Chapter 42: Reunion

Lysa:

The small hall of the Tower of the Hand was filled with revelers. On her stage, she looked over them all. It was just her and her husband at their table. The man I love, she admired how dashing he looked in his light blue tunic. With this kiss I pledge my love.

It's me, she thought giddily, it's finally me. Her mouth was beginning to hurt from how much she was smiling, but she didn't care. Denys' hair was as gold as a crown. Handsome and kind, his smile and sky blue eyes made her preen and beam. He's mine, she thought in dizzying wonder, My husband, she had dreamt of this day, of him, but then war had wedged itself between them, prying her away from her betrothed. Those happy thoughts were the only comforts in those months of uncertainty, where she dreaded a day that would come informing her that her beloved betrothed was killed.

But it didn't, she reminded herself, not wanting to dwell on such bleak days not here, not now.

"Lysa?"

She nearly shivered at the sound of her name coming from his lips. A giddy thrum went through her when she turned in his direction. "Yes, my love?" She didn't have to hide her adoration.

He smiled, his hand coming to rest over hers, warm and gentle. He held her fingers between his, calloused from swordcraft, but they didn't bother her, they comforted her. I have a husband who can protect me. "Are you well?" He asked, a slight furrow appearing across his brow.

"Oh yes!" She exclaimed immediately, wanting to banish the thought as soon as it was spoken between them. "This is the happiest day of my life!" She prattled on, unable to stop her mouth from moving as more words came tumbling out. "I don't want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else."

"We have that in common," he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her fingers that made her squirm in her seat with pleasure.

They went back to their food, and Lysa found it tasted even better than before. Her wine too, better and sweeter. She was so happy and content that she could almost forget, almost ignore that she was not the only bride in the hall. At an adjacent table sat her sister and her new husband. Their ceremonies had been held together at the great Sept of Baelor. It was the most beautiful place Lysa had ever seen, with its seven crystal towers, marble walls and impressive dome. It was the place where Kings married their Queens, but today, it had been the spot for her wedding to her Denys as well as her sister's wedding to her husband.

They couldn't be more different. The thought of their husbands was what made Lysa finally turn to acknowledge the other bridegroom table. While Denys was dashing, Stannis was dour. He sat at his table beside her sister, his new wife with an air of rigidness that seemed more fitting for statues than men. His face was impassive, and he ate his food slowly, while his eyes scanned the room like a weary bird of prey. His black tunic and trousers with gold stitching looked like he was attending a funeral not a wedding and certainly not his. Cat on the other hand glowed in her seat, pretty smiles and bright blue eyes. Even while seated, her white silk dress made her look so elegant and beautiful.

Lysa had to squash the stab of envy that tried to lance her heart. It was wrong, she knew, remembering all that Cat had done for her when Denys was off at war. How thoughtful and kind she had been, supportive and attentive to Lysa while she was still reeling from being publicly shamed by her betrothed who had run off to marry another. Instead of Winterfell, her sister and husband were given a new seat with the rights to make their own standard and family. Harrenhal was to be theirs.

A castle that Cat was familiar with. It was the seat of their kin, but they had lost it for siding with Rhaegar in the war. The male line had either perished in battle or were being banished to the Wall. Lysa had heard her Aunt, Lady Whent had died of a broken heart when she learned of the demise of her family's fortunes. Her cousin Jeyne was sent to the Silent Sisters. And that was the end of that, of them. She felt sorry for her kin, but they were traitors so her pity only went so far. She thought Father had been so wise to accept the proposal that would name Cat its Lady since it was an important seat and still impressive despite its decaying ruins. Lysa knew her sister was too strong and smart to let Harrenhal flounder during this stormy transition. The castle would thrive once more with her deft touch.

Cat spotted her and gave her a perfect wave and smile, making it look so effortless. Lysa raised her hand quickly to return it, nearly knocking her spoon out of her soup bowl in the movement. She winced at her clumsiness, but after a quick glance no one seemed to notice her near embarrassing gaffe. She then waved at her sister, fingers wiggling.

That was when Denys leaned in to kiss her cheek. Lysa grinned, leaning against him, feeling his arms around her. She saw Cat watch them, a twinkle of amusement in her blue eyes before she returned her attention to her own husband who showed none of the affection her Denys was showering her with. I am blessed, she thought happily.

My son will be the Warden of the East. Lysa conjured her future son before her, wanting the best of Denys to be seen. We will have many children, she idly imagined them all, wanting several of each, wanting to prove to be a good wife, to help the Arryn family. Replenishing the nest, she saw it as her duty, but she couldn't deny the heat that curled in the pit of her belly at the deed that would truly make them one flesh.

"Are you ready to dance, wife ?" He had moved his mouth from her cheek to her ear.

"Yes," She saw her husband's outstretched hand and quickly clasped it with her own, letting him lead her. She felt all the eyes of the hall on her, a thrill going through her at all the attention and the awe in their gazes. She lost herself to the music that swirled around her, in the feel of her husband's arms around her. Voices and cheers intermingled with the music, footsteps followed as others left their seats to partake in the dancing, but in the crowded hall, Lysa felt like it was only her and her husband.

I am the Lady of the Sky, she thought breathlessly.

Looking out from one of the pale towers, to see the spread of green as far as the eye could see. The rushing water babbled in the background, she saw the waterfall in her mind's eye. Atop snowy peaks, perched above all, this was her home.

She nearly laughed when reflecting back all those months ago when she first came to this castle with her husband. Lysa had heard of its splendor, the tales of it resting like a white crown along the Mountains of the Moon. Traveling up there had been scary, but she had refused to show it. She embraced it with a dignity and bravery expected of Lady Arryn. The ascent up into the heavens, that's what she had called it. My home. Was what she called this castle now.

Denys had obviously been offered a position in the King's new Small Council, but he declined the honor for the time being. He wisely understood that it was important to settle matters at home with Lord Arryn's tragic passing during the war. Denys wanted to make a smooth transition of authority from the beloved and respected Jon Arryn to himself. She thought the people of the Vale already loved her husband, calling him the Darling of the Vale. There had been some foolish or greedy people trying to stop him, to deny him, but they had been punished. His cousin, Elbert Arryn had been one, he had rallied the lords of the Vale loyal to Rhaegar during the war in hopes to be named the new Lord Arryn and Warden of the East when Prince Rhaegar won.

He didn't, she thought happily, her husband had backed the winner and was rightly given the lordship and Warden of the East in a wonderful ceremony in the capital before their wedding. Instead of a lordship, Elbert Arryn was sent north to the Wall for his treachery. He had chosen the Black instead of the block. He'll bother us no more.

It had been months since then and they passed quickly for Lysa. It was important for her to settle into her new castle, her new home, wanting to ingratiate herself with the household who would serve her and her husband. They were loyal to the Arryns, but she'd make them loyal to her. I will make them happy to call me lady, she dreamed of it, planned for it, summoning the courage and wit she saw her older sister dispense effortlessly. She had gotten to work.

She showed the servants and guards kindness and was a fair lady to them. To her giddy relief, they respected her, and even loved her, she was sure of it. They complimented her, saying how her presence had brightened up the castle, and how she had been a blessing to her husband and their home. It had been so much praise, she was frightened she might faint. I didn't, she recalled wryly.

Lysa left her spot reluctantly by the window, knowing she needed to get going. Just when she thought she couldn't be happier, she was blessed again. Her hand went to her stomach, still flat and smooth, but there was a babe inside her. Whose heartbeat she yearned to feel, but the maester told her it was too soon for that or to feel its kicking. Kicking? She nearly gaped, not expecting that. But now she was, and she could not wait.

The Maester's smile had been patient and kind. ' Yes, in time you'll feel your babe as it grows.'

It was so tantalizing to hear that she was slightly disappointed that she couldn't feel any of it now. That disappointment didn't last, melting away quickly because despite her impatience, it didn't matter that she couldn't feel it yet. According to the maester, the babe was healthy. He spoke with no confidence of its gender, Lysa was certain it would be a boy, a strapping son and heir, she just knew it.

After seeing the maester, she had left to find her husband, but not before getting the maester's word that he would not say anything. It is my news to tell! Our joy to celebrate. The maester had agreed.

I did it, she wanted to write to her father, to her sister, but the ravens would have to wait, because there was someone else who deserved to be told before she even put her glad tidings to paper. Besides, her life was here now, in her husband's arms, their babe inside her. This was home. And she couldn't be happier.

Lyanna:

It was in guest chambers within the Tower of the Hand where she saw her father for the first time in over a year. She had gone south to visit Ned in his new keep, and then to attend the Tournament of Harrenhal before returning to Winterfell. Those plans went up in flames as did Harrenhal when it became the first battle of a war that broke out between rival princes.

Howland had been one of the first to die. She grieved her friend, her father's bannermen who sacrificed his life to save Lyanna from her own foolishness. He had been a pawn and then declared a traitor by Rhaegar, a means to incriminate his brother. She did not know Daeron's older brother, but she'd always despise him for what he did to Howland. He had not only killed him, but then tried to twist his legacy, tainting it for his own schemes.

Seeing her father had brought all those memories and pain simmering to the surface of her aching heart. " Howland was a good man, Father!" Their reunion had not gotten far before she brought up her friend's sacrifice and her father's seemingly indifference to it .

Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North had not been perturbed by her sudden outburst. His face was stone unyielding to her anger.

" He died for me!"

"Then he honored his vows," Her father replied calmly. "Our vassals pledge their swords and their lives for our family."

Lyanna didn't think that fair or right, and opened her mouth, but a look by her father had her close it and feel like she was ten and one again.

"How many good men would need to die to satisfy your thirst for vengeance?" He challenged her, "Or to drown your guilt?" He gave her a pointed look, striking to the heart of her outburst. "I'll not send northern fathers and sons to become southern corpses for your guilt, Lyanna." His face softened, "Howland will be honored and remembered, but I would not see my people dragged into war because of two spoiled, squabbling princes." He lay a hand on her arm, "Brandon tried and failed to play these southern games, and his stunt with Rhaegar and insult to the Tullys will be a dark mark on our family for some time." He said, "He backed the wrong prince and now I've come to swear fealty to the prince who won, to the one who is now our king."

"King Daeron will not hold it against you."

"Do you know the king's mind?" Her father asked, half amused, half curious.

She honestly did not. Admitting as much, "No, but Ned is one of his closest friends."

Rickard Stark nodded, before taking a seat at a table where wine and goblets had been left for their guests. He poured himself a glass and took a long sip. "Ah," he let out a relaxing breath, "It has been some time since I've tasted southern wine." He leaned back in his seat, beckoning her to join him in the empty seat beside him.

She did. She boldly poured herself her own glass waiting to see if he would stop her. When she left for the south, Lyanna still had to seek her permission to drink wine or ale. He was only silent, but she could feel his eyes on her when she took a small sip.

He chuckled, "It is good to see you as strong and stubborn as I remember, Lya."

She smiled into her glass. Unable to deny the small pride she always felt at hearing her father's encouraging words. They became less and less frequent the older she got. He encouraged the girl, but disciplined the maiden. When once riding so skillfully would have him boasting all day of her talents, that slowly changed when different expectations were put on her like some burdensome yoke.

"The Lannisters treated you and your brother well?"

"They did."

"Your letters said as much," Rickard Stark looked pleased, "But it is still a relief to see them confirmed."

"My letters also spoke on another matter," Lyanna pushed forward, fondly thinking of Robert, who she had only reunited with a few days before her father's arrival.

"Yes, they did," he agreed without making any effort to voice his thoughts on it. "He wrote to me as well."

The silence stretched with glacial slowness. Lyanna could hear her fingers scratching against the surface of her glass, waiting to hear what her father would say. Robert is my betrothed. She told herself, I'll marry him without father's permission. She knew that now, after reuniting with him, after feeling that warmth swell in her chest. The giddy relief that made her dizzy when she got to see and be held by him again after all those months apart. His bright blue eyes and deep laugh, she had missed so much. To think it could all be taken away by a single word from her father who'd expect her to return to Winterfell without protest. To go back meekly, where the man she loved, and wanted to be with would be leagues apart. No, she had decided. She would not allow that to happen. Her mind and heart were in agreement on the matter. I will marry him. Thoughts and plans on how to see it through without her father's blessing were forming in her mind when her father's voice broke a silence that had not lasted more than a minute, but to her had felt like an hour.

"I will accept it," He said, his grey eyes crinkled with a smile. "I will finalize the arrangement while I'm here," he went on, observing her own happiness with his own. "And will see if the wedding can take place during my stay if he and you are amenable to it."

Lyanna nearly leapt out of her seat to hug her father. "I am!" She answered happily. The rush of warmth that followed would've tamed the harshest northern winter.

The godswood of the capital bore little resemblance to the godswood of her home at Winterfell. This was a leisurely garden with flowers perfectly arranged to please the eyes. Colorful and properly trimmed before being placed by the guiding hands of man instead of nature into the ground.

There were benches for older nobles and their wives to sit in the cool comfort of the shade provided by an elm or birchwood. She still saw them as young and small despite their tall stature, unfavorably comparing them to the old, towering trees at Winterfell. Where the roots sunk deep into the soil, like gnarled fingers holding the pulse of the castle under its touch.

The paths she and the others found herself walking on, was paved and smooth, one of many that cut through the godswood. They served as roads leading visitors, shepherding them like sheep to make sure they went certain ways. Not to trespass or trample through, to protect and project this idyllic image.

Lyanna was walking on the grass, not the path. The soft grass felt better under her feet than the cold stone. She didn't think anyone even noticed within her group or the guards who trailed behind and in front of them. Well, she corrected, besides Robert. Her betrothed who she was walking with, had chuckled at her defiance, before offering his muscled arm which she took before setting out with the rest of their company.

The Queen was in front of them. Lyanna couldn't help but admire how openly Cersei wore her sheathed sword while still looking radiantly beautiful in a red dress. Her brother and his wife were with her, Oberyn at the Queen's other side. Robert and Lyanna were behind them, neither protested this arrangement, but she did notice a backwards glance or two from Ashara with a smile and a wink.

It had been the Queen's idea to take this stroll through the godswood. The king was absent and would be joining them when he finished attending to other courtly matters. What those were, the Queen did not say.

"Are you upset with me?"

"Upset?" Surprised at the question, looking up to see Robert was watching her.

"Yes," He answered, his voice was low so as not to carry, "About me asking to stay in the city?"

That had been a surprise. Lyanna had thought when she and Robert married, they'd return to Storm's End as its lord and lady, but that had been scuttled when she learned that Robert had asked for a position on the King's new Small Council. A request that King Daeron accepted, by naming her betrothed the new Commander of the Gold Cloaks.

"I'm not upset," she answered, honestly, but it was hard to find the proper word she was feeling. "It was just unexpected," she looked ahead to see their conversation remained private, but she could see him nodding in the corner of her vision.

"I understand," He said softly, "I was over enthusiastic," he admitted with a chuckle. "I just," He stopped, making her turn to see he was frowning, a look of something passing over his bright blue eyes, momentarily dimming them. She put her other hand on his arm.

"What?"

"I wanted to prove myself."

The uncertainty that clung to his words made her slow her pace to put a greater distance between them and the others. Robert understood, following her lead. "You fought for him. You rallied the Stormlands for him, you broke the Golden Company," she said, proud of everything he had done. Even before she liked Robert or even understood him, she had always admired his loyalty, in her brother, in his cousin. She felt that loyalty now, and it was something powerful and fierce.

"I know," he said, a quiet agreement and not the loud boasting she was used to. He sighed, not meeting her searching gaze, and using his other hand to scratch at the back of his thick neck. The others were further ahead of them, but they hadn't noticed since they hadn't slowed or stopped.

"What is it?" She saw the conflict in his gaze, dimming his blue eyes.

"I'm not ready," He said, "I'm not ready to be Lord of Storm's End," he confessed. "I've tried to be better, but I don't want us to go back there only for me to end up disappointing you."

She saw that he was still wearing her worn grey stripe fabric along his arm. Her fingers went to it, feeling his eyes on her and the way he reacted under her touch. "I chose you, Robert, wanted you, not the Lord of Storm's End, but you, the man you've become." Her fingers curled around his arm. It was her turn to confess. "I don't know how to run a castle. I've been taught, or tried to, but" she felt heat come to her cheeks, "But I often ignored them because I was too busy planning my next ride or when I could sneak sparring with Benjen." She felt his hand atop hers. "I'm a northern lady expected to run a southern household." Her own doubts nettled at her, "I fear making myself a fool in front of you."

"I would never see you like that," he assured her.

"Neither would I," she saw him nod, and she leaned up, to kiss his cheek, "But we cannot run from our responsibilities forever."

Robert laughed. "It would be fun to try."

She smiled, rolling her eyes. "We can stay at King's Landing," she could get use to this capital and even come to like this godswood in time, "But-"

"I know," He said, "I don't even have Stannis anymore to lean on," he admitted with another chuckle. "Mayhaps, I should've delayed his wedding or canceled it altogether."

"You cannot chain your brother inside your family's castle, Robert," she chided him, knowing he didn't mean it. Since he was the one who had helped to arrange it.

"Storm's End has not felt like my home for a long time."

She squeezed his hand knowing he was still troubled by the death of his parents which he had witnessed there. "We will make it our home."

"Cousin," The King's voice called to them, interrupting their tender and intimate moment, "Lady Lyanna,"

"Your Grace," Lyanna dipped her head not wanting to fumble a curtsey. She heard Robert greet him when she did. Looking ahead she saw the others had stopped to wait for them, watching. They were not too far ahead of them, cutting the distance with Robert at her side, and them all waiting and watching would not make her wilt. She met their gazes, Ashara's violet eyes were gleaming, smiling. Ned's were looking between her and Robert, seemingly upset with himself for not noticing they had been alone and distant to them.

Oh! Lyanna feigned terror, what a scandal. She could hear it now, betrothed walking together in the godswood only feet apart from their escort. Thankfully, the look passed Ned quickly as if sensing her mocking glance. He allowed himself a small smile and headshake.

"Where have you been, Cousin?" Robert was just as unaffected by the attention.

"Ruling the Kingdoms, Robert," Daeron replied dryly, smiling when he shook his cousin's hand. He then turned his attention to Lyanna, still smiling. "Cersei and I intend to have good quarters set aside for you and Robert within the Red Keep."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Lyanna said formally.

He nodded, "Please allow me," he offered her his arm. "I have something I want you and Ned to see."

Lyanna accepted the gesture, seeing Robert coming alongside the Queen to offer her his. Now that she was walking with the king, the others made way for her, parting to allow them to go first. They followed with his guards trailing behind including two knights of the kingsguard.

"I was just telling your brother that I'm expecting several trips to the capital," Daeron said, "Or I'll be forced to come visit."

"Oh, that's hardly a threat," Ashara said lightly, "but not to worry, we'll be visiting."

Lyanna was glad for that especially if she and Robert would be staying in the capital for a while. She had been surprised to learn that Ned would be returning to his castle with his wife and son. She had suspected her brother would be given a seat at the Small Council, but it appeared the king had honored his request to go home.

"Then I leave it in your capable hands, my lady," Daeron replied. "I'm sure you'll find the capital quite different when you next visit, especially with our new Commander of the Gold Cloaks," Daeron went on, "My cousin hasn't had the job for a fortnight and has already made great strides within the gold cloaks and throughout the city."

She couldn't see Robert from where she was walking side by side with the king, but she imagined him to be pleased at his cousin's praise. She knew she was. She did hear him mutter something, but couldn't pick out the words, but it was enough to make the Queen and Oberyn laugh.

"It's up ahead," Daeron pulled her attention away from the jape and straight ahead where the path curved past an island of green shrubbery and pretty flowers.

Even before they cleared it, Lyanna could see it, up ahead, poking out. There straight ahead of her was a weirwood tree. It was not as tall or large as Winterfell's, but it still made for a welcomed sight. Its branches were thin, stretching out like the webs of a spider, covered with little red leaves. They bristled in the breeze as if sensing their approach. The tree was no higher than ten feet, young and growing, she'd guess. The face carved out of the bone color bark was pensive in its crimson etching.

"I had it brought from somewhere near Harrenhal," Daeron explained to them, as they got closer. "Put a maester in charge of it, wanting one that can be replanted here." He gestured to this area of the Red Keep's godswood where Lyanna noticed it was more secluded, tucked in a corner, away from the other paths and seats where nobles would picnic and gather.

Without realizing it, she looked up at the king who understood and nodded. She moved forward with his permission since she did not wish to slight him. Lyanna was not the only one approaching, she saw her brother step forward too, wearing the same look she probably was. Surprise, but respect as they neared it.

"I'm sure the High Septon will be pleased by it," Oberyn observed in a tone that conveyed he cared very little for said High Septon or his opinion.

"It is not his concern," the king had replied sternly, "I am the King of Seven Kingdoms. I rule them and must protect them." He sounded sincere in his declaration, "The Septon will concern himself with his flock and I will concern myself with mine."

"He's more a sheep than a shepherd anyways," The Queen said, coming along her husband's side.

"I think it's beautiful," Lyanna already felt comforted by it, at seeing the weirwood return her gaze. In this gesture, she understood a little more of who the man was that wore the crown. Seeing why her brother, her betrothed and countless others would follow their King to the end. There was a genuineness to him, in his words, in his actions. Such as this weirwood, she thought, he didn't do it for praise, but for his friends and his people. She felt Robert's shadow fall over her when he moved to stand alongside her.

"We should get married here," He suggested in a low murmur. His enthusiasm at the idea was palpable.

"No, Robert," she said just as softly, touched by his kindness, "we couldn't, we shouldn't."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"Your bannermen don't follow the old gods."

"My bannermen?" He nearly scoffed, but his anger wasn't directed at her, but at their mention, "Many of them would've gladly given my head to Rhaegar." His face marred with his contempt for them. The wounds from the war would take time to heal. "As for me," he shrugged, his expression smoothed over. "I don't care about the gods, I care about you, my lady."

"Robert," she gently grabbed wrapped her fingers around his forearm to steer him further away from the others, making it look like they were inspecting the weirwood from all sides. She saw the sincerity shine in his eyes, his earnestness in wanting to do this for her. To honor her, and her gods. Her heart swelled at his thoughtfulness, but she could not overlook his thoughtlessness towards bannermen they were expected to rule. "They follow the Seven, Robert," she told him, "So that's where we will be married, in the Royal Sept."

His brow crinkled, and he looked ready to protest, but she silenced him by placing a finger to his lips. "You spoke of wanting to be a good Lord of Storm's End," she saw him nod, "You cannot rule the Stormlands if all you cared for is what I wanted." It was selfish and foolish, and though she loved his generous heart, she would not see it abused. He had been honest with his failures in the past, as well as his intentions of doing better, for her, and for them.

His larger hand took her finger away from his mouth. "I understand, and you're right," He looked a little sheepish, "Forgive me, I was carried away with my excitement."

"We'll get through this, Robert," she smiled. "Together."

Lyanna wasn't vain.

She knew she'd never be as beautiful as the Queen or her good sister. She had never wanted to be. I had never wanted to get married either, she thought wryly, and here she was standing in front of her looking glass, staring at her reflection in the dress she was wearing. Waiting for the ceremony to start, her father would be coming along shortly to escort her to the Royal Sept.

She was not alone in her chambers, Ashara was with her, fussing over Lyanna like she was her daughter instead of her good sister. Her fingers smoothing out an apparent wrinkle on Lyanna's sleeve that she couldn't see. The Queen and Elia had visited and helped before having to leave to go to their seats in the Sept.

The dress was pale silk, a richer and lighter material, one she doubted many Stark brides were wrapped in. It was not the coarser cotton or the warmer wool. It had been made by southern seamstresses with help from Elia and Ashara. While the war had been waging outside the walls of the Rock, they were using needles instead of swords, sewing instead of fighting to make a bride dress worthy of the only daughter of Lord Stark. The glimmer of pearls caught her eye, sewn into the fabric, running wolves were embroidered along long sleeves.

The waist wasn't too tight, when Ashara had laced it up. Still, she felt a little dizzy, but she knew it wasn't because of the dress. The excited flutter in her chest, her smile betrayed her growing excitement for what was to come, and her slight impatience in waiting for it to happen. A part of her just wanted to go to the Sept now, not wait for her father, or the guests to settle in their seats. It wasn't their wedding, but hers.

She expected songs and sermons, prayers to gods she didn't believe in. She tried to remember what else had occurred during Lord Jaime and Princess' Elia's wedding at Casterly Rock. It had been the only southern wedding that she attended. It had been strange and new to her. And here I am about to be married in one, she nearly chuckled. Lyanna had appreciated Robert's offer to marry in the godswood, but she knew this was the right decision.

I can endure one southern wedding even if it's my own. She saw Ashara's reflection, her mouth was moving, but Lyanna hadn't been listening. Something her good sister picked up on given her knowing smile. "Pardon?"

"You look lovely," Ashara complimented, still smiling.

Lyanna's fingers fidgeted at her side when she returned the smile. She was not one for dresses, but she couldn't deny she didn't mind this one. It wasn't too insufferably tight or gaudy, the fabric wasn't strangling her or too cumbersome in her movements. It was pretty, but practical, she thought, not worried that she'd trip trying to walk or slip while dancing when wearing it during the wedding feast.

"Thank you," She replied with some awkwardness. She was not used to genuine compliments about her appearance. Lyanna had received remarks in the past, but she saw through them by the men who made them, attempts to flatter her, thinking she'd be coerced by a few words. That I'd allow myself to be smitten because some lord thinks to call me pretty, she snorted at the fools. That I'd preen and blush back at them. It was ridiculous and yet suitors had tried.

They complimented my beauty while Robert would criticize my sparring, she smiled at the memory, and then encouraged me to be better. She had been wary to open her heart to Robert. She had tried to stop it. Lyanna had thought his compliments of her beauty had been hollow, his attempts to woo her because of his desire to be Ned's brother not her husband. She wore steel around her heart knowing how vulnerable she was to her father's whims. She saw betrothal as a battle and one she'd fight against with every ounce of her strength, but Robert had found his way to her heart all the same. And I couldn't be happier.

Atop her coiffed head she had been given an intricate hairnet to wear. It was a silver chain with pearls and opals. Another gift from the queen, and one Lyanna found herself gingerly touching a time or two as she waited for her father to retrieve her.

Retrieve me, she blew out a breath, like I was a wayward horse who wandered too far. Her foot was tapping against the stone floor in an impatient rhythm. Father could forgive me, she thought, or find me, when considering just leaving her chambers to set out for the Sept herself.

Ashara took her impatience with a chuckle. "At least your wedding is early in the day," she said, "I had to wait until evening to marry Ned." Her tone conveying, she had found that a daunting and infuriating trial.

Lyanna smiled, but before she could offer her good sister sympathy for such an endeavor. There was a knock on her door, followed by her father's voice.

"Are you ready?"

She wasn't just ready for her wedding, she was ready for her marriage, ready to call Robert her husband, and ready and excited for their journey together to finally begin. "I am."