"Who else knows?" comes Lyanna's knee-jerk reaction. Because ultimately, it doesn't matter what happens to her. She's already dead, only in this strange world on borrowed time. But her son... Robert would certainly want him dead, perhaps even countless others. He's not safe, though she'd hoped with Ned he would be.

It's only after that little outburst that it really sinks into her. How, in his own way, Jon had answered her unspoken questions. A boy Ned had raised as his own, with a bastard's name and a Stark's face. In fact, she wouldn't have suspected Jon to be a Targaryen heir of any sort, if she didn't feel the way she felt about him, a certain... connection. He'd been hidden in plain sight, surrounded by wolves; a part of her is relieved that for once at least she'd chosen right, entrusting the child to Ned.

Her gaze still not leaving his face, she slowly stands back up and takes a tentative step closer. She doesn't know what gives, but something in her then does, and her shoulders shake as she stifles a sob. "Forgive me," she whispers, her voice nearly inaudible in the bustle of the market. "Forgive me, Aegon."