Summons came at dusk, when the camp smoke turned the sky the color of old iron. Two Kingsguard waited outside the rope line, white cloaks damp at the hem. Dacey walked at Lyanna's left with her chin high and eyes steady, a soldier leading a lady who refused to be a hostage.
Inside the command tent the air was close and warm. A carpet lay underfoot, red as a wound. Rhaegar stood at the map table with a hand resting on the Riverlands. Arthur Dayne was at his shoulder, his kingsguard uniform perfectly neat and orderly. Gerold Hightower watched from near the center pole alongside Jonothor Darry. Barristan Selmy stood stiff as a pike, jaw set. Lewyn Martell's dark gaze flicked from face to face, taking the measure of the room. Oswell Whent kept to the back with a bat worked in black thread on the cuff of his sleeve. Jon Connington was there too, still travel-worn, a sheen of road grit at his collar.
Rhaegar did not ask them to kneel. "Lady Lyanna," he said, voice cool and certain. "You come to us at last. Welcome."
"I did not come to you," she said. "I was taken on the road."
Dacey did not smile, but her posture tensed, ready for anything. Arthur's mouth twitched as if he had expected that answer.
Rhaegar studied Lyanna as a man might study a piece on a board before the winning move. "No matter. You are here now. I have an offer. I will spare your brothers and the Northmen who follow them. You only have to join me to parlay. You will tell them to lay down arms and stand with me. Together we will end my father's reign before he ends the realm."
The tent went silent. Selmy's knuckles whitened on the guard of his sword.
"You would raise banners against your own king," Barristan said, the words breaking out of him. "Your father. Under the eyes of the Kingsguard. This is treason!"
"Enough," Rhaegar said without heat. "You swore to guard the realm. Not the man who burns it."
Selmy flushed. "I am sworn to both, Your Grace."
"And I am sworn to the realm first," Rhaegar said. He turned to Lyanna again, as if the protest were a fly to brush aside. "Well. Do you accept your part in ending this war before it swallows us all?"
Lyanna felt Dacey shift a half step closer. She held Rhaegar's gaze. "I will not be your queen," she said. "I will not be your hostage, your pawn, or your pardon."
Arthur did not move, but Connington's shoulders tensed, incensed by his captive's behavior. Hightower's eyes narrowed. Lewyn Martell's expression went unreadable, but his thumb rolled the rim of a wine cup in a slow circle. Whent watched the ground.
Rhaegar inclined his head, a small, maddening show of patience. "You can deny any titles you want. You will still deliver the message if you value your brother's life."
"I will deliver my own," she said.
Selmy's temper snapped. "This is madness," he said, loud now. "We speak treason and woo an unwilling second queen while the realm burns and—"
"Ser Barristan," Rhaegar said, "you are dismissed."
The words fell like a blade. For a heartbeat it seemed Barristan had not heard. Then he bowed, stiff and shallow, and reached for the tent flap.
Now! Lyanna sent a mental command.
Before the canvas could close, white shot through the gap. Dijkstra slipped under the edge and winged once across the lamplight before dropping to Lyanna's shoulder as if it were a branch he had owned for years. The Kingsguard startled as one. Rhaegar's eyes went to the bird, then to Lyanna's face. Connington's mouth pressed thin, recognizing the strange pet.
Lyanna let the world narrow, eyes rolling back to reveal white corneas. She loosened her hold on herself and stepped forward into the quick, bright mind that waited for her. The tent sharpened. Cloth rasped on scabbards. Oil wafted from the map table. Red eyes saw an expanded spectrum of colors. She set the thought of the poem in the center of that bright space and pushed.
Dijkstra opened his beak. The voice that came out was older than any bird's throat, rough as bark and cold as river stones.
"There lies a fork in streams of future,
wavering like reeds in wind."
Hightower's hand went to the pommel of his sword, then fell away. Rhaegar did not blink.
"Lions march with treachery in heart,
promises of protection go unkept.
A pride devours the very den,
counsel's deceit having opened the gates."
Lyanna felt the thread hold. She sent the next stanza with care, as if laying a bridge one plank at a time.
"A prince to crown sleeps where red brick reaches sky.
Until a cone of stone comes climbing keeps,
to bash a small skull open against bloody walls,
and the room fills with broken lullabies."
Arthur's hand found the table's edge. Lewyn's fingers stilled on the cup. Connington looked from bird to girl and back, face unreadable, jaw working.
"Dorne's downed queen reborn runs,
from the shadows come a score of stings,
the work of a manticore man,
and the silk drinks what the floor cannot.
A regal sun sets behind locked doors,
weight and will violate what love cannot shield.
Petals of the sun-and-spear scatter,
and no harp can gather them again."
Princess Elia's name did not need speaking. It hung in the lamp smoke anyway. Rhaegar's face did not change. Only his fingers curled once on the edge of the map and left little half-moons in the hide.
"A she-wolf crowned in winter roses bleeds,
sword of the prince having pierced fatally.
Vhagar's rider never comes again,
a dragon dies with only two heads born.
The water shows what may be, not what must be.
Remember the fords, and choose where to cross"
Silence held. The raven's chest rose and fell. Lyanna slipped back behind her eyes and drew one slow breath. Dacey's hand hovered near her elbow, ready but not touching.
Connington spoke first, voice flat. "A clever trick," he said. "A camp witch and a tame bird. You put the Lannisters in it because you want us to turn south while your brothers march free."
Rhaegar did not look at him. "You did not hear a trick," he said. It was not a question.
Connington's mouth thinned. "I heard a Stark try to move pieces with fear."
Arthur said nothing. His look had gone blade-keen and far away, as if following lines on the map only he could see.
Rhaegar turned to Lyanna. "How do you know what a woods witch hears," he asked. It was a soft question, not a test. "How do you make a bird carry it."
Lyanna lifted her chin. "The old gods showed me roads," she said. "I learned to listen. I learned to speak back."
"A greenseer in sprout," Oswald Whent said, almost idly. "The North breeds strange gifts."
Hightower stood still by the tent's central beam. "Your Grace," he said, very controlled now, "even if you believe it, you cannot order the Kingsguard on the whims of a girl's vision."
"I will order the realm on the strength of truth," Rhaegar said. He looked at Connington at last. "Send riders to watch the Lannisters, and give them ravens. I want eyes on every road that runs toward King's Landing. If a lion so much as sneezes near a gate, I will know."
Connington bowed, slow and tight. "As you command."
Rhaegar faced Lyanna again. Light drifted across his features, softening nothing. "You think me a villain," he said. "You think me cruel for a crown of flowers. You are wrong on the first count and right on the second. I have been cruel, for the future depends on fate. I chose you because I felt what rides your blood. You carry the Ice of winter. You can bear what the realm will need."
"The realm needs you to avoid making corpses out of queens," Lyanna said.
Something like pain crossed Ser Lewyn's face and was gone. Hightower's eyes flicked to him, then to Rhaegar, as if measuring a fissure in a wall.
Rhaegar's voice went soft. "I will spare Elia if the road allows it," he said. "I will spare your brothers if they bend. I will spare you from fear if you stand beside me. I will not spare the prophecy. I will make it true."
Lyanna set her boots. "The water shows what may be," she said. "It is your choice that makes the ford."
Rhaegar straightened, the moment of candor sealed away. "You will return to your tent," he said. "You will not leave this camp without my leave. When my riders return, we will speak again."
Two white cloaks moved to part the canvas. Dacey guided Lyanna out with a touch that was gentle but firm.
Behind them, Connington's voice followed like a closing door. "There is no reason for Lannisters to attack."
"They will," Rhaegar said.
The flap fell. Night air met them, cool and honest. Far off, a bard found a quiet tune, thin on a reed pipe. Dacey walked close enough that their sleeves brushed.
"You make a good witch," she said under her breath.
Lyanna kept her eyes forward. "He heard what he wanted," she replied. "Now we find a way to make him choose the path that spares the most."