Chapter Text
Father had told her to smile and stand tall and not be nervous, but how was she supposed to not be nervous?
Cat didn't understand, not really - Cat had known Brandon for years, after all, and he was only heir to Winterfell, only a Stark.
Lysa swallowed anxiously and straightened her shoulders and forced herself not to huddle close to Father's side as her betrothed rode through the gates on a beautiful white horse, his silvery-pale hair tied back neatly with a deep black velvet ribbon.
There were other men, but Lysa had eyes only for Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne, and, by the next full moon - her lord husband.
She left Cat sitting between Petyr and Brandon's brother, Eddard, who seemed a dull sort but with whom Cat seemed thoroughly engaged, and agreed to show Prince Rhaegar the grounds.
"I wish to reassure you, my lady," he said as she led him through the godswood, Ser Arthur Dayne a pale shadow behind them, white armour and white-blonde hair and white sword, and she leaned a little closer because the prince was so soft-spoken, although not, as she was, because he was shy. "You may have heard... Unpleasant stories about my father. He may speak unkindly, but he does not mean it."
Lysa had heard that the King was quite mad, but she did not dare say so to the prince.
"You will like my mother, I think," he went on, a whisper of an encouraging smile turning up one corner of his mouth. Lysa wondered what it would be like to kiss him - she would find out soon enough, she supposed. She wondered if it would feel different to Petyr's kisses when they played at kissing games. Petyr's lips were always cool, because he liked to chew on peppermint leaves, but she thought that mayhaps Prince Rhaegar's mouth would be warm, just like him. She huddled slightly closer to that warmth, because it was cold out, and she was wearing her prettiest cloak, but it was not by any means her warmest. "The Queen is a kind and gracious woman."
"You have a brother, as well, I am told?" she tried, pleased that her lisp didn't show - she hated her lisp more than almost anything, even though Septa had trained it out of her. It usually acted up when she was nervous, as she was now, but her voice was steady, her words clear, and she flushed with relief. "He is younger than you, your highness?"
"Almost of an age with your brother, my lady," he agreed, his smile blooming fully now. "His name is Viserys - you will like him, too, I hope. He is a good boy, if a little rambunctious."
"I am sure I will, your highness" she said eagerly, smiling as widely as she dared. It was coming to dusk now, and the fading light caught on the lovely purple colour of the prince's melancholy eyes.
"Please, Lady Lysa," he said quietly, "my name is Rhaegar. You may use it."
She couldn't be certain, but she thought that Ser Arthur's cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh.