i. 'Twas only when her blood no longer came and her kirtle suddenly grew too tight that Lyanna Stark realised the Dragon Prince had left her with more than his heart in the godswood of her forefathers. But if she was aware of it, surely others would see too. And there would come a time when nothing would be able to cover her – shame, some would call it that.
And yet, the thought of purging herself of the gift did not sit well with her. Likely she was being a foolish child, but something had to be done. What to do though? What to do?
ii. "If you love me, you will do this," Lyanna hissed as her brother stared at her with frightened eyes. "Please, Benjen. Please. Tell father I have left on the morrow."
Her brother nodded his head. "But where will you go, Lya?" The question slammed against her painfully. She could not say though her throat burned with the effort to keep the secret within. "Please, Lya, tell me. I would never betray you."
"I don't know where I'm going," she said at a long last. "But remember what I have told you. Remember. Promise me, Ben, promise."
"I promise."
She left.
iii. It was rather warm on the ground and the darkness was almost comforting. Lyanna curled herself in a tight ball and wrapped the cloak tighter around herself. The likeness of the first Brandon stared down at her. Her eyes had grown so accustomed that she could see the lines in his face.
She hadn't made a sound for days now. Benjen had run after her in the night, begging her to stay. They'd agreed that she would go in the crypts. It was safe there. Dark and warm and none went down unless it was necessary.
In the crypts Lyanna slept day by day and night by night, fed by whatever her brother could bring her in the wee hours.
iv."Are you in pain?" Benjen whispered, running his fingers through her dirty, matted hair. Lyanna only replied with a small moan. Her throat burned and she fought to keep her ache quiet. "Lya, let me get someone. Please!"
"No. No one, Benjen. No one," she protested, her hand searching for his in the never relenting darkness. "No one must know. Don't you see, Benjen? They would take the child from me."
"The child," her brother breathed. "The child is not more important than your life."
"To me he is," came her reply. So he held her hand and prayed to the gods.
v. They'd only dared to light a candle out of sheer desperation. And when the pale light flickered out, Benjen found he wished they hadn't. The ground was soaked in blood. His sister's blood. Lyanna was looking at him with wild eyes, gleaming in the thin light.
He helped her to her knees, drawing the skirts up. Her cloak was under her. There was something there. Something that was hurting his sister. She sobbed and keened, clutching his arm with a death grip. Benjen wanted to het up and run.
"Benjen," came Lyanna's fair voice. "Benjen, help me" Her sobs went on and on.
vi. It was Rickard Stark who found them eventually. Lyanna was clutching to her chest a tiny little creature of flesh and blood and her brother was watching in fascination, leaning slightly over her prone form. They hadn't heard him.
The sight chilled the blood in his veins. A thin cry rang out and Lyanna looked up. She gasped and her eyes became wide and pleading. At her side he saw another bundle twitching and trembling.
His face white, Rickard turned around and ascended the stairs, pulling the heavy door in his wake. The thud was alarmingly final, a death knell.
vii."Please don't take them from me," Lyanna begged as she was held down to the bed, maester Luiwin peering beneath the raised blankets. The nursemaid was feeding the boy and Benjen was holding the girl. His son had been obstinate, frustrating even, claiming that he'd made a promise. "Please, father."
"Be silent," Rickard hissed at her, raising his hand threateningly. Lyanna continued sobbing, her bruised skin peeking from beneath the cloth of her clean gown.
"By some miracle, there is no infection," the good maester finally spoke. "They are, all three of them hale and hearty."
And a plague upon the good name of their house.
viii. Lyanna was rocking her daughter gently, holding her with one arm as her other hand stroked the head of her son. She looked wearily at her father. He hadn't acknowledged her, not since finding out she would live. She'd been a ghost in the house.
"Too long already," Rickard Stark spoke out of nowhere. "I have endured this shame for too long. You will leave this house."
"Where am I to go, my lord?" she asked in a manner that was resigned and sullen. He gave her no reply. "Father!"
Furious, he took a couple of steps towards her, "I have no daughter. My Lyanna is dead."
ix. "Where is he sending me?" she asked Benjen. Her brother had been sullen all day. Not even the girl could wring a smile out of him. He held her, staring down at her small face.
"She looks like her father," he said a moment later. "The other doesn't."
"Is that where he wants to send me? To their father?" Lyanna noticed that Benjen could not hold her gaze. Her shoulders slumped. "Benjen, tell me. Whatever it is. Knowing is better. Always."
Light blue eyes peer at her. "It isn't better. Knowing, that is." His gaze returned to the babe and Lyanna was in the dark.
x. Old Nan wept as her father took the blade to her. Lyanna herself was weeping as strands of long hair fell all around her, on her lap, on the sheets, in her hands. She had submitted to the punishment with as little fuss as possible, barely even allowing a sound past her lips when Ice left welts on her. But then her father had taken her by the hair and started tearing through the beautiful tresses, her best feature as she'd once been told.
At that point, Lyanna could no longer remain silent. Somewhere close her babes too had started crying.
