A/N: Hi everyone. Sorry bout the cliffhanger last time. Kinda shocked everyone here.
This chapter won't be easier, but there's indications of hope.
What happened to Lyanna is partially based on Ivan the Terrible and his daughter in law.
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 35: Shattered
Legs pumping - scared servants staring at him - Rhaegar heard the screams echo through the hallway. Filling him with dread, a sheen of sweat soaked his forehead. Almost tripping, he came alongside his goodbrother. "You heard it?"
Brandon was equally panicked. "It's coming from over there!"
"I AM THE TRUE DRAGON!" Rhaegar saw nothing but the corridor where the booming voice of his father came from. "CONDEMN THE FALSE ONE TO THE SEVEN HELLS!"
Racing around the corner, he saw the King raise a candlestick, Viserys cowering by the wall while laying battered was… "NO!"
It was too late, Aerys striking Lyanna's abdomen - more blows falling on her head before Brandon could throw himself at the King. "Your Grace, stop!"
But Aerys, eyes blazing with madness, threw off the heir to Winterfell. Brandon stumbled back and crashed into the wall. "You will not destroy me, false dragon!" He turned back to Lyanna.
"Father!" Frantically grabbing his arm, Rhaegar yanked him back. "Stop this!" Snarling, Aerys swung back, catching Rhaegar in the stomach.
"What the…" In the corner of his eyes were Arthur and Barristan, their own eyes wide at the scene before them.
"Stay off me!" screeched the King - this time Rhaegar dodged the swing, leaping back nimbly. "No one stops the dragon! No one stops me…!" Suddenly, Aerys stilled. Stunned as Brandon bashed him with the hilt of his knife. He spun around, blacking out.
Brandon simply stood there, watched over by Rhaegar and the Kingsguards with shock. He was lucky it was only after backed away did the servants begin to mill into the corridor. The others would keep his secret.
Watching his father collapse from Brandon's blow, the Prince felt a sudden anger surge through him. Hand moving to grab Blackfyre… "Your grace!" Barristan's shout pierced the fog of rage just as a detachment of household guards arrived. "Get the Princess!" His words may have saved Rhaegar's life right then. "Attend to the King!" he ordered at Thorne, the latter confused if anything. "Fetch Grand Maester Pycelle, now!"
Heart beating in his chest, Rhaegar fell to his knees beside his fallen wife. "Lya… gods…" Her dress was ripped, mouth bloodied while it seemed her entire right arm and face were swollen. "You'll be fine… WHERE'S FUCKING PYCELLE?!" he snarled. More people began to surround him and he almost drew Blackfyre a second time. "NO ONE TOUCHES HER!"
"My Prince." He calmed, seeing it was Arthur. "We need to get her out of here."
A weak, gentle hand brushed against his arm. "Rhae… Rhaeg…" It was Lyanna. Voice faint and eyes barely seeing through the approaching blackness.
His eyes snapped open. Finding her greys so muted, fading… as if she was close to the end. "Lya. My love," he cupped her cheek. "You'll be alright."
"Tired… it hurts…" Suddenly a trickle of blood began to drip out of her torn dress.
Spotting the blood, Rhaegar felt gutted. "No!" Without warning he hefted her in his arms. Cradling her head with as much care as he could. "Out of my way!"
"Rhaegar…" she gasped weakly.
"No, you'll be fine! Hold on!"
"Take care… the babe… if… if…" Sleep began to take hold.
It was close to destroying Rhaegar, yet he kept running. "Hold on!"
Both Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan placed their hands on their sheathed swords when the door to the royal wing opened. But at the silver-haired form of Queen Rhaella - followed closely by Ser Jaime - they relaxed. "Rhaegar?"
Her son rose, opening his arms to accept her mother's hug. "Muna… how is Viserys?"
"Your brother is fine. Bruised a bit… but fine." Rhaella had just spent an hour calming him down, the boy utterly hysterical. It shattered her heart… but this was worse.
"And the King?" asked Brandon with a sarcastic sneer. "How does our illustrious monarch fair?" Normally ready to chastise him, Rickard refused, just as enraged.
Sensing Rhaella's discomfort, Jaime answered. "Bruise on the skull. Acolytes gave him Milk of the Poppy."
"I wish he was dead," mumbled Ellaria. Dacey nodded beside her, arms wrapped protectively around herself.
Swallowing hard, the Queen's gaze shifted from Rhaegar to her gooddaughter. Elia looked pale, eyes red. "Any word on Lyanna?"
"None. It's been hours." Elia's voice quivered. "They've been working on her so long…"
All conversation stilled as the door to the chambers opened - Pycelle shuffling out. Even at only around five-and-forty name days, he looked ancient… and disgusting. "Your Grace," he bowed to Rhaegar.
Elia sat up first. "Grand Maester, is she…?"
"Princess Lyanna will be fine," he replied, voice low and mumbling. "I suspect a full recovery in at most, half a moon… for most of it, that is."
"What does that mean?" Brandon was angry. "What are you not telling us?"
Pycelle narrowed his eyes, affronted. "Lord Brandon, that is an insulting…"
He was cut off as Rhaegar interjected. "Please, Grand Maester. My wife was hurt, bear with our fears. Just… tell us."
Resentful gaze cast once more in Brandon's direction, the Grand Maester nevertheless complied. "She has a broken arm and several bruised ribs. They will take a moon to heal." Such was a small relief, Brandon muttering a thanks to the Old Gods while Elia looked hopeful. "Her remaining injuries are mostly bruises and small cuts, none of which require sewing." Not that Pycelle was capable of it. Gout already crippled his fingers.
"And the babe?" Rhaegar asked hopefully… only for his face to fall when the Grand Maester averted his gaze. "What?"
Elia was in no mood. "Spit it out!"
While still affronted, there was little one could do to her. "Her abdomen was the most severely struck," Pycelle began, choosing his words carefully. "The damage is not so severe as to sunder her womb. The babe…" Even here, he stuttered. Not wishing to see the pain on their faces. "The babe in her womb has been lost."
It took everything in him for Rhaegar not to keel over. "Our child is dead?"
"If you could call it that at barely two moons…" He trailed off when Elia looked close to strangling him. "Yes, your Grace. Princess Lyanna's babe did not survive the… incident. I'm sorry, there is nothing even the most experienced archmaester could do." Noticing there was no response, he continued. "I have given her milk of the poppy to sleep, and I advise you to use it over the next week to control her pain. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to see to his Grace." Pycelle scurried off, no one sad to see him go.
And it hung in the room like a noxious cloud. A few simple words crushing the happiness that had settled upon Houses Targaryen and Stark.
Lyanna's babe was dead.
Killed by her goodfather, King Aerys.
Brandon punched a wall. Lord Rickard was the opposite - as numb as when his wife had died. Rhaella was equally as quiet, yet sobbing softly. The two ladies in waiting threw their arms around each other, trembling while the gathered Kingsguards stood without a word, faces grim. Princess Elia broke down, falling into her husband's embrace. "We were supposed to protect her," she cried softly. "How will we tell Rhae?" She loved that babe with all her heart... We all did…
Yet it was Rhaegar that stood the most affected. Arms wrapped tightly around his wife, giving whatever comfort he could… finding none for himself All the blood had drained from his face, the vibrant life in his violet eyes gone. There would be no comfort for the longest time.
Minutes later, the Prince guided Elia by the shoulders - practically holding her up - into the chambers. His chambers. Their chambers… Benjen gave a sad glance to his goodbrother, watching over the room through every bit of heartbreak. Lyanna rested quietly, sheets and furs pulled up to just below her chin. All was serene, supposedly, as if she was sleeping. But Rhaegar knew better.
The bruises all over her bare, pale shoulders and her left cheek swelled in a purple blotch, this wasn't his Lyanna. She wasn't on her side, clutching a pillow tightly silently seeking him. Lips curled into a smile in her sleep. How she shifted softly, dreams happy. Each little tell he had fallen madly in love with was absent. Her sleep lifeless, just like her womb.
Easing Elia into the chair on one side of Lya, his wife immediately took up an arm. "Lyanna… I'm so sorry… I should've…" It wasn't her fault, but Elia couldn't help but feel the guilt wash over her.
As for Rhaegar, the arm on the side he sat beside was splinted. Dangerous to hold or even disturb, so he simply stared at her sleeping form. Wanting to cry, yet unable to. "Lya… I love you," he whispered. "All will be fine."
He would fight till his last breath to prove it true.
"I'm doing it, kepa!"
"That's it, my son. You are a dragon!"
In the time of his greatest pain, that one image from Melisandre's vision gave Rhaegar peace.
Whereas the Crown Prince had been perched on the side of the bed the last time Dacey was in the royal chambers, he was gone. Holding the unconscious Lyanna's hand was Princess Elia. Quiet but red eyes and tearstains down her cheeks betraying her emotions.
"Dacey." Pouring warm water into a compress, Ellaria had lost her vivacious nature. Pale and silent. "Elia and Rhaegar are taking shifts by her side." Not even one snarky comment forthcoming. "What did you bring."
"Fresh bandages and watered wine for her." She gestured to the Dornish Princess.
Ellaria sighed. "Good luck. She won't speak. Won't move."
Looking at Elia, at how she watched every hitch in Lyanna's breathing, Dacey came to a very Ellaria-like conclusion. "She cares for Lyanna."
"Well of course."
"No… I think she…" The she-bear dropped to a whisper. "Loves Lyanna."
A moment's confused glance turned understanding. "Oh." Ellaria snorted softly. "All this shit has fogged up my thinking." Her eyes shifted to them, Elia now softly stroking Lyanna's hand with her thumb. "She probably is, but is in denial. The one woman in Dorne who is squeamish about pleasure."
Dacey's lips curled upward. "Glad the friend I know is still in there." Setting the linen and flagon on the table, she cupped her stomach. Feeling the slightest of swells. "Elia must be feeling just as destroyed as the Prince."
The Dornish bastard shook her head. "No, she feels far more pain." At Dacey's questioning look, she demurred. "Forgive me, but it's not my place to say.
Nodding, the she-bear patted Ellaria's arm. "I'll be resting in my chambers. The babe…"
"Go, I understand."
Her chamber felt empty. Not literally, but in truth… without Arthur in her bed as it was in her darker yet equally spacious chambers in Dragonstone, all the life was gone from it.
Silently, Dacey propped open a flagon of spiced fruit cider and drank a bit, settling her stomach. If Arthur doesn't want to stain his honor with a bastard, then… She knew her House would welcome her and her child but it wasn't the same. I love him. I want him.
But reality had to be faced either way.
A knock at the door nearly made her drop the flagon. "Fuck," Dacey breathed softly. Irritated, she walked to the door and opened it. "Who..." she was cut short when she saw Ser Arthur Dayne standing there.
He was out of his armor, merely clad in a faded purple tunic and trousers. The mighty Dawn was absent from his side. "May I come in?"
Dacey chewed her lip, conflicted. She desperately wanted to let him in. To embrace him tightly, kissing him deeply as she stripped him bare all while whispering sweet nothings into his ear. But her northern pride prevented her doing so. "You may come in."
Arthur's breath caught in his mouth. Dacey in her woolen nightgown, hair spilling over her shoulders. She is radiant. And yet as he walked in, Arthur took in her sunken eyes, hollow expression. Because of me…
But Barristan's words, put aside for hours due to Lyanna, slammed hard into his mind. He took action. As soon as she closed the door Arthur pulled her into his arms. Kissing her hard upon the mouth.
And that melted her. Opening her lips to draw his tongue in, Dacey had been craving this for so long. A taste of it put the best ale of the North to absolute shame. Simply enjoying it.
"I love you," he murmured against her lips.
In her kiss-drunk state, Dacey almost didn't hear it. She pulled back, staring at him. Eyes sparkling. "I love you too." Almost like a dream, her fingers began working on his outfit.
Cupping the back of her head, Arthur pulled their mouths back together, blindly pushing them towards her bed. His own hand pulled at her gown as hers ripped off his tunic.
It took only a moment for them to remove their clothes before Dacey fused their lips together. "Arthur," Dacey moaned. When his lips began sucking her long, creamy neck it was as if her mind turned to mush. "Please..."
Sucking her earlobe between his teeth, Arthur grinned at her whimpers of delight. He shoved her nude form onto the bed, letting his trousers drop to join her. But he caught sight of her tiny bump. Eyes glistening, Arthur climbed atop her - cupping Dacey's face. "You mean everything to me."
Gazing deep into his stunning violet eyes, Dacey wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Need you."
Arthur couldn't help himself. He wanted to just talk to her at first, but seeing Dacey so beautiful and delicious… Taking a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. "Irresistible, absolutely irresistible." Arthur didn't want her to merely moan. He wanted her to scream.
She read his mind, reaching down to wrap her powerful yet slender fingers around him. "I need you inside me." Dacey wrapped her legs around him. "Now, Arthur."
Gazing at her reverently, Arthur hissed with pleasure as he pushed into her. He leaned down to suck on her pulse, burying himself to the hilt in her luscious warmth. "Missed this," he grunted.
Dacey moaned louder. "Same." She had almost forgotten how wonderful this was. "Oh gods…" A scream left her lips as he hit a spot dreep inside her.
"I love you so much, Dacey," he whispered, rocking their hips together. Possessive. Passionate
"I love you too, fuck, Arthur..." Dacey bucked and writhed beneath him, losing herself in the pure pleasure his touch gave her. Her nails dug into his back, eyes gazing at the handsome, swarthy face of the Torrentine knight. "I'm close, gods I'm..." A rush of wetness flooded out of her, clamping down on his cock.
Her climax triggered his own release. Arthur grunting and spilling his seed inside his she-bear.
Arthur flipped them onto their sides while Dacey gently caressed his back. "That was amazing," he declared, face buried into her hair.
She chuckled throatily. "It was." Dacey bit her lip, suddenly nervous. "What was this, Arthur?"
"I believe it's called reconnection, my little bear cub." He pressed feather light kisses to her temple.
Dacey sighed, snuggling into his chest. "I love you Arthur, but unless you came to terms with our child..."
He quickly cut her off. "I already love him, with all my heart."
"And yet you cared more about your oath…" She didn't want to bring it up but owing it to herself and her babe to do so. "I can't have my child resented by you, Arthur."
"That will never happen." His tone was firm. "This child is mine. I love him and will stand before the realm and recognize him."
She gasped. "But… your oath…"
He smiled sheepishly. "We may have to keep calm until Rhaegar rules, but the true honor is doing right by you and my child. My loyalty to Rhaegar will never die, and I know in my heart that it will never conflict with my love for you." Wordlessly, she nodded. She would never betray Lyanna. Not if all of House Mormont did. "I am a Kingsguard to the death, and I am the man in love with Dacey Mormont to the death."
Her heart soared. "Promise?"
"Over my life, honor, sword and most importantly... my love for you."
Eyes tearing up once more, she kissed him desperately. "I love you… my knight… my handsome, perfect Sword of the Morning…" He may not have been a prince, but Dacey knew exactly how Lyanna felt. How Elia felt. Even as the kiss petered out, she continued to hold him. Letting his heartbeat soothe her.
"Dacey, I want to take you to Starfall."
She looked up. "Really? Why?"
"I want my family to meet the woman I love. The mother of my child."
Dacey's eyes widened at that. "Arthur... but how do you think they will react?"
"My sister will love you." Ashara was vibrant and powerful on her own. They'd definitely get along.
"With what you have told me about her I have no doubt, but the others... I was the one that made their Sword of the Morning forsake his vows."
He kissed her brow. "They'll love you as much as I do."
"I hope so Arthur. I want us to raise this little you as best as we can, together." She agreed with him, thinking it was a boy. A little Arthur, perhaps with her hair and his eyes.
"Nothing will happen to either of you, I swear it."
A wide smile. "If it's a girl I want to name her Lyanna, after my sister in all but blood. If it's a boy..." The smile grew. "Arthur."
He was stunned. "Why... why that name?"
"For one of the most honorable, kindest, and handsomest men to ever walk the Realm."
He hugged her close. "I can't believe the gods gave me such a gift."
"Me neither." At least one couple found their happiness that night.
Hand of the King Jon Connington hadn't had time to even strip off his boots before he dashed for the royal quarters. "My Prince, I just heard…" It was then that he noticed a third person in the solar. Someone he'd rather not deal with. "Lord Brandon."
"Lord Hand," Brandon replied, eyes narrowing. "My goodbrother and I were simply sharing a glass of wine while my goodsister, brother, and father sit at Lyanna's bedside." Peering at the Hand, it was almost as if Connington held the ghost of a grin at the news of his sister's…
"Easy, Bran. We're all allies today." Rhaegar patted a seat next to him. "Sit. Have a drink with us… please." He just wanted someone to take his mind off of everything. "You've been gone a while."
Connington nodded, taking in Rhaegar. His eyes were sunken, face pale. A man without hope. "Meeting with a Lord of the Stormlands."
"Which one?" asked Brandon.
He was waved off by Rhaegar. "Doesn't matter… not now." They all downed their drinks, a sweet Arbor gold. "Gods, isn't this the perfect manifestation of my House. Great and powerful, reduced to this."
"Are you sure there's nothing we can do?"
Looking up at Brandon, Connington knew of the plans. But he also knew Rhaegar couldn't afford to deviate from it, which was why he looked so despondent. "Nothing, unless you want to dangle from a pole," he said bitingly. At least my plans are going well. This was perfect… even more perfect if Lyanna didn't survive. May it be true.
The Stark gripped his goblet with a scowl. "So this is the Red fucking Keep - reminds me of a cheap whore. Something lusted over by many, only to end up with the cockrot."
"That's… oddly apt, brother," Rhaegar replied.
"Is this how it's like? Ruling?"
A shrug. "Not usually. Sometimes better, mostly worse. This would be a quiet day during Maegor or Aegon IV's reign," the Prince muttered sullenly. "I can imagine the North would be quieter."
But Brandon shook his head. "No… no it's not. This, I see now clearer than a cloudless day." Morose, he stood. "Forgive me, I need to take a piss." Brandon patted Rhaegar on the shoulder. "I'll be back soon."
Soon it was just them… like old times. "Some husband and father I am, Connington," Rhaegar said. "Lost my child and nearly my wife."
Lyanna was pregnant? Good thing the King did this. Another child in the line of succession was not something Connington wished to deal with.
The time began to pass, drink after drink passing by their lips as they seemed to forget about Brandon returning. Rhaegar laughed humorously at something. "I try to do the right thing. That should count for something."
Vision blurry, Connington nodded at his Prince's comment. Lips planted in a dopey smile. "True… Rhaegar. Hic. So very truuue." Only about two thirds of the sparkling liquid had slid down his throat - the rest trickling down his chin and beard. Even the most poised and noble Lords found themselves wastrels when deep in their cups.
Wiping a tear from his eye, Rhaegar rested his head on his hand. "Gods, Jon. How did my life fall into the Seven Hells?" Without friends or lovers by his side, the Crown Prince became a brooding, weepy drunk. Not a flattering look, but he was within his own solar.
"Life… it is an enigma wrapped in a mys… mys… mystery." Connington on the other hand was in euphoria. What better a day could this have been? "That which is horrid… only… makes the good… all the better." Such was what kept him going.
A grim chuckle left Rhaegar. "The horrid makes the good all the better?" He shook his head. "I should be earning a realm covered in gold and jewels with a thousand dragons in the sky for all I and my wives endured." He tilted his head, drinking. The dragonblood allowed him to handle his liquor better than most. "Sometimes I look fondly back to our youth."
Even tipsy, Connington's eyes widened at 'our.' "Oh?"
"Aye, you and I hunting in the woods. Roasting our kills, sparring together, wrestling… I always used to beat you," he laughed.
His mouth went dry. Those memories… Rhaegar's body pressed up against his even in a sport of strength or a hunt… they filled his fantasies. "Didn't I say I'd always beat you someday?" Hopefully in bed.
"Will never happen," Rhaegar teased, the low light of the hearth causing his silver locks to sparkle.
His breeches suddenly grew tight, cock straining against them. Connington's indulging with Renly had barely satiated him. Alcohol lowering his inhibitions, he felt it harder and harder not to gaze brazenly and lustfully at his desired lover.
Rhaegar looked wistfully ahead. "I wouldn't give up those memories for anything." He looked at his friend and Hand, tension thankfully lessening between them. "Practically some of the only joy my childhood brought…"
In his drink-addled mind, Connington's self-control snapped. He lunged forward with hand and head. Fingers tangling in the silver strands he dreamed about, lips connecting with Rhaegar's. His mouth tasting sweet to the tongue. Gone was the fact his friend was hurting, gone was the fact he had lost a child. All Connington could think of was that Rhaegar was better than he could imagine…
While the Prince was too stunned to respond in the moment, the returning heir to Winterfell was. Before Rhaegar could gently push his friend away, Brandon grabbed Connington by his collar and threw him to the ground. "Fuckin' pillow biter!" Northern drawl thick, Brandon was on the Hand, fist pistoning into his jaw. "He fuckin' lost his child! My nephew!" Another punch, this time to the chest as Connington was too punch-drunk to react. "Married to my sister!" Punching him over and over. "You!" Punch. "Do not!" Punch. "Touch him!" Punch. "Buggerer!"
Shaking off his buzz, Rhaegar hauled his brother off his friend. "Bran, stop!"
Brandon writhed against his hold. "That sword swallower isn't touching you!"
"Please, there's been enough pain today." That seemed to get to Brandon, relaxing in Rhaegar's grip.
Kneeling beside Connington, the Prince grabbed his hand. Hauling him up. "You were always a bit of a fool," Rhaegar chuckled.
Face bloodied, Connington cracked out a tiny smile. "My Prince... " My Silver Prince. "I'm…"
All was broken when Oswell entered the solar. "Your Grace, Lord Stark. She's starting to wake."
Without another thought, Rhaegar scrambled out. Needing to see his wife… leaving Connington there. Fists clenching. Fucking Starks…!
No one left the King unattended - even as he rested almost serenely in bed. As if the gentlest soul alive rather than a rapidly worsening madman. The three slight, petite maids that couldn't hurt a fly if they charged at it with a sword all saw Rhaella and curtseyed low. "Your Grace."
"Leave us. I'll take care of my husband." Not willing to argue with her - nor wanting to - the maids compiled. Soon, it was just her and the sleeping Aerys. Her brother, her husband… her tormentor. The man that killed my grandchild.
Rhaella hovered over him, trying to remember the happy boy that used to teach her about all the dragons. The smiling man that danced with her at their wedding feast. Trying to remember whatever good memories she could to prevent her from smothering him right there. Ending it and risking her life…
"How could you?" she asked, no one listening. "How could you kill your own blood? Become a kinslayer after all we endured. All the deaths, stillbirths?" Her fists clenched. "How could the brother I knew have become so evil?"
Abruptly, Aerys stirred. Groaning as his eyes fluttered open. "Wha… fuck," he murmured, reaching up sluggishly to clutch at his skull. "Hurts…"
She put on her mask. "Your Grace. You're awake."
"My head…" His glassy eyes suddenly turned bright. "Brandon Stark!"
"You're blaming the man that tried to stop your fall?"
"He… hit.. what?" Aerys found the rage dim to confusion. "What are you talking about?"
Her expression didn't falter a bit. "You tripped over your robes. Young Brandon tried to break your fall but you hit your head on the ground." When had she become such an effective liar?
His mind confused and clouded, Aerys was sure his wife didn't lie to him. "Alright…" a smile tinged his face. "I saved us all. Ended the last dragon."
Rhaella almost smothered him right there.
Blinking, Lyanna found herself in a familiar place. A dream, it had to be a dream - there was no earthly reason she could have returned to her former chambers in Winterfell so abruptly. Cheerier, decorated with several tapestries and well-carved furniture but still the room she had grown up in. Unless… no, the gods would not be so cruel as to have her entire marriage to Rhaegar be a dream.
"Well, Lya, did you think this day would come?"
Hearing the familiar brogue, she turned and found who could only be her brother. "Ned," she breathed. He was much older, a man experienced. His face was handsome but worn, yet the grey eyes never lost their happy luster. "I never did think it would end up like this." Lyanna was confused. It was as if she had no control over her voice.
Ned laughed. "That's what Cersei told me this morning, but I think that's just fine. Right Jon?"
She did not have to wait long for an answer. "I'm just happy that I know both sets of goodparents." Eyes drawn to a figure seated at a vanity table, obviously in discomfort from having to be prepped and prodded. The sight filled her with warmth, as if the dream version of her knew and loved this figure very much. "Having to marry my Aunt with Lord Tywin there… I'm glad it's you giving her away, uncle."
"Happy to do it. You'll treat her with respect… both of them."
Walking over to the table, rounding the seated figure, Lyanna gasped inwardly. Her hair, her coloring, but everything else was Rhaegar. Down to those beautiful violet eyes. "Oh, Jon, my beloved son." She reached forward and pinched his cheeks. "You're to be wed today!"
"Muna…" he complained. "I'm not a child."
"You'll always be my child," she heard herself say, assaulting him with a flurry of kisses. Is this to be mine? This beautiful boy is my child with Rhaegar? It filled Lyanna with an indescribable joy. "They are both are lucky ladies." The dream her knew exactly who they were, even if the real her didn't.
Her son brooded like Rhaegar did. "I worry sometimes they aren't."
"Oh, you're just like your father. Don't worry about that." He smiled at her, and it was as if everything was right in the world...
A low light. It was the first thing Lyanna recognized, dim and comforting as it danced along her closed lids. Likely a flickering fire. The feel of the soft furs followed… her furs, from her bed. Hers and Rhaegar's. They felt warm, inviting… like home.
Yet it wasn't home without the warmth of him next to her.
"She's awake." The voice sounded far away, but Lyanna knew it anywhere. Benjen…
A gentle hand grabbed her own, another familiar presence. Elia. One that calmed her in only the way Rhaegar could. Brushing a thumb along her palm. "Easy does it, Lya. No need to strain yourself." The Dornish lilt hit her ears like the softest of songs. Lyanna could listen to it every time she awoke.
Trying to open her eyes, it was hard. Lids groggy as if she had been given something. I should sit up… "Argh…" A sharp pain in her stomach sent her crashing down, even if she had only moved a few inches. What the fuck…
"Please, little pup." Father. "Don't strain yourself, just rest." He had the same tone as he did when she suffered from winter fever as a child.
The door opened. "He's here, Lya," she heard Benjen say, still unable to open her eyes.
Another hand brushed at her forehead. Rhaegar… my love. "Rhae… Rhaeg…" she tried to say, voice a hoarse croak.
"I'm here, my love. I'm here." Her world was complete.
"Please try to open your eyes, Lya," urged Elia, voice just as loving and sweet as her husband's. At the moment, Lyanna loved it.
Straining, she finally managed to open them. Gazing up from her prone position to see both Rhaegar and Elia looking at her. While affection radiated off them, Lyanna also sensed… worry. Fear. Pain… "Wha… what happened?"
From the corner, she could hear a sigh. Bran. "You don't remember?"
"She's just waking up from milk of the poppy. I think she'll be a bit off her bearings," Elia shot back.
"Milk… of the poppy?" She knit her brows in confusion.
Her father gently reached out to stroke her hair. "You were attacked, little pup. He hurt you bad."
"Hurt…?" Suddenly it came to her. Walking happily from the garden. Aerys' rage. Punching her, kicking her. Raising a candlestick to come down hard on… Lyanna's heart began beating out of her chest. "Rhaegar… the babe, please. Elia… father, tell me…"
What tenderness left the gazes of her husband and sister-wife, replaced with pain. Only pain. "She's gone, Lya."
"No." Lyanna wanted to scream, but was unable to.
"Visenya is gone. I'm so sorry, my love."
All her joy, all her happiness… gone. At that moment, Lyanna Targaryen's soul seemed to snuff out.
A/N: Well... safe to say that Jon wasn't the babe Lyanna was previously pregnant with.
Based on the vision of Lyanna, it's clear that Jon's brides will be Dany and one of Ned's daughters. Still debating which one, so feel free to civilly discuss. Any point raised will be answered by me :D
Connington... booze doesn't go well with him.
Until next time! The more reviews the sooner I update :D
