-Winter Rose-

Lyanna smiled weakly as Ned nodded, tears pooling in his eyes with the finality of her request. To see her yield...

She looked to little Jon lying in the midwife's arms by her bedside. The beautiful boy was screaming for his mother, a tear slid down her face as she looked at him, slightly reaching out to touch him. Ned said something to her, and the babe was in her arms again, Ned's arms under her's to help her hold him. She then looked up into her brother's sad, grey eyes as he held her so tightly, as if if he let her go she'd slip away from him forever. She clutched back as much as she could, as if she were a little girl again with a scrape on her knee, crying for her brother. Though that brother was seldom Ned, always wolf-blooded Brandon who understood her best. The only brother who defended her when her father sold her to Robert, the one who rode South for her and never came back, because of her.

Silly wolf child, some voice said to her from so far away, did you really think life was a song?

She looked past Ned, to the windows in the Tower of Joy looking onto the Dornish mountains far away, she looked to the fighting, past that, looked to the rivers and looked to the ruins of Harrenhal, where she had met her prince - the love of her life, the father of her child, her prince, her great ruin, Rhaegar, Rhaegar, Rhaegar - buried in King's Landing, with the dragons. Fallen before Robert's feet, into the water that ran red.

She saw Robert, poor Robert who she tried so hard to love and now tried so hard to hate. She could do neither. He cried for her when she'd ran off with the dragon, and would cry for her until the end of his days. She saw him torn to pieces by a lion's claws. She looked past Robert's broken body, the broken kingdom, to Winterfell - home - saw Brandon - not Brandon, nor Ned, nor Benjen - through eyes that weren't her's. The boy held her in his furs, and stroked the snow white fur as she saw her sweet brother, too. And a red-haired boy she didn't recognize. She then was pulled down into the crypt beneath and saw herself there. Felt herself in the cold, hard ground. Felt the strange cool, warmth of the bodies of her brother and father and mother beside her there in the ground. Felt her grandparents, felt the many Stark's, the great Northern Kings, that had filled that place and had filled that place not too long ago and would fill that place not too long from now. She saw other things, more Starks there with her far too soon, and felt ill. She felt alone, but not alone. Felt cold, but warm.

She looked to the Wall past Winterfell, saw her baby brother standing there, his back to Winterfell, looking onward, away from everything he couldn't face Running always but standing still, always still, watching the wall and never looking back to everything and everyone he'd run from.

From you. He loved more than anything else, selfish girl.

A boy - her boy, again - stood behind him, running too - pushed away, and she felt rage stir in her slowly beating heart - but looking back. Always looking back, to the questions, to the hate and the love that stood hand in hand with him. He turns away, leaps into a blaze beyond the wall, then runs with his pack once more. For, fire cannot kill a dragon. Lyanna feels the break of winter into spring once more, and feels immense pride.

She tried to reach out and touch his dark curls, his steely grey eyes sang of the North, of the wolves. She couldn't, and it hurt her so terribly. His smile sang of the dragons, the last dragon. Her dragon. She felt a strange sadness, seeing him there. Alone - but never alone. She sees a blaze of fire around him, but it's warm, and he laughs and smiles in a way that made her heart ache and is so, so happy. She's overcome with a fierce, fierce love for the boy she'll never know and will never know her. This son she never had and never will have, but she knows she loves him more than she's ever loved anything. She loves him with everything she has, which is not much anymore, but with a warmth so powerful she feels like she could set the whole kingdom ablaze. She wonders if this is what all mother's feel. She looks again, knowing if she looks at her boy for a moment longer, she'd never be able to move forward.

She saw her brother and father - fierce with the wolf's blood in their veins - waiting for her in Winterfell - home - their eyes filled with only love and longing, no anger, no questions, no disappointment.

Never, sweetling. Little Lya.

Her gentle-hearted mother, dead before her time, her…her prince, who'd forsaken all he had to give for her. As she had for him. He was there, too.

We tore it apart, Rhaegar. We tore the kingdom apart. His eyes were as sad as they'd been in life, and a guilt way heavily in them, and she was so angry at him, at her. But she loved him all the same.

Lyanna would have laughed if she could to see him standing in Winterfell. He hated the cold, hated the snow, the dark and the icy wind. He loved the sun, thrived on it. His lovely lavender eyes were sad to see her there but happy all at once, held his hand out for her like he'd done a thousand times as he looked through her eyes to their boy. The breath left him as he took him in.

Their dragon, their wolf, their beautiful son they would've loved so much if life were truly what they'd dreamt it would be.

Oh, little Jon, he loves you so much.

She looked to see what might have been, had the Gods been kinder. Her dragon-hearted man beside her holding her, their dark-haired babe with the wolf's blood in his veins, the dragon's blood dancing with the wolf in him too. He smiled as his father sang to him, a happy song that he could never sing before. Golden summer crowns on their heads, with smiles that reached their eyes as her brothers and father stood behind them. Perhaps a little girl, later, with the silver hair of the dragons, with the wolves' eyes, too.

No, no.

Too late for 'perhaps', 'maybe' and ' what if'. Too late. Too early? For her, anyway.

Perhaps someone else will attain that dream. Who knows.

She felt the Northern winds rising, the warmth of the dragon's breath on her heels and the cool winds of her home brushing her cheeks. The warmth of her baby nestled in her arms flowed away from her, the shaking, strong arms around her slipped away, someone's warm hand gripped her's and she looked up into the gentle, lavender eyes she loved with everything she had.

All she knows now is she can see, with those wolf eyes, her boy - no, Ned's now, and for some reason that thought brought her no pain - in her kind brother's arms, safe and warm.

Protected.

For always.

He promised.

Her eyes slip close as he grips her hand tight, the strong wind on her face, the warmth on her back, the fire in her heart and the fierce, wolf's blood coursing through her veins. She's content as she knows Jon will be alright here, alone, since he's not alone. Not ever.

Her little wolf, his little dragon, their son.

They'll be alright.

*whispers* Rhaegar and Lyanna are clearly Jon's parents. I mean, really it's painfully obvious.
This hurt to write.

The crown best give the Stark's a break next generation or so help me-

so i hear everyone dies on game of thrones/asoiaf except for the lannisters because being a wealthy asshole buys you life

so

yeah

also I had Lyanna see Jon, Ned and Robb through Ghost's eyes because of this picture:

art/wip-Lyanna-Stark-cont-286931507

(the wolves will rise again)