I was always willful. My gender made that particular trait of character a weakness. Brandon was always willful but everybody worshipped the ground that he walked on.
It was really my father's fault that I did as he did. He always told us that we should look to our brother for guidance and inspiration. Sweet father...
In my sixteen warm years, I was told what I could and could not be, what I should learn and not learn, whom I should love and not love. I resisted those that sought to hold me back as much as I could. I like to think that I was successful for my willfulness attracted two of the people that are dearest and nearest to my soul. My love and my mother-in-darkness.
-Lyanna Stark's diary, 289 AC entry.
Lyanna Stark was in pain. The lower half of her body screamed as her muscles contracted and pushed outwards in order to bring forth new life. Her mother had described the ordeal in beautifying and general terms, lies to make her comfortable with the idea of having children. Old Nan, the Stark children's steadfast companion was more honest and descriptive. Lyanna found that while she hadn't lied, she hadn't been able to convey the immensity of the pain that she was feeling at this moment.
The Maester that Rhaegar had provided for her before he rode off to war, the irony of filling a role that she had told her mother that she would never fill, that of the women that send their men off to fight while they stayed home, was quiet as she screamed out with all the strength that she could muster. He nodded to her once again. Lyanna easily understood what he meant. She would have to push and breathe, breathe and push.
"How much more?", a wet nurse spoke to the Maester, worry filling her voice.
"As much as she has to", the Maester replied and ignored the woman as he focused on his job of delivering the child with safety.
Lyanna herself couldn't speak. Only be in pain.
The girl that people called "the She-Wolf" howled and wailed.
Hours later, the pain was over and out of her came a beautiful child. A baby boy.
Lyanna held him as best she could. She was feeling weak and exceedingly tired but she didn't want to hand him over to the wet nurse just yet. As she looked upon her son, Lyanna could clearly see that he favored her side. Dark grey, almost black eyes looked back at her whenever they opened to take in the world while small tufts of brown hair adorned his head. The product of a Stark and a Targaryen didn't bear the resemblance of a Dragon King. Perhaps it is for the best, she thought.
After many complaints were exchanged between her and the wet nurse, Lyanna was convinced to hand her son to the wet nurse. Her grip was becoming weaker, so much so that she was afraid that she might drop her child, validating the woman's concerns but the She-Wolf wouldn't confess to being wrong, not even at her worst.
And then, she began feeling cold. The sensation began in her lower half, just like the pain of childbirth. While it wasn't as sharp, this sensation scared her more.
I am dying, aren't I?, she thought. It was another danger that her mother had obfuscated and Old Nan had not shirked away from informing her about.
The sound of swords clashing and men screaming woke her up. Lyanna wanted to go right back to sleep, even if she knew that there was a chance that she wouldn't get to wake up again. The Cold had almost overtaken her by now, keeping her tied to her bed. The wet nurse was kind enough to move her son's crib in front of her. Even if she couldn't hold him, she would watch him in what she was convinced were her last moments.
She wasn't sure how much time had elapsed before she heard faint but heavy footsteps outside of her room. They got closer and heavier before Lyanna saw the man that produced them.
Lord Ned Stark burst into the room before pausing for just a moment as he took in the view in front of him. The sleeping baby, the blood, his sister.
He is so sad… I made poor Ned so sad, she thought. The Ned Stark that looked back at her wasn't the shy, introverted but ever so sweet boy that she knew. He was a tired warrior, a Lord of Winterfell that had been fighting for close to a year in a war that her own actions and those of the man that she loved had created. In addition to the brother that lived, there were also the brother and father that didn't.
I've ruined it all… I've ruined it all… And for what?, she thought, the stings of regret creeping up from the deepest recesses of her soul where she had buried them. With the remaining strength that coursed through her body, Lyanna extended her hand towards her brother.
"Promise me, Ned", she said as he secured her hand close to his chest, having knelt next to her. "Promise me, Ned", she repeated. Her brother placed a quick kiss on her hand.
"What?", he softly said, his voice close to breaking, as tears pooled in his eyes. Her mind rushed to find the words, the correct order of beseeching her brother to protect the last part of her that would remain in the world.
"If Robert finds him, he will kill him", Lyanna said before taking a deep breath. "You have to protect him. Keep him safe. Promise me, Ned…"
Lyanna wasn't sure what answer her brother gave her but she suspected. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives. She focused on holding Ned's hand as tightly as she could and looking at her son as the Dark slowly engulfed her.
And then, there was light.
It wasn't like the light of the morning sun coming through the clouds to bring life into the earth although it brought life back to her dead body. Rays of it in all the colors of the rainbow and much more, colors that no mortal painter that she knew of had managed to reproduce on paper, colors like those created from the kaleidoscopic lens that Maester Walys kept in his observatory, flooded her vision. Lyanna felt like she was walking on air, enraptured. That was perhaps the only word that could adequately describe the feeling that now resided in her deflated, unmoving chest. It wasn't accurate for there were no words in the Westerosi tongue that could convey the precise contents of her thoughts. She was feeling better than when she had Rheagar within her or when she rode her or when she rode Rhaegar as if he was her horse. Where she felt cold, now she felt warm and that warmth spread from her neck down to her chest and belly. It was like drinking wine but again, much more pleasurable. colors that no painter that she knew of had managed to put on paper. Lyanna could swear that she was flying.
And then she realized that she was not indeed flying.
As violently as she had been jerked into something akin to a paradise, she was kicked into harsh reality. She was still on her bed, still in pain. She reeked of blood and shit, finding both soiling her tattered nightgown. The upper side of her mouth burned as if sharp new teeth were pushing downards, yearning to free themselves. Her vision was blurred and red while her stomach was a gaping hole of hunger.
A voice within her mind urged her to fill it. To kill, to destroy. To feed. Lyanna screamed and howled like the direwolf on her House's sigil as she noticed that there was nobody to do that with. Her room was empty but for the moonlight shining through the window and onto an empty crib.
Hurried footsteps reached her ears. Deft hands unlatched the door of her room, drawing her eyes to it. The wet nurse that was caring for her and her son walked in, worried about her mistress. Lyanna was sure that she was inquiring about her health and well-being. But her mind didn't make out the words. She was focused on the vein on the wet nurse's neck. It pulsed and moved, the blood within it seemingly singing to her. It was life in its purest form and the voice inside her head growled for her to reach out and claim it.
With a growl emanating deep within her throat, she removed her coverings and dropped them on the floor before carefully standing on her own two feet. The woman mumbled a few words before she was silenced by the sight. The beautiful and sweet girl that used to be in her care had morphed into a nightmarish monster. Her hair untamed, a tumbled mess of dark brown vines. Her grey eyes, always active and alert were now deadly and sharp. And in her mouth, sharp fangs were poised to deliver death.
Lyanna charged at the shocked woman. She easily overtook her and held her down. The wet nurse tried fighting but it was of no use. Lyanna had received an unladylike education, training alongside her brother Benjen. The strength that came from that regimen would have given her a definitive edge even without a newfound prowess that came from within. The woman's beating heart urged her on to do what she had to do. Lyanna lowered her head with a sudden move, bringing her mouth to the wet nurses throat.
She tore into her flesh with the fresh fangs that sprung from her mouth and was rewarded as the hot, viscous, life giving fluid shot into her mouth. She gulped it down greedily and without a care for the person that she received it from. Lyanna took and took and took, neglecting the weakening heartbeat beneath her as she took the life of the woman that had the misfortune of being close to her. She whimpered as a modicum of the pleasure that she had felt within her chest earlier returned. Holding onto it, Lyanna kept drinking until the veins of her victim were empty. She suckled for a few more seconds before she was assured that nothing remained.
Lyanna sheepishly and slowly raised her head from the crook of her victim's throat as the ecstasy of receiving her blood receded alongside the voice in her head that urged her to do it. She could now observe her work without interference.
The woman that had cared for her during her stay here looked up at her. Her face was locked into a silent scream of agony, her eyes glassed open and lifeless, her hands bawled into fists. No breath, no heartbeat, only death. And it was all her doing.
"What have I done?", she said to nobody in particular and in complete disbelief. "WHAT HAVE I DONE?", she repeated, releasing her victim from her grip before backing away from it towards the relative safety of her bed. Her mind was unable to fully comprehend her predicament, a million questions rushing through her head. What had happened to her? Why was she thirsting for the blood of others? How easily she had become a killer for it? Was she herself dead and in her own personal hell?
I just hope that all the dead in the war that I caused are merciful, Lyanna thought as she brought her head down on her knees in desperation.
Lyanna wasn't certain how much time she had spent in the same place, her back pressed upon that she had given birth. It could have been days for all she knew but it was most probably a few hours. Another set of footsteps awoke her. They were heavy as well, just like those of her brother earlier but slightly lighter.
Their owner appeared on the door a few seconds later and stopped at the dead woman. Lyanna watched the newcomer in silence. She was tall and wore tight-fitting black armor with long, flowing red hair cascading down her back. She studied the corpse with care, swaying her neck to the left and then to the right before placing a gentle hand on the corpse's throat. Nodding, she turned to Lyanna, allowing her to get a better look at the newcomer's face. The woman was deathly pale, a pair of icy blue eyes placed symmetrically to either side of an elegant nose whose tip was slightly upturned in a way that could be described as regal, rounded off by sharp, high cheekbones that only served to complete that assessment of her.
"Very thorough", the pale woman said, nodding in affirmation without turning to face her. "Thorough and brutal. Just as I expected, Lyanna."
"Ho…", Lyanna began before she closed her mouth once again. She wasn't merely confused now, no. That was a thing of the past. She was supremely out of her depth as more questions were added to her previous ones.
"How do I know your name?", the woman finished her thought as she finally turned towards her. "I know a lot about you, my dear", she spoke in a respectful, even motherly tone towards her. "I was in Harrenhal when you defended the honor of your father's man when your brothers didn't, both before and in the joust, when you poured wine on your brother's head when he mocked the man that you were beginning to fall for. I saw from afar the gesture that ensured a war that would engulf the entire continent", the pale woman said as she came closer to her, every fact about her highlighted by a click of her armored boots.
"In the joust...", she whispered. Nobody but Benjen was supposed to know, her thoughts lashed out. Lyanna sighed emptying her lungs, lungs that she realized were already empty. The realization that she hadn't taken a breath for hours was enough to crack her mask as fear showed on her face for just a moment before she composed herself. "So what?", she said after raising her chin up in defiance. "You and half of Westeros were there during that Tourney". The pale woman seemed taller than Brandon now that she was above her, towering her small frame. It made Lyanna feel small and weak but she wouldn't show it. Whatever her circumstance, she loathed showing weakness.
"You are clearly a clever girl", the pale woman said as she brought her gloved hand beneath her raised chin, pushing upwards and forcing her to stand up on her feet. "Or rather, clever for a girl", she corrected herself, with the slightest of smirks forming on her face. "I would have handled the Prince very differently if I were you. But that's not what I am here to discuss, my dear. Let's talk about your future instead."
"I have a future?", she replied, feigning surprise. "I gave birth to the bastard of a Prince whose side lost. I betrayed my family, my betrothed as much of a pig as he was, and I…". At that moment, the pale woman brought her gloved finger over her mouth, silencing her immediately. The simple gesture carried so much power. She felt obedience blossom within her chest, a need to follow the woman's order. The smirk was replaced by a gentle smile, the gentlest and most trustworthy smile that Lyanna had been subjected to.
"My dear, you should have realized by now that you are dead".
After she heard the last of those fourteen words, Lyanna's heart sank. There was no way to deny the obvious now, the veil having been lifted from her eyes. "Dead…", she muttered as her face contorted in a mixture of fear and sadness. Her eyes fell to the wet nurse's corpse, the corpse that she had made, the irrefutable evidence that she was a killer. "If I am dead then what is she?"
The pale woman turned her head towards the corpse, tilting it slightly to the left in thought before her smirk returned. "Very much dead", she answered, chuckling at her own joke. Lyanna didn't protest or speak up. Instead she started crying. She didn't want to, not really, but her mind was acting on its own. Perhaps it was reflexively lamenting its own death or the death that it had caused but it was crying. The pale woman's gentle touch was on her chin. "I know, my dear. I would have prepared you but time was of the essence. I couldn't interfere while you were guarded by the White Cloaks and when you died… my hand was forced."
Lyanna reflexively moved towards her hand, looking for any piece of consolation. The pale woman took things further by embracing her. The fact that she felt secure within her embrace was illogical but then again, nothing made sense tonight. "Why…", she spoke between sobs, "why are you so kind with me? And what did you do to me?"
"I preserved your spirit, my dear Lyanna. Your wit, your bravery, your strong will. The wolf's blood, I think people call it, within you. You will never grow old, my daughter."
"Your daught…What are you talking about? Who are you?"
The pale woman chuckled once again but kept waving her fingers through Lyanna's hair. "Your caretakers and servants might have warned you about me when you were very small. I am Lady Danelle Lothston."
"Mad Danelle?!", Lyanna shrieked and unburied her head from the pale woman's armored chest, looking up at her. In the stories, Mad Danelle Lothston sent her giant bats to collect misbehaving children so that she might eat them, when she wasn't bathing in the blood of virgins to keep her youthful good looks intact. They are intact, she thought. Perhaps the rumors are true.
"The very same", she said while gently sweeping her eyes from tears, blood red ones as Lyanna saw. "Although I don't eat children or take blood baths", she continued. "Most of the time that is".
"Most of the time?", Lyanna arched an eyebrow at Lothston.
"Taking blood is a necessity as you have no doubt realized"
"Yes…", Lyanna replied nodding. "Well no, I haven't realized it just yet. I haven't realized a lot of things. I have a lot of questions". Her mind was a tangled mess of strings that lead to nowhere that she would have to put in order and she hadn't been given enough time to do so.
"And I will answer all of them, my dear. But first, you must have a bath".
Author's Notes:
-I was recently hearing Anno Dracula on Audible, a novel about Dracula taking over the United Kingdom after the end of the novel. My fanfiction antennas tingled and realized that there were not that many Vampires in ASOIAF fanfiction.
-The Vampires I chose to go with are similar to those of the Vampire the Masquerade World of Darkness variety, so this fanfic can be considered a soft crossover. Since the two worlds don't really mix that well, it will be a very soft crossover, with the Vampires having a unique in-universe creation tale but there will be clear analogies to clans, people and nightly conflicts.
-Danelle Lothston, ASOIAF's Countess Bathory was mainly chosen as Lyanna's Sire because there was a clear Harrehal connection, she was warrior and I love researching Bathory's story so there it is
-For those that might have read my Star Wars fanfics, thank you for checking out this one as well. A mixture of work and family related stuff (thankfully nothing bad) as well as a certain lack of inspiration has led me to take a break from those. I will revisit those stories in due course though, I am not done with them.
-I am reminding the powers that be that I don't own ASOIAF. Regrettably.
-Any sort of feedback is welcome.
-Till we meet again.