Lyanna

Ser Lewyn Martell and Ser Oswell Whent had served House Targaryen valiantly all their lives. They had been famed knights of the Kingsguard long before she came to King's Landing, when Lyanna was still a girl in the north, hardened veterans of half a dozen clashes by the time she wed Rhaegar. They had seen her as a girl, their King's wife and mother to his children. And now they has seen me become a traitor as well.

Her husband had sent them off to deal with her as he often did with his problems, so it fell to the knights to hold her in her tower until the King found his courage to come deal with her. She had known her folly to be uncovered the moment they had come calling upon her chambers. Lyanna could still remember their faces, as the two men stood and looked at her, both in their shining white armours. None of them ever spoke a word and only waited for her to speak, to deny and scream and curse at them. She had not given them that though, making it hard for them to bind her in chains. Instead both men wearily escorted her out of Maegor's Holdfast in a slow march out into the tower at the far end of the castle overlooking the bay, all the while servants paused whatever they were doing to look at the fall and disgrace of another queen.

They had escorted her half a hundred times before. But never once had she felt so unsafe in their presence. Now she could feel the cold off their pale, deathly armours shrouding her. The corridors past Maegor's Holdfast was crowded with lords and ladies and knights and squires and servants who had come to see what was happening, whispering to themselves. But as her march made its way through the crowd a sudden silence fell and half a hundred eyes turned to follow her as she made her way down the bridge, past the place where she had crossed a dozen times before. Lyanna swept by them, looking neither right nor left. Her feet slapped against the cold marble floor. She could feel the eyes. She could feel a hundred gazes on her, all the servants had come out to see a queen brought low.

None dared step in the way of her path or talked loud enough to be heard, most probably in fear of not earning the King's ire without knowing what was really happening.

"You shall stay here as long as the King requires of you, my lady," Ser Lewyn Martell said at last when they arrived. Lady... Lyanna thought, Lady, not a queen, never a queen. Did he want this to happen? After what happened to his niece because of me. "He has asked us to keep you in this tower until he comes to meet you."

"We will be here to keep you safe, my lady," said Oswell Whent.

To make sure I am kept in this room, Lyanna thought. "I must thank you for the courtesy you have shown me," Lyanna said firmly. "I understand what I had done and it is treasonous. It was mine own act and mine alone, and I must answer for it. If you should put me in irons, then so be it. I will not struggle nor would I ask of you to show me any further courtesy. You have more than enough reason to treat me as you would one of the traitors that litter the King's realm."

"There would be no need for any fetters," Ser Lewyn said, caught in surprise. The dent on his armour which had been made by her nephew's spearhead in Braavos winked at her.

Ser Oswell Whent was more blunt. "The King requires you to be confined to this chambers until he comes to see you. By then at least you shall be kept under guard here."

"Confined, yes," Lyanna said. "Confined to a tower cell, that would serve to pay for my greatest mistake." Just like a maiden held captive from the stories.

Oswell Whent considered her comment for a moment, doubting her readiness to be a prisoner. "Very well. You shall lack no comfort nor courtesy, but freedom of the castle is denied for. As long as you remain in the chambers until the King arrives there shall not be any need for fetters."

"As you wish," Lyanna said. "Would you stand guard at the doors as well? That won't be necessary. I can give you my pledge that I shall attempt no escape."

Oswell Whent plainly ignored her pledge and turned away from her, but sad-eyed Lewyn Martell lingered a moment after his sworn brother took his leave. "It was a grave thing you did, my lady, but his grace would be hard pressed to punish or condemn his own lady wife."

Lyanna would have laughed any other time at that. Of all the people he should know better. Rhaegar wrote a bloody end to your niece and her children. The princess of Dorne had been his wife as well and that had not helped her when the red priest had come for them. Lyanna wondered if that was going to be her fate as well? It would be a poor way to leave this world. At least Rhaegar hadn't let go of them in vain. No, he earned much and more just as the Red Priest had promised. She would most likely die in vain. For the first time in years Lyanna thought about the nameless, faceless gods of the Starks. And she couldn't do anything else but for pray now and she did. She had done all she could; nothing remained but to hope.

When her own door had been closed and barred, Lyanna explored her new home and prison. It was definitely a better one than Rhaegar had given Ashara Dayne where the Lady of the Stars was condemned to die out in darkness. Her cell was large and airy, and did not lack for comforts. There were Myrish carpets on the floor, red wine to drink, food to eat and even books to read. In one corner stood an ornate armoured suit, much bigger than her. She even had a featherbed to sleep in. This high up, the views were splendid. One window opened to the east, so she could watch the sun rise above the sea. The other allowed her to look down upon the city, and the waves and port beyond.

Hers was a gentle prison.

Lyanna took solace from that at least. At least Rhaegar went to such great pains to provide for her comfort in captivity even if he had marked her for a traitor's death? He cannot mean to kill me, she told herself a hundred times. He does not have it in him to be so cruel. Yet everytime she said that the faces of Elia Martell and her sweet little babes came in front of her eyes. She was less certain about it all then, whether he would show her anything other than what he had shown them.

Her things were moved into her cell in the tower, with its high canopied bed covered in fresh linens with drapes of black and red hanging low from the posters, its pillars carved in the shapes of dragons and wyrms and wyverns. Her chests brought down through the long way up the stairs by the servants along with plates of hot meal and pitchers of wine should she like it. The King had given her a more lenient punishment as befitting her status as a highborn lady, she thought. In her place anyone else would have simply lost their head at once, she knew that very well. She wondered what happened to the poor fisherman she had included in her conniving. Her husband was not one to take such a slight lightly. It would really be a merciful fate if he was already dead.

The exploration took less time than it would have taken her to lace a pair of sandals, but at least it served to keep the tears at bay for a time. Lyanna found a basin and a flagon of cool water and washed her hands and face, but no amount of scrubbing could cleanse her of her grief. Jaehaerys, she thought, my sweet boy. And Aegon. . . Tears filled her eyes, and suddenly she was weeping, her whole body wracked by sobs. She remembered how the blue sword shined in the night and froze the fire, the way the corpse struck with a dozen arrows floated down the river to get tangled with the river reeds, the fire on his chest snuffed out.

She went out to the tower and stood looking into the great wide sea. Beyond the point of the hill upon which the Red Keep sat she could see the swift waves of the Blackwater Bay crashing into the base of the hill and a long way beyond downriver. If only the boat with the black sail had set sail past these waters, it would have been a great victory for her at least. The surface of the waters was empty now though. She didn't know if she should thank the gods for that or curse them for it.

Lyanna could not say how Rhaegar knew that she had done it, or what she had done, or if it would even comfort him to know as to why she had done it. What do you think of my crime, Rhaegar? she wondered. You should have done it instead of me long ago husband. Perhaps you wouldn't have lost your son and sister then.

There was a smell of death about that room; a heavy smell, sweet and foul, clinging. It reminded her of the family she had left, the son that she had lost and the son she may yet lose. She still grieved for all of them, she would always grieve for all of them. But to have her sons taken from her. . . That hurt her more so than anything did.

The servants returned just as the sun was setting to bring Lyanna her supper, fresh baked bread, cheese, and roast mutton with horseradish. Along with them came Maester Pylos to make sure she was alright. "Would you tell me where the King is? Has there been a battle which has gotten his attention? Is it another battle, then? Is Aegon in difficulty? Or Jaehaerys? Has something happened to him?"

The maester looked apologetic as he spoke and afraid as well. "No, my lady, we haven't heard any word of battle."

"Where is Rhaegar then? Will he not come and see me? Please, be kind, put my fears at rest. Has there been a battle?"

"My lady, I do not . . . " The maester glanced about, as if to make certain all the servants had left no one else was in the room. "There has been no word from the riverlands or from your son. All's quiet on the fords where he is holding his strength."

"Where is the King, then?"

"With the red priest," he answered, busying himself with his jars of potions and avoiding her eyes.

The Red priest. She must have dealt with him first, before engaging in her traitorous acts. In her desperation Lyanna had completely forgotten about Bezzaro and what he was capable of. It must have been him who must have told Rhaegar about her acts. There was no other way he could have come to see it happen. Lyanna had taken great care in planning it out for days, doing all she could in hiding it out of the Spider's eyes. In her prudent course to fool the Spider he had forgotten Rhaegar's true counselor and master of Whisperers.

He hesitated. "Yes, my lady."

Something is wrong, she thought. She knew it from his manner. He was hiding something from her. "You are hiding something from me, Pylos. Tell me. What is it?" Has it been Jaehaerys in the Wall? Was he hurt? Not dead, please do not tell me that he is dead.

The young maester shuffled in his feet, wringing his hands together as he troubled himself with the idea of associating with her. "It's prince Jaehaerys," Maester Pylos finally said, still evasive. "He is at the Wall still and his words too bring dark tidings for his grace. The prince has told of his intentions to stay in Castle Black and not returning back. He is riding out with Lord Commander Mormont to the lands beyond the Wall. He has urged the King to make peace with Lord Stark for the old powers are rising beyond the Wall and the great enemy has awaken."

"The great enemy? How does he know? Why is he going beyond the Wall."

There was nothing beyond the Wall, nothing but the Wildlings who lived without any laws or Kings. That was not all of them though. There were others darker things living in those forsaken lands. Oh, yes, Lyanna remembered then. The destiny of her sons as proposed by her husband. Of ancient tales from the past in his scrolls and the struggles between fire and ice, of winter and darkness. Half the time Lyanna had thought them to be of stories like the ones Old Nan used to tell.

"I don't know, my lady. I only said what he has written in his letter."

"Would you ask after him? Please. What he is doing or where he is going? I beg of you. Please."

"My lady, I am commanded not to speak with you. I am sorry." Gathering up his potions, Pylos made a hurried exit, and once again Lyanna was left alone in her cell.

She watched the door close behind him as he left. Lyanna could not blame the poor maester for it. She had given him small reason to trust her, and no doubt he feared that he might be seen as an accomplice in her mischief as well. Pylos feared Rhaegar more than anything else. She had known it. The young maester still remembers what had happened to the last grand maester and how he had come to this place.

After the maester had gone, she donned a woolen cloak and stepped towards the window once more. Sunlight shimmered on the sea, gilding the surface of the waters as they stretched past her sight. Lyanna turned towards the city and found it devoid of any brutal touches of the war. Maybe her hopes were still alive.

All along the day she stood there and watched, having nothing else to do and well into the night, until her legs ached from the standing. As the fires of the torches slowly started to light up the city it was so beautiful that for a moment it looked like the world was at peace. Maybe it was the actual truth and all of this was a dream. Maybe Aegon and Jaehaerys were still in the castle, running through the halls and playing with wooden swords through the corridors.

That night she dreamt a different dream as she slept though. She cried . . . once again, but those were not the last of her tears. Even in her dreams she found no peace. She dreamt the same dream again, of blue sword, frozen fire and howls of mourning and the dead man floating in the river. A dozen quarrels were sticking out of his back and his wounds were weeping blood, turning the clear water of the river to red. Beyond him in the banks stood a half-seen figure in the shadows, a pale shadow of death with long grim face and a cold sword in hand. The sight of him sent fear shivering through Lyanna sharp as a knife. Part of her knew it was a nightmare, even as she dreamt it. Come morning all of this will vanish, she told herself, but when morning came, she was still in her cell, her sons were still lost for her, and the dream she had dreamt of her babes still stayed a dream.

If only she had done more to stop half the things that had happened in her watch . . . If only she had not allowed . . . The memory still made her angry and sad. Lyanna clung to that, feeding the flame within her heart.

Later that day, as she sat at the the table to break her fast, she heard the sound of voices and the light footfalls outside her door, leather sliding over stone. When at last she heard sounds outside her door, she sat and folded her hands in her lap. A moment later the door opened and closed. She had hoped that it would be Pylos, but Lyanna knew that her hopes had once again failed her. It was Rhaegar, she thought at once, flinching. She looked up from the plate and he was standing there. She could hear the voices slowly dying from outside, leaving her with her husband in a grave silence. Lyanna stood up from the chair and looked at him.

Luckily it was him alone. The red priest was no where to be seen. Ser Oswell and Lewyn stood by his side, shining in their white plate as they always did. The King was wearing a dark red doublet, lined with silver ermine and fox fur. His long flowing silver hair was pulled to the back, away from his face. To look at him, you would never know he had stayed up all night discussing and planning with his council members. He was still very handsome even with the troubled look etched upon his face. Lyanna trembled at the sight of him. But she could not say whether it was because of fear or for relief.

He stood there just looking at her all in silence for a long time. Finally he sent his kingsguard away and stepped towards her, seeing it fit to come to her without the presence of any of his Kingsguard. Beneath her the castle rang to the sound of swords clashing and arrows hissing and sounds of horses and clinks of armour and shouts of men. But in her cell silence drowned out everything else. Lyanna prepared herself for her husband's reproaches . . . but even so, the waiting was hard.

"Rhaegar," Lyanna said, worried, "you look well. Are you happy to see me, my Lord? Have you heard of my actions?"

"Aye, I did," he answered calmly. "More like your treason."

Lyanna ignored the jab at her. "Do you bring any news of my sons to me or have you simply come to tell me of my fate?"

"For both." He grimaced. "I have heard word from Jaehaerys at the Wall. The boy says that it's time."

So he doesn't know that I have heard this from Pylos. Good. It was better to play along. "Time? Time for what?"

"What do you think?" Rhaegar said unhappily. "They lost two of their men in one of the rangings your brother led them in."

The gods must truly be merciless. She was not told of this. It seems as if there was nothing else but ill tidings to be heard. Lyanna could not help but share her husband's obvious dismay, albeit for a different reason. "Benjen?" she gasped weakly. "Is he alright?"

"Benjen Stark is lost to the woods," he told her. "No one knows what happened to him. But the other two under his command were found to be dead . . . worse than dead. One of those corpses tried to kill Mormont. The black brother who brought the message have also brought a cold, blackened hand along with him."

Lyanna didn't know whether she should rejoice that her brother was not dead or to grieve for her son who means to dance with those evil beings in the cold. All she could do was simply gaze at the King.

"You do not understand anything, do you? Half the realm is up in arms against me. My great lords have declared for Andrew Stark. All the north is in rebellion and I have no way to support the Wall without dealing with them first." His mouth tightened. "I have a war to win and a kingdom to defend. And you see fit to commit treason by going behind my back. You would have damned me and our family."

"I had no intentions to damn our family." Her voice was calm, though the grief was choking her so hard. She could not think about that now, though.

"Then why would you do something like this?" Rhaegar repeated. "You would have released Ashara. The one thing I have that Andrew Stark don't. You would destroy Aegon's realm. You would cast out my kingdom like a drunkard rolling dice. How should I fight the great Other and his army of dead without an united realm?"

"Giving her back will stop the war," Lyanna insisted. "I don't know much about Andrew, but if he was anything like his father he would stop fighting as soon as-"

"Have you lost your mind woman? They will never stop fighting, they will never give up. Even if they did I will not have you barter and squander my son's birthright."

"No, but will squander away his life," Lyanna said angrily. "You know as well as I do this is a storm that you will never weather, Rhaegar. Not even with your dragons. You learned that with Jaehaerys in the North and your sister in the south. Perhaps you should see him for what he is. You should worry less about the Others and more about Andrew Stark."

"Aegon and Jon will deal with him. The boy grew up in the gutters."

"We put him there, or have you forgotten it. We sent him to hell and now he is back from it. We thought Ned was dangerous. No, my lord, my love, his son is far more dangerous than even my brother. Our sons will be the ones who will pay for our mistakes."

"It will never come to that. The war will be over soon, I have made certain of it."

"All you have made certain is that I shall never see my sons again." Lyanna could not go on. "Execute me for a traitor if you want, I have already lost everything. I have no more to say to you."

"You are simply paranoid. You see death in every shadow because of the blood you cover your hands. He'll be dead like your brother."

"Paranoid?" Lyanna gave a crackling laugh. "He nearly killed you from the shadows in the streets of Braavos. One of your sons is forced to live out the rest of his lives in some forsaken lair amongst thieves, murderers and rapists. And the other is on his way there. How could you not see what is set in front of you?" Tears slipped down her cheeks and Lyanna grabbed her husband's hands as she had once held lovingly and happily. "I already lost one son, Rhaegar. If it would be okay with you, I would like to hold on to the other one. Please."

Rhaegar turned away from her distress. "Not in this way."

Lyanna gave a dry laugh. "You are too blind to see what we have made," she told him, laughing hysterically. "You are going to drag all of us with you to hell fighting in this war. He is going to bring down your entire legacy on your head and bury you underneath your crimes. Andrew will come for you. And you will do nothing because you can do nothing. That's your fucking prophecy."

"You are mad," Rhaegar said.

"Am I? Or are you?"

Rhaegar Targaryen looked as if he had drank a jar of wildfire for a moment. He simply stared at her for a moment, mouth tightened in anger before turning away to leave her alone like she wanted.