A/N: This is my first Fan Fiction story. Sorry if I screw up all your favorite characters. I'll try my best. Here's a short, introductory chapter, basically a prologue.
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters created by George R.R. Martin. I don't own anything related to A Song Of Ice And Fire.
"No, please Lyanna, Don't Leave Me!" Were his words. He remembered the tears that streamed down his eyes, and he remembered the sad, broken look on Her face.
"You know I have to." Was the solemn reply
No he thought… "Please…..Lya, I-I Love you. More than anything, I never wanted the war or any of this. Please don't leave me, Don't leave our could." Don't' Leave Our Son, Leave our son, son, son….son. Their Son. "We could go to Essos, we could run away."
"You know we can't Rhaegar. In this Broken, fractured realm, you must rise. You must be king. You must bring peace to these seven broken kingdoms. Good Bye"
Lyanna came to him one last time. Lyanna had taken a cautious step forward, tears welling within her beautiful, grey eyes. She had faltered, had cried, had stood, and then she had lurched forward and embraced him. They may have spent 5 seconds, 60 seconds, even a lifetime in that embrace. Rhaegar had emptied himself into it, pouring all the love he had ever felt into that moment with her, his wife.
All of it had been taken away with a single muffled cry. Lya's tears became tears of blood. Her wracking sobs became cries of pain. Rhaegar remembered that day as if it were yesterday. He remembered the arrow protruding from her eye. He remembered the face of the outlaw, standing with bow in hand. He remembered the shape of the bow, the cries of his child, and the red hot sensation of his wife's blood dripping down his face. And he remembered the slaughter. He remembered slipping into a battle rage. He remembered when he got up, drew his sword, and laid waste to Lyanna's murderer and all of the band of outlaws that joined the murderer. He had killed, murdered, cried, killed, murdered, and cried… cried… cried. He had cried until the rivers were flooding, until the world was drowned. He had cried until he was a dried husk with no more water left inside.
But he had lived. He had lived and she had not. He and the child, their beautiful little boy. They had lived. Jon Targaryen was alive. And that was what mattered. For the Gods had chosen them to live.
END
A/N
Sorry for the very short chapter. I wanted to create a basic introduction to my story. Also, Please give me criticism. Please. I know my writing isn't amazing. Thanks, and I promise, next chapter will be much longer. I sincerely hope.