this has been kicking around in my head for a while. had to get it out because i couldn't work on anything else. this is just my versions of events of the meeting of rhaegar and lyanna because i love those two. i g.r.r.m will hurry up and write more about them. not sure if i will continue but we will see. reviews are appreciated of course.

~oOo~

He moved silently through the trees, following the hastily covered tracks before him. While whomever had covered them in the beginning had done an impressive job, the deeper they retreated into the godswood, the less hidden they became and he found himself following the path of broken twigs and reeds quite easily. There was a faint sound of movement in the distance. He would have this knight soon enough.

His father had ordered him to search the wood for this knight and bring him back to face the king's justice. If it had not been his father, he would have laughed at the very thought of the "king's justice". But it is his father and so he keeps his peace. In the end it mattered little. He would have volunteered to seek out this knight, if for no other reason than to save him from the king's justice. More than likely this knight was nothing more than one of the small folk or some lord's young son who wished to make an appearance or impression upon the tourney. Something to remember when they spoke of the tourney of Harrrenhal. Every tourney had one, some story that moved into legend, immortalizing some fantastic feat that may or may not have been so impressive at the time. No doubt by the end of this day, the knight will have been as tall as the northern wall with a voice that boomed throughout the woods. He will have bested the three houses in the name of chivalry and honor and all of the maidens swooned at once. Yes, every tourney had one story to come of it.

But then none of that mattered for he would still have come searching. With his father's state of mind becoming more and more paranoid of late his reaction to the mystery knight was easily predictable and he would not see some innocent, albeit somewhat foolish boy (lord's son or no), be put to death for over confidence.

And in truth he could not help but feel responsible for the predicament the boy was in for this tourney would not have even happened if not for his own involvement. Lord Whent had wealth, but it was mainly from the richness of the land. He had aided the lord in funding the tournament in an attempt to gather many of the lords of the land together in one place in hopes of a sort of impromptu council. His father's already unstable condition had become increasingly erratic of late with ramblings that caused a cold streak of fear to enter his heart. Something would have to be done. But not today. His father had surprised everyone with the decision to attend and no matter how extreme, he would not call a council under his own father's nose. The pain he felt from contemplating such treasonous actions grieved him enough.

And so he took on the task of finding this young lord to help him, feeling partly responsible for creating the mess he was in in the first place.

He had to admit that even he had enjoyed the little display. In the end after the knight had bested all those he challenged, he turned away his winnings, insisting instead that the lords teach their squires manners. An all-around noble, if not amusing endeavor in his opinion. He and Arthur had a good smile at that.

But then this knight did not know his father or else he may have reconsidered this dangerous game he had chosen to play.

"FUCKING HELL!"

A voice from the woods snapped him from his reprieve and he crouched down instinctively. It had come from somewhere before him and if he looked hard enough he could hear the sound of movement ahead and the occasional shadow dart between the trees.

He chided himself for his inattention and stayed low, one foot carefully placed in front of the other, approaching silently. He could only assume it was the knight and he did not wish to startle them to take flight. Although he was confident in his assessment that this would nothing more than a young boy, barely into manhood, chasing them through the godswood was not what he wished to do today. And so he approached carefully so that he may appraise the situation.

As he moved closer he noticed the movement between the trees became more unusual, bordering on the bizarre. It seemed to be a flailing, spasmodic motion and then suddenly stopped and the woods became still once more. He stopped moving forward when the motion stopped, not wanting to make any noise that could not be mistaken for the ruckus the knight was stirring up. He could hear what he could only discern as grumbling coming from in front of him. Another burst of movement from the knight allowed him to move forward to a tree to stand behind so that he could risk a look.

The knight sat with his back to him and leaned back against a tree, random pieces of armor littering the ground around him. A hand reached up to rake through long dark braided hair. He noticed how small the hand was and felt that his earlier assessment was true. This was nothing more than a boy wishing to make an impression.

He suppressed a sigh at the same time the boy sighed out loud and his brow furrowed. The sound was of a high pitch. He must be a young boy indeed. Barely out of youth. He smiled in spite of himself.

Brave indeed, perhaps I could take him as a squire. His skills on a mount were impressive.

He had barely formed he thought when the boy suddenly rolled back, his feet stiff in the air in an attempt to reach them.

He would have laughed outloud, but he did not wish to shame the boy. Instead he decided he would announce his presence and allow the boy to gather himself accordingly.

"Are you in need of assistance ser?"

As he spoke he stepped out from the shadows where he stood and found he was not prepared for what he saw.

The figure before him had rolled quickly around and onto their knees and was staring wide eyed with shock up at him and he could not help but mirror the reaction.

It was not a young boy at all but a young woman. A young woman of the north. One of the wolves of the north. He knew her of course. He knew all of the high lord's and their kin. It was his responsibility to know these things.

This complicated matters naturally. Yes, this complicated matters very much.

~oOo~

She bit off a curse as she struggled with the armor. It was awkward and ill-fitting and she could not reach the bloody clasps on the side of the chest plate. She had struggled with the gauntlets for what felt like an eternity. Where the hell was Ben? He was supposed to have been here by now. What in the bloody hells could be taking him so long? She would have moved down to unfasten her leg guards but the damn bloody chest plate was in the way!

"FUCKING HELL!"

She did not bother to bite off the curse this time and dropped to the ground in a frustrated and slightly defeated huff. She leaned back against the large tree that had been designated as their meeting place and started to giggle. How ridiculous she must look, spinning around in circles like some cur chasing its' tail, trying to reach the clasps on the breast plate. She rested her head back, looking up through the canopy of trees above as the sun created so many pinpricks of light that danced down around her. The warmth felt good upon her skin. At least it felt good upon the skin that was exposed. This caused another overwhelming feeling of frustration and, as if in some sad desperate attempt to free herself by throwing a fit, she thrashed her arms and legs like a child and fell into another bout of laughter.

With a sigh she looked back to the deep green leaves of the trees and the deep blue of the sky that peaked through the clouds. Everything here seemed so much brighter to her eyes even though her brothers talked of it being a dark and decayed place. And to some extent that was true. When her father's men first approached, she had been in awe of the great castle. From a distance the five towers seemed just as formidable as their names. But as they came closer she could see that much of the keep had fallen into disrepair and looked to be abandoned, helping to enhance the lonely and desolate reputation that proceeded it. It seemed to be too great a presence for any one lord to contain to her. It was not made for love or families, but pride.

But the godswood here, oh the godswood here was overwhelming! It was regarded as a dark place as well but she did not see it that way, she could not. What a magnificent realm for the old gods. Dark gods they must have been but still magnificent. The godswood at home were only a small portion of this and although she had heard it was terrifying, she had a great desire to see the weirwood heart tree here. Even though it was said that nothing but blood came to those who did. She was not frightened though. But whether that was because she was brave, stubborn, or simply angry could be argued.

Where the in the seven hells was her brother? What could be holding him and Howland up for so long? They should have been here by now. She felt a moment's apprehension when the thought of their little ruse being discovered came across her mind. But surely that was not the case. They had covered their tracks to well. Always making sure that one of them was seen or accounted for. It had not been that difficult for her, barely a mention of moon's blood and that was enough to send everyone scrambling with reassurances that she would be missed at the joust but that they understood.

Men, she thought smugly, so simple.

Things had gone shockingly according to plan, as rushed as it was. She had been infuriated when she had seen the three houses of those snot nosed, rotten little squires win places in the tourney and was incensed when she heard them bragging about it. Braying like asses in the yard as if they had accomplished the deed and not their masters. No, that simply could not stand. She would not allow it.

Acquiring the armor had been surprisingly easy, even though it was a ragtag, patchwork attempt. But it would do. And she had insisted that she be the one to carry out the challenge. It was only right. She had been the one to discover their misdeeds in the first place. And besides, Ben was too young yet, and the repercussions had the potential to be far worse from their father if he were to be discovered. Not that their father would go any easier on her, but he would be more likely to hide their reckless behavior. Three grown men discovering they were bested by a young woman and not a knight. It would not look good for the impending nuptials either. Not that she minded that one bit.

She felt a small pang of guilt at that. Her father had worked long and hard to see that she was well matched with a house that would do her and her family honor. And her brother was quite close with her betrothed, and held him in high regard.

But it did not change the fact that she did not love him. Though, from what she has been told, many matches do begin in this way and many bloom into something quite wonderful. Unfortunately she did not see it, and when she tried to broach the subject with her elder brothers, they simply made sport of it at her expense and told her that there is no such thing as the perfect union and none they had ever heard of had entered in to a successful marriage based purely on love. Although her brother Ned did gently try to reassure her that Robert would change once married. She did not believe him.

But she had not been discovered, nor would she be, if her damn younger brother would ever show. And so she pushed down the feelings of guilt and grinned with satisfaction as she remember the yelps of those rotten arrogant little squires as they were rightfully punished.

She looked back down at her still armored feet and let out another sigh. She raked her fingers through her hair that was still bound back in a loose braid. Her head itched from sweat when she was wearing her helm and she could not wait to rinse off in the cool waters of the Gods Eye. Where in the name of all that was holy is her damnable brother and the bloody crannogman? She needed their help to get out of this pathetic wreck of armor.

She reached out towards her foot, arms straining to reach the clasp but inhibited by the chest plate. Her foot involuntarily raised in an attempt to bring the clasp closer but only resulted in her rocking backwards and her legs going up in the air like some pond turtle stuck on its' back.

With a loud groan, she dropped her legs heavily to the ground. She would never get out of this. While she may rule from the back of a horse, she was nothing short of comical when on the ground. She filled her lungs with air and prepared to let out a litany of curses upon her brother when a voice from the trees behind her startled her.

"Are you in need of assistance ser?"

Her eyes went wide and she rolled onto her side to push herself up on her knees. While she prayed fervently that it would be her brother that emerged from the shadows, the sickening sinking feeling in her chest told her otherwise. The voice was too deep, to mature to be Ben's or even Howland's. And when the figure finally did emerge, the sickening feeling intensified to the point she thought she may sick up.

The man stood before her wore black as night with dark blood red embroidery adorning the edges of long jerkin and along the hem of his cloak. A long sword hung at his waist and the image of a dragon was across his chest.

It was his Royal Highness Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of the Dragonstone, the Silver Prince, the Dragon Prince, son and heir to King Aerys II Targaryen.

Lyanna was uncertain if things could possibly get any worse.