?"

"Nothing too drastic…Maybe. Still working out my tenth of a plan." Lyanna, despite everything, giggled at his ever dwindling plan. "But right now…how are everyone's horses?"

"I already checked them," Bloodraven said. "They're too tired to ride right now. They'll be fine come dawn, but no sooner. And there aren't enough horses in the stables for us to trade out."

"And I'm not about to leave anyone behind. To say nothing of the fact that running is just going to make things worse. Maldita sea!" Randy cursed in some language Lyanna didn't recognize, and muttered lowly to himself in said language.

Gods, but they were in such a mess, Lyanna thought. And if these goldcloaks caught them, it would be as if she were still missing. She couldn't imagine Rhaegar letting the truth of what he wanted to come out. Worse, he might lie to the kingdoms, and claime her a whore! Ruin her reputation and leave her no choice but to run to him for some semblance of safety. And no one would be any the wiser.

Just then, a thought came to her. "Randy," she said, "can you release Bran?"

"So long as he doesn't do anything stupid." Randy arched a brow at her brother, who rapidly nodded. Randy released him, and Bran quickly ducked under the extra appendages and stepped over to Lyanna.

"Bran." Her brother just stared in mute horror at Randy. "Bran." He still stared. "Brandon!" She clapped her hands in front of him.

He jolted, and turned his incredulous stare to her. "Lyanna—wha—who—what the fuck?!"

"Don't be stupid," she said cheerfully. "He's just a man with abilities far beyond what you and I can possible imagine!" Her brother's expression didn't change.

She sent him a flat look. "Bran, this is our life now, please get used it."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he made a concentrated effort to look only at Lyanna. "What do you need?" His voice cracked, but he held firm.

"Did you write to father before you left Riverrun?" He nodded. "Then you need to write two letters, to be delivered depending on whether or not the goldcloaks catch us in the morning. One stating that we're on our way to Riverrun, and another that we're being taken to King's Landing."

Bran wet his lips. "Alright. And how would I send these—ah, right." He gestured to Randy, Thoros, and Bloodraven. "The, er, warg. He can send the letters?"

"I can ind—koff!" Bloodraven hunched over gagged. Seconds later, he spat out a hairball. "Ugh, this is why I hate warging into cats."

"The rest of these men should craft their own letters to their families as well, no?" Thoros asked.

Brandon slowly nodded. "Just Kyle and Elbert. The Mallisters are in Riverrun, and the Glovers are travelling south with my father."

"Alright!" Randy release his hold on the others, his arms morphing back to a normal shape. Kyle, Ethan, Elbert and Jeffrey huddled together, as far away from Randy as possible. Not that he noticed, though, given that he was plucking quills from his skin, spat out sheets of paper, and pulled inkwells from his ears.

He held them out to Bran with a smile. "Here you go!" Bran pointedly refused to look at Randy. Randy—who absolutely knew what he was doing—elongated his fingers to shove them under Bran's nose.

Bran hastily grabbed the items, and walked over to his friends.

Kyle Royce shifted uncomfortably. "Can I, uh, change my breeches?

"Sure!" Randy replied. He stuck his hand down his throat, and pulled out an exact copy of Kyle's breeches.

"…On second thought, I'm fine." Randy shrugged, and slurped the pants up like they were soup.

Lyanna—proud of herself for no longer flinching away in fear when Randy did something terrifying—grabbed him by the arm and marched him over to Thoros and Bloodraven. "What's your plan?" she asked.

"Well, it's split off into twelfths, might end up being fifteenths by dawn." Randy tried for a smile, but ended with a grimace. "I'm sorry Lyanna, but it doesn't look like either of you can avoid going to King's Landing. Not without starting a war."

She tried to scowl, but just looked down at her feet despondently. "Westeros was damned the minute I accepted his attentions, wasn't I?"

"In a way," Bloodraven replied. "There were many pieces in play that led to Rhaegar and you coming together. The true catalyst, ultimately, came down to Rhaegar. However, given his history and…the pathways shown to him…he never really had a choice. "There was something in Bloodraven's voice that gave Lyanna pause, but she let it pass.

"So we're going to King's Landing," Thoros said.

Lyanna shook her head. "Thoros, I can't ask that of you."

"Well"—the red priest smirked—"good thing I'm not asking." Lyanna smiled sadly, before forcing cheer onto her face.

"Oh, let's not act as if we've already lost! I'm sure we'll be fine come morning!"

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They were not.

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A/N: Plot points! Divergences! Narrative Convention! All this and more, next time!