i. Rhaenys

Rhaenys is a small thing, in a way she reminds Rhaegar of Elia, which for some reason doesn't really bother him. Her hair is as dark as her eyes and she has her mother's pretty face, but his pale skin, and a sweet disposition to match. Also, she is restless. What child wouldn't be on such a long journey? "Patience, little one," Rhaegar says gently, stroking her fine tresses. He does love his little princess.

His daughter looks up at him with wide eyes and settles in his lap. She doesn't really understand why they've left mother and little brother behind, but father has come for her and that is the most important think. She looks longingly to the sea once again. She hopes that father will teach her how to swim now that she older than last year. Instead, he brings her to a tall tower.

Rhaegar takes Rhaenys in his arms as they pass the guards together. He throws Arthur a look, one that says that he should stay behind, and starts climbing the stairs. At the top he sees that Lyanna's door is already open. Rhaenys looks at him questioningly, but Rhaegar only smiles down at her and kisses the top of her head. Together they enter.

To his surprise, Lyanna is still abed, and she is not alone. Nestled in her arms is a small babe, not older than a few days maybe. A knot forms in Rhaegar's throat at the sight. Lyanna looks at him with a surprised, but tender expression on her face. "My Lord, you have returned. And you've brought Rhaenys with you." She smiles at the shy child in Rhaegar's arms. "Would you like to sit next to me?"

The girl nods her head slowly, weary from her journey. Rhaegar deposits his daughter on the bed, and looks at the child in Lyanna's arms who has his mother's colouring and serious face. Lyanna timidly pats Rhaenys' hair, momentarily looking away from Rhaegar. Though she is speaking to him. "I know you were expecting a Visenya, alas 'tis a son. I've named him Jon." It is not a Targaryen name. Then she does look at him. "I know what happened, with my father and my brother."

"I'm sorry." And that is really all that he can tell her about that subject, inadequate and insufficient as it is. It was never supposed to be like this. Elia had never wanted him, and Rhaegar had never wanted her. She loved Arthur, and he Lyanna. And at that time the plan seemed brilliant. No one had counted on Lyanna's brother to come demanding his head. And now, well now it is too late to change anything.

"Would you do anything for me?" Lyanna asks as Rhaenys falls asleep, curling herself against her. "If I told you that I do not want to be Queen, would you run away with me?" One hand instinctively sets itself upon Rhaenys' head. "Let's go far away. Pentos, Lys, Volantis even."

And Rhaegar looks then to his daughter. He has been raised for the Throne. All his years he thought he would one day become a King, like his father before him. But would that make him happy? "Elia and I have terminated our marriage." But he had married Lyanna well before than in the godswood of her people, with its snow white trees and carved faces. "I think Volantis would suit us better." Volantis with its hot and humid atmosphere. Will Lyanna manage to adapt, he wonders? "Would you rather that I send you back?"

"No. I am your wife now. There's no changing that. Had I wanted to go back, I would have." Rhaenys stirs slightly, Jon sleeps on. "I don't regret choosing you. But we could have explained it to father. He would have understood." But not approved, yet Lyanna still think that if it had come to that, Rickard would have broken her betrothal to Robert. "I want to write to my brothers."

Thus her will is done, and Lyanna sends word to her brother, recounting all that had happened. She dares not offer apologies, but simply explains how it has all come to be. Thought I am ashamed to say nothing could be done to save Lady Lyanna and her child, a daughter, stillborn, and neither could we stop the Prince when he decided to follow them, she ends the letter, because it is safer this way. With that Lyanna sets about her mourning for the dead. The peace that is eventually reached is a tenuous thing at best.

Again she finds herself on the sea, this time only her, Rhaegar and the children. Lyanna finds it is so easy to love children, and a steadily growing fondness is instilled into her for these innocent, little eyes that watch her as if she were sun. With time it gets easier to forget and forgive, not only others, but herself too, for Lyanna is not as mindless as to think she didn't have her part in all this.

"She looks a lot like her mother," Lyanna comments softly, as she and Rhaegar watch Rhaenys sleep. Sometimes she wonders if he misses Elia, despite his claims not to have loved her.

"Yes, she does." But the strange thing is that he is looking at her as he says that. Rhaegar glances at Jon. "As does her brother." He smiles, a gentle curving of his lips.

Waves rock the ship, and Rhaegar feels Lyanna placing her head on his shoulder. Briefly he thinks of foolish prophecies, and promptly dismisses them all. This is not what he has promised Lyanna when she came with him from the North. But their story is far from a fairytale; this is not a song they'll sing to young maidens. This is real life.

Lyanna hums a lullaby, and Rhaegar can see that a mistake is only as grave as people make it, for he loves his Lyanna, and if he were to choose again, he would still choose this.

ii. Jon

Volantis is wondrous and terrible at the same time. Lyanna holds Rhaenys' hand tight in hers, Jon held with her other arm as they walk the busy streets. She tries not to stare at the tattooed faces. "Come now, Rhaenys," she tells the little girl whose short legs are putting in a lot of effort to keep up, "we are almost home." Or rather, what is now her new home. It's not much, Lyanna thinks. But it's good enough to have a roof over one's head, so she can't complain. "Would you like it if I peeled some oranges for you?"

"Yes!" Rhaenys replies quickly, and even Jon echoes his older sister. These two are fond of the fruit, and whenever Lyanna has the money she'll buy some. It's not often. "Please do, mother. It's been so long since we've had any." Jon agrees rather vehemently.

Rhaegar is not yet back, Lyanna knows and she would sigh, but that worries the children, and she doesn't want frightened eyes on her. After all, he's only late by a day or two. It's happened before and it can be expected. He tries so hard to keep them all.

"Can we go to the lakes later?" Jon asks, eagerly pulling on the rough material of her dress. His small hands can wreak havoc on any of Lyanna's garments if she lets him. Thus the mother pries his fingers away with a short sound of impatience.

"Not today, love, I am not feeling well." And the gods know she hasn't. She would blame it on the heat, but it's been years since it hasn't affected her like this. "Maybe we'll go tomorrow. Or your father can take you when he returns."

"That's not fair!" the boy complains, his voice a low whine. "That's what you said yesterday too."

"Hush, now." Lyanna chides, placing him on his feet. "Go open the door and make sure that damnable cat hasn't gotten into the wheat again. Rhaenys, help your brother, will you?" As expected the cat is there, indeed, lounging about in the wheat. The children shoo the beast away and Lyanna makes a disapproving sound when it climbs in the corner of their small table, watching her intently. "Away with you, cat!" She sets about peeling the oranges when the animal mews softly. Giving it a look of disinterest, Lyanna pulls the skin off of the fruit. "You don't like these."

The cat is a stray, taken in by Rhaenys and Jon, because children that they are they couldn't let it out in the streets. So one day Lyanna came home to see the beast curled up in the middle of her bed, leaving tiny hairs on the blanket. She's oddly fond of the pest by now however.

Jon comes rushing back in, screaming at the top of his lungs. "Father's back! Mother, come quick, Rhaenys, you too!" And of course he doesn't wait for them before dashing off. Rhaenys shoots after her brother, gaining rapidly on him.

"Gods help us all," the mother murmurs, straightening her dress. She follows the children out. "Leave your father be!" she calls after them. Poor Rhaegar, he must be tired. And those two are at their sharpest.

Yet even tired he picked each one up, hauling them under his arms, bringing them closer to the door. He smiles at Lyanna, and puts both children down. "Did you miss me?" he asks. Sure enough, he is assaulted by a torrent of confirmations. "I've missed you too." With that he kisses each child's forehead. He hands a small bundle to Rhaenys and one to Jon.

Pleased by such offering they head off into one of the two rooms, shouting their thankfulness. "You'll spoil them rotten," wife says with no real fire behind the words. But she does wrap her arms around him and kisses him in greeting.

"How have you been getting along?" He does hope the children haven't been giving her trouble. Being away for long periods of time unsettles him. "Is everything alright?"

"Of course," she replies, waving his concern away. "Come on in, you must be tired and hungry."

He inclines his head, but lingers awhile longer, watching her from the doorway. Finally his eyes land on the cat, and he smiles. "I see Balerion is keeping you company. And here I've been worried you might get lonely in my absence."

"He's certainly been around," Lyanna huffs. "Aye, the Black Dread, indeed! He's been sleeping in the wheat again. I have to get rid of at least half of it now. One of these days I'll throw him out."

"I doubt it," Rhaegar says, sitting at the table. The cat speeds past Lyanna and starts rubbing itself against his legs. He scratches the animal behind its ear.

"Right you are, Rhaenys and Jon would never let me." She fills a plate with food. "I think it is you they've inherited the stubbornness from. The gods know it can't be from me." The oranges are still on the table, half peeled. Lyanna sets the food before him and finishes her previous task. "I'll take these to the children."

And she's gone but a moment, but he feels the emptiness as keenly as he has all this time that he's been away. When she returns, she sits herself next to him, quietly peeling another orange she then takes apart. "And have you missed me?"

Gray eyes snap to him. "I've saved this for you." She hands him the orange. And because she has missed him, she won't tell him. He breaks it in half, handing her one. "How long are you staying?"

"A week, maybe more," he says. Precious little, that. "If things go well, a month even."

"What things?" He does this sometimes, does things without telling her. "What have you done now?" Though she isn't at all displeased, if only because he usually does end up staying longer with her and the children.

"Try to guess, wife," he issues the challenge with an almost bored air.

iii. Gaemon

Sometimes news reaches them from Westeros, little things, like the fact that Robert Baratheon sits the throne. That he has taken the Lannister maiden for his Queen. That he has a son by her already and a daughter. When that does happen, Lyanna simply places her hand on Rhaegar's shoulder. They both know what it means. Alas, he has made his choice and nothing can be changed.

By the time Gaemon is born, Lyanna can speak bastard Valyrian better than she can her mother tongue. She knows it so well that Rhaegar jokes, saying that if they ever return to Westeros she'll not even understand what the people there say.

Sweet and bitter, they go so well together. Lyanna rocks Gaemon gently, shooing Balerion away. The cat mews its displeasure but complies, probably aware that if Gaemon awakes it won't be safe. Shaking her head gently, the mother glances down to her son. Thick silver hair and strong violet eyes. He looks very much like Rhaegar in that but the shape of his face is hers.

"Won't you play something?" she asks her husband who still hasn't released the harp from his grip. It's an old thing, really, nothing like the harp he played at Harrenhal. But it is sturdy and clear, and Rhaegar is a true master of his art. He plays beautifully still.

Life gets better, despite the many thorns that still appear. Who would have guessed that Rhaegar has a head for figures? Or that he can do so well when a small sum of money? Lyanna doesn't deny his talents are many. By no means are they the lord and lady they once were. Their children are most certainly not going to be knight and ser and lady. But they have each other and that is more than enough.

"Don't you ever wonder how they are, your surviving brothers? Do you not want to know if they have wives and children of their own?" Melancholy is not a sour aftertaste, rather a gentle stirring. "It's been years and years."

Placing Gaemon on the bed, Lyanna turns to Rhaegar after a moment of silence and catches his face between her hands. "Not enough by half," she replies. "Rhaegar, people don't just forget you. Not the ones that knew you well. My brothers, they are survivors." Her fingers make for his shoulders using them to support herself. "We can't go back. You know that Robert is king."

"He can keep his crown." It is not that Rhaegar hasn't settled well into his new life. But he is human, made of dreams, made to yearn for what he cannot achieve, simply because it exists and it is there, just beyond his reach. Violet eyes rest on Lyanna's face. The determined set of her lips and the slight twitch of her jaw. She's winning as she's always done.

There are, of course, some events they just don't speak of. What has happened to his father? What of his mother? His brother and his sister, who had been born long after they had already left, there is no words on them. Lyanna has heard Rhaegar pacing up and down the length of the room too many nights to count. He wants to search for them. But where? Lyanna does understand but it's a great risk. So instead he concentrates on her family, when he should really just busy himself with their family.

"Aye, he can keep his crown." Her agreement comes as a filler to the silence that has fallen between them. Lyanna bends down and brushes her lips to his. At the very least she can chase those thoughts away for a time. Fingers twirl a lock of pear white hair. "The children are all asleep. Balerion has curled up in bed with Gaemon. Everyone is off into the dreamland. Should we not join them?"

He lifted her with ease, silencing her laughter with a long kiss. There are night such as these when she is like a vine, wrapping around him and holding him tight. It is rather grounding, to know that she needs him as much as he needs her at times. "Dreamland? I should think you would first like to see the stars."

Stars, Lyanna agrees silently, her eyes lingering just a moment longer on her youngest son's face. Rhaenys is asleep, Jon has followed her example. "You've showed me more than I have ever thought I would see." They've had such a life together. It is a pity to throw it all away for illusions. Lyanna won't allow that. She has to be the one to keep them all together. "But show it to me again. Show me the stars and show me the glow of the moon."

Nights in the North were feasts of stars whenever it was not snowing. Lyanna remembers the wonder and the magic. It was one such night when she ran away with Rhaegar. The moon had shined down upon them lighting the way. He'd led and she's followed, then it came her turn to lead and his to follow. And now they are here.

Gods be willing they will find the others too. Viserys and the sister and his mother. But not the king. Lyanna would not open her house for that man. It was by his orders that her brother dies, that her father burned. She can't forgive that. She won't forgive it.

Yet she knows that some dragons can curl lovingly around the wolves. So her sharp teeth and even sharper tongue set to caressing and not cutting. Eventually every deed gets its payment and if justice doesn't touch the king in this life it shall be dealt upon him in the other. Rhaegar is not his father, nothing like the madman. The Gods are not that cruel; they would not take so much from her and give nothing in return. The trade is not fair, like giving one finger for another, but it is a game of the gods.

iv. Daenerys

"We'll be back soon," Jon insists when Lyanna doesn't seem like she might release him from her embrace anytime soon. He pulls away gently, making an annoyed face as his mother presses a kiss to his cheek.

"I cannot help it," Lyanna confesses. "This is the first time I won't have you with me." Normally, Rhaegar leaves the children in her care when he negotiates business. However, her husband is determined to teach his oldest son now that Jon is almost grown. Lyanna is part proud and part fearful. As any other mother, she imagines.

"You'll have Gaemon," Rhaegar cuts in gently. Gaemon squirms in his father's arms, hands still locked around his neck. "Come now, son. You must remain here and protect your mother and sister."

"But I want to go too," the youngest of the children complains. He produces a shrill sort of whine. "I want to go too, father. Take me with you."

Lyanna shares a mildly exasperated look with Rhaegar. Gaemon is the most stubborn of the children. And he has the excuse of being yet a child. "Enough, my sweet," Lyanna tells her son. She pries his arms away from Rhaegar's neck and puts him down. "What shall we do if not even you remain here with us, Gaemon?"

He looks up with his dark violet eyes and pouting lips. "Truly? You need me?" He hesitated a moment, yet his face brightened at his mother's nod. He nodded back to her and then looked at his father again. "I'm staying. But just because mother is asking."

Rhaegar smiles at the young boy and lowers himself on one knee. "Next time, I'll take you with me and leave Jon here. Will that satisfy?" He laughs when Gaemon nods eagerly. "Very well, then the matter is settled."

When Rhaegar first mentioned Braavos, Lyanna was unsure; she still is. There is something in the air which she doesn't like. Alas, she sees the two off, remaining with Gaemon and Rhaenys behind in their new home.

For the rest of the day there is little to do but further familiarise herself with the rest of house. Rhaenys takes Gaemon out for a short stroll, promising she'll be back soon to help with the cooking. Although it is no longer necessary for her to prepare the food, as by now they can afford to have someone else do it, old habits die hard and coins are earned with much difficulty. Besides, Lyanna has found that she doesn't dread the pots and spices as much as she used to as a girl.

"Mother. Mother!" Lyanna is startled out of her thoughts by Rhaenys' yells from outside. She had been about to climb the spiralling stairs to the upper level, when the door is thrown open and Rhaenys hurriedly walks in, pulling Gaemon after her, but more importantly a silver haired young girl. She seems a pale and thin creature, small in height and with a pair of violet eyes lighter than her husband's. Oh, but Lyanna is transfixed.

"Rhaenys, what is the meaning of this?" she asks a moment later, frowning lightly. "You cannot simply drag people where you want them to go." The girl is hidind behind Rhaenys, eyes wide and fearful. Lyanna realises that she must have raised her voice. "Gracious, but do come out of there, dear, and introduce yourself. One might like to know who they are inviting into their home."

The unknown child steps out from behind Rhaenys. "I am Daenerys of House Targaryen." She bites on her lower lip. "And this is my home too. I grew up here." This is a girl filled with fright, Lyanna considers. "Are you really Lyanna Stark?"

For some reason she cannot hold Daenerys' gaze. Lyanna looks down for a moment. "I used to be. I am just Lyanna now." To be faced with the result – even indirect one – of one's actions is never particularly easy.

"She's my aunt," Gemon pipes in, blissfully unaware of the situation they are all in. Daenerys flushes brightly, but she does have a smile for the boy. "And Rhaenys'."

An uncomfortable silence fells over them. Daenerys steps forward, her lips move but no sound comes out. She blinks and clears her throat, holds her hand out and the sleeve falls back, revealing bruised skin. "I want to see my brother."

"Rhaegar is not here at the moment. He shall return in a few days." Lyanna approaches her cautiously. "Does that hurt?" She nods towards the bruise.

As if just realising what she'd revealed, Daenerys jumps back. "I shall return. Later." She makes to turn back, but just then Balerion jumps out of whatever dark corner he had been hiding in. A short shriek bursts past Daenerys' lips, she loses her footing and falls backwards.

Quick and nimble, Rhaenys catches her aunt. Being the older and taller of the two, Rhaenys finds it easy to hold up the other girl. Lyanna is next to them in a flash. There is a small amused smile on her face. Not at the expense of her guest, of course. She must find a way to convince Daenerys to remain with them longer still. She notices that Balerion had torn a slit into the pretty skirts of the girl's dress.

"But you must remain with us," Lyanna insists. "I should like to repair the dress. And after we shall take you wherever you wish to go."

"Oh, I can't stay. Viserys would be so mad." Her face grows paler.

And then Lyanna understands. It is plain to read in the child's expression. "Nay, you shall stay." They take her into the sunniest parlour in the house and Lyanna asks to have food and drink brought. "Drink some," she offers a glass of sweetened milk to Daenerys.

The child is much too shy and obedient to attempt disobedience. Lyanna determines that she may keep her here for a few hours, but she shall have to take her to wherever her brother is. And then she will have found Viserys Targaryen too.

v. Viserys

He has too much of their father in him. Rhaegar frowns at the young man before him and wonders if there is anything that may yet be done. Viserys has launched himself in an impetuous speech, he talks of reclaiming their home and becoming the Targaryens of the old again. This leads to Rhaegar doubting the boy can see the reality of the world. He speaks of war, but he has no army. He talks about dragons and cheering crowds, but not about lord and politics. Whoever cared for his brother and his sister was an optimist.

"Viserys, stop," Rhaegar finally speaks. "No more, brother mine. No more, I beg of you." Dark violet clashes with lilac. "Do your ears hear what your mouth says? It is impossible." The tension intensifies and in that moment Rhaegar sees something dreadful and familiar in his brother's eyes.

"Yet you fought a war for a woman," his brother hisses, vitriol coating the statement, or rather complaint.

At that Rhaegar has to laugh. He laughs and laughs until Viserys' anger turns to confusion. There is no amusement, of course. It is rather incredulity and pain and a strange sense of defeat. If people are so foolish as to believe wars are fought for a woman's skirts, then the world must not be right. Viserys continues to stare at him, a question in his gaze. He sits down and waits for the explanation he can feel coming.

"Men fight for lands and power, they fight for kingdoms and riches." Rhaegar drums his fingers on the wood of the low table. "I fought because I was challenged. I fought because it was the King's order. I fought for my throne." But not for Lyanna. She is and always has been his. Why fight for something he knows to be his, a part of him.

"But, you ran away with her," Viserys says quietly. Confusion is written all over his face. "Her brother, her betrothed, they demanded her back."

"They also demanded my head," Rhaegar confirms. But the other Houses would have had no business interfering. "Yet when the cut is made, all beasts go for the kill. I lost the war, Viserys. We lost. Why would I want another war?"

"The throne is our birthright," the younger one points out. This has been going on enough already. Viserys must understand that Rhaegar will not leave the Free Cities. He has found his peace here.

"If it's a fight you long for, there are enough to be had here." His voice is hard as steel and his eyes sparkle with something like cruelty. His temper has been slowly rising and he is quite close to releasing it. These are things he could have never told their father. But Rhaegar won't let Viserys go without a fight. "The throne has chosen another. It is time to let the matter go."

There is, of course, a small part of himself that cries out for blood. For more than half of his life, Rhaegar though it would be his destiny. But he has found that sometimes one does not get what one wishes exactly the way one wished it. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

Standing to his feet, Rhaegar sends one last look to his brother. "The choice is yours, of course. You may continue as you were, or you can come with me and your sister." And the rest of his family. Likely it won't be much help by the way Viserys glares. But he has to try.

This is not the boy he once knew. This is not the happy child who used to cling to their mother's skirts. Before him is a man grown. A man who resembles their father. The gods can be cruel at times, so very cruel. And yet, the joy and the grief are equal in his breast. Rhaegar wants to reach out and pull Viserys after him. But this must be his choice.

They remain is silence, still as statues. Just a little more and he shall leave, Rhaegar decides. A moment longer though. If Viserys comes with him he'll have gained a brother. If not, the loss is bearable like so many others before this one.

Lilac eyes cloud over. For a brief moment it seems like he will lash out. His lips tremble, perhaps in an effort to keep the words inside. Rhaegar lowers his head and turns around. He starts walking towards the door. It is enough.

"Wait!" He turns his head in time to see Viserys scrambling to his feet and hurrying after him. "Wait." His brother places a hand on his shoulder. "If we come with you," he still speaks for his sister, "you shan't leave us once more? Do I have your oath?"

The fears of a child plague him. Rhaegar feels pity blooming inside of him. "I won't leave you again. You have my word."

Daenerys enters then, a small slip of a girl with wide trusting eyes. She gives them a tremulous smile and rushes into Rhaegar's arms. He can feel her relief. And his own. He shall be able to care for her properly.

Lyanna has been right to push him to them. "Pack everything that you wish to take with you." There is little enough anyway. He'll have to remember to have Lyanna take them to the market. For the time being, though, he is content to have his sister's satchel placed in his hands.

It is far from perfect. But he now has some of the missing pieces he missed before. Rhaegar closes his eyes in silent prayer. He thanks the gods for their generosity. They leave together, the three of them, and whatever can be taken from the house.

At her request Daenerys is allowed on the horse Rhaegar rode here. She brushes her palm along the beast's neck and Rhaegar thinks that perhaps it should be horses that they buy first at the market. Viserys walks to his left, his expression calm, but slightly curious.

All shall turn out well; Rhaegar feels it in his bones as the sun's rays caress them all.

vi. Aegon VI

Connington is determined to have Rhaegar's support. "By rights, the throne should be yours. I do not understand why you won't take it. But at least aid your son." Aegon Targaryen sits, stunned, at Connington's side. The boy, for he is that despite the all the training he has had, glances towards the other children of his, supposed, father every now and again, as if he cannot quite believe his eyes. He does not speak. "The realm is rebelling. This is our chance."

Viserys, who is actually that one that found Connington and the Young Griff, is more than thrilled to offer his support. Gaemon has hidden behind his older brother whose face has gone white and Rhaenys is watching the scene unfold with deceptively calm a gaze. Daenerys sits with Balerion on her lap and her expression is tinged with interest.

"What forces have joined you, my lord, that you speak as if the result were assured?" Lyanna questions. Her brother, Ned, is dead, killed by the close friendship with Robert Baratheon the first of his name. The irony is almost biting.

"The North for one, my lady. If you were to write to them, surely they would rally their forces and join us." Jon Connington looks at her with piercing eyes. "It is time to do the right thing."

The fool has no idea what the right thing is. Rhaegar sighs. "That would mean one kingdom against the rest." Even when half the realm had been on his side he lost.

"Dorne will join, provided that we agree to a wedding between Princess Arianne and Aegon." Another one of those unions. Rhaegar looks away for a brief moment. "The Riverlands and the Vale may yet be convinced."

"If they hesitate to fight for my brother's son," Lyanna cuts in, her eyes flashing, "what makes you think they shall follow the call of exiles? My lord, the risk is great." Robb Stark is barely their Jon's age. He is a child leading an army.

"The reward is even greater." Connington describes in details these rewards. But Rhaegar knows what hides beneath. Lyanna knows. The children don't.

For the Martells it is advantageous. They will have avenged Elia and her son will sit the throne and his queen shall be a Martell also. But Rhaegar knows that if he accepts, his family shall be torn apart. If he goes back, he will have to take the throne. And in doing so, he will need allies. The Martells will only be appeased if he shows deference to his first, now deceased, wife.

"I need time to consider this, Connington," Rhaegar speaks.

Jon Connington glances at him as if he has won. "No more than a few days, Your Majesty."

It is agreed upon that they shall meet again in three days and then the decision shall be made, signed and sealed. Connington leaves and the Young Griff follows. Aegon Targaryen they call him, when in fact he is no Targaryen at all.

"Leave us, all of you," Rhaegar says, sending the children on their way. Viserys protests, but he too is made to follow after the young ones. "See that they are safe."

Lyanna remains, a sour expression on her face. "He is not your son." She cuts him with a stare. "You would risk everything for that stupid iron chair." She too knows what will happen if she accepts. "Rhaegar, I love you."

"And I you." He takes her in his arms and muffles her sobs into his shoulder. "That won't change. I shall love you for however long we live and I shall love you after their scatters our ashes into the wind." He strokes her hair gently. "He has the potential of being a good king."

His wife stiffens. "I understand." She pulls away from his embrace and wipes away the traces of her sorrow. Lyanna can read conviction in his eyes. "I shall write to this nephew of mine and see what comes of it." She looks at the door for a brief moment. "Rhaenys will need help packing."

"Only Rhaenys?" Rhaegar asks. He eyes Lyanna with something like grief. "Are you certain, my love?" The hope is too frail to last, of course.

"Only Rhaenys, husband." She makes to climb to her feet, but thinks better of it. "If it were only I, you would have me by your side. The censure I could take, and the unkind words and the whispered curses. But I cannot do that to our children. It is best we stay."

They understand one another all too well. "We shall tell them on the third day." It is easier that way. But for whom?

"We shan't. I shall do it," Lyanna corrects softly. "I shall tell them all they need to know."

There is nothing to do after but to hold her. These are precious moments, moments that he has to engrave in his mind. All too soon, they'll be gone. Lyanna, Jon and Gaemon, he will never see them again in this lifetime. Whatever her faults, his wife does not lie about her intentions. And mayhap she is right. It would be torture to have her so close, back in her beloved Winterfell, and unable to see her. She would be his wife only in his own eyes.

That he cannot stand. he cannot think about causing her that sort of pain. "Whatever you shall do, husband," she says, fingers sliding through his, "I will not hear of it. We will be dead to each other and when we are dead to other too, then we shall be free to love again."

With heavy hearts they leave the room. Lyanna fashions a kind smile to wear and Rhaegar hides heartache behind a calm façade.

Gaemon in the first to see them. He runs through the small garden, almost trampling on Rhaenys' roses. The boy throws himself in his father's arms. Jon and Rhaenys smile, looking up from their shared work. They follow their brother's path.

And all of them are curious.

"It started when your mother and I were still in Westeros," Rhaegar began the tale.