A/N: To Reader: Thank you very much. :)

"Why does father wish to see me?" Lysa asked, tugging lightly upon the embroidery she had been working on. Catelyn gently took her arms and pushed her firmly out in the hallway, without offering a word n answer. Lysa, though, would not be discouraged by the initial refusal. "Come, Cat, you always know why he wants to see me."

Catelyn merely shook her head. "I cannot tell you anything," she replied in the end as Lysa rocked back on her heels. She then proceeded to arrange the skirts and Lysa's hair. "Father wishes to speak with you, Lysa, and you had best be on your way, else he shall be cross with both of us.

Shrugging, the youngest of the Tully sisters followed the path to her father's solar, wondering what she could have possibly done to warrant a speech. She had been, to her mind, exceedingly well-behaved. She hadn't even teased Cat about her betrothal. Lysa sighed as she reached the door of her father's solar. She knocked on it gently, hoping that he wouldn't hear and she could pretend that she had done as she was told and go back to her play. Unfortunately, Lord Tully's hearing was not at all in peril, even more, he could hear the soft scrape of her slippers on the floorboards.

"Enter," came her father's voice from behind the heavy door.

Left with no alternative, Lysa pushed her whole weight against the door and it opened with a loud sound. She tumbled in with a giggle and was met with her father's hard stare. Arranging herself in a more becoming position, Lysa allowed an innocent smile on her lips. Hoster Tully's gaze softened on the youngest of his daughters. He even smiled at her and with a nod invited the girl to have a seat. That quelled any fear she might have had.

"You wished to see me, father?" Lysa asked sweetly, toying with a tendril of auburn hair. Her natural shyness asserted itself and her gaze fell to the ground, carefully studying the polished wood at her feet. Patience had never been among her more refined qualities and she found that sitting still was growing more difficult with each passing moment.

Hoster seemed to take pity on her and, after what had looked to her to be interminable moments of silence, he spoke. "I have received a letter, my dear Lysa, and I would like to acquaintance you with its contents."

At that her head shot up, blue eyes widening in wonder. "A letter? Is it for me?" There would be no other reason for which her father would wish to read it to her. But if it had been addresses to her, why was father reading it in the first place? Her face flushed and some of the pleasure dissipated as those considerations took root in her heart.

"Not at all, daughter. The letter was addressed to me," Hoster corrected her gently. "It was penned by the Lord Hand on the Seven Kingdoms." And that was news indeed.

"Is it a tourney?" Lysa questioned before Hoster could continue. She might even convince father to allow her to watch the joust. And some brave knight would wear her favour and win and crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty. A longing sigh left her lips.

"Nay, 'tis no tourney," her father answered. The vision before her eyes vanished. Lysa's shoulders slumped. "It is something infinitely better."

"Better than a tourney?" Blue eyes watched the slip of paper suspiciously. What could possibly be better than a tourney? Lysa understood that her father wished her to guess the content of the letter, but for the life of her she could not think of one thing better than a tourney. There would have been knights and ladies and a crown of flowers. Her mournful expression continued to dominate her features. "I do not know, father," she replied truthfully enough. There was no use in prolonging the wait.

"Oh, Lysa. Don't upset yourself," Hoster laughed softly. "I daresay, there will be many a tourney where you shall turn the heads of the knights. Think only, they will trip over themselves to gain your favour." His compliments brought a pleasant flush to her cheeks and a smile to her lips. "Leave all thoughts of tourneys behind for a moment. Is there nothing else you wish for?"

"I want a betrothed, like Cat. He must be brave and handsome." Her fingers entwined as she delivered her heartfelt wish into her father's hands. "Oh, and he must love me as much as I love him." Just like her sister and Brandon Stark, the young girl thought.

"Then you are in luck," Hoster broke through her train of thought. "The Lord Hand has a brave and handsome son and he is in need of a wife for him."

"Jaime Lannister?" Lysa exclaimed. She could not believe her ears. "Oh, is that true? Jaime Lannister wishes to wed me?" Her hands came up to rest on her cheeks and press gently against the soft skin. Jaime Lannister was as handsome as the Prince himself, or so she'd heard it said. He was definitely better looking than Brandon Stark or whatever other suitor her sister had. Not even Petyr could match him.

"I trust it pleases you." Hoster nodded. "Then, do I have your permission to begin negotiations?" The question was more or less spoken jokingly. Lysa knew that she could not refuse such a match.

And indeed she wouldn't, for nothing in the world. Cat could keep her frozen walls and castles of snow and her Brandon Stark. Lysa would someday be the Lady of Casterly Rock and she would give her husband brave and strong sons and beautiful daughters. Her wide smile might have been answer enough for her father, but Lysa nodded eagerly just to strengthen her meaning. It seemed that words had deserted her at such grand news. A hand pressed to her bosom, Lysa concentrated on breathing. Only after that did she managed to form a proper response.

"Do father, do. Write back with haste. I wish to be Jaime Lannister's bride." Her enthusiasm brought a pleased smile on Hoster's lips.

She was dismissed after. Lysa happily trailed down the corridor, wondering where she might find Cat to share with her the news. Her sister would be so thrilled, Lysa knew. Her only grief was that mother would never know. If only she were still alive. Minisa Whent would have danced with her daughter, spinning them around in circles. The mere thought of it brought a smile to her lips. "Oh, mother. You would have been so proud." As proud as Cat would be.

Her sister had taken herself to the kitchens. She was discussing with the cook, her tall and lean form framed by the glow of the fire and the light coming from without. Catelyn turned her head slightly at Lysa's arrival and gave her sister a soft quirk of lips. She exchanged a few quick words with the cook after which she turned fully to Lysa. "What are you doing here in that dress, Lysa?" she chided gently. "You'll ruin the hem."

"It doesn't matter," Lysa replied airily. She would have many more dresses when she was wedded. "I have such news to tell you. Come quickly," she called. However, excitement would not allow her to wait for Cat. She turned and ran up the stairs, her sister a mere three paces behind. She could hardly wait.

Together they made their way to Catelyn's chamber where no one would disturb them. There her older sister sat down on the bed. "Now will you tell me what you've had me running for?"

"Do you really not know why father called me to his solar? Truly?" Lysa questioned, plopping herself down next to Catelyn.

"I haven't an inkling," Catelyn answered solemnly. "Truly I do not. Father would not discuss it with me. He said it was to be a surprise."

"And what a surprise it was," Lysa sighed. "You won't believe it, Cat. You won't believe who wishes to court me." Catching her sister's hands in her own, Lysa swung them up and down. "Can you guess?"

Catelyn laughed. "I wouldn't know where to begin. Do tell me who it is, sister." Lysa shook her head. Catelyn drew in a sharp breath. "Very well, I'll try to guess, but only once."

"Only once," Lysa promised, putting on her best solemn face.

"Well, let us see." Catelyn made a show of thinking on potential suitors. She opened her mouth a few times but closed it without a word. Her blue eyes narrowed in concentration and her fingers drummed against her kneecap slowly. "Ah, I've got it. It's Lord Walder Frey."

Horror bloomed on Lysa's face. "Catelyn!" She giggled madly nonetheless. "I said suitor, not a creature of the swamp that could make small children cry." Both laughed at the accurate description of their father's bannerman.

"Then who is it, Lysa, that has you in such a mood?" Catelyn asked with a smile on her face.

"Jaime Lannister," Lysa answered with obvious pride, her cheeks reddening. Her triumph was most keenly explained in details for her sister to hear and wonder at.

"I am so pleased for you," Catelyn said at the end, throwing her arms around Lysa.

Jeyne Farman worried a handkerchief between her fingers, her round plump chin trembling. The agony of uncertainty rubbed her raw, stealing even the fleeting measure of peace she had managed to grab onto previously. There was a reason, of course. Motivation played a large part and fear even a larger one.

Far from having any illusions of bravery, Jeyne could honestly say she was a coward. Horses galloping at a high speed scared her. Sharp edged swords scared her. Yelling voices scared her. Old witches with burning eyes scared her. The dark scared her. But most of all Cersei Lannister scared her. Jeyne had learned that the true lion at the Rock – in the absence of the good Lord Hand – was his daughter. It was Cersei to whom all deferred. It was Cersei who doled out rewards and punishments. In fact, it had been Cersei who had one of the maids stripped down and beaten raw and bloody on the suspicion of having stolen a golden chain. It was later proven that the chain had simply fallen in a nook in the wall. Still, the maid had lost an eye and the use of one leg, and Cersei could not bear her face, so she had been dismissed.

Cersei Lannister held the power in the lion's household and none dared contradict or even annoy her for fear of sharing a similar fate to the servant girl's. So of course that when Cersei said that Melara had eloped, Jeyne had agreed – quite vocally – for love of her neck.

Had she illusions of bravery or uncommon rightfulness, they would have been crashed to pieces under the weight and magnitude of her lie. But she hadn't. So her head had continued to rest comfortably atop her shoulders, while poor Melara was only the gods knew where, doing no one knew what.

Perhaps she had tried to walk home and lost herself in the woods, Jeyne had tried to console herself after the first few days. Then Melara's father had arrived and tore through the keep, insisting loudly that his daughter would not have run away and that the note she had – presumably – left was a fake. And Jeyne knew, she just knew, that whatever followed it would not be pretty. Cersei had been locked in her chambers, isolated from anyone and everyone, while her brother – Jaime, that was – had protested the treatment, only to earn himself a few choice words from the Lord Hand.

Normally, Jeyne would have enjoyed the presence of Cersei's twin. She knew that it would probably be Melara he preferred, but she could not help thinking him handsome. It helped that he was a ward of Lord Crakehall and rarely came to visit. As an old saying went, absence only makes the heart grow fonder. She found, however, that long stints in the company of Jaime left one empty and hurt. He liked best cutting people with a wit close to his sister's. Jeyne resolved to watch him from afar when she could.

In the meantime, the men had doubled the efforts of their search. Jeyne had thought that they would find her at some point and all would end well, however, the days passed one after the other and no one knew a thing. Suspicion had turned into horror and slowly bled into despair. Yet Jeyne had held her tongue. She would say only what she knew Cersei would want her to say. Years after, she would recall with startling clarity the nauseating feeling that took over her in the morning when Lord Tywin called her to his solar. So unusual was the summoning that Jeyne promptly cast all her account of the Septa's new dress, ruining it beyond repair and earning herself a few angry stares. She swallowed back the urge to weep.

Dressed in one of her best gowns that did nothing for her figure, Jeyne was marched to the Lord Tywin's solar by her angered Septa who left her there on her own as one of the squires announced her. She heard the invitation for her to step in and instinctively her body moved to follow the implied order. No one dared ignore the Lord Hand when he spoke.

To her amazement, the Lord Hand was not alone. A docile looking man sat on one of the chairs, his fingers picking from a cluster of grapes only those pieces that looked fat and juicy. A chill speared her then. Jeyne lowered her gaze and bent the knee in a tipsy curtsy. "My lords," she greeted in a voice so soft she feared they might not hear her and think her defiant. She would surely receive a beating for that.

But Lord Tywin did not allow her much time to worry over her fate. "Lady Jeyne, do you still swear by my daughter's version of events?"

Jeyne looked up at that. There was something strange in the man's voice. "Aye, my lord. I am sure it is as your daughter says." The anger in his gaze heightened. Jeyne's eyes fell to the ground once more. She had the mad urge to apologise.

"If you would be so kind, my lady," began the other man in the room, "do turn around and look at the bench there." His voice was kind, but his smile held something like irony about it. Jeyne hurried to do as she was told.

The first thing that registered was the white sheet. It took no longer than a heartbeat to realise that underneath was a human. It was clear by the shape. Dread filled Jeyne. She looked on stunned, her limbs frozen by her side. Her lips itched to move.

"Pull the sheet off," Lord Tywin ordered, his voice cracking over her ear like whip. Jeyne inhaled loudly and tried to heed him but her arms and legs refused to cooperate. "Pull it off," came the angry growl.

Frightened into action, Jeyne jumped forward and with a savage yank ripped the linen away. A shriek of terror left her lips at the sight. It was Melara. Gods be good, it was Melara. It was then that all her pent up frustration and all her fears broke through the thin wall of control she had erected. What followed was a torrent of tears and words, confessions she had never meant to make. But the shock was so strong that it overpowered her.

She told them all, every little detail she could recall. "I didn't want to go, my lord, I promise. I told them not to. I swear I did. But Lady Cersei – she insisted. She said we could find out who we were to wed." Her eyes were pinned to the prone form of Melara, lying there lifeless. "But I couldn't. I was too scared. Melara went on with my lady and I ran back." She interrupted her own story to regain her breath. Tears streamed down her face. "The next day, Lady Cersei came to me saying that Melara was missing. We searched the room together. And we found the note. That's all I know. Please!"

The girl fell to her knees, her hand reaching out towards the corpse. "Please, Melara, forgive me. Please." Her begging would do no good. Melara was long gone, her conscience whispered harshly to her. She had betrayed her friend and she deserved every twinge of pain that pinched its way through her heart. Jeyne continued to cry, her face reddening. Her head ached and her innards were all twisting together. "Melera," she called to the other girl, hoping for a reply. But none came.

Perhaps the men had grown tired of her for she was hauled to her feet and made to face the Lord of the Rock. His gaze cut through her. She read in his eyes all the reprobation his lips would not release upon her. Her shoulders hunched and she trembled violently. "I didn't know. I didn't." She wondered if they believed her; if they could believe a coward and a liar. Still, her word was all she had. If he did not speak soon, Lord Lannister would find his fine boots sharing the same fate as the Septa's new dress. Jeyne tried to calm herself, but her mind would not allow it, even less would her soul. She had no right to feel calm, none whatsoever. Jeyne grimaced and looked from Tywin Lannister to the unknown man.

The enormity of the situation finally hit her. Up until that point, Jeyne had been shocked and sick to her stomach and fearful. But after that came the true horror of realisation. They had called only her. Cersei was not in the room. She looked around, hoping her sight would prove her wrong. But nay, Cersei was nowhere to be found. Melara gazed back at the unmoving shape of Melara, watching as a ray of sunshine touched her face. The pale skin glowed eerily. Jeyne shuddered and quickly focused of a neutral point on the wall.

"I didn't do it," she said carefully. Mad laughter bloomed on her lips but she somehow held it in. "I didn't." If she repeated it often enough it just might wash away her guilt, Jeyne thought. And the mad laughter came again. She could not stop it a second time.

"Ah, my lord," the stranger cut in as Jeyne's laughter died on her lips as swiftly as it had begun, "I fear we have created the wrong impression. Lady Jeyne, you have been called here to attest that it is Lady Melara we have found. There is no blame to be shouldered."

"It is Melara," Jeyne assured them. "I would know her anywhere. It is Melara." Her voice was odd, flat, dead. Just like Melara. The irony was not lost on Jeyne. Fat and cowardly she might be, but stupid she was not. At least she didn't think she was. Her lower lip jutted out as a fresh wave of tears prepared to spill forth.

Melara's fate was sad and wrong. She had been so young and full of dreams. It wasn't fair that the Stranger would take her so soon. Jeyne clutched her handkerchief tighter, bringing it up to dab her eyes dry. She wondered if Cersei would come in and accuse her then. Nothing of the sort happened though. She was merely led to a chair and made to sit down. Two pairs of eyes watched her as a squire handed her a cup. Jeyne took a careful sip. She though she could feel Melara's sightless gaze burning into the back of her head. She clutched the cup tighter and downed the rest of the liquid in four large gulps. She placed the object on the table and made to stand up. Lord Tywin stopped her with a shake of his head. Jeyne remained as she was.

"Lady Melara has had an unfortunate accident," the stranger said. "She must have been trying to find her way back to the keep when a wild beast happened upon her." Jeyne glanced sceptically at the body. "We have cleaned her up to the best of our abilities, of course, and she shall be given to her parents with utmost haste. But the truth is that poor Lady Melara broke away from the group and tragedy struck. Isn't that so, Lady Jeyne?"

They wanted her to lie again. She had done it for Cersei. Surely she could do it once more. The men looked at her expectantly. Should she refuse, she too would end up like Melara. Another tragedy; another box of bones to be taken home to her parents. She had a choice. And her choice was simple. She could live with the sin haunting her every waking hour, or she could die with a clean conscience.

"Truly a tragedy. Lady Melara shall be missed greatly, I know, by myself and Lady Cersei." She almost choked on the last words but somehow she managed to get them out. Jeyne stood up from the chair. "I would like to return to my chamber, my lords, if I am permitted."

"Very well," Lord Lannister said. He nodded at her request. "Go rest, Lady Jeyne. We shall have further words at a later time."

Rhaegar could recall very few instances in which he had wanted, quite desperately at that, to have been born in an entirely different house. Being a prince was all good and well, it had certain advantages – stacks upon stacks of books, the best armours money could buy, a never ending supply of food and drink and whatnot – but it also held certain perils – like the fact that occasionally his father remembered that he existed and decided to use him in whatever scheme he was concocting.

And while Rhaegar would have happily refused him and taken himself off to a far away corner of the world had it been only him, he could not do so on account of Viserys. The poor boy would have no one left to watch him if Rhaegar too decided to just disappear. However, he did resent being used and the King did not seem opposed to using his son.

That left him with little to do but bow to his father's decision. Even when said decision made him slightly sick to the stomach. The Prince had been tasked to woo the Lannister maiden in place of his father. "I cannot leave the realm's leading as I please. It is essential that I remain in King's Landing," Aerys had claimed. Rhaegar would have liked to ask him if he had any other tongues to cut out of innocent mouths, but he had refrained. As he loved his own tongue dearly. It was quite useful.

Of course, the fact that the King's intended was merely a child did not seem to feature in his father's thoughts. Rhaegar tried to remember whether Cersei Lannister was a maiden flowered. The last time he had seen her, she'd been a girl reaching no higher than his waist. The thought of that girl wedding his father sent a cold shiver running down his back. If he remembered correctly at that time, his father and the Lord Hand had been discussing possible matches for Rhaegar. Lord Tywin had more or less hinted at Cersei becoming Rhaegar's wife and the King had politely dismissed the idea, acting as if he hadn't understood what Lord Tywin suggested. And that had seemed the end of it. Of course, a strange sort of tension had grown between the King and his Hand, but none had dared suggested that the reason had been the King's rejection of the Hand's proposal.

He had been also given a letter to deliver to the Lord Hand. Rhaegar would have opened it, but he feared what he would see. Thus, he kept the letter in its place and quelled whatever impulse arose every now and again to discover what hid in the missive. It was better not to know. That much he had learned at a young age. Where the King was concerned blindness, deafness and dumbness were powerful allies.

Lord Tywin was bound to be displeased by the news. But there was little he could do, if Rhaegar's understanding was right. Apparently, the King had found something to tie Lord Tywin's hands with and force him into the corner. Whatever it was, Aerys thought that he would obtain Tywin's daughter through it.

Of course, Rhaegar would do much better to worry about himself. Beside the Lord Hand's daughter, it was said that the Martells too were at the Rock. Thankfully, his father had devised a clever way by which Rhaegar was to deflect any attempt of the Dornish nobility at a match between their houses.

The official reason for his journey was reaching Winterfell where he was to advise Lord Stark to make his way into King's Landing where the King planned to name him on the Small Council. Whose position Lord Stark was to take was yet unclear. Rhaegar, of course, had an inkling. However he had kept it to himself. His father's mind was as changeable as the weather. He was to woo Cersei Lannister for no more than a few days.

"You are deep in thought," Arthur Dayne noted, bringing his horse closer to Rhaegar's own. "Worried about something?"

One of his closest friends, Arthur Dayne was planning to join the Kingsguard and so he had volunteered to join the Prince on his journey. They had met long ago in Dorne, at the seat of House Dayne. A firm friendship had been established between them and after squiring for some other Dornish lord, Arthur had made his way to King's Landing. There, Rhaegar had introduced him to various members of the White Cloaks. Slowly, but surely, Arthur had earned himself a place among them. As soon as a place would be vacated, doubtlessly his friend would have a white cloak of his own placed on his shoulders.

"Only that we might lose you to Lady Cersei's radiant beauty," Rhaegar quipped. Celibacy was not among Arthur's many virtues. But it was also true that he rarely initiated such encounters. He laughed at Arthur's perplexed expression. "You shall put us all in quite the difficulty."

"Then I ought to be very careful around this Lady Lannister," Arthur played along with a smirk. "Or is it she who should be careful?" They both laughed at that.

Naturally, Rhaegar knew that as Arthur truly did wish to join the Kingsguard, he would not do anything to hamper his chances. In fact, the Prince was sure that only a deep love could turn his friend's head. And, despite the fact that there had been a good number of women in his life, Arthur did not show any signs of holding any of them in special regard.

At the very least he would never be pressed to wed anyone. Rhaegar rather envied Arthur is that respect. He had options. He could choose what he wished to do. Rhaegar, on the other hand, had his fate tied to the throne and the crown. He was sure that at some point his perspective would change, but he was also quite determined that the change would take place only when it was him who sat that chair.

The fact that none but him knew why they were stopping at Casterly Rock on their way was not a great help. Rhaegar did wish he had someone to confide the matter in, yet the King had asked that no one know.

"How long are we to stay here?" Arthur asked, a mere hint of curiosity behind his question. The imposing structure of Casterly Rock was looming before them, the gate standing tall and strong and the walls looking quite impervious.

"No more than a day or two at most." Rhaegar had no wish to deal with either Cersei Lannister or her father for too long. Though he pitied the poor creature for what was to be her fate, he would not allow himself to feel anything more for the girl.

As a child he had once tried to get between his angry father and his pleading, sobbing mother. That was the first and last time his father had ever hit him. The slap had knocked him to the ground and knocked loose a tooth too. While no permanent damage had been done to him, Rhaegar had never forgotten the incident. Even after a new tooth grew in place of the one that had fallen, the sting still remained.

Then he had been a child. As a man grown, stepping between the King and the Queen could amount to treason. And his father had never really needed solid reason to punish or main. It would be best to draw his strength and save it for a finishing blow. It would come, that Rhaegar promised to himself. Just as he had been knocked to the ground then with his mother's shrieks ringing in his ears, so would the King.

Most people thought that his head was filled with prophecies and tales and he wanted them to keep believing that. His own father was sure that his firstborn was of more use in a Maester's library than on a field of battle. Rhaegar had hidden from all his struggle to master the art of war. And it had gone well. Arthur knew, as his friend; they had often trained together. And there was also Barristan Selmy. Both had been sworn to secrecy.

"Would you look at that, lions. Lions everywhere." Arthur broke Rhaegar out of his thought. His friends pointed to the many sculptures of roaring lions. "Do you think one of them might come to life and attack us?"

"We do not live in a song," Rhaegar pointed out. "The only lion we ought to worry about is seating somewhere behind those walls."

"Plotting our demise, no doubt," Arthur joked. "At least, we'll have a fair maiden to watch over us."

Or to speed their departure along, with poison. The Lannisters were a wily lot. They had power and riches, which was always a combination to be feared. Even more when one considered that a rift had already been created between the crown and the Southron house.

"If that brings you comfort, my friend, you should become a sellsword. The white cloak would be a burden." The Prince kicked his horse into the flanks and the beast hurried forth.

The rest of his companions did the same, the sound of hooves pounding the ground filling the air. And Casterly Rocks opened its gates to them and sucked them in. Rhaegar chanced to glance at the sky and saw the storm clouds gathering.

If such an omen would have worried someone else, Rhaegar paid it little mind. The only thing he need fear of the rain was a harder road to Winterfell. Mud always made travelling a trial, more so even than excessive heat.

"Your Grace," he was greeted by none other than Lord Tywin. The man looked to have aged a score of years in the time they had not seen one another. Or perhaps it was the grief of having lost his wife and the worry of what the King planned to do.

"My Lord Hand," Rhaegar offered in response. "Lord Varys," he added upon seeing the eunuch perched precariously atop a horse. The poor beast looked about ready to fall over. "I am here on the order of the King, my lords. I must speak to you, Lord Hand."

"Indeed." Tywin gave a sharp nod and Rhaegar, with the rest of the column, followed for what remained on the road.

At the entrance of the keep awaited Lord Tywin's twins and their Dornish guests. Jaime Lannister had fixed his eyes upon Ser Gerold Hightower with unwavering admiration, just as his sister chanced to look upon Rhaegar. Recognition was immediate. Cersei Lannister offered him a brilliant smile, hope shining in her emerald eyes. The ruling Princess of Dorne acknowledged him with a warm smile, no doubt remembering an incident from his childhood which she had witnessed. Her children stood by her, both of them peering with interest at the procession.

Introductions were made and pleasantries were exchanged as was the custom. Salt, bread and wine was taken and after what was deemed an appropriate amount of time, the newest guests were led to their chambers. Peering over his shoulder, Rhaegar was quite stricken to see two pairs of eyes following him, one green, the other black.

"One or two days might be too long," Arthur laughed softly. "I daresay that if we remain here past supper, we shall be remaining forever."

"Perish the thought," Rhaegar replied. "I am talking to the Lord Hand, I shall ask for Lady Cersei's hand and after that I'll be off to the wild North." At least there he would have some peace. Hopefully.

"I do so loathe crushing dreams and hopes, but you are aware that Lord Stark has a daughter, are you not?" Arthur questioned, a small smile on his face. "An unmarried one, I mean."

"As I heard it, the girl was not yet flowered." That, of course, would not have stopped her father, but perhaps Lord Stark's daughter was still years away from her first drop of blood.

As if to plant doubt in his heart, Arthur threw him a questioning glance. Rhaegar wisely ignored it and chose to look straight forward. The sooner he spoke to Lord Tywin the better, and the closer he would be to leaving.

But first he would brush off the dust that had decided to cling to him. Rhaegar entered the room that had been given to him and closed the door behind him, ignoring whatever moved outside the door.

If luck was on his side, he might yet make quick work of the matter.