Dust flies high in the sky and the sun beats down on the departing men. Lyanna hugs herself tightly and tries to keep from shivering. The previous night she had a dream. Snow and fire again. Shaking her head the would be Queen allows silence to wash over her. All her man have left, the wolves and the dragon. She's been left with her children behind. Lyanna fought against it but even she can see the prudence in this decision. They cannot fight and worry about her at the same time. In Highgarden she's well cared for, given a living in accordance with her status and out of harm's way. Those are important things.
Good men will die, Lyanna knows. Good men will perish and amongst them may very well be her father or her brothers or Rhaegar. What will she do if they bring back his bones? And not even that should the gods be cruel. Her gods hold no power here, so she finds herself praying in the Sept when she can. May her supplications be heard and answered. If not, Lyanna cannot bear to think about that. Not now.
Alerie Tyrell steps with the room and bows with a murmur of, "Your Grace," passing her lips. They have declared Lyanna their Queen, this people who have no reason to trust in her skills as such. "You should not let yourself think of the worst of it, Your Grace." Lady Tyrell casts a knowing look to her. "No good it will do, I tell you." She leads Lyanna away from the window. They seat at the small circular table.
"I've seen enough blood shed to last me a lifetime, and still the gods deem it necessary for more to wet the ground. I cannot understand this world we live in," Lyanna confesses. Oh, she knows well enough that war cannot be avoided, and violence is ever present in their life, behind heavy curtains.
"And no doubt you are anxious for that husband of yours," Alerie guesses. "Young wives usually are. There is no helping that." And no stopping death if it comes, rings silently through the room. "Men are creatures bred for such things. They have the physical power and the necessary temperament for it. But we have our own strengths, as I'm sure you've come to know. Mind that you don't forget it. There is not only one light to shine in your life, Your Grace." The older woman's lips curl in something that might be a smile. But as Alerie does not smile fully, it is hard to say.
Strength she has aplenty, the she-wolf thinks. Were she weak, she would have been torn apart by now. "Lady Tyrell, I am very grateful for your words." There is understanding between them, hanging there. Older and wiser, the Lady of Highgarden knows the fear the younger woman feels and responds to it as only a female could. "It is good for my soul to her such things." She gives no false hope and no empty words, and Lyanna can't ask for more than this.
The sound of hooves beating against the tender earth can no longer be heard. Alerie sighs, "I too stand to lose much should we fail, my lady. My eldest is fighting alongside his father." Only a mother can understand the look in the woman's eyes when she says that. Willas Tyrell is just a boy, a child with hopeful eyes and dreams of glory. He is the sort that war breaks apart, for what glory can be found on a death field? Surely none that he would care for, only an illusory thing of dubious valour he'll get.
Jon and Rhaegon and Aeron are babies. Lyanna can still hold them to her chest and not worry about sending them beyond the safety of the high walls. Willas though a boy is old enough according to law to take up arms. And that is just what the boy has done. "I shall pray for him, as I do for the rest of them."
Bend grass and crimson stained planes play behind Lyanna's eyes after Lady Tyrell departs. The sound of metal clashing against metal rings in her ears, along with roars of pain and war cries. Nameless soldiers fall to the ground, devoid of life, and Lyanna feels her stomach churning. If they die, they cannot protect those dear to her. It's somewhat selfish to wish for their well-being only to save her own, but Lyanna is past the point of caring. The most important thing is seeing Rhaegar again.
Of course he had given her his words that only death will stop him from returning to her side, but she knows that many other obstacles may raise. He could be wounded, he could be held captive. Death is final, she would have to accept it, but the others would only serve to torment her further. Hope dangled before her, only to be snatched away. Yet she will endure as she's always done and place her faith in the gods, old and new. Because Lyanna, the Queen cannot afford to be anything but strong.
Stepping to another room, Lyanna sits in a chair and watches the children play. Aeron hold Rhaenys to her feet, and Jon makes a howling sound, explaining to his brother what wolves are. Maergery Tyrell nods along with her son's words, a spark in her dark eyes.
One of the handmaids hands Lyanna a cup of tea. The sweet flavour lingers on her tongue along with the taste of fruit and roses. The Tyrells do so loves those thorny flowers, and Lyanna remembers that she's had a crown of them not so long ago. Hers had been blue like her frozen lands, these are full of colour. Winter roses would have wilted in this heat. Lyanna is glad there are none here. She drinks the tea, down to the last drop, till there is nothing in the cup but air.
Clear skies allow the sun's light to cover everything in a golden sheen. These are the hard days, Lyanna considers, there will be better ones to come. She's sure of that. Her children will grow in a realm at peace. The thought brings her a measure of comfort, for surely peace is not that far from her grasp. She can almost feel it. Let the gods not be cruel and end this war swiftly. One way or another, their fates are sealed. All these children of summer, let them not know inter yet. If only she can protect them a little longer. Her little dragons can't breathe fire just yet. They are too young to learn, just like countless others, toothless wolves and roses with no thorns. Yes, too young by far.
"Do take care, Aeron," Lyanna tells her son whose eyes hold a mischievous gleam.