The acolyte pressed the warm cup into her hands. Lyanna wrinkled her nose yet again. "This concoction? I said I would not drink any of it." The man did not answer straight away. His wont would not permit such ease in response, she suspected. "Take it away and feed it to the plants if you must."

"My lady, my orders were clear. I am to ensure your good health," he explained slowly, patent patience on display. "In order to do so, I've instructions to follow. Surely my lady understands. The Grand Maester prepared this with his own hands." That did little to increase her trust in the man or his teacher.

"I recognise the taste of the overpowering herb," she confessed after a few moments. "Nightshade has never been among my favourite tastes." The acolyte regarded her with unperturbed calm. "If I pleaded, would it make any difference?"

"I doubt it. His Majesty's order leaves little wiggle-room." She sighed. One option was to write to him and tell him in no uncertain terms that she would not be drinking any strange brew from Pycelle's hand. It would likely end in her having the concoction poured down her throat. She did not relish the prospect any more than she enjoyed being stuck in bed resting against a mound of pillows all day.

Lyanna glanced down into the steaming liquid. The scent wafted up to her nose, inundating her nostrils when she allowed it, taking it in along with a rush of cool air. She dared take a sip and grimaced at the taste. The more she ingested the woozier she'd grow, as were the effects of the concoction. She grumbled under her breath about that for a few moments, raising her gaze to the acolyte's. "How long until I may leave this chamber?"

"Should matters progress as they have done up until now, I reckon it won't be long before you are up and about, my lady." He leaned slightly in to pick up a small tray he'd left upon the bed. "Pray do not overexert yourself until that point."

"I would never." He shot her a disbelieving glare. Lyanna chuckled. It was almost as though he'd spent time in the company of her brother. Otherwise she did not see how he might come to mistrust her statement. "I shan't cause trouble."

He nodded at that and took the half-empty cup from her hands and placed it just out of her reach. "You needn't drink it all at once." And a good thing that was. She doubted she'd be able to do that. "I will take my leave, my lady, if that should be all."

Lyanna let him go. Not because she had no more complaints to put to him, but because she knew that too much complaining would only attract attention. Her aim remained to attract as little attention as possible. Which could be particularly difficult to do when she'd essentially become a subject of song though her own actions.

The liquid gathering in the pit of her stomach was starting to take effect, clouding her mind enough for the weight of her own body to become too much to bear. Thankfully, the pillows at her back kept her more or less upright, as much as one could be that sitting in a bed. Still, it helped preserve the remnants of her dignity.

She would not have thought that a botched birthing experience would lay her down with such adamant inflexibility. And for so long. Sitting still and meditating had never been one of her best developed skills. Naturally, incapacitated and starved of companionship, for one could not consider the guard at one's door a companion, she had little other option than to meditate. And the gods knew she had gone over her decisions over and over again, in hopes of building a more enduring justification for those choices.

It was much too late to take anything back, of course.

A series of sounds caught her attention, dragging her from the swirling thoughts. She slowly turned her head to the side, lazily inspecting the couple standing in the doorway. She recognised the Queen and her daughter. But her mind struggled to find a reason for which they would be there. Behind the woman she could see Jaime Lannister's pale face. Her suspicion rose even further as she forced a small smile to accompany a bland greeting already shooting from her lips.

"Lady Lyanna," Elia spoke, coming closer to her bedside. It was then that Lyanna noticed yet another person entering. A wetnurse holding Rhaegar's youngest. The smile froze on her lips. "I hope we are not burdening you with our presence."

"Not at all," she managed after an unnecessarily long moment during which she feared she might not be able to answer at all, for the sight of the babe forced a knot in her throat. "Your Majesty is kind to attend my bedside."

It might have been far smarter to profusely apologise to the woman before her, but then Elia Martell was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. What could her apologies possibly gain her? Instead she moved her eyes to the little girl who was holding her mother's hand, half-hiding behind her at that. "Good day, Your Grace." The girl murmured a reply.

"Come, Rhaenys, there is no need to be shy. Lady Lyanna is clearly pleased to see you." Rhaenys let go of her hand. The wetnurse placed the babe in Elia's arm and she was excused for the time being. "This is Aegon," she introduced the child. The babe was more interested in the dust particles dancing in the daylight.

"He is a beautiful babe." The words hurt. "And his brave older sister is just as beautiful herself." If only they'd leave. The sight of the Queen holding her child cut as deep as any sword might.

The woman seemed to read her. "Would you like to hold him?" Nay, she would not. Lyanna felt her muscles scream in protest. "Here, make a cradle out of your arms."

Why was she doing this? Lyanna met the other's gaze, trying to discern the purpose of her insistence.