The Lady of the Tower

She had been a fool.

Oh, his tongue had been honeyed enough. A chance to be something more, he had told her, the day they met, ten leagues from Harrenhal. Fool, fool, fool. Why had she gone towards Harrenhal?

Why had she not stayed with Brandon during their joyride to the God's eye?

A quick trot, Father, that is all, we will be back before you could say 'Riverrun'.

What madness had possessed her, to leave her lord father's camp and ride to Harrenhal?

She knew the answer.

It had been a plain longing to see the place on last time. One last time, to see the place where she had been a knight in all but name, like Ser Duncan the Tall. One last time, to savour the memories of a bruised shoulder throbbing victoriously, the sweet ache of her body after a gruelling ride, before she went to Storm's End, to become Lady Baratheon.

What had the scribe announced her as? The Knight of the Laughing Tree. Yes.

I knew your deception, my lady. You were the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Lyanna had known it then, it was not a mere chance that she had met the Crown Prince on the road. You are strong, my lady. Join us, and you can save the realm.

She should have read the thin line of disapproval on Ser Arthur's face, the anger on Ser Oswell's. She should had seen through the screen of his speech, pulled the draperies back to see the truth.

A knight in all but name. She should have refused. She was a Stark of Winterfell, she was honour bound and dutiful.

The time has come, my lady, to break free of the laws, to usher in a new, glorious age. You of all people must know how infuriating age-old customs can be.

A memory now.

A crown of blue roses intertwined with threads of green bark and gold silk, hanging on the tip of a tourney lance, swaying precariously in the wind. Lyanna had been able to taste the shock and envy of the crowd. The Prince of Dragonstone naming her the Queen of Love and Beauty! While completely ignoring his wife, the Princess Elia of Dorne! My, oh my, this smells of unspoken love and simmering war!

Lyanna had been unmoving then, shocked as everyone had been. Brandon had been quivering with rage. Robert had been as still as the calm before the storm. Ned had nudged her gently, reminding her, as always, of what her duty was. She had reached for the crown with reluctant fingers. His amethyst eyes had probed her then. There was no love in them, no admiration.

He knows. Lyanna had felt the beginnings of a threat materialise then. He knows that I am the mystery knight, the traitor to the realm.

I have nothing but admiration for your strength and sense of honour, my lady. What had she been doing, when he had been speaking those silver words? Preening herself?

An image now. A shield, broken and battered, with a bone white weirwood painted on it. The tree had a jaunty red smile.

It had taken that image to spur her into action, to swallow the lump of apprehension in her throat and agree. She had edged her horse forward by a step, and she had become his. She had allowed them to trick her guards, Jellen and Humder, had allowed them to take her to Dorne, to the Tower of Joy.

"A mother to my Visenya."

"What?"

"A dragon must have three heads, my lady. My children, they are Aegon and Rhaenys, but I must have Visenya as well, to fulfill the prophecy. My lady wife, Elia, she cannot have more children. She is too frail to survive another birth."

"You cannot! I was meant to be a knight. A- a protector. You told me! You told me! I could become something more!"

"My lady, you are becoming more- "

"Oh, that I am! I'm a whore now, aren't I? A common whore. Well, I refuse!"

"You gave me your vow, my lady. A vow to protect the realm."

"You lied to me!"

"I had never, my lady. I had merely withheld the truth."

"You are a monster."

"I beg your pardon, my lady?"

"A monster! As mad as your father!"

"My lady, it was meant to be. You are meant to be the mother of my Visenya."

Lyanna took hurried breaths through her gritted teeth. She remembered Ned, sweet Ned, calm Ned.

"My family would be dishonoured by your despicable actions, my prince. Or have you forgotten? I am betrothed to Lord Robert."

"Not if you become Queen Consort. Mother to Princess Visenya."

"I-I- I will- what?"

"I am going to hold a Great Council, after our wedding, my lady. I promise you, all of this will be put to right."

"A wedding?"

"Surely, my lady, you cannot expect to become Queen Consort without a wedding."

Lyanna was panting now. She remembered Brandon, wild Brandon.

"I have not run away from one wedding to be forced into another!"

"My lady, believe me when I say that this matter is of no ease to me as well."

"I refuse!"

"There is no other way." He told this flatly, with no emotion. "You had made a vow, my lady. Aid us to protect the realm, by giving us the Visenya we need. You already are a traitor the realm, as I recall my royal father saying. This is a way to protect you, my lady, this is for your own good. My father, he is sure to catch your scent and then, well, I cannot go on."

"Oh, is this to protect me now?"

"My father," the prince hesitated and then plunged forward, "He is mad, as you say. He is keen on collecting all his enemies, including the mystery knight of Harrenhal, and burning them in one great pile! Surely, you remember Duskendale, my lady? With the Lord of Spiders whispering in his ears, it would have been only a matter of months after which your lord father would have received summons to the court, to answer to the charges of his treachery of sheltering a traitor to the realm."

"I never- never meant to- "

She remembered how excited Benjen was when he ran into the godswood, carrying mismatched armour. Poor Benjen. Is he blaming himself now, for what has befallen them?

"You had never meant to be a traitor, my lady. This I know. You had merely meant to spread justice." His tone had softened then. "My royal father, he does not care of whether justice is served right or not. He- it is better, if he does not be king any longer. To overthrow him, I need the Starks on my side. What better alliance than a wedding?"

"You're married."

"Targaryens have always had practiced polygamy."

Trapped. Like a fish in one of those finely meshed Rhoynish nets. Trapped.

"My lady."

He approached her warily, as one would approach a defiant stallion. His skin was pale, pale even for him. Lyanna could see the faint traces of purple on his deft hands, how the full veins were trying to leap out of his skin. Ser Arthur was standing by the door, his drawn face revealing nothing. She went through a premonitory shudder. Instinctively, she moved from the window where she had been standing towards the other end of her chambers, as far away from him as possible.

"We have very disturbing news from King's Landing", he said, slowly. His amethyst eyes were not meeting hers. "As you are well aware of, your brother, ignorant of our deception- "

"Our deception?" she croaked out. Her throat was tight with indignance and fear.

She all too remembered very well about the evening his true plans were laid out. A scared septon, three white swords taut with disapproval, her pleas, her refusals, his calm reassurances, her whimpers, his grunts, a bloody sheet, another head of a dragon. It had not happened after that- perhaps he was waiting for her to realize that her destiny was to carry the Visenya to his Aegon in her womb. But thinking of that night still made her skin crawl.

The prince winced at that. "Very well, for the realm's good, I shall not deny this, my lady. Ignorant of my deception, he had gone to- "He reached towards the pitcher of water and took a gulp of water.

"To King's Landing, to challenge me. Your father had marched to King's Landing and demanded a trial by combat, after your brother was imprisoned."

"Imprisoned?"

"Hear me, my- "

"Imprisoned by the Mad King?"

"I wouldn't- "

"Brandon imprisoned?" Suddenly she knew what he was going to tell her. Her heart was slipping away. Her wits left her. Groaning, she knelt on the floor, rocking back and forth.

"My lady, are you well? I could- "

Ser Arthur strode towards Lyanna and pushed the water pitcher towards her. Seeing that she made no move towards it, he shuffled back to the door.

"I would go on, my prince", he said, tiredly.

"I- very well, I'm very much grieved, my lady, but-", he knelt down to her," I assure you that I will make amends but- my lady, my royal father, he- he has committed a crime so dark that-my lady, I- when your lord father named himself champion, my sire, he- he named fire as the champion of House Targaryen- my lady- no, hear me, I assure you that this will not go unpunished, you must be strong, my lady-"

Could it be?

Could it be that if she was pained enough, one day she will shrink into a snowflake and float away? Away from all the stares, against all the accusations, against all the reproaches she will be subjected to if she ever got away from here?

Perhaps that would be good. She would like to float with Father's ashes and lie to rest, like a blue pendant, on Brandon's unmoving corpse.

Tim to time, the memories shook her so much she feared that her belly was tearing, that bloody streaks would appear on it, exactly like the ones she had left on Rhaegar's face after raking it with her nails.

The grey rushes reminded her of Father, a whinny of a horse Brandon. All she had left of them are these, memories.

Lyanna could not bring herself to hate the child growing within her.

True, the child was what he had wanted for so long, so desperately that he had to resort to deception and crime to get it. True, her brother and father died for the child to live.

But Lyanna could not help but wonder, what was it like to become a mother? To hold one's flesh in one's hands, rocking it against one's breast, whispering sweet things into its ears?

"'Tis sure to be a boy, my lady," Wylla, the midwife, said.

Wylla was a maid serving the Daynes of Starfall. Ser Arthur had been dispatched to bring her as soon as Lyanna broke the news to the prince. The prince had smiled a smile so lovely, Lyanna had not been able to breathe. Was he a monster, a mad son to the Mad King, or was he truly so lost in the throes of a prophecy that he had thrown away his own honour and pride?

"Well, if it is a boy, perhaps I get to keep him." Lyanna whispered to Wylla.

The midwife had become a close confidante of hers within a couple of days, a companion in this tower which housed mad princes and silent knights. Ser Gerold never met her eyes and an air of choked disapproval always seemed to surround him. Ser Oswell looked at her with pity and sometimes even sorrow. Ser Arthur was by far the most considerate of the three. He never talked to her, knowing she liked to be left alone, never pitied her or looked at her as if a she was a mistress holding his prince tightly with claws of desire.

He would have known Princess Elia. Perhaps even grown up with her.

What was Princess Elia's thoughts about her? Would she welcome her child, or cast it away coldly to the darkest parts of her heart? Does Princess Elia know the madness her husband possessed? What would happen to her after the war? What would happen to Lyanna after the war? The prince had told her, a Great Council would be held after the war. Queen Consort. To put right the things that had gone wrong.

If it's a son, Lyanna thought sleepily, he will be a Brandon. Brandon would like that, wouldn't he?

"My lady, the prince requests your honourable presence downstairs."

Ser Arthur stood at the door, staring at the window behind her. Wylla stood near the door, head hung, hands clasped.

Lyanna hugged herself. Despite the heat, she could only feel a snowstorm inside her head.

"Is it time for him to leave?" She asked finally.

Ser Arthur would not meet her eyes.

"Yes, my lady." My lady. "For it is time for the prince to ride out and subdue the rebel Robert Baratheon."

"Robert is doing what is right," Lyanna said. She whirled and walked towards the window. She cannot bear to look at Ser Arthur now, to hear praises of the prince's righteousness and reproach for her conduct.

"Aye," she heard a small chuckle, "that may be so."

Lyanna looked at him from the corner of her eyes. The knight hung his head now.

"You think so?" Lyanna asked.

"My lady," he shifted, "You have to bid farewell to the prince now, your lord husband."

"As he is Princess Elia's?"

Ser Arthur looked up. His face was expressionless.

"Yes, my lady." He said. "As he is Princess Elia's."

"Am I not a Princess now, Ser Arthur?" Lyanna squeaked. "Am I not his lawfully wedded wife?"

"Yes, my lady."

Lyanna walked slowly towards him. Her hands clenched and unclenched.

"Wylla, leave us."

She shuffled out, darting looks at the white knight.

"Why did you let him?" She asked. Plainly.

"My lady, please."

"Do you know? Do you know how it is to be me? Do you know how it is to be dishonoured? Have men fighting, dying, all in my name?"

Ser Arthur stared at her.

Lyanna kept going. "Do you know how mad your friend is? A dragon has three heads? Did you know what he was going to do? With me? And- "

"My lady," Ser Arthur cut in, effortlessly. "The fact is, I do know. I do know because that is what my sister is suffering from now."

Lyanna stared at him.

"Lady Ashara?"

"Don't!" He bit the words out. "Don't speak her name, I beg of you. She cannot abide any more sympathy from you Starks."

She could not follow. Lady Ashara? What did her family do to her? Ned had been enamoured with her, is all. That is all. Did Father propose marriage between her and Ned?

No, not marriage. Ser Arthur knew. Knew what dishonour is.

Could Ned? No, not Ned.

"Brandon," Lyanna breathed. "He, he-"

"Yes," Ser Arthur snarled. "Your wonderful, gallant brother. He bedded her and got her with child. Ashara, gods, Ashara, she had been willful before, yet this, this, she told me, she told me and Elia, she loved him. She loved him and he spurned her."

Lyanna sat down on the bed. Brandon.

"Now she is in Starfall, mourning the death of your brother," Ser Arthur continued, more calmly. "Grieving for Elia's fate. Sick from carrying the child. The maester," Ser Arthur had two silver streams running down his cheeks. Lyanna had never seen a knight cry before.

"The maester told that she does not keep health. He frets for the babe. He told me, she walks aimlessly, calling out Aegon's name and Elia's and mine, she calls our sister 'Rhaenys', she stares at the sea from the windows. Our brother worries about her when her laughter echoes down the halls."

Ser Arthur steadied himself against the wall.

"Dorne has exiled us." His voice cracked. "Her, for carrying Stark's child. Me, for betraying Princess Elia. Prince Lewyn, he told me that Dorne has nothing to do with me now."

He laughed. Quickly. All Lyanna could think of was how Lady Ashara was laughing, perhaps right now, as she glided past the stone columns of her birth home.

When Lyanna offered the knight a cup of wine, he recoiled.

"Ser, your prince wastes these luxuries on me. Perhaps you could see to the emptying of this wine." Lyanna smiled sadly. When the white knight bent to take the cup, Lyanna quickly dabbed his wet cheeks with her cloak.

Ser Arthur took a step back and muttered, "Forgive me, my lady. I should not have spoken such words to you." He wiped his face with the back of his hand, as if her touch brought a disease with it.

"Good ser," Lyanna whispered, "I ask for your forgiveness. I should not have reproached you."

"Yes, my lady," he said, standing straight. He emptied the cup and then gently placed it on the floor.

"Ser Arthur," Lyanna said, a little more boldly. "We share the same story now. Both of us, unwanted, dishonoured and- "

Ser Arthur offered his arm. "It is time, my lady. The prince awaits in his solar."

Lyanna stared at the leaving party from her window, her hands caressing her slowly swelling belly.

The prince had donned his obsidian black armour and was mounted on a brown stallion. The Kingsguard were talking to him, Lyanna noted, with an air of desperation and anger. Ser Arthur was standing straight as a white spear, angrily shaking his head, his voice reaching a dangerous tone. Ser Oswell appeared to be talking in a tone of pacification. Lyanna blew out a sigh. If ever a man was so stubborn, it had to be Rhaegar Targaryen. Her belly was proof for that.

"What if it was a boy?" Lyanna had hissed at him once. His face had contorted to such a disappointed expression that, despite herself, Lyanna felt stung.

Ser Gerold suddenly knelt on the ground, and shouted out for something. Lyanna snatched some of his words, "you are a prince of the royal blood" and "grant me leave to ride with you" Rhaegar shook his head at that, and then pointed to the tower, to her window and said, "You all are charged with guarding the future princess."

Lyanna winced at that. She knew he was talking about his Visenya. That man will die with "Visenya" on his lips.

Rhaegar dead.

Lyanna squeezed her eyes shut. He's dead. Ned's coming for me. Maybe Robert too. She pictured herself at Winterfell, riding her horse, stealing swords to the godswood, dragging Ben along with her. Life would be the same again.

She looked down at her swollen belly. Perhaps not the same. The babe, Wylla said, will come out any time soon. Now that Rhaegar was dead, where will her child go? I have to make them understand. I have to keep my child alive.

Over the next few days, Lyanna received many news about the Battle of the Trident, but only from Ser Oswell, who told only scraps and pieces of the war. Robert. A dashing lord, a fearless soldier of a war started in her name, for her honour.

Lyanna was uncertain if Robert would accept her back. He was a lord, after all. A lord needs a fit lady, not a dishonoured girl. When Lyanna came to this conclusion, all she felt was a vast relief.

And then they heard of the Sack of King's Landing.

A lone rider had appeared that day, riding a horse so hard it had been frothing blood out of its mouth.

"Calm down, man, and tell us, what news from the capital?" Ser Gerold had commanded him.

Lyanna had been down as well, supported at the elbow by Wylla. She had heard it all. King Aerys murdered by Jaime Lannister, a member of his own Kingsguard. Lannister soldiers breaking into the Red Keep. Princess Elia ravished and murdered. Her children, mere babes, beaten to death.

As she sat by the window, Lyanna kept thinking of Ser Gerold's stumble, Ser Arthur's white face that day, as they had heard the message. They were just babes. In another life, as Queen Consort, she would have been their mother. Lyanna remembered Princess Elia's graceful walk, her head high, her face hiding all traces of frailty from her health. Dead now. All of them, because of Lyanna's willfullness. A knight in all but name, was it?

Stupid, stupid girl.

She felt an intense pain now, travelling from her womb to her soul. There was wetness on her thighs. "Oh." Lyanna said.

"My lady?" Wylla looked up from her embroidery.

That was when the screaming started.

When she opened her eyes, she could feel her burning body. This is how Father would have felt. Her throat was parchment and her limbs were as fragile as hair.

"My lady?" She heard a voice. Who was this woman? Mother? "My lady, drink." She felt water on her lips, water sloshing in her mouth, rising into her nose, flowing down her throat. No, it's Wylla, the midwife. Lyanna gasped.

"My lady, lie down. You are not well." Outside, Lyanna could hear the clang of steel on steel. "Where am I?"

"Dorne, my lady, do you remember?"

Yes, she remembered. She remembered a man with pale skin and purple eyes. When he smiled, his grin stretched to his eyes, until the mouth opened and Lyanna saw a laughing weirwood. She remembered passionate blue eyes, the colour of the storm and sea. She remembered a warm castle amidst the summer snows. She remembered her younger brother catching snowflakes on his tongue. She remembered a small kick in her womb, and the love she felt for it was intense. Her womb. Her womb was now fire. Her womb was now ice. Her daughter.

Lyanna gasped again. She could feel water pooling above her upper lip. "My daughter- "

Wylla, the midwife, had her brown curls plastered to her forehead. Her face was wet. No, she was crying. "My lady, your daughter, she was- "

Was. Lyanna could hear a fight outside her tower. She heard a horse shriek. No, it was a man. Was. That was all she needed to know.

A long time ago, a frightened girl with scared grey eyes and limp brown hair had cried over a twisted ankle. Lyanna could see her now. Her brother, so very like her and so very not, knelt beside her. He was mouthing something to the frightened little girl, and Lyanna knew the words very well.

"It will be alright," he was saying. "A couple of days and you will not even have a scar, Lya."

"Don't lie to me", the frightened little girl huffed, "I don't believe you. Oooh, it hurts so very much, Ned, would I be able to ride again?"

"Yes, you will", the boy said, with an amused expression on his face.

"Promise me, Ned. Don't lie."

Lyanna was riding over the rills. Her horse was grey as smoke from the chimneys of Winterfell. Her heart leapt with every leap of her horse. Behind her, Benjen was struggling to keep up with her pace. Beside her, Brandon was hollering. "You cheat!"

"No, you cheat!"

Lyanna woke up to a face she knew very well. The face was lined with grief. The face was covered with a brown beard. But the face was home. The face was Benjen and Brandon.

"Ned."

The face was crying. "Please, get her some water!" A woman, Wylla, her mind insisted, whispered words of apology. "Bleeding- too much, my lord- cannot stop- "

"Ned."

"Lyanna, you will not die."

Lyanna was slipping away.

The frightened little girl demanded, "Promise me!"

Lyanna and her horse leaped over a sand dune and a roaring fire to reach that fiend Brandon, who was riding ahead.

"Wuh- will I ride again?"

"Yes, you will. You just get stronger, Lya, and we will go riding again. You can ride Smoke, you remember? Your horse Smoke?"

"Smoke?"

"Lyanna, stay with me."

"B-but I will ri-ride won't I-I?" Her head was spinning. She pictured a girl with brown hair and lovely purple eyes, toddling towards her outstretched arms. "Ride?"

"Yes", the face cracked. Lyanna saw a stream gushing out of it.

"P-Promise me, Ned."