"Bang!"
A sudden roar of shouts and steel echoed from outside the door. Lyanna instinctively turned toward the sound—just in ti to dodge Rhaegar's surprise attack.
The handso prince's elbow slamd against the table instead, the bone-deep pain forcing a strangled scream from his throat.
Lyanna looked back and found him curled atop the table like a shrimp, hands clutched together in agony.
"So this is the honor of a Targaryen. Despicable and shaless as always."
She snorted coldly and stepped forward, ruthlessly kicking him in the stomach over and over. Her eyes brimd with contempt for the would-be ambusher, her mind apparently forgetting everything she had done earlier in the Red Keep.
Only when Rhaegar finally lay limp and groaning did she bark, "Stay here. Don't move!"
She dragged the table to the doorway, wedging it against the door as a barricade. Then she pulled a dagger from her cloak, muttering under her breath, "I knew that Roger Hogg wasn't trustworthy. Father believes in him too much!"
At that mont, a fist slamd against the door.
"Lady Stark!" Roger Hogg's urgent voice rang out, breathless and strained. "Quick—co out! The raiders from this morning… they've returned!"
"Don't try to trick !" Lyanna snapped.
Despite his frantic shouting, she eyed the door with full suspicion. "If you think you can use this Targaryen prince to curry favor with the king, I'll kill him right now and ruin your little sche!"
"What are you talking about?!"
Roger sounded genuinely shocked. His pounding grew even more frantic. "I never once thought of betraying you! Lady Stark, open the door! They're coming—if you don't leave now, it'll be too late!"
His panic didn't sound fake. Lyanna pressed her ear to the wood, squinting through the crack.
Under the dim moonlight, a broad silhouette braced itself in front of the door. And beyond him—far away—orange flas flickered and danced.
"…It's real?"
Her heart lurched. She shoved the table aside and flung the door open.
"Go—now!"
Roger grabbed her arm the mont the door opened, yanking her out and thrusting a bundle into her hands.
"Food for three days. I've tied two horses in the woods five hundred ters east of the village. Ride hard and head for the North!"
He spoke rapidly, pulling her toward the east.
But the she-wolf of the North hesitated. She turned back toward the fallen prince, unwillingness glinting in her eyes.
"Forget Prince Rhaegar! Staying alive matters more!"
Seeing her still frozen, Roger snapped in fury, "They're ard to the teeth and attacking by surprise! My n can't hold them off for long!"
"Go!"
His roar finally jolted her awake. She gritted her teeth and nodded.
But before she could flee, a thunder of hooves erupted from the street ahead. Both froze—staring as a mounted warrior burst around the corner, sword drawn, charging straight toward them.
"Damn it… they're already here? Did Thor and the others all—?!"
Roger hissed through clenched teeth, lifting his sword as he stepped forward. "Run! Live!"
His armor was mismatched, his boots not even the sa color. Yet he moved fast—faster than she had ever seen him. With both hands gripping his battered sword, he charged directly at the oncoming rider.
Then, in a mont Lyanna would never forget, the knight she had always looked down on bent his knees, leapt high into the air, and drove his chipped blade upward—straight through the rider's jaw.
Thud!
Both bodies crashed to the ground.
Lyanna stared, stunned speechless, forgetting even to run.
Roger Hogg—patched armor, aching limbs—dragged himself upright. He wrenched his sword free from the corpse and shouted hoarsely in her direction:
"Run—!"
Flash.
Before the last syllable left his throat, a streak of tal cut through the night.
From the shadows, another mounted warrior surged forward at full speed. The blade, propelled by the warhorse's charge, sliced clean across Roger's throat.
A round head rolled across the dirt, mouth still open—still trying to urge the northern girl to flee.
The horse did not slow.
"Bang!"
Lyanna slamd the door shut just as the rider swept past, narrowly missing her neck. The mounted warrior cursed, yanking hard on the reins. He was forced to wheel the horse around the hut, galloping in circles as he sought another way in.
Inside, Rhaegar Targaryen had regained his composure. His eyes flicked toward the trembling girl curled behind the door, hands over her head, shaking from the horror outside.
"Hey… you're Lyanna Stark, aren't you?"
Rhaegar, despite being the hostage here, felt a strange surge of pity for the trembling girl. Against all reason, he suddenly spoke:
"Untie . I'll order those n to withdraw."
His voice didn't seem to reach her. Lyanna was still trapped in terror, Roger's severed head replaying again and again in her mind, refusing to fade.
"Hey! You stupid woman!"
Rhaegar raised his voice sharply, nearly shouting at her.
"Untie ! If they break in, you're as good as dead!"
Lyanna jolted as if waking from a nightmare. She slowly turned to look at the silver-haired prince lying on the floor—but instead of gratitude, her eyes burned with hatred. She seized her dagger, took two quick steps toward him, and hissed:
"It's all because of you… because of you filthy Targaryens!"
"The filthy Targaryen is the only one who can save your life, idiot!"
Rhaegar glared back, unflinching.
"Either free , or kill and die with . Your choice."
His words struck their mark. The anger in Lyanna's gaze wavered. Her dagger hand trembled violently. Outside, the screams and clash of steel only grew louder.
Teeth clenched, eyes darting—then finally she drove the dagger downward...
—
Outside, the goldcloak knight had circled the stone house twice. Its walls were too solid for a breakout. Unable to find a way in, he returned to the door and waited, listening to the village drown in screams.
He felt a flicker of guilt—but for the glory of the Seven, the work had to be clean.
"Demons, wights, and spirits cannot harm a devout servant of the Seven… faith is our armor," he muttered, reining in his horse. Hands clasped, eyes closed, he prayed softly:
"May your souls find rest in the halls of the Seven. May your sins be cleansed."
He opened his eyes.
And saw a figure with long, immaculate silver hair step out of the doorway.
"Stand down, goldcloaks!"
The prince stood tall and proud, spine straight as a spear.
"I, Rhaegar Targaryen, son of Aerys II, command you to cease all killing in this village and return to King's Landing imdiately."
The knight stared at the haughty prince, then slowly curled his lips into a chilling smile.
"Of course, Your Grace."
But he made no move to signal anyone. Instead, he snapped his legs against the horse's flanks and charged straight at Rhaegar.
"What are you doing?!"
Rhaegar's brows knit in confusion as he shouted, "Back away! Gather your n, goldcloak!"
But the horse only accelerated.
With a tallic hiss, the blood-stained blade slid free once more. Under moonlight and firelight, it glead with murderous intent.
"Yes, my prince…" the knight snarled—and lifted the sword high, swinging it toward Rhaegar's neck.
"Seven hells—has he lost his mind?!"
Never in his life had Rhaegar imagined a goldcloak disobeying royal command—much less attacking a Targaryen prince.
His mind blanked. His body froze.
Hoofbeats thundered closer, the knight's face contorting into a beastlike snarl. The blade was a breath away from taking his head—
Swish!
A sharp whistle cut the air behind him.
Cold air grazed Rhaegar's scalp. A few strands of silver hair fluttered away—and a dagger slamd straight into the warhorse's skull.
The beast crashed to the ground, flinging the knight forward. He tumbled to a stop at Rhaegar's feet in a burst of dust.
"Kill him! Now!"
Lyanna's clear, fierce voice rang from behind.
Snapped out of his stupor, Rhaegar reacted. He kicked the knight in the face, snatched the short sword from his limp hand, and—without hesitation—drove the blade through the man's eye socket.
Crunch.
When he pulled the weapon free, a foul spray of blood and white brain matter splattered across his clothes.
"I…"
The gentle, soft-spoken prince stared at the gore-coated blade. Then at the twitching body on the ground.
His first kill.
He froze completely.
"What are you staring at?!"
A lithe figure darted out of the house. Lyanna tore her dagger from the dying horse's skull, ignoring its whimpers. Then she strode back, wiped the blade clean on Rhaegar's cloak, and waved it threateningly in front of his dazed eyes.
"Move, you idiot!"
Her tone dripped with disdain as she threw his own words back at him.
"Looks like the people who want this Targaryen prince dead aren't limited to the Starks!"
Her shout finally snapped him back. Rhaegar looked at the girl—no longer trembling, but fiery again, fierce again, unmistakably alive. His indigo eyes flickered with complicated emotion.
His chest heaved. He drew several deep breaths before he could speak.
"You… why did you save ?"
"Are you stupid?"
Lyanna raised a brow, grabbed his handso face in both hands, and pressed her forehead hard against his.
"You're my prisoner, you foolish Targaryen."
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