Connington had a pavilion cleared and lined with carpets. A traveling altar stood at the center, the Seven shimmering with gold leaf that caught the afternoon light. Candle smoke drifted in the chilly air, smelling of beeswax and wet wool. Guards held the camp at a hush that was not quite reverence.
Lyanna stood with Dacey at her shoulder. Her wrists were free, but two spearmen from house Mooton lingered close enough to be felt. Oswell Whent waited by the flap with a face that revealed nothing. Jonothor Darry hovered near the altar, eager to be useful. Arthur Dayne and Gerold Hightower stood a step behind Rhaegar. Barristan Selmy kept his hands locked behind his back as if holding himself together by force. Lewyn Martell's jaw worked, though he said nothing yet.
High Septon Maynard swept in like a perfumed storm. Silk shoes. Rings stacked like coins along his fingers. He nodded to Rhaegar, lower than a holy man should bow, then positioned himself at the altar and waited for the prince to speak first.
Rhaegar did not waste time on pleasantries. "Your High Holiness, the realm needs certainty. My wife is gentle and worthy, but her health is broken. She can no longer give heirs. The dragon line cannot falter. The war will not end unless it sees a future."
Lewyn's voice cracked sharp. "Elia is not broken. She is tired, because you and your father ground her down. She is still princess of Dorne and your wife in full."
Rhaegar looked through him. "We speak of purpose. Wives exist to create children. The Faith understands such duties."
Maynard had the look of a fish that smells bread. "The Faith serves the realm," he said smoothly. "And the crown guides the Faith. As ever."
Rhaegar turned his palm up in a small gesture of offer and demand. "Then serve it. Bless this union. Recognize what the gods have already chosen. This is Lyanna Stark. She is the wolf crowned in winter roses. She will bear what the realm requires."
"I will not," Lyanna spoke with confidence, unafraid of the spears pressing into her back.
Dacey's hand brushed her elbow. It steadied more than any prayer.
The High Septon's smile did not slip, though his eyes counted heads and weighed outcomes. "There are paths," he said, voice low but carrying. "Dispensation in dire times. A private rite solemnized now, perfected when peace is made. The Mother loves houses reconciled, Your Grace."
Gerold Hightower spoke at last. "This is folly. You already have a wife. If you would be king, you must uphold the laws of the realm."
Rhaegar did not look away from Lyanna. "Law bends when purpose demands it. The Conquerors did what was needed. So will I." His eyes cooled further. "Lady Lyanna, the realm requires from you something higher than maidenly stubbornness. Put your hand in mine, speak the words, and we end this."
"I do not consent," Lyanna said. "I will not speak vows I do not believe. I am Lyanna of House Stark and I will not be wed against my will before southern gods."
Rhaegar's mouth tightened. "I know you don't love the rebel. Robert Baratheon is a hammer without a mind. He would make you a broodmare between visits to the brothel."
"Both you and Robert are unworthy of my lady." Dacey declared. "Love is a foreign idea to the both of you."
Rhaegar's gaze slid to Dacey. "Your tongue is too free. Take care."
Dacey shrugged. "I am sworn to protect Lady Lyanna. I would be honored to die for her virtue."
Connington stepped in a half pace. "Your Grace," he said softly. "The camp watches. The lords are treacherous. I understand the value you place on the future, but the present needs unity."
Maynard cleared his throat as if to save them from themselves. "The Seven gods bring blessings to their supporters," he said to Rhaegar with unblushing frankness. "And the Faith can be grateful. A place on the council would help the Mother's voice be heard in these troubled days. A vow to restore the starry sept. A tithe from royal tariffs for the poor."
Rhaegar's jaw went a notch looser. "You shall have a chair and a voice," he said. "You will sit in my council when this is finished."
Lewyn took a step toward the altar. "And what of my sister," he asked, each word a blade. "Will her chair be at Dragonstone or a coffin at the Great Sept when your father tires of her?"
Rhaegar finally looked at him. "Elia and the children will be moved at once. That I swear. Ser Oswell will lead the rescue as soon we finish here."
Ser Lewyn let out a short breath. "Then let me take them," he said. "Tywin marches closer by the hour."
"Go," Rhaegar said, impatient now. "Prepare the horses. But I will hear no more of your whining."
Ser Lewyn left the tend without a word, rage oozing into the air. Barristan Selmy followed close behind, taking the opportunity to escape the awkwardness.
The silver prince turned back to Lyanna. "We will speak the words now." He extended his hand. "Do it, and I will spare your brothers if they lay down arms and join me to unseat Aerys."
The tent shifted like it had drawn breath. Connington's eyes flicked to Arthur in warning. Gerold's lips thinned to a bloodless line. Darry and Oswell stood still as posts. Dayne watched only Rhaegar.
Lyanna did not move. "I will not be used to buy anyone's life," she said firmly. "Not Ned's. Not Benjen's. Not Brandon's ghost."
Rhaegar's voice went soft and hard at once. "Do not mistake me. I am the choice the realm needs. And you are the vessel the realm requires. You will step up to it, now or later. You can come as a queen beside me or as a troublesome mare broken to harness. The road ends the same."
Dacey drew breath to speak. Rhaegar raised two fingers. "Say one word more and I will have you bound until this is done."
Dacey lifted her chin. "Bind me then," she said without heat. "I would be honored to bleed before I let a man bully a woman into a bed she refuses."
Maynard clapped his hands once like a tutor restoring order. "The rite," he said briskly, already opening his book. "We will proceed. The gods bless those who bless the realm. Lady Lyanna, say the words."
"No," Lyanna said.
He did not wait. He turned the page, consulted a script, and began to speak the marriage prayer. The sound of it washed past, thick as honey and just as choking. Rhaegar took Lyanna's right hand and set it on his left forearm. She did not squeeze back. The High Septon intoned. He reached for her left hand. She held it at her side.
"By my authority," Maynard concluded smoothly, "and by the needs of the Faith and the crown, this union is blessed." He did not look at her when he said it. He looked at Rhaegar, then at the little coffer resting under the altar cloth.
"It is not," Lyanna said.
Rhaegar lifted his head as if the roof had admitted sun. "It is."
Rhaegar reached for Lyanna's face. She leaned away. His fingers flexed once in the air, then found purpose elsewhere. He looked over his shoulder. "Jon," he said to Connington, "see to the riders. The roads must be safe. And send a raven to Dragonstone, to arrange passage from King's Landing."
Connington's eyes flicked to Lyanna, then to Dayne, and back to Rhaegar. He read the room and bowed. "At once."
When Connington left, the silence changed color. The prince and the sword of the morning were alone with Lyanna, Dacey, Hightower, Whent, Darry, and the High Septon. Maynard was already fussing with seals, scratching notes on a parchment with a fat quill, humming as if the business bored him.
Rhaegar stepped closer to Lyanna again. "You will come to my pavilion at dusk," he said. "We will begin as husband and wife."
"No," Lyanna said.
He smiled without warmth. "You will."
Arthur moved then, gallant and gentle. He laid two fingers against Rhaegar's wrist and spoke low. "You don't need to have the bedding yet. Neither of you will find joy in it. Crush the rebels, and the wolf will lose its bite."
Rhaegar's eyes slid to Arthur's mouth and stayed there a heartbeat too long. The tent held its breath again. Something like yearning went across the prince's face, then something like hunger, then a blank white nothing as emotion faded to duty.
Arthur leaned in and kissed him once, firm and sure. It was not a lover's abandon, but the brief affection of a married couple's greeting.
"Rebels first," Arthur repeated, contemplating.
Lyanna's voice cut across the scrape of rope. "Hear me," she said to Rhaegar, and for once everyone else stopped to let the sound land. "I will not share a bed with you while Elia Martell lives within your father's reach. Once she stands safe and whole at Dragonstone, I will not kill you when you try to consummate this farce. That is the only promise you will have from me."
Rhaegar studied her like a riddle. "You will keep that vow?"
"I do not break vows."
"Then we understand one another." He lifted his hand and let it fall. "Take her."
Maynard pressed his seal and made a satisfied noise. "A fruitful union and a peaceful realm," he intoned, as if the words were a charm that could make themselves true. He tucked the parchment away with a neat flourish.
Rhaegar nodded in Ser Jonothor's direction. "Darry," he said, without turning, "The lady goes to the capital under guard. Keep her out of trouble."
Dacey stepped towards Lyanna by reflex. Rhaegar's stare went through her.
Connington came back at a near-run. "Horses are ready," he said. "Lewyn is in the saddle, and the northern mare is ready. I've prepared mounts for Ser Oswell and Ser Jonothor as well."
"Good," Rhaegar said. "Bind the handmaid. She stays. We will have leverage in case our lady bride tries to slip her leash."
Whent hesitated for the first time. Dacey did not. "Don't worry about me, my lady." she told Lyanna. "A bear can take care of herself."
Oswell's mouth twitched like a man who almost respected what he was asked to break. He nodded to a guardsman. The man stepped forward with cord. Dacey did not flinch.
Oswell moved to the door and lifted the flap. Afternoon sun bled into the tent. Outside, the camp's noise rose again: hooves, shouted orders, the clamor of drilling soldiers.
Dacey met Lyanna's eyes with a smile and goodbye. "I'd ask you to be careful, but I know you won't be. I'll see you at Dragonstone."
Lyanna nodded. She could hardly remember a time without Dacey.
"See you at Dragonstone."
She felt the amulet under her gown and the bronze bracelets on her wrist, both warm against her skin. She felt the old gods like a steady hand at her back. She felt nothing for the parchment that said she was wed.
They led her out into the light. Whent fell in on one side, Darry on the other. Winter waited next to Ser Lewyn at the edge of camp. Banners passed by as Lyanna walked toward them: orange, white, green, red, and black. A rainbow of forces from the Crownlands, Dorne, Reach, and Riverlands.
Lyanna slid into the saddle atop Winter. At least she had one familiar companion on this journey.
"King's Landing," Ser Lewyn said, giving the order to move.
Oswell clicked his tongue. The column started. Lyanna did not look back at the tent. She did not need to see the cords on Dacey's wrists to feel them. Westeros had many chains, seen and unseen, but Lyanna would not rest until they were all broken.