She is only 4 years old, yet her Rhaella had nightmares. It is a baffling thing, to learn that a child found reason to wake up at night in terror. It seemed too soon for sleepless nights.
Strangely enough, her father brought her more comfort than Lyanna did. Thus when they are awoken to the sounds of Rhaella’s crying from across the hall, it is Rhaegar who stirs to comfort her. Lyanna had watched what he did: held Rhaella in his arms, kissed her forehead, sang her a song. Sometimes he would crawl under the bed to be sure that no snarks and grumpkins were beneath it. Then their daughter would fall asleep in his arms, looking peaceful as can be.
Rhaegar was away on business in the Crownlands that required his attention when Rhaella wakes up screaming. Lyanna tries all that Rhaegar would do; but when she held her, she fought in her arms. When she sang to her, Rhaella screamed right through it. “Papa, papa!” she demanded, screaming louder as Lyanna attempted to calm her.
A quarter of an hour passes, and Lyanna is still at a loss, trying to find a way to soothe her. She herself was getting close to tears, for what kind of mother did not know how to comfort her own child?
Rhaella laid belly down with her face in the pillows sobbing, her silver hair a mess over her nightgown. In a maternal fit of madness, Lyanna grabs the hairbrush on the nightstand and begins to run it through her hair, combing out the tangles.
Suddenly, she is quiet. Encouraged, Lyanna continues to brush her hair until it gleamed like spun silver. Her daughter turns her tear streaked face to look at her mother with tired eyes.
"Shall I braid it, Rhaella?" Lyanna asks, chewing her lip. Her daughter nods lazily. Lyanna quickly takes up the task, plaiting it down her back. Before she is finished, Rhaella’s eyes are closed, and her soft snoring reaches Lyanna’s ears.