Third Person's Point of View
Ned comes to her as she thinks she's dying, the fever having taken all her strength, leaving her to lie limply on the grand canopy bed Rhaegar had designed specially for her. His babe rests contentedly in her arms.
His tiny patch of dark hair is soft against her skin and she sighs tiredly when she hears the clash of steel down below. She knows when she hears Ned's feet on the stairs that the kingsguard is dead, defending the rightful heir to the throne. The thought sickens her.
She welcomes death with open arms, hoping it will come quick. She is already heart sick at the thought of leaving her son, the tiny prince who knows not what he's about to lose.
"Lya." she hears her name breathed and turns her head, smiling with exhaustion up at her brother.
Ned falls to his knees beside the bed, one hand reaching to touch the babe. His fingers are calloused from wielding a sword and there's blood under his nails.
There's a man standing in the doorway and she beckons him forward, thanking the gods for this one last thing. She's come to thing of Howland as a brother, another to add to her diminishing pack of wolves. She knows she only has herself to blame for that.
"Oh Lya. What have you done?" There is no anger in her brother's voice, only sorrow. Ned has always been so sorrowful. Just like Rhaegar. Perhaps, in another world, they could have been something like friends. But he has only ever liked Robert, it's always been Robert.
"I'm sorry Ned. I loved him." she looks down at the babe, her Jon. He looks nothing like his father, he is all Stark. But she knows, as surely as she knows of her love for the dragon prince, that he will be just like him. It both fills her with joy and terrifies her.
"Does he have a name?" he murmurs.
She nods, her dark hair falling forward, sticking to sweat on the sides of her face. "Jon. I named him Jon. If he was a girl, Rhaegar wanted to call her Visenya." her voice is hoarse, like she hasn't used it in a while. And she supposes she hasn't. "I'm so sorry Ned. For Brandon, for father. I know it was my fault."
Her lower lip begins to tremble, and she knows if she doesn't look from Ned's earnest gaze she'll begin to cry. She's always thought herself the wisest of her siblings, the oldest in some ways. But something about Ned always makes her feel like a young girl again. Like a child who deserves to be scolded.
"No Lya. It was the mad King. You couldn't have known." he says softly, but she knows he blames her. How could he not? She thinks maybe it's because she's so weak, because she's dying. And she is, she thinks. He leans forward, brushing the hair from her face, kissing her on the forehead. "It's going to be okay Lya."
She shakes her head, what remaining strength she has is dissipating. "I'm dying Ned. I owe my life to the gods. They kept me here this long, to see my Jon placed safely in your arms."
Black spots dance in front of her eyes and she lets out a choked sob, stroking a finger down the side of her son's face. "I never wanted this for you." she murmurs. And she means it.
When she married Rhaegar and they made love beneath the heart tree she'd never imagined anything like this would happen. She'd been a stupid foolish girl full of stupid foolish thoughts. She'd thought she could run and be free with her love, be the she-wolf everyone always said she was, without consequence.
She should have known better.
She feels Ned take her boy and her arms drop limp and heavy to her sides. She's empty without him. "Promise me Ned. Promise me."
Her teeth are chattering. She's so cold. So cold. But it's Dorne, it's not supposed to be cold. She knows that.
"Promise me you'll care for him. As if he's your own. Promise me." He takes her hand and she squeezes tight, feeling a resurgence of her old strength just for a moment. She looks up at him, eyes wide and filled with a deeper meaning. "Promise me."
And he does.
And she feels the fear she's held in her heart for her son drift away, like dandelion seeds on a summer breeze.
And the world goes dark.
When she wakes Howland is blotting her brow with a cool cloth, and he smiles at her so sweetly she's no longer sure whether she's alive or dead. "Reed," she croaks. "I live?" He nods. She has the strangest urge to cry.
She knows it is selfish of her, and she has had her time to be selfish, but she can't help wishing she had died. The fever had taken her strength, her sanity, why not her life? "How?"
Howland strokes a hair back from her eyes, "You were far off. Then the maester arrived. Just in time."
She feels a dampness on her cheeks, and she knows she's crying unbidden. "Jon?" She doesn't see her babe.
"He's with Ned. We make way for Starfall as soon as you're able." For a moment she's confused, and then she remembers Arthur. Dead. Arthur is dead. Surely they are returning him to his home, to his sister, to Ashara. "I see." she mumbles.
Though he'd taken a shine to her at the beginning Arthur drifted from her when news of Elia's murder came on the wings of a raven. He blamed her, she knew. He loved Elia, that she also knew. He hadn't said so, not intentionally. She could just tell. And she supposed he had hoped that with Rhaegar taking her as his new wife, perhaps he could be Elia's paramour. She knew Dorne didn't discriminate against such a thing.
But such hopes were dashed as Aegon's head was against the walls of the Red Keep, and Arthur's heart went with her.
"Lya." she can't bring herself to look at Ned as he steps into the room.
She knows what this means. She is alive. They will go to Starfall, leave the Sword of the Morning and Arthur Dayne with Ashara, and continue on to King's Landing. Ned will take her boy, and she will wed Robert and become Queen. She will live the remainder of her life lying under the man who'd killed her love, birthing his spawn.
"Lya?"
"Don't worry yourself Ned. I know what needs to be done." And she does. She really does.
At the gates of the Red Keep Robert awaits her atop a big brown war horse, a golden crown atop his black curls. He is regal at first, but when he spots her he smiles so big it threatens to split his face in two. She bitterly wishes it would.
When she brings her mare to a halt he is already at her side, his big hands encircling her waist, pulling her down from the saddle. For a moment he only stares down at her, what he's hoping to see she does not know, but evidently he sees it. "Lya." he says reverently.
She has to bite her tongue to keep from spitting at him. It is a name only her brothers can call her.
She flinches when he kisses her but fakes a smile, allowing him to believe what he wishes. Jon will be safe, and she will be Queen.
Barely a month later they are wed in the sight of the seven, and her Stark grey cloak is pulled from her shoulders and replaced with Baratheon gold. She wants to scream.
She recites her vows and at the end he kisses her, the beard on his face scratching at her cheek, leaving it red and raw. The crowd roars with happiness and he turns to smile at them, waving one hand overhead. She can't manage a smile of her own.
She knows they will not think her frigid, or ungracious; rather they will think her scarred and broken, the poor Stark girl whisked away from her bed by a dragon to be raped and beaten. Who could blame her for being unhappy?
It won't last though. Their sympathy will fade as time goes on. She has been rescued, she is the Queen, she will have to be healed at some time. For who wants a frightened little girl living in memories as their Queen?
That night, when the feast has ended and the bedding ceremony has left her stripped bare in her wedding chambers, and Robert is stalking towards her, she wonders if she shouldn't kill him. He has taken everything from her.
Rhaegar is dead, she has no choice but to leave her son in the hands of her brother, he condoned the murder of Elia and her children, only babes, why should he not die? As he moves atop her, grunting and groaning in his ecstasy, she thinks on it.
She could do it after he's fallen asleep; pull a pin from her hair and stab it into his throat, watch as he gurgles on his blood, eyes wide and confused. She could do it moons from now, when he's sated and his guard is down and he's reveling in the knowledge that he's gotten everything he's ever wanted; slip a poison into his wine and whisper the truth in his ear as he lays immobile, his body engulfed in slow moving pain.
She's not sure when exactly she will, but as he spills his seed inside her and calls her Lya again, she knows she will.
A few days later she is crowned Queen. The septon places the golden circlet on her head, and announces her as Lyanna of House Baratheon, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.
Only the knowledge that she will soon avenge her dead and all who've died to place her back in the arms of a foolish drunkard who thinks himself in love with her keeps her calm.
She smiles prettily at the common folk, throwing flowers at her feet. She sees a rose and imagines it's blue, and picks it up. A thorn pricks her finger, and for a moment she sees blood and rubies swirling together.
When she looks up she meets the eyes of the crowd and smiles truly.
Soon.
not sure if continuing, thoughts?
p.s. sorry to all my the lost one followers, a new installment is coming soon. Same for No Light.