Chapter Text
The thing is, Lyanna honestly cannot remember why exactly she liked Rhaegar in the first place. That’s not to say she doesn’t know why she fell in love with him, or why she married him, or even why she continues to love him – she just can’t remember why exactly she thought getting enamored with a married man was good idea.
Lyanna does remember, however, when she’d first saw him. She was only twenty then, and barely a sophomore at Illyria University, and being the daughter of a politically important family (albeit in the North) did come with certain benefits she wasn’t too fond off: one being invited to exclusive tea parties attended by other rich brats from influential families (that she staunchly excluded herself from) and the staff who was also, coincidentally, from influential families.
Ever since Brandon had graduated last year, Lyanna had been extremely lonely, pathetic to the point where she had once sincerely debated with herself, in the girls’ restroom, about joining a sorority. But at this tea party (and what fucking university had tea parties?), Lyanna had happily located Tyrion, her TA for Law theory, and he’d happily passed her a flask that she’d been all too ecstatic to siphon into her tea.
And then Tyrion had made an ugh sound so classic, Lyanna knew his sister was there. Another sophomore, she had declared her intentions to both graduate magna cum laude in her economics major and find a rich, politically influential husband before the next years were up. Since Cersei wouldn’t have deigned to marry someone below her, all the gossip raged that the female Lannister had taken to stalking the only eligible (well…) bachelor (well…) in the university: Rhaegar Targaryen. Never mind the fact that he was married, or the fact that his wife had only delivered a daughter last year, or that he was significantly older; Cersei had signed up for every course that ensured her path ran into his. Not that her plan had worked out too well; Rhaegar was a PhD candidate at graduate school, and was TA only for sophomores and above - and Cersei had ended up having to ask Lyanna about Psychology 101, looking at the younger, more bitchier Viserys Targaryen teach.
“Oh, my, how lovely to see you again,” Lyanna heard Cersei whimper at someone. The change from her usual demeanor made her pour a little more alcohol into her tea.
Tyrion grabbed the flask with no ceremony. “Seeing as the bane of my existence has just arrived, I’ll be needing that more than you.”
As she sipped her tea, Lyanna noticed the girls in the room turn towards someone; someone standing next to Cersei as she cooed at him, someone with long, silver flowing locks that looked salon treated. Someone with clear skin that shone even brighter in the sunlight. Someone standing near a harp.
What the fuck?
Lyanna was intrigued. The tea tasted like bourbon (she could always count on Tyrion for good taste), the party was as boring as always, Jaime wasn’t here to make fun of people with, Maege was back home for some emergency, and Lyanna was honest to god just bored.
Rhaegar was pretty, she’d have to admit; pretty enough that she was less enamored and slightly more envious of his straight hair. He could have given his brother tips, seeing as how Viserys’s hair always looked greasy and unkempt.
I should ask him for tips, she thought, laughing. Although even his best hair advice wouldn’t tame this wolf’s mane.
Cersei was asking him to play the harp.
‘Oh, but I have been regaled of your talent on the harp, Rhaegar,’ Cersei had said. Lyanna momentarily had a hard time reconciling this Cersei with the one who had put red ants and honey in some girls’ school bag for claiming she was better at the piano. ‘You must play for us.’
Rhaegar – who Lyanna had always been told was shy, and serious, and mysterious, and broody – had tried to look sheepish. It was half hearted, and Lyanna felt absolutely confused. He’d looked at the people around him, and looked shocked. He was a terrible actor.
‘Who? Me? Oh, no, God no, I possibly couldn’t,’ moody-and-serious Rhaegar had said, flipping his hair to the side, fingers already curling around the harp. ‘You’re all putting me on the spot, I haven’t even practiced, I wouldn’t even know what to do. Who even brought this harp?’
‘He brought that harp, for fuck’s sake,’ Lyanna had heard Daenarys mumble, mouth stuffed with a tea cake.
And then he’d started playing, all smiles for his fellow staff members, his fingers running across the strings, and Lyanna couldn’t have stopped laughing to save her life. Her laughter had burst out, loud and unforgiving, and Rhaegar’s hands had paused on his harp, and he’d looked at her with such confusion, Lyanna had only laughed louder, and harder, until Robert Baratheon of all people, had given her a hug to hide her face.
‘She’s crying, this one,’ he’d said, hiding her. ‘Don’t blame her, I’m just too funny.’
She’d met Rhaegar’s eyes once more, and he’d looked strangely like the serious man she’d heard so much about. But he was still holding that damn harp, and the only effect it had was to make her laugh again. Rhaegar Targaryen was that guy at a party.
Robert, a year above her, had let her laugh into his shoulder and even joined in, bless his soul. He’d slowly retracted her from the entire tea party, and brought her a fancy paper-doily napkin to fake wipe her tears, and guided her out of the decorated garden and into the great hall.
And that had been that for a while.
.
Robert had asked her out that same evening. After the whole laughter-gate incident that she couldn’t seem to explain to him, or stop laughing about, he’d merely grinned and asked her out. She’d met him before, hanging about with Ned when she was in high school, and they’d both grown since then.
‘Do you like dancing?’ Robert had asked her.
“No. I like horse riding,” She’d replied. ‘I also fence.’
‘Stop, you’ll make me blush,’ he’d said, and Lyanna had laughed. That wasn’t exactly the way it was supposed to go. ‘I’d like to go horse riding with you.’
Lyanna had looked up, and seen the first man who hadn’t skipped a beat in this conversation. ‘I’m free Monday.’
‘I was thinking tomorrow morning,’ he’d said.
She had hmmed, her hand still on his forearm. She had still felt weak from all the laughing. ‘Monday,’ she’d said.
They’d bickered all the way out, and she hadn’t said a word to dissuade him from walking her to the dorms. She had a good idea of what Robert was like; he was heir to the biggest steel conglomerate in the country, wild and brash and spontaneous in a way she understood completely, and he was also an absolute slut. She knew about the stories and the broken hearts, and everything, and she knew the relationship would end on a terrible note; but as he stood there in the early night and the glimmering lamplight, Lyanna could only see the curve of his jawbone, and could only remember Rhaegar’s fake denials on playing the harp he’d carried in with him, and she had agreed to see him again.
And what was the worst that could happen? It’s not like she would irrevocably fall in love with him, and be desperate enough to have his kid in attempt to get him to marry her (and rumors did suggest that wouldn’t work either). No, one of them was most likely to cheat, and the other to dump them unceremoniously.
It would be a mistake, letting a good flirtation and even better fuck (Lyanna had gauged the strength of those arms) turn into a mediocre relationship that would ultimately implode. But then Lyanna had thought about it, and announced to her empty dorm room, ‘Fuck it. I haven’t made any mistakes in college yet. Might as well get them over and done with.’
And that, she supposed, was when she had jinxed it.
.
See, the whole Rhaegar-Lyanna thing didn’t actually start as that. It started as her going to her medieval arts class (that she’d taken up again this year regardless of the fact that it was completely unconnected to her future Law prospects) and throwing her bag next to Jaime, the way she’d done since they first met in their freshman counterpart class. The class had been brilliant and interesting, even though Professor did need immediate and psychological help (Khal Drogo wanted them to choreograph an entire medieval swordfight with actual swords that could do serious damage or even kill them), he’d been adamant that only three students would be selected to perform at the end of the year. Lyanna had side-eyed Jaime to catch him side-eyeing her: they were equally adamant that by the end of the year, they would be two of those three students. Then the class had ended, and Lyanna had stuffed her notes haphazardly into her bag, already having ideas on choreography practice. Everyone had been shoving books and elbows and laughing and complaining, before a very familiar voice had called across the hall.
‘I expect the assignment to be submitted to me by the end of the week,’ she heard him say, and instantly thought, oh no.
And there he was, Rhaegar Targaryen, in all his silky haired glory, looking for the entire world the stoic and serious individual people thought him to be.
Still, it was slightly embarrassing to have your TA be the guy you laughed at really loudly, so Lyanna slinks away, trying her best to just slide away, when Jaime calls out.
‘Oi, Stark!’ He yells, all golden in the yellow lighting, parkouring off a row of chairs. ‘Wait up, I’ve got ideas!’
Half the class looks at him; the others look at her. Rhaegar looks at her, frowns, and then promptly looks away.
Well, fine then.
.
‘I think he’s embarrassed,’ Lyanna says, more to herself than to anyone. Jaime’s invited himself into her dorm, the same way he sort of invited himself into her life. They’re lounging on the sofa in her common room that she’s lucky enough to share with nobody, and remembering when they actually smoked weed. Since they’re both into sports, they’ve quit the habit.
‘About what?’ Jaime asks. He’s still sulking after Cersei called him a pussy for not coming to the party. He had good reasons, reasons that Lyanna agreed with. As much as they’ve quit the habit, the habit hasn’t really quit them, and temptation would be enough to drive them both to smoke.
‘I mean, I did laugh at him in front of his peers. Who are also his family,’ Lyanna says. ‘I know everyone else kind of took Robert at his word, but I’m like seventy eight percent certain Rhaegar knows what’s up. I think he’s offended that I would judge him for playing the harp.’
‘No offense, Lyanna, but I don’t think he’d care about a sophomore judging him,’ Jaime said. ‘On the other hand, it is a fucking harp, so maybe he’s just offended by himself and his awful taste.’
She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I need to get better friends.’
‘You do have better friends. They all just smoke weed,’ he replied, eyeing her packet of chips. ‘And speaking of friends, saw you riding Robert Baratheon the other day.’
‘With. You saw me riding with Robert the other day, Jaime,’ Lyanna says. ‘Auxiliary words are an important part of grammar, you know.’
‘What’s that saying my dad’s fraternity spread all over the place? Fuck grammar?’ He laughs.
Lyanna grabs the chips. ‘I think it was Fuck Honor.’
‘That does sound more apt, actually,’ he says, mournfully looking at her chips. ‘So, you and Robert.’
‘Might as well, I mean,’ Lyanna says. ‘Who else am I supposed to date?’
‘This guy right here,’ Jaime says, stealing the baggie.
‘Been there, done that,’ Lyanna answers. ‘No repeating freshie mistakes.’
‘Don’t call our epic love affair a mistake, my lady,’ he counters, smirking. Moments like these, he looks so pretty she just wants to kiss him.
Lyanna rolls her eyes. ‘Oh please, our epic love affair lasted for two weeks, and do you really want to recall why?’
That’s one of the reason’s Lyanna is sure she could tell Jaime anything and not be judged for it. Because once upon a lonesome, when he had been her boyfriend, he’d been miserable and drunk and admitted that he loved another girl, and that he knew this was unfair to her. They’d broken up, and tried to be friends, until one day she’d seen him sitting after fencing practice, stroking a Polaroid of her sister which shaking hands and an intense sadness in his eyes, and she’d understood everything. It’s hard to be offended when they guy’s kind of in love with his own sister though, and that’s when Lyanna had essentially imprinted on Jaime and decided that if she couldn’t date him, she’d still keep him.
They’ve been through a lot together in the past year or so, the worst being Cersei cutting all ties with him when he decided he wanted to go pro instead of working for his dad after college. Lyanna had found him sitting outside her dorm room, half drunk and closer to tears than she’d ever seen him. She’d taken him in, let him yell at her and accuse her, slapped some sense into him, and put him to bed. She’d threatened to stop being his friend, and she’d threatened to never speak to him again. He’d woken up the most repentant she’d ever see him, apologized for his behavior, and had ever since that day been desperately trying to get over his thing, as they now called it.
‘I think I need a therapist,’ Jaime says, mood definitely on a down curve.
Lyanna feels an annoying stab of guilt. ‘Who doesn’t at this point? But honestly, how’s it going with her?’
‘In public, we’re fine. Privately, she won’t speak to me,’ he says. ‘I know, in a way it’s good. I was always trying to attain something with her that she wouldn’t be able to give me. She’s just, one of those people. Who everyone can love, but they just can’t love back. Even if they try to.’
‘God, we’re pathetic,’ Lyanna says, shoving chips in her mouth. She’s suddenly angry at herself for settling for Robert, before she passionately reminds herself that it is a temporary relationship.
Jaime looks at her hand in the bag of chips he’s holding and grins. ‘Speak for yourself, Stark’ he says, and tackles her.
Lyanna refuses to give in, fisting her hand into the bag and pulling. As they end up practically wrestling on her shitty couch, Lyanna wonders why things can’t be this easy.
.
Lyanna feels like the universe really has it out for her. As Dean Rhaella Targaryen gleefully announces the annual medieval tourney competition, Lyanna wants to throw up. As a student for the medieval arts class, she’s de facto part of the planning committee and mandatory attendee. Jaime looks equally disgruntled, and his guaranteed company is the only thing that makes any of it better.
With the senior class organizing most of it, Lyanna’s a bit like a small cog in a large machine; her and Jaime intensely lobby for one thing and one thing only – a fencing competition. With that motive achieved, they have nothing else to interest them, and turn back.
As they reach nearer and nearer to the main library, she sees a grinning Robert approaching. Because Lyanna is a huge fucking idiot, she actually believes that he might just have good news.
‘My lady,’ he says, and Lyanna cringes. The medieval fever has begun. ‘I just thought I should inform you that I’ll be fighting in the joust in your favor.’
Calm down, it’s only been three months, Lyanna thinks, and then blanches. Because it actually has been three months since she’s been dating Robert. What in the ever loving fuck happened to temporary thing? She can suddenly recall with crystal clarity her dorm room, with the small things that have simply appeared over time, evidence of Robert’s presence in her life. He keeps a pair of his jeans and boxers there, ever since he came in his pants that one time the dry humped, and he had to make the trip back to his dorm. Lyanna’s left a t-shirt or two at his dorm, borrowed his only button down and kept it because it was huge and loose and comfy to sleep in.
Jaime, noticing her existential crises, smirks around the hotdog he’s eating. ‘That sounds romantic, Robert.’
‘I don’t like you,’ Robert says to him, bluntly. He kisses Lyanna’s hand, that’s curled into a fist. ‘See you soon, my lady.’
‘Well, that wasn’t subtle,’ Jaime laughs, watching Robert stalk away. He has a slight smudge of ketchup on his lower lip, and Lyanna imagines kissing him, licking it away with her tongue in a desperate show to the world that no, she has not settled into a relationship with Robert Baratheon of all people. The moment passes, thankfully.
‘He’s not a man of subtlety,’ Lyanna says, but her mood’s been dampened. She’s not sure why. Robert, for all his faults, has actually remained partially sober throughout parties they attend together, has treated her well if a bit indifferently on occasion, and although he still stares at girls all the time, he hasn’t slept with them.
As she walks back with Jaime, she finds herself listing all the reasons Robert is good for her. He makes her laugh, and he doesn’t stop her from doing what she wants. He appreciates her passion for horse riding, and encourages her fencing. He doesn’t quite understand why she loves studying law so much, but doesn’t try to dissuade her from it. She’s even stopped wearing her sexy underwear to bed with him, instead choosing a ripped t-shirt and a pair of granny shorts, and the first time he’d looked at her in those he’d said, ‘you look fucking sexy, babe.’
And sure, he’s got his drawbacks, but he is trying. He does like her, anyone can tell that. He could probably love her at this rate, and soon. And although Lyanna is pretty sure she’ll never love him back the way he does, she doesn’t quite mind the whole relationship thing for now.
‘Are you rationalizing your inappropriate relationship right now?’ Jaime asks.
Sometimes Lyanna really hates how well he knows her. ‘No.’
‘Yes, you are,’ Jaime says, smirking.
‘Less inappropriate than yours,’ Lyanna says, annoyed.
Jaime chokes on his hotdog. ‘Harsh, Lya. That was a low blow. No need to be so damn bitter.’
‘I’m not bitter,’ Lyanna says, bitterly, with a bitter expression. ‘Now gimme your hotdog.’
As Jaime’s mouth upturned in his classical smirk, he said, ‘Ooh, but my lady, I never knew you were inclined towards such proclivities.’
Lyanna tackled him to the ground as he shoved the remaining bite into his mouth. They collapsed on the ground, Lyanna hitting him and hissing, ‘Shut the fuck up, Lannister.’
‘You are rather fiery, Lady Lyanna,’ Jaime cooed loudly, undeterred. People were starting to stop and stare at the two rolling in the grass. ‘As unladylike your behavior has been so far, I find myself strangely captivated by your rather unique graces and – OW, Lya, Jesus.’
‘Why are you like this,’ Lyanna hissed, trying to strangle him. She could feel the tell-tale sign of her laughter bubbling in her stomach, but it had been a while since she’d had a brawl. She suddenly missed Brandon deeply.
People cheered for ‘Lady Lyanna’ as she pushed him to the grass and straddled him. They were barely out of breath, a clear benefit of their athleticism, but there was grass in his their hair and a giant ant in extremely close proximity to her hand where she held his down, and Lyanna made to move.
‘What’s happening here?’ Rhaegar’s voice called out. ‘Don’t you people have lectures?’
Lyanna jumped off Jaime like he was scalding her. She wondered why the universe kept making her path meet with Rhaegar Targaryen over and over again, and especially when she wasn’t on her best behavior.
For all that she had judged him and laughed, Rhaegar’s stoicism remained unmoved by the sight of her, slapping the grass off her thighs, or Jaime as he stood up and shook his hair out. That slight stabbing feeling occurred near her right kidney, and she decided to classify it as a period warning, and not a strange sense of guilt. She could imagine him laughing at her, and how she’d feel, and she felt somewhat annoyed at him and her. Why in the world was she even thinking of that? Maybe she should apologize, she thought, watching him turn and leave. But why should she, he’s the one who was carrying a fucking harp with him in the hopes that someone would ask him to play.
‘I do not know what any girl sees in that man,’ Jaime said, plucking a stray twig from her hair.
Lyanna was in no doubts that her hair had exploded. It was curling in patches from where it had escaped her topknot. ‘Really? You have to admit, he’s not hard to look at.’
‘But he’s so dull. He barely ever smiles, or talks,’ Jaime said, rubbing the shoulder she’d punched him on. ‘I’d wonder why if I cared.’
Oh god, I laughed at him when he was all cheery, Lyanna thought. Aloud she only said, ‘Neither do I. Now let’s go, I’ve got Pysch.’
.
Things remained calm after that; Lyanna bummed about with Jaime between classes, visited Robert at his football games once a week, occasionally getting dinner or staying over at his dorm. She and Jaime had gotten their swords and immediately started choreographing their fight. Still, these swords were the old, actual kind, and although neither of them were weak in terms of arm strength, a few swipes had them sweating.
‘So, this is going to be harder than expected,’ Jaime said, trying to act like his arm didn’t hurt. From his consistent flinching, it wasn’t working.
Simultaneously, they had to practice for the meelee, with their much lighter swords. Two weeks into it, Lyanna found herself much faster with her meelee sword; compared to the one she was practicing with, it was lighter than air.
‘Have you gotten your dresses made?’ Jaime asked her, parrying her blow.
Lyanna threw more of her weight on the sword, and had the pleasure of his hand jerking as he fought it. ‘No, Ashara and Catelyn are dragging me out tonight.’
As he twisted and pushed her back, Lyanna corrected her footwork again. They were practicing on the stage of their medieval arts class, the stage they were adamant they would be sharing at the end of the year.
‘Could be worse, Lya,’ Jaime said, carefully approaching. He had his eyes on the angle of her hands. ‘I’m stuck with one of the greyjoy’s. Anyways, how’s old Robert doing.’
He certainly was taking his time, but they were here early. ‘Oh, don’t even start.’
So maybe things hadn’t been so great with Robert lately. He’d been drunk most of the time, bitter about some imagined slight or the other. He’d gotten upset about her having lunch with Oberyn, although she and he were only friends. When she’d asked about him grinding on Cersei, he’d yelled at her until he’d passed out. Lyanna had yelled at him, collapsed on the bed, until she’d been too tired to.
‘As much as I would like to say I told you so,’ Jaime says, grinning. ‘Honestly, Lya, what did you expect?’
Not this. ‘Oh, fuck it, Jaime,’ she said. ‘We’re here to practice, aren’t we? Let’s practice, then.’
‘Fine, fine,’ he replied. ‘Don’t get tetchy with me because your boyfriend’s a piece of shit and you have no qualms about settling.’
She hated his honesty sometimes, and she hated the cruel streak his sister had only encouraged. She let the rage simmer, at him for not understanding, and at herself for not understanding either, and struck his with the hardest of her strength.
He hadn’t been expecting it, and almost fell to the ground with surprise of it. ‘Fucking hell, Lyana, calm down.’
‘Oh get off it, Jaime,’ she said, seething more than she had a right to. ‘He’s a man; he’s bound to be a pig. Let him have his drinking and his cheating eyes. I could care less about any of it. I could care less about the fighting and the yelling and the arguments.’
‘Why the fuck are you even with him?’ Jaime challenged.
Why was she? This is had started off so simple, so clear. She’d dated him because he was fun, and wouldn’t bind her to things, and they’d been good together, once. She didn’t know why, only that Ned had called her and been so happy that she was with his good friend Robert; only that her father had smiled at the concept of a steady relationship when she’d skyped him, approving the Baratheon family. Only that sometimes, Lyanna couldn’t see the difference between settling for someone she liked well enough because he didn’t care about stopping her from doing the things she liked.
‘Because he doesn’t restrict me from things, even if he does bitch about them. Because my family would approve of him,’ Lyanna finds herself spitting. ‘Because he doesn’t care if I’m always looking pretty, or behaving myself.’
‘What the fuck happened to you in six months, Lya?’ Jaime asks her. He’s looking at her like he can’t understand her.
‘Maybe I decided to grow up, Jaime,’ she says. ‘Maybe I realized that unlike some of us here, I actually respect my family values, and that I shouldn’t be so fucking selfish. How’s that for an explanation. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I made do with the best option. How would you know, hmm? As much as my family likes to claim we’ve moved past the old let’s-marry-off-our-daughters-to-the-highest-bidder façade, I know what awaits me. If I can’t have a choice about being useful to my family by marriage, by God I swear I will have a choice between who I will marry.’
Years later, Jaime will ask her what she was thinking then, and Lyanna will remember thinking off Rickard Stark’s solemn words, ‘your mother would have wished to see you happy and with someone, Lya.’ She will remember thinking of Benjen being excited over meeting his older brother’s friend Rob, who had thrown him up and caught him as a child. She will remember Robert being too drunk to stop her from going out and doing what she wants.
‘But you don’t get that, do you, Jaime?’ Lyanna presses. She feels cruel. She feels like bawling. ‘No, you walked away from your family, but your fortune isn’t too far away. Even if it wasn’t, it’s not like you care for family values, is it? Fuck honor, isn’t that what Tywin taught you?’
Jaime is trembling. He gives a deep sigh, tremulous. She wonders if she’s gone too far with the truth, as acerbic as it was. She doesn’t care if she has.
‘Whatever he taught me, one thing stuck by,’ he says, finally, looking like the fight has drained out of him. ‘Lie to the entire world, Lyanna. Don’t lie to yourself.’
As he turns to leave, Lyanna suddenly feels sick. What the fuck is she doing?
‘Where are you going?’ she yells, watching him trudge up the stairs of the auditorium.
‘I’m not fighting you like this, Lyanna,’ he calls back. ‘Get a fucking grip.’
As the door slams closed, Lyanna feels an intensely un-Lyanna-like urge to break down into tears. She loosens her grip on the sword, and wonders what the fuck adulthood even is.
‘Well, that was something,’ Rhaegar’s voice rings out so loud and sudden, Lyanna drops her sword.
She curses the universe, once again. ‘Trust me; I fight with swords better than I do with words.’
‘I’m not convinced,’ he says, and with how serious he was, Lyanna wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.
She takes it as a joke, she’d thrown enough lighter fluid on bridges today. ‘You’ll just have to wait and see then, I suppose.’
They stand there in awkward silence then; the early morning time and the fight she’s had with Jaime has left everything feeling surreal. Rhaegar, with his violet eyes and his hair isn’t exactly helping with setting in reality.
‘I suppose I will,’ he says, eventually, and again there is silence. The next time he speaks, so does Lyanna.
‘Your left side is open, very rarely – ‘
‘You’re never here this early - ’
They both pause, and Lyanna offers up an errant smile. ‘I know, I keep trying to correct it. My brother taught me to be on the offensive mostly, I suppose my defense strategy is more lacking.’
Rhaegar smiles at her, and for a minute, Lyanna forgets everything. ‘I’m usually early, but in Drogo’s office, marking assignments.’
She feels stabbed, again, for some strange reason. Lyanna hasn’t seen him smile since that one time at that tea party that seemed years ago, although it has only been six months. She has only seen him serious, and stoic, and cold, and she hasn’t expected to enjoy his smiling face the way she is. He looks beautiful - gorgeous, actually – and Lyanna blinks at him.
‘You have recognized the weakness, which is good,’ Rhaegar was saying. Lyanna feels disgusted by how attractive he iss, and by herself for being attracted. ‘Practice makes perfect, although you’ve obviously taken that one to heart.’
To her absolute chagrin, Lyanna feels herself fighting the urge to blush. What the actual fuck?
‘Yes, well, good enough isn’t good enough if it can be better,’ she repeats Brandon’s words, with a growing sense of confusion. It had obviously been too long since she’d had a good fuck, Robert had been too drunk and she’d been too pissed. ‘Sorry if that little tableau bothered you. Jaime and I can be… dramatic sometimes.’
His smile, which had been dimming, deepens. Again, that stabbing sensation. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve endured many dramas in my own family.’
‘Well, I’ll let you get back to the grading,’ Lyanna says. This was too weird. ‘Be kind to us poor students who have no knowledge of medieval cults.’
He doesn’t reply, only stands there and inclines his head as Lyanna practically runs up the stairs.
For fuck’s sake, she doesn’t even like Rhaegar. She doesn’t even know him, apart from the obvious married part, and the somewhat secret fact that he plays a harp.
The harp that she’d laughed at him for. The incident that she’d kept thinking about apologizing for, and missed out on the perfect opportunity for. She turns, and he iss still looking at her.
‘Hey, I just,’ she calls out, and is lost on what to say. I’m sorry for laughing at you? For laughing at the harp? I couldn’t help it? She hasn’t thought this through. ‘I’m sorry about interrupting your performance, that time.’
He raises his eyebrows. Damn, even they were perfectly sculpted. She wonders if he got them done. Fuck, he probably did. ‘What – oh. It’s alright.’
Lyanna feels like she should say more. He’s looking all moody again, and it isn’t comforting after she’d seen him smile. ‘You were pretty great from what I could hear; I’m sure you’re brilliant at it. Again, I’m sorry.’
She sees him open his mouth and close it, and wondered what the fuck was going on. She briefly wonders if she has indigestion. He nods, and Lyanna slams the door behind her.
.
When she comes back to the auditorium, she can’t find Jaime. He hasn’t shown up, and Lyanna listens to Drogo with less enthusiasm then she usually would.
After her classes for the day finish, she makes her way to Jaime’s dorm, banging on his door.
‘Fuck off!’ Domeric Bolton had yelled, muffled from inside.
‘Open the door, fuckwit,’ Lyanna had yelled right back.
As he opened the door, she spared an appreciative glance for his chest, whistling. ‘Damn, Domeric, keep doing what you’re doing.’
Domeric smiles at her. ‘Thanks, love. Don’t mind the messy common suite.’
‘I never do, darling,’ Lyanna says, jumping over a questionable pair of boxer shorts.
‘Jaime’s moping, not sure about what,’ Domeric tells her. ‘He won’t open the door.’
Lyanna gives a mmhmm. ‘He’s playing music though. Is it a Celine Dion level emergency.’
‘No, no,’ Domeric says, far away. He’s rubbing the towel through his wet hair, his muscles moving. Damn, Lyanna needs to get laid soon. ‘More John Mayer, from what I can tell. Ever since I called him out on it, he plays the music super low.’
‘Open up, Jaime,’ Lyanna croons against the door. ‘Come on, don’t be like that.’
She hears the slightest bit of muffled movement, and a quickly switched off music track that seemed for all intents and purposes to be Taylor Swift, but she feels like mentioning that won’t be conducive to what she’s trying to achieve here.
‘Fuck off, Lya,’ he calls out. ‘I’m not in the mood.’
‘Come on, I’m a crazy bitch,’ Lyanna says. ‘Thought you were into that.’
‘Fuck off,’ she hears, more muffled. ‘This isn’t about you.’
Well, that’s interesting, and explains a lot. Jaime isn’t one to brood, especially about an argument with her. Her curiosity peaked, Lyanna meets Domeric’s eyes. Time for the big guns.
‘Oh, Ser Jaime,’ Lyanna swoons, her voice high and lilted. ‘Good Ser, however shall this lady survive without imbibing herself on the fruits of your tender love?’
Domeric snorts in the background, and she hears Jaime mutter a quiet, disbelieving, ‘imbibe?’
‘I have made this long and arduous journey for the sake of your company,’ Lyanna said, adding a tremulous edge to her tone. ‘They did not tell me you would turn me away so, with not even a glimpse of your breathtaking golden mane, and your exceptional bravery, and the face that so many women have simply died upon looking at. I would only find myself so lucky so as to greet death after I have glanced at your precious – fucking finally.’
Jaime has finally opened the door, but Lyanna can’t find it in herself to be too pleased. He looks infinitely saddened, so sad that she almost wants to break their no-weed covenant and douse him in hash.
‘Seriously, Lya?’ Jaime asks, giving her a pathetic grin. ‘A face so gorgeous women have died after looking at it? A bit too much, isn’t it?’
‘Flattery always has been the way to get to you,’ she says, throwing herself on his bed. ‘What the fuck happened to you, then?’
‘I saw Cersei,’ he says, and that’s enough to make Lyanna sit up. ‘That’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ Lyanna says. ‘That’s what’s got you so down?’
‘Father was here to see her,’ Jaime says, and he looks so melancholic. ‘Even Tyrion had joined them.’
Lyanna suddenly remembers him sitting with his family during freshman year, when Tywin had visited a few times. ‘Well, shit.’
‘Exactly so,’ he replies. He sits down next to her. ‘Wasn’t exactly the best thing to see after I’d just fought with my best friend.’
‘Again, I’m a crazy bitch,’ Lyanna says, but it’s soft as she can make it. ‘Do you regret it?’
‘They seem like strangers,’ he muses. ‘Well, Tyrion’s fine, but Tyrion’s always been there, as much as he can be. But Cersei, God, whenever I see her now, talking to someone, I don’t even know who she is.’
Lyanna feels like she has no clue what to say. The only experience she has with accidental-not-on-purpose-incest is when she was four and adamant that she would marry Brandon. ‘Well, she’s…kind of a bitch, to be honest.’
That makes him laugh, just a little. ‘I know. I used to like that about her, you know?’
‘You were kind of a dick though,’ Lyanna says. ‘When you were constantly around her. It wasn’t exactly healthy. I mean, you treated Brienne like shit.’
‘I did, didn’t I? I should apologize to her for that,’ Jaime says. He is no doubt remembering the times he laughed at his sister’s cruel words to the absolute godsend that was Brienne Tarth. Brienne, who had forgiven him with no apologies, who came out for drinks with both of them, who had defeated Jaime in an impromptu fencing challenge last year and immediately offered him a hand to pull him back up.
‘See, that!’ Lyanna says. ‘You would never even deign to think about apologizing if you were with her.’
‘I just, I miss her Lya,’ he says, and he sounds so heartbroken, it makes Lyanna almost jealous. If only someone would be that heartbroken over her.
‘I know you do, and that’s fine,’ Lyanna says. ‘If me and Brandon stopped talking, I wouldn’t know what a tree looks like. And sure, Brandon doesn’t mean to me what…Cersei means to you, but. I understand that. She was your twin. It’s hard to get that level of understanding with someone. But I mean this with no judgment about anything else, just on the kind of person she is – and that is a toxic person.’
Jaime looks like he’s going to say something, but she shushes him. ‘I know her not being in your life is heartbreaking. And as your best friend, I hate seeing you like this, because you being sad makes me sad. But I can’t for a minute not be glad that she isn’t in your life anymore, because you are still a better man on your worst day without her than on your best day with her.’
Jaime looks shocked. ‘Well,’ he says, coughing. There’s silence for a moment, and Lyanna feels weird. Today’s a weird day. They’re never so mushy and upfront with each other, but maybe they needed this. ‘…You being sad makes me sad.’
‘Oh, fuck off,’ Lyanna says, betrayed by her reddening cheeks. She gets up and moves to leave. This is just a really weird day. She’d never be such a pussy otherwise. Honestly, getting triggered by his mention of her relationship, feeling like Rhaegar is the prettiest bitch in town, having a heart-to-heart with her best friend. What’s next? Declaring her love to Robert? Hell no.
But Jaime’s smiling now, and that’s such a better look on him then that bullshit sadness, so she can’t really mind when he grabs her wrist and pulls her back, stopping just short of falling on him, and just looks at her.
‘What?’ Lyanna says, trying to sound brusque, but failing. He’s happy, and she’s glad for that. The weird indigestion feeling is gone now.
‘Thank you, Lya,’ he says. There’s a small smile on his face, and she can tell he means it. That’s something nice of his after-Cersei life: he smiles more than he smirks. She’d tell him, if she was the type to say that shit on a regular basis.
‘Don’t mention it,’ she says. ‘Seriously. Anyways, I’ve got a tailor’s appointment, and then a date with Robert. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?’
And when she’s almost at the door, she turns around, because she knows Jaime can’t resist gossip either. ‘Guess who was listening into our little conversation in the morning.’
‘Who?’ Jaime asks.
‘Rhaegar Targaryen,’ she chimes, and runs.
.
While Ashara and Catelyn do convince her to order six dresses and an actual evening gown for the last banquet, Lyanna ensures that she also gets a tunic and breeches commissioned. After all, she does have the meelee to go to, and she is sure that nothing will get in the way of that. After all, Brienne is judging this year, as winner of the previous one, and Lyanna always wants to impress that woman. She is under no doubts that she can win, at least in her sophomore batch. Most of the girls aren’t exactly brilliant at it, and the ones who are aren’t as good as she is.
And medieval renaissance week is fast approaching, actually. It’s only two weeks away, and people have already adopted the spirit and mannerisms of olden times. Lyanna could almost throw up at the sight of guys giving their girlfriends flowers, the girls demurely pressing a kiss on to their cheeks.
Ashara isn’t much better, fluttering her eyelashes at some guy. Ashara, who had dated Brandon while she was in high school and he was going off to college. Ashara, who was one of the most progressive and liberal females she knew. Ashara, who always dressed up as a slutty nurse on Halloween as a silent and self-satisfying protest for the cause of feminism (although that one was completely lost on Lyanna).
‘Oh, I’m afraid I’ve promised my favor to another,’ she giggles. ‘My apologies, good ser.’
Lyanna feels a headache coming. It’s only going to get worse from here on out.
‘My lady!’ Robert yells out at the party that night, the one being held at the Martell’s frat house, and Lyanna wants to die. He’s well on his way to being drunk, but she can smell the beer on him. It’s strange how once it didn’t bother how, but now it’s enough for her irritation to blaze.
What the fuck actually happened to her in the last few months?
He’s sitting with Arthur Dayne and Oberyn Martell and Howland Reed, who she recognizes from high school. A few others are around him, but Lyanna couldn’t care which. She decides that’s she will not get through this night without a few drinks, and steals Oberyn’s, who only winks at her. She decides that she is not going to drink way too much tonight.
Robert raises his beer. ‘To Lady Lyanna Stark. May the Gods favor her,’ he booms.
And although Lyanna is sure that these people are all too drunk to understand who or what the fuck is happening, everyone calls out, ‘Hear, hear!’
She feels like she’s missing something, and she isn’t quite sure what. On the excuse of a drink she leaves her seat and goes off to the kitchen, and tries to find something that isn’t beer.
‘Hey,’ Howland says. He’s been standing in the kitchen, she realizes, from the moment he’d walked off from their little group.
‘Oh, hey Howland,’ Lyanna replies, filling her glass with equal part red wine and equal part vodka.
‘You remember me?’ He sounds surprised. He looks lonely. ‘I…’
‘Of course. High school, remember? How’s your dad doing?’ Lyanna asks. She feels strange, off kilter. It’s been a week or two since she’s had a drink.
‘Yeah, he’s good, um,’ Howland says.
‘Sup, man,’ Lyanna says, drinking. It’s absolutely awful, but she has no choice. She wants to leave this conversation, with no offence to Howland. She wants to leave this house and this university and just move somewhere random, where no one will find her. ‘You look tired. And sad. Have a drink.’
‘I have a long walk back,’ he says. ‘I’m not sure why I came, to be honest…I. This isn’t my cup of tea.’
Lyanna wonders what’s happened to her. She loves to party. ‘I’m not sure why I came either.’
Usually, she’d have Jaime to mess with, but he’s having dinner with Tyrion tonight, and no doubt he’ll spend as much time as possible on the only night they have time to catch up. She doesn’t blame him; Lyanna has no qualms about partying alone, but tonight she feels stilted, and off, and lonely and sad. It is festering under her skin like an infected wound that she can’t see or touch or rip into. So she just drinks more.
‘Lyanna, this isn’t my place, but,’ Howland looks increasingly concerned. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t drink anymore. The dorms are a bit off, and.’
‘I need to speak with Lyanna,’ Cersei says, blandly, sliding into the kitchen. Howland quietly acquiesces.
‘Hey, Cers,’ Lyanna says.
For all of their weird circumstances, Lyanna and Cersei have a deep rooted understanding, and an unspoken agreement. They are as similar as they are different, and Lyanna has no doubt it is because of the different kinds of fathers who raised them. Although Lyanna is accidently cruel in her anger, Cersei wields her cruelty like a weapon. They both hurt equally so, Lyanna has learnt. They’ve both lost their mothers early, both served as the only female figures in male-dominated households, and they both have expectations placed on them. Lyanna doesn’t begrudge Cersei her anger or her ambition, in fact, she understands Cersei. Deeply and completely, in fact. Still, Lyanna isn’t quite like her. Although Cersei may only be pretending to fulfill all expectations, she doesn’t quite have the sense of unpredictability Lyanna does. Cersei, in her own unpredictability, is predictable. She would do anything for her ambition, and everyone knows it. Lyanna’s wildness is something most people don’t even know exists, until it shows itself. At restriction. At honor.
‘What are you drinking?’ Cersei asks, rubbing her shiny stiletto against the other one. She is eyeing Lyanna’s boots with well-disguised envy.
Once Lyanna would have been jealous of how petite Cersei’s feet look in the heels, but she’s aware of how easy it is to walk drunk to her dorm in what she’s wearing. ‘Absolute garbage. Want some?’
‘Sure,’ Cersei says. She swallows it down though, albeit making a disgusted face. ‘God, that’s barbaric.’
Lyanna hums noncommittally. ‘What did you want to talk about?’
‘How’s my brother doing?’ Cersei says, so quietly and after so long that Lyanna spits out some of her drink.
‘Fucking hell,’ she curses. ‘Ask him yourself.’
‘I can’t,’ Cersei says, looking both torn and indifferent. Lyanna wonders how she’s managing it. ‘I won’t. I won’t speak to him after what he did. But that doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him.’
For all her faults, Cersei does care about Jaime, Lyanna can tell. It’s just sad that no one really taught Cersei what caring about someone means. She remembers her own words to Jaime.
For a long while she says nothing. ‘He’s good. He’s a lot better.’
Cersei looks pained at that, but hides it well. Lyanna can only see it in her eyes. ‘That’s. Good. What did he tell you about our fight?’
‘That’s between me and him,’ Lyanna says.
‘Did he tell you what he said to me?’ Cersei asks, more pointedly.
‘No,’ Lyanna replies, sipping her drink. Everything seems soft and hazy, like a perfumed envelope.
Cersei scoffs. ‘Don’t you want to know? Don’t you want to know what he said to me to make me swear never to speak to him again?’
‘That’s between you and him,’ Lyanna tells her.
Cersei simmers down, it seems. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m glad he has a friend in you.’
‘Not worth much, love,’ Lyanna says, but she’s got a smile on her face.
Cersei mirrors it, going as far as to throw in a borderline affectionate, ‘fuck you.’, as she walks out.
Lyanna has another drink, and then walks out slowly. Robert sees her approaching and stands. She’d judge him for his careful steps towards her, if she wasn’t being equally careful.
‘Want to go outside?’ he asks, slowly, his hand rubbing his beard. ‘I’ve heard fresh air does wonders, and we haven’t talked in a while.’
‘No offense, Robert, but we don’t talk much nowadays,’ Lyanna says, walking anyways. ‘What’s this about?’
He looks as embarrassed as Robert can ever seem. ‘Just something Arthur said. About. What women want, or something.’
It’s cold outside, the wind picking up chill. Winter will be upon them soon. Lyanna finds herself regretting not bringing her jacket, but Robert is warm and comfortable, enough that she can feel the heat seem into her back. But the fresh air does do wonders, and she feels less depressed than she was inside that house. In the moonlight and the shimmering sounds of drunken laughter floating through the air, Lyanna finds her mind spinning. Everything is soft and so, so beautiful.
Now, when she looks at Robert, she sees him the way she did six months ago; he is large, tall, imposing. The mirth in his eyes, the strength in his arms. The sharp jut of his cheekbones, his hair, black as night. She doesn’t quite mind being in his arms, in this moment. After a long time in months, they’re not yelling or arguing, or ignoring each other. As he crowds her against the wall at the back of the house, she lets him. She wants to enjoy this for as long as it can last, because she knows it won’t last long. Tomorrow, she’ll be annoyed at him, but not enough to leave him. He’ll be pissed about something or the other, but not enough to argue. They’ll undoubtedly ignore each other unless one of them is horny or they find something to yell about.
‘I’ve missed you, Lyanna,’ he says. He’s drunk, she’s sure, because he isn’t one for sentimentalities otherwise.
She smiles. So is she, though. ‘I haven’t been gone, Robert.’
‘No,’ he agrees, smiling back. ‘You’re right here, though. Now.’
It shocks her how different he looks in this moment. The light bulbs tied to the tree above them dim and then slowly brighten, and she sees the shadows across the planes of his face. Robert is handsome, but by no means beautiful; not like Jaime can be, not like Rhaegar undoubtedly is. She wonders how much more beautiful a man like Rhaegar could look in lighting such as this. Once again, the lights dim and then moments later crescendo. Robert looks beautiful in this moment, and Lyanna puts away all thoughts of everyone else. This is the closest she will ever come to loving Robert; drunk and weak and wanting and lonely and strangely in awe of her life. She wants to remember it. He kisses her, pushes her up, with her back against the wall and kisses her, slow and soft for once. She thinks he’s too drunk for his usual energetic activities, but she doesn’t mind it in the least. After all, being a bad kisser isn’t one of his character flaws.
‘You’re actually a good kisser,’ she says, realizing she hasn’t really complimented him properly throughout their entire relationship.
He grins, and his breath is hot against her neck.
‘Practice makes perfect,’ she muses, grinning back.
He picks her up, her thighs hoisted on his arms, and she bends her head to kiss him.
‘You’re perfect,’ he says, and she is drunk enough to believe him.