The Knight of the Laughing Tree

"Stop, Ser" he shouted. "In the name of the King".
The stranger's horse was veering, wildly, between bush and brook. Mud and stone flying up from the stallion's hooves. The dragon prince was a practiced rider but this...this was something else. This hedge knight, who had appeared yesterday from nowhere and had bested three of the king's champions, was a rider like no other. He'd beaten the other three because of his horsemanship, not because of how he wielded his lance. Then he'd disappeared, and no one knew who he was, or where he'd come from.

"Find him, Rhaegar" his father had commanded. "Find him, Ser and bring him back".
Rhaegar had questioned the wisdom of it, but his father had insisted and Rhaegar, eager to prove himself, had followed the trail.

He had chased the stranger knight for two hours and now he thought to give up, go back and admit he'd not been able to catch the other. He pulled his horse up, and watched the stranger gallop over the brow of the hill. Harrenhal was a good 20 miles away and he was tired and hungry, and wanted only to be back in his wife's arms, with a bottle of deep, Arbour red by his side.

As he walked his horse back along the shoreline, he realised he had lost his way. Had he gotten turned around? Was it this way? or that?
"My Prince is lost". It was a statement, not a question, and he recognised the booming voice of the Knight from the Tourney.
Rhaegar blushed and removed his helm. "I confess I am" he laughed.
The Knight laughed back and slowly removed the full helm he'd been wearing for the Tourney.

Rhaegar was shocked to discover the identity of this brave soul. As the helm came loose, a tumble of dark hair fell around the knight's shoulders and grey eyes twinkled with mirth.
"Lady Lyanna" gasped Rhaegar. "Was it you?"
"It was, Your Grace" she smiled "The very same".
Rhaegar studied her face, not a pretty face but a Stark face. Full of honesty, honour and a touch of sadness. He had seen her before, she was barely become a woman, a maid of fifteen or sixteen, yet she had the eyes of an ancient soul with worlds of wisdom.

As they rode back to Harrenhal and the world of duty and position, she told him the tale of the Reed boy, who had come to see the Tourney and had his nose bloodied by three errant squires. Her brother, Bran, had offered the boy armour and a shield, and encouraged him to enter the Tourney and fight for the pride of his house.
"What use is a horse to a boy who cannot ride?" She asked, her voice sad and soft. "What use a shield or lance to a boy who carries a short spear?"
"It was ill done, my lady" Rhaegar agreed. "Did your brother's know this was you?" He tapped her shield with his sword.
She shook her head, her hair dancing about her shoulders. "Will you keep my secret, your grace?"
He nodded, "I know nothing, my lady of the wolves".

She stopped by an Oak tree just beyond the Tourney grounds and he turned his back as she discarded her mis-matched armour and dressed herself in womanly garb. He had dismounted, and was standing, looking at the bright pavilions and listening to the roar of the smallfolk at the Tourney. When he turned, he looked into her eyes and watched her tongue as it moved across her plump lips. She was betrothed to another, he knew. But she was ice, and he was fire, and, as he kissed her he knew he was meant to have her. Something in the way her eyes closed and her body seemed to melt into his told him that she knew it too.