Lyanna flinched as Robert drunkenly pressed against her on their wedding night. His stinking breath hot against her face with spittle dribbling from his mouth as he pressed open mouthed kisses along her jaw bone. Her stomach roiled and churned. His hand grasped her breast and pinched her nipple. Wistfully she thought of Rhaegar, at least he had always been gentle with her. More wine filled breath filled her nostrils as Robert murmured in her ear.
"Shhh…..tha..that silvered haired shit is gone now," he slurred as he felt her cringe. "I..I'll protect you, Lya. Always."
His hand trailed further south to cup her the apex between her legs, pushing a thick finger roughly inside her. Good thing, she's no longer a maiden, Lyanna thought wrily. She was too dry and she braced herself as Robert pushed her onto the featherbed, pulling apart her legs in the process.
"God, you're so beautiful, you know that…." Robert's dazed glance traced over her naked body sprawled beneath him and groaned. She self-consciously thought of the stretch marks over her abdomen. "I love you so much..so much."
He laid on top of her then, sweaty and sticky. And without further ado, pushed his entire length into her. Lyanna could not help but wince. But with the drink, he lasted only a short while, thrusting a few more times and spilling himself into her with a loud moan, before clumsily rolling off her and promptly fell asleep.
She was sore. Robert's ministrations had left her feeling raw and exposed. Slowly, Lyanna pushed herself off the bed and searched for a shift and robe. Only then as she stood by window, she had enough courage to slide a small hand under her shift and touched the apex between her legs. It was sticky. As she drew her hand away, she was surprised to see blood and seed mixed grotesquely in her palm. She had not bled this much even when Rhaegar took her maidenhead. Quickly, she crossed to a basin filled with water and wet a cloth. Grimacing from the pain, she scrubbed herself furiously, muttering, "stupid, stupid, brute."
Only when Lyanna was sure the last of the stragglers from the wedding feast had left, did she venture outside of her chambers, leaving no backward glance towards the passed out figure of Robert Baratheon. Filled with the desire to get away from everything and everyone, she found herself climbing one of the many towers in the keep. A skinny tall tower, half fallen to disuse. It had a calming effect to stamp on every step. There was also a liberating feeling as she climbed higher and higher, away from the Red Keep. She only stopped when she reached to top only to see it was occupied.
Anger flared in her and she was about to command whoever it was to leave immediately when Lyanna realised it was no other than Arthur Dayne. He turned to stare at her balanced precariously on the window ledge. Moonlight glinted off his pale blonde hair, turning it silver. His dark blue eyes seemed to become purple. It was almost as if it was Rhaegar sitting on the ledge waiting for her, to take her away. But she blinked and the mirage was gone.
A flagon was by Arthur's feet and he clutched Dawn in his lap. A mildly surprised expression graced his features.
"Your grace, it is your wedding night, shouldn't you be with the king?" his tone was stilted, the 'your grace' mocking rather than respectful.
She snorted and picked up the flagon to pour some down her throat. It tasted too sour on her tone and burned as it slid down her throat. Ignoring his jibe, Lyanna answered, "You should have taken me the other way. To the Free Cities. We could have taken Jon too."
We could have disappeared. I could leave behind all of this. She thought bitterly. We could have forgotten our names, our pasts. And you wouldn't have to suffer for your actions.
"You would have left your family?" Arthur was merely curious now.
"A family who can't look at me. A family I inadvertently killed," she retorted. A pause.
After a while, he finally asked, "Did you love him?"
Lyanna's only response was to pour more wine down her throat. Did she love Rhaegar? Maybe she did. He had been kind to her. Tried to protect her from the war. Hiding her family's deaths from her. Hate surged through her then. Hated Rhaegar and his sweet words. Hated herself for believing it.
"I never agreed with him, you know. But it would have been fruitless to stop him." Arthur's grip on Dawn tightened. His voice dropped, "Taking you back to your family was the only thing I could do."
Slowly, she reached across and touched his cheek, feeling him tense up beneath her touch. After all time, he still only wanted to be true to his vows, a good knight. Uncertainty shined in his blue eyes. It was cruel of her, selfish, she knew. But since when had Lyanna not been selfish?
"Then help me now," she said.
Fifteen years later…..
Ned Stark had been in King's Landing for two days when Jon Arryn, Hand of the King and his foster father, asked him to escort him to the Street of Steel to collect a new sword.
"Ned, your foster father is getting on in years, he needs your help to visit the Street of Steel to collect a new sword. I need you to come with me as an escort," Jon had asked.
Ned found that strange, of course, if he truly felt threatened and unsafe in the streets of King's Landing, he could have called one of the knights of the Vale who were part of his household or even his own personal guards. But he was not so naïve to believe a visit to a forge was the sole reason for his summons, it was merely a ruse like so many things at court. The Red Keep's walls have ears and doors have eyes. Jon needed to tell him something he would not have others risk knowing. Indeed, no matter who sits the Iron Throne, some things never change.
However, Ned felt burdened by any such knowledge, Northerners have little taste for such intrigue. He had only come to King's Landing to fill a Stark seat on the Small Council, Master of Laws, at the behest of Jon. It was with a heavy heart that he did so. Lyanna Stark was Queen, she needed more protection than the few Northmen who were her guards. Yet he was her only brother. A brother protecting a sister who spoke not a word to him besides a cursory, 'well met, brother'.
But he was a Stark, Ned had promised Lyanna to tell no one of what had transpired at the Tower of Joy. The product of which was concealed as Jon Snow his bastard at Winterfell. Ned certainly did not agree with Lyanna's impulsiveness, but blood ran thicker than water. And a Stark would do his duty to his family, always. Still, he ruefully thought of his Cat at Winterfell, of Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon, even Jon Snow who he thought was more a son to him than to his true parents, one dead, the other thousands of miles away.
They rode from the Red Keep with the smallfolk scattering around them. Jon stopped here or there to hand out coins to some of the children staring wide eyed from the slums.
"So, have you spoken to Her Grace yet?"
Ned did not miss the formality of the address, not 'your sister' but 'her grace'. He thought back to Lyanna's cold greeting. She had smiled then. But I was a smile that was far from reaching her eyes, a smile that could rival Cersei Lannister's, Jon's wife. The girl Rhaegar had crowned Queen of Love and Beauty had gone. In her place, well, Ned was not sure who his sister was anymore. Hardened, certainly, colder. Maybe the wolf blood has diminished replaced by ice over the years surrounded by vipers at court, he did not know. And her fierceness could easily turn into vindictiveness.
"I haven't," Ned confessed.
"It is no crime to visit a sister even though she is Queen." Jon reminded.
But Ned was not sure what he should say to her should he visit her. Dragon's whore. They called her even after fifteen years. A woman without honour, seducing one prince and marrying another king. He knew better though. It was just her impulsiveness, like Brandon. But Ned still cannot bring himself to fully forgive her for throwing away her duty, plunging the realm into disarray. Duty to his family he would do but never his full forgiveness despite his understanding. And Jon Snow certainly was not a topic to be spoken of inside the keep.
Jon looked keenly at him.
"The Queen spends much time with her children. Though she fulfils her duties, as many as she can." Jon observed as they reached the top of the Street of Steel. Ned wondered at that. Sewing, gossip and intrigue could not possibly be something Lya would have done, duty or no duty. He gestured at the forge. "Ah, here it is. The shop of Tobho Mott, a fine smith, the only one who can work Valyrian steel this side of the narrow sea."
Two stone knights stood guard at an imposing entrance with their red armour. Jon dismounted and tied up his palfrey while Ned followed suit. His eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the shop lit only by the light of the bellows. A young boy was beating at a new sword. He looked up as the two lords entered.
"Hello Gendry, I have come to collect my new sword?"
The boy nodded and muttered a "milord Hand." Ned stared hard at him. He had a mop of black hair and bright blue eyes staring out of his soot covered face. If Ned did not know better, he would have called him Robert or Renly. He even had the strong jaw of the Baratheons, with their broad shoulders. A look of confusion settled over Gendry's face as he saw Ned stare at him. He quickly looked away.
Outside, Jon looked searchingly at him.
"Gendry is one of Robert's bastards."
Ned shifted uncomfortably and he paused in the midst of untying his horse. It was no secret Robert spent an inordinate amount of time on the Street of Silk, so much he was now the 'whoremonger king'. Not to mention his various exploits with serving girls and servants. A constant reminder of his foolish hope that his love for Lyanna could curb his excessive appetite.
"Aye, one of many in King's Landing no doubt," Ned attempted to smile, but only managing a grimace. His best friend's actions became a reminder that somehow he had failed his sister. It brought to unbidden to his mind the times he had tried to convince Lyanna how Robert's love for her would keep him to her bed. Despite her flaws, she had proved to be a far better judge of character than him. Perhaps this was why he had agreed to come to King's Landing.
"He is a spitting image of Robert when he was still young." Jon continued. "The black hair, blue eyes. Edric Storm also had black hair and blue eyes. So do many of his other bastards."
Ned felt a sudden flash of anger swell up inside him, he wanted Jon to stop talking about the bastards.
"Your sister, the Queen's children all take after her, it would seem." Jon said good-naturedly, peering concernedly into Ned's face.
"But what can I say, Stark blood is strong." Ned grit his teeth as he vaulted into his saddle. It was not possible for Lyanna to raise any more bastards, especially within the confines of the Red Keep. Jon Snow was a simple mistake, nothing more. The two men rode in silence back into the Keep.
It was several days later as he passed the practise yard when Jon Arryn's words about Robert's bastards rose instinctively to mind. Prince Brandon, the crown prince was sparring with Ser Arthur Dayne. Brandon had the Stark look, all grey eyes, long face and dark hair which contrasted sharply against Arthur Dayne's pale hair and white armour. Princess Visenya was cheering them on, clapping her hands with eleven year old glee. She had blonde hair and blue eyes. Young Prince Tommen was dark of hair like with brother and parents and blue eyes too. Lyanna stood by, looking at her children. She dressed in grey brocade with her hair brushed and hanging around her, a reminder to all of her Stark parentage. The dress was plain against the bright colours of the other women at court, even plain against the gleaming white armour of Jaime Lannister as he leant on the rail by her.
Ned paused as grey eyes so much like his own fixed on his face. Slowly, he moved to stand by his sister. He greeted the Kingslayer with a curt nod. Tommen glanced inquisitively at him, calling him 'Uncle Ned'. He searched for any resemblance to Robert in those blue eyes. No. The blue was a tad too dark. A stone dropped in his stomach.
"Well, your new duties have kept you too busy to visit your sister?"
Ned looked to Arthur as he stood over Brandon to correct his footwork. Arthur Dayne had brought Lyanna to King's Landing all those years ago. Then, Ned had been too overwhelmed with relief at seeing his sister alive to process the implications of Dayne's actions. He had been Prince Rhaegar's closest friend and possibly helped in arranging for the duo to disappear, yet in the end he had forsaken Rhaegar's orders and returned Lyanna. Was it because of the Prince's death? Knowing the knight's relentless honour, perhaps it would have been better dying because of Rhaegar than be dubbed a knight who kidnaps innocent girls by Robert. But still, he had kept Jon Snow safe with Ashara at Starfall, perhaps as homage to what little Rhaegar left behind.
"Ser Arthur, he trains the prince?" he asked.
Lyanna smiled slightly.
"I only want the best for my son. Ser Arthur is one of the best knights," she answered easily.
Surrounded by men with so little honour, Ned thought bitterly, glancing at Jaime. Lyanna must have guessed his thoughts because she put a small hand on his arm and guided him away from the practise field.
As they walked, she said calmly, "You think I surround myself with dishonourable men. Ser Arthur Dayne, a knight who blindly follows orders, Ser Jaime Lannister, an oathbreaker. But you know I have no honour either. I forsook my duty and I know you never truly forgave me for that. You see? I am where I belong. Though I tried, you know, as Queen. I gave the realm two healthy boys after all."
She laughed mockingly. Ned stared hard at the woman before him wearing his sister's face and his sister's voice. A stranger. A coldness seeped into his chest. His Lyanna would not raise bastards as if they were trueborn children of the king. But this Queen Lyanna would. And maybe he never truly knew his sweet sister.
It became a sort of ritual for them. To meet on that tower at night. Lyanna used to go after Robert's unwanted attentions. But months after their marriage, his attention wandered in search for other beds despite his ardent confessions of love, which suited her just fine. So she continued to visit the tower.
Arthur became her guard, trailing behind her during the day. Sometimes Jaime would join them too. The court snickered, dishonourable guards to guard a dishonourable woman. She never cared really.
These visits were cathartic. It felt good to do something clandestine and completely inappropriate. She had always been attracted to those that she cannot have, just like the stack of correspondence from Rhaegar hidden behind her closet at Winterfell. Something entirely about her, for herself. Just like how Lyanna had never felt more satisfied than see blood stain her thighs when she sluiced the babe that Robert put in her from her womb with moon tea.
So when she met Arthur a few nights after, Lyanna had never felt lighter in her life. A cruel sort of gratification. Proof that she still could do what she had wanted. Her body was still hers to control.
He had been surprised when he saw the true smile that was on her face that night, though she was sure it was more of a maniacal grin. His lips were pliable when Lyanna kissed him. As she pushed him onto the ground to straddle him, he slowly wrapped his arms around her.
Lyanna had always been fascinated by his broad shoulders yet still delicate build, so much unlike Robert's stocky and muscular body or Rhaegar's lithe one.
Nine months later, Brandon was born. Robert boasted of his strong son as he paraded the boy around the castle and the babe wailed. In Arthur's arms, Brandon would calm and pull playfully on the knight's fingers.
"Stannis Baratheon has left King's Landing for Dragonstone."
Jon's face was serious as he faced Ned behind his desk in his solar in the Tower of the Hand. Ned's mouth suddenly turned dry.
"Did he suspect…?"
Jon nodded. He hesitated, "It was he who brought his suspicions to me."
Ned balled his hands into fists. Stannis would have the most to gain by naming Lya's children bastards. He was the heir to the Iron Throne should any accident befall Robert without any trueborn issue. But Ned could not bring himself to believe it. If it was true, why would Jon bring this to his attention? After all, it was his sister and her children's lives at stake. Even then, the evidence itself is flimsy at best. The blood of the First Men ran in Lyanna's veins, surely it was stronger than the blood of the Andals or Valyrians, remembering how Rhaenys looked nothing like Rhaegar. Or even Jon Snow did not resemble Rhaegar.
"Why would you tell me of this then?" Ned asked gruffly.
Jon gently took his arm.
"This is your sister. I do not want any harm to befall her."
He intended to tell Robert. Ned could not allow him to sully his sister's name anymore. Perhaps, he did not want to hear any more of this matter.
"No, you have no proof. Robert will not believe his beloved Lya capable of such, Jon. Besides, who could possibly be the father?"
A flicker of disappointment crossed the older man's features. Everything began to fall into place in Ned's mind. Jon wanted to preserve his honour, he could not bear to see false kings sit the throne, yet he does not want the blood of children or their mother to stain his hands. Ned was an honourable man too, so he would wholeheartedly agree with Jon's perspective. He would protect Lyanna and her children, possibly remove them from the Keep and strip them of their titles. At the same time, he would provide an army who would keep Stannis Baratheon at bay while Robert took a second wife and fathered trueborn children.
Jon pushed a tome towards him across the desk.
"Throughout history, there had been two marriages between a Stark and a Baratheon besides your sister and the king. Both marriages yielded black haired children. Many of them had blue eyes," he said solemnly. "It wasn't just between Starks and Baratheons, this was the same for the Lannisters and the Targaryens to name a few. Besides, all his bastards share the same trait, it did not matter that the mothers were blonde, brunette or redheaded. The Baratheon seed is too strong. I know this is difficult, Ned, but this is proof enough."
Ned shook his shook. No. This couldn't be true. Lya was many things, but he could not think her capable of such deceit. Yet thoughts of Jon and Rhaegar Targaryen flitted through his mind. Jon pressed a piece of parchment into his hand. On it he had written, Arthur Dayne.
"Look at the princes' eyes and the princess' hair," he instructed.
Ned scrunched the paper into a ball and tossed it into the fireplace. His thoughts whirled through his head. This was not possible. Not possible. Doubt filled him as he recalled the honourable Ser Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning. If Jon had named Jaime Lannister, it would have been credible enough. But Arthur Dayne? He could not break his vows like that. Helping Rhaegar protect Lyanna was one matter, but this? Simply ludicrous. Rhaegar was the crown prince and close friend, he had sworn to protect after all.
Yet he remembered the colour of Tommen's eyes, they were darker than Robert's. Now that he thought about it, he could see them flash violet. Another part of him asked why Dayne? Was it because he reminded her of Rhaegar? Or was it just Robert and his meandering ways?
Lyanna did not entertain the ladies of court more than what was absolutely necessary. They were no more than a rumourmongering bunch who pounced had any sign of weakness. But sometimes she would invite Cersei around for tea. The woman who prided herself to be Tywin Lannister with teats was just as trapped in her role as the wife to the hand. Cersei was the second powerful woman in court but still reduced to nothing besides the wife of a powerful man. So Lyanna had a strange sort of kinship with her on a good day when waves of resentment did not flow from the other woman in waves.
Cersei Lannister was more beautiful, more queenly than Lyanna would ever been, yet overlooked twice for any chance of queenship. First, she was passed over by Elia Martell and then by Lyanna herself, both women could only hold a candle to the sun from the Westerlands.
I would gladly have given you Robert and a crown, if it meant I could be free, Lyanna thought bitterly.
News had reached her of Stannis Baratheon leaving for Dragonstone and Jon Arryn's sudden interest in Robert's bastards. Fifteen years was a long time to accumulate her own little network of birds, though Lyanna preferred to think of them as parasites. She would not see her children suffer. So she would have to resign herself to try her hand at court games.
For the realm, she thought drily. Aren't you pleased with me, father, Ned? I'm doing my duty now.
Cersei inclined her head and muttered a 'your grace' as Lyanna smiled brightly at her.
"My lady Cersei! You look truly radiant!"
For once, that was not a lie. In her crimson and gold gown that elegantly accentuated her long neck, Cersei was still beautiful. Lyanna clasped her hand in a show of warmth, gesturing at the tea and cakes set out on the table.
"Just tea? Or something stronger perhaps?" Cersei loved Arbour wines which Lyanna had stocked fully in preparation for her arrival.
"Wine sounds good, your grace."
Lyanna had to supress a snort. She relished to think about getting Lyanna drunk, knowing the Queen would not shy away from good competition. But Lyanna was a Northerner, Northerners hold their drink well.
It was only when Lyanna had filled the other woman's goblet twice, suffering through small talk and evasions, that she launched her plan.
"Does your husband still object to the betrothal between Myrcella and Brandon?" she asked innocently. Cersei frowned, her pretty face twisting.
"Now more than ever. It would make his daughter queen and he does not want that," she replied sourly. "He's arranging for Myrcella and I to return to the Eyrie."
So he already knows. Lyanna pretended to ponder. She leant closer to Cersei and put a hand on her arm.
"Your daughter will be Queen. She is more deserving of this than anyone." She was ultimately her mother's daughter.
Green eyes narrowed slightly as they focussed on Lyanna's face. Let her think it was reparation for stealing the mother's crown. Let her think it would place her in a high place of influence.
"Robert will make this betrothal public at the prince's nameday."
A small smile tugged on the corners of Cersei's lips. It made her feel powerful, to overlook her husband, the Hand entirely. The hand cannot refuse a King's order. She must think this a public humiliation. Yet a shadow passed over her face as Lyanna watched her closely. Brandon's nameday was two months away.
Lyanna knew that Jon was planning to send his family away within a fortnight, having heard of his preparations in the Tower of the Hand. So she leant even closer and whispered conspiratorially in Cersei's ear, "And if he stands between Lady Myrcella and a crown, your lord husband is getting on in years."
Lyanna felt disgusted with herself as Cersei's eyes gleamed wickedly. She was sure that Jon Arryn had sealed his fate and she had a hand in it. After all, she knew of Pycelle's closeness to the Lannisters. And Cersei Lannister was an impatient woman. The faster the better.
Then she thought of Ned. Surely he would not believe her capable of such actions? Kinslaying did not sit well with her. Perhaps, Robert himself should have an accident, she thought sourly.
Ned watched Lyanna and Arthur walking through the gardens below his window. His mind replayed events earlier at Chataya's.
He had gingerly held the babe pressed to his chest by the whore. Wispy dark hair framed her face.
"She is such a beautiful baby," the mother gushed as Ned passed the girl back to her.
"Are you sure this is sired by the king?"
Her eyes widened and a flush appeared on her cheeks.
"A mother always knows, milord."
Ned did not need to know the answer. The babe looked exactly like Mya Stone.
Arthur was walking beside her instead of behind her. And she held onto his arm as they walked. He was always seen with her, the Queen only allowed him or Jaime to act as her guards. So much so that the two knights became unofficially known as the Queensguard.
Deep down, coldness gripped his heart. He knew. Visenya's blonde hair did not come from their mother's line, but from her true father. And if anyone watched closely, Brandon and Tommen's eyes would flash purple in the light of dusk just like Arthur's.
Abruptly he turned away from the window and the couple walking beneath him. Why Arthur Dayne would break his vows in such a fashion was beyond him, but it did not make him any less guilty. And oathbreakers needed to be punished.
Jon would tell Robert. In light of overwhelming proof, even Robert, stubborn as he was would ultimately believe in Lyanna's infidelity. He loved Lyanna. His love would drive him mad with anger at her betrayal. Ned stomach coiled uncomfortably. Then Robert would probably take his warhammer and take off the heads of Lyanna and her children as well as Arthur's. Ned rubbed circles into his temple. What have you done now, sweet sister?
That night as Ned was finishing his dinner, Jory hurriedly pushed into his solar, gasping for breath.
"My lord, the Hand, his heart failed him!"
Ned's eyes widened momentarily. He rushed into the hall, crossed the courtyard into the Hand's quarters. The Tower of the Hand was in uproar. He pushed through the throng of people gathered by Jon's solar.
Inside, was Cersei Lannister who was comforting her daughter as she sobbed into her skirts while Lyanna stood beside the widow, rubbing her back. Not one tear flowed from both women. Grand Maester Pycelle clucked as he packed away his medicines. Behind the desk, Jon Arryn was slumped back in his seat, mouth agape and clutching his chest. Beside him was an empty goblet.
"Was he with anyone?" Ned demanded, cutting through the rumbling of the gathered crowd.
Cersei looked him in the eye and said, "He had insisted on being left alone."
Ned gritted his jaw, staring hard at Lyanna who steadfastly ignored him. How convenient. At that moment, Robert entered into the solar. He commanded everyone but Ned to leave.
"I've sent for the Silent Sisters. He will be given a grand burial as he deserved," Robert said, his usual gruff voice soft as he looked on Jon's cooling body.
Ned blinked, slowly, he asked, "Do you not find it strange?"
"Ned, we see Jon as our father, a father who would always be here of us. Sometimes we forget that he is getting old. He had fallen ill more than I can count this past year when you had been in Winterfell."
Alarm bells sounded in Ned's head, but he held his tongue. The keep was full of informers, maybe Queen Lyanna controlled a handful of them too.
Robert had gone hunting at the crack of dawn. Ned sighed and waited in the godswood for his sister. Jon was dead. He still needed to carry out his plan.
"Ned," Lyanna greeted him.
"I know," he said flatly. "About the children. About Arthur Dayne."
If she was surprised to see him, she did not show it. Instead, he watched her grey eyes harden. Ned wondered if she had a terrible fate mapped out for him too.
"What about them?" she asked, breezily.
Her audacity amazed him.
"They are your bastards born of your affair with him. Just like Jon Snow."
Lyanna laughed a hollow laugh. All her laughs were like that now.
"It would seem I have an affinity for bastards."
Ned shifted uncomfortably.
"Aren't you going to deny it?"
Part of him wanted her to explain. To tell him that his suspicions were misplaced. To explain. Yet her silence gripped tightly onto his heart.
Lyanna stepped closer to him and cupped his cheek, looking him straight in the eye.
"We're both Starks. We love honesty, despite all this." She gestured around her. "Surely you would rather hear the truth from your sister? I have never lied to you, Ned. I will not start now."
Did she think he was going to keep this secret like her other secrets?
"What about Jon Arryn?"
Grey eyes met his own.
"I did not kill him." Her words came out slowly, as if it took great pain for her to say them. He felt some tension leave his shoulders. Fatigue set in like an inky cloak around him.
"Why Lya? What happened?"
"The world is so simple for you. Do you duty. Follow your laws. Behave with honour. Perhaps with you men, the world treats you kinder than us women."
She sighed. She looked around her wistfully.
"I used to think I loved Rhaegar. The knight, the prince who took me away. But now, I realise that I never loved him. I loved what he represented. He gave me a choice. He promised me freedom. I wanted that more than ever. I never wanted to marry Robert, he was the ticket. With Arthur, it was because I wanted to make my own choices. I could choose whose children I bear. And he, well he was there."
Ned grimaced. Arthur Dayne was no more than a pawn to Lyanna. He had been there when she needed him. The poor man. If it had been someone else, she would have taken them gladly, too.
"Though, now, he really snuck up on me," she continued.
Lyanna smiled softly, a true smile that lit up her face at the mention of Dayne. Ned heart reached out to his sister drawn away from his dark thoughts. In the end, Lyanna was still the girl who yearned for freedom. He would give it to her.
"I will allow you to take your children and Arthur across the Narrow Sea. You will be free there to live out your life in Braavos or Pentos. Travel and have adventures, Lya. Robert would not follow you."
She bit her lip, contemplating. But her eyes flashed angrily as she stepped away from him.
"You cannot tell Robert about what you know!" she demanded sharply. "My children grew up in this castle, they see Robert as their father. They are happy here, I made sure of that. I cannot, no I will not, take that away from them."
"I cannot, Lyanna. It is wrong."
"Damn your right and wrong! I will not have it another way. If you are truly an honourable man, you will do what is best for the realm. Brandon will make a good king one day."
No, you are wrong. Ned thought sadly.
"Stannis knows."
"So? Stannis will never amass enough men to be a threat. I have betrothed Myrcella to Brandon. The Lannisters will back my claim as will the Arryns with Joffrey as Lord of the Vale. I plan to betroth Visenya to a Martell. He will not take me or my children down. Unless, of course, you turn against you sister."
Lyanna left then, leaving a threat in her wake. A bitter taste pervaded his mouth.
Lyanna began to fret as she left the godswood. Had she just made an enemy of Ned? Lone wolves die only the pack survives. Surely Ned would not abandon her. She did not trust anyone, especially the Lannisters, they were useful, but they would always reach beyond the borders anyone set. With Jon dead, the Arryns were as good as Lannisters now. As for the Martells, she had never met one before. Besides, Lyanna was responsible for the slight against Elia and she did become queen over Rhaenys and Aegon's bodies. There was no guarantee they would take the olive branch she extended towards them.
Stannis was not a threat. But Ned was. Yet she could not bring herself to harm him. She had been sure he would keep his silence on this, just like about Jon. Now she was not so sure. She paced restlessly like a caged animal back and forth in her solar. With Jon Arryn dead, the position of Hand was open, Ned would be the ideal replacement.
There was only one way out, now. Something needed to befall Robert. He was never her pack. He had done nothing but treat her as he would a treasured trophy. Yes. Lyanna was sure. When Robert returned from the hunt, she would keep him away from her brother. He would be deep in his cups. Well, she has heard of men dying from too much drink before. She steadied her hands and took a deep breath.
Suddenly, a loud knock sounded. Her frightened handmaiden wrung her hands together.
"Your grace, the king…he's been injured!"
Lyanna started. Did the gods hear her thoughts?
"Take me to him now!" she ordered.
Robert lay on his bed with bloodied gauze wrapped around his abdomen. Lyanna dropped to her knees beside the bed as she turned to Renly.
"What happened?" she did not have to pretend to take a shaking breath.
"He insisted on taking the boar…but he missed. The boar gutted him," the young man rambled, sweat coated his forehead. "There was nothing I could do, your grace."
She felt blond hair fall into her vision. Cersei Lannister bent down and whispered in her ear, "First the Hand, now the King?"
Her thoughts roared in her head. Robert's death was not her doing. There was only one person she could think of capable of this. Cersei Lannister. Yet even she couldn't magick a boar to gut Robert. Without looking at anyone, she commanded in her best queen's voice, "Everyone leave except for the Grand Maester."
Many feet shuffled out of the King's chamber. Immediately, murmurs rose like a wave behind her. She could feel Ned's glare on the back of her head. Lyanna waited for silence to return to the room before staring at the Grand Maester quizzically.
"Your grace, the king is gravely injured," he said shakily.
"He is strong, Grand Maester. Isn't he?"
A pause.
"I have some potions…."
Lyanna looked the old man in the eye and said, "Yes, give him what you will. Give him something for the pain. Milk of poppy perhaps? And summon Lord Stark."
"Yes, your grace." If he was offended at being sent on an errand like a common servant, he did not show it.
But she did not miss his shaking hands twisted around his chain nervously as he left. On the bed beside her, Robert groaned weakly his eyes cracked open.
"Lya…." he breathed. The stench of wine rose from him. Slowly, Lyanna took his large hand in hers and patted his sweat covered forehead.
"I'm here. Everything will be fine."
When Ned entered, he kept silent, looking unhappily at Robert. His eyes flitted once or twice to Lyanna by the window.
"He would have wanted the court to carry on as normal. The deaths of the Hand has thrown everyone into disarray. Robert would want you to help keep the peace."
Lyanna gave Ned a stern look. Now was not the time. His lips pressed together into a thin line.
Lyanna sat vigil by Robert's bedside for several days. The news that reached of her ears were positive. Ned chaired the Small Council meetings and tried to keep the courtiers in line. He even continued to hear petitions though he always stood in front of the throne. Much to her relief, little word was heard from Stannis.
On the third day, she reduced the flow of milk of poppy. Lyanna lay his head in her lap and wiped his face with a wet cloth.
"I'm dying, Lya."
Robert furrowed his brows in confusion.
"This isn't the way I wanted to go," he confessed. "But I'm glad you're here."
She remained silent.
"Brandon's going to be a great king."
"Robert, I cannot have anyone else be Regent for him other than me," she told him seriously, peering down into his eyes.
"Of course."
So Lyanna summoned Ned and the Small Council. Only after did she make Pycelle dictate the decree that made her Regent after his death and have the others watch the King press his seal and signed it, did she feel a small sense of relief.
Two days later, bells throughout the city tolled loudly.
"The King is dead! The King is dead!" heralds shouted through the street.
By the turn of the moon, Brandon was crowned King Brandon Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm and betrothed to Lady Myrcella Arryn.
As her first act as Queen Regent, Lyanna gave Ned Stark the position of the Hand of the King. Ned had accepted grudgingly, his sense of failure hanging over him. Failure to his sister mixed with failure to Robert. He kept his silence, but dogged with guilt.
In a dramatic shift of the small council, Lyanna Stark offered Tywin Lannister the seat of Master of Coin, arresting Petyr Baelish for corruption. In the end, his sellswords offered so little protection. Surprisingly, Doran Martell accepted her offer of conciliation. With a heavy heart, she sent Visenya to Dorne while Oberyn was en route to King's Landing to take the Dornish seat on the small council.
As Stannis Baratheon called his banners and claimed the bastardy of the King, Lyanna responded by arresting Renly Baratheon for treason. Dornish forces collected near the Prince's path as armies from the North began its march to King's Landing.
Lyanna hoped this would be enough to keep the peace.