A/N: Hi everyone. God, things are insane over here with all the riots and looting. Please pray that it ends soon, and stay safe.
Anywho, sorry about the sad ending last time. I hope this chapter will be better.
Happy birthday to WhiteWolf04!
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 36: Healing
Peeking inside Aegon's chambers, Rhaegar smiled at him fast asleep. The Prince gently kissed his silver hair. "Sleep well, my son." He was a perfect mix of himself and Elia, and Rhaegar's heart caught.
Quietly making his way down the corridor to check on Rhaenys, Rhaegar's mind could only go to the darkest places. Two beautiful dragonvipers as Oberyn had told him on Dragonstone, but as for the dragonwolf that he had loved so... It was tearing him apart inside, knowing that his entire family suffered in silence.
Rhaenys… he feared was the most silent. "Little Dragon?" he asked, finding her staring at the window. Idly petting Balerion, cat resting on the windowsill.
She turned around. "Kepa." The Princess stood and walked to him, hugging him. "I missed you today."
"I miss you every day, little dragon," he replied. Rhaegar noticed just how… different she was. The childish exuberance was gone - it was as if she was on the milk of the poppy, even when happy. I've seen the same in Arthur when he returned from the Kingswood Brotherhood campaign. Everything just seemed… pale, dour. "Uncle Ned sent a raven from Winterfell."
Ever since the day after the wedding, Rhaenys absolutely adored her Uncle Ned. "Really? What did he say? Did I get a direwolf?"
Rhaegar furrowed his brows. "A direwolf?"
"I asked him for one. He and muna say I's a Stark now, so I want a fluffy little one to cuddle with like Balerion." The cat purred in the corner, unaware of what was going on.
He laughed, hugging her again. "I think even if there are direwolves south of the Wall, ravens can't carry them." His daughter looked disappointed. "Don't worry, when things settle I'll take everyone to Winterfell for a royal progress. Haven't had one there since Jaehaerys and Alysanne."
Her face fell slightly, mouth opening as if wanting to say something… yet not. Only rising on tiptoes to kiss his cheek and picking up Balerion - holding him to her chest.
Exhaling deeply as he walked down the corridors toward his chambers… not that he slept there anymore. Letting Lyanna have the bed so she could recover while he and Elia took her chambers. Ned's letter didn't just include love for Rhaenys, but in his own shorthand indicated that he was preemptively calling his own banners… ready to fight for Lyanna if need be. I'm glad Ned's there… his caution is what we need.
Expecting to see Lyanna in bed, when he opened the door the Prince found the bed empty. "Lya? My love?" he called out. Rhaegar moved towards their private bathchamber - his wife was in the bathtub. Knees brought up to her chest and sobbing. Wordlessly Rhaegar peeled his clothes off before stepping into the tub. He was heartened when she leaned forward for him. "Lya, please talk to me," Rhaegar cooed, wrapping his arms around his inconsolable love.
His comforting words, filled with love and heartache, only made Lyanna cry more. "It's my fault, Rhaegar," she croaked. "I had to keep little Visenya safe, but I failed our babe… and you."
"No!" he insisted, holding her tighter. "This is not your fault. You did nothing wrong." It was all his fault… damn him to the Seven Hells.
Lyanna shook her head. "It is my fault. I should've stayed... instead of being so stubborn…" She choked back a sob. "I killed our babe, Rhaegar. Visenya's dead because of me…" Lyanna couldn't speak, tears returning.
Rhaegar reached a hand out to touch her upper arm. "Lya…"
Lyanna shook his arm off. "Just leave," she whispered, voice harsh. She couldn't deal with this. I'll never be that woman in my dream. Her smiling son, gazing at her on his wedding day, would never be hers. I don't deserve such happiness...
Running a hand through his wavy hair, Rhaegar complied with a tight expression. Quickly drying himself and donning his doublet and trousers - reminiscing when his bare state would have drawn a far different reaction from Lya, not letting him out of the tub for an hour or more - he walked out to find Elia there. Also on the verge of tears, but begging for his touch. He was not one to deny her. "She won't talk?"
He pulled back with a tired frown on his face - even when pressed skin to skin with his Dornish love, he barely slept. "She blames herself, but won't talk about it further."
"I understand." Elia then gave him a worried glance. "Ser Arthur is here. Your father wants you in the Throne Room."
The colonnaded walkway of the Hall of Kings was open to the air, leading from Maegor's Holdfast and separating the gardens from the main courtyard. It bore such a name from the statues of Targaryen Kings past, each watching Rhaegar as if in judgement. Aegon the Conqueror, Jaehaerys the Conciliator, Daeron the Young Dragon, Aegon the Unlikely, all staring down upon him in disgust at weakness.
"What are you doing?!"
"You couldn't protect your family!"
"How can I have seeded such a cowardly line?"
"Your father is destroying what we built!"
Each voice seemingly slamming into his ears, yet Rhaegar continued walking. Rage welling inside him. Two wives demeaned, a mother assaulted, one wife brutalized twice… a child dead. All perpetrated by his own father, the King of the Seven Kingdoms. All ones Rhaegar invariably allowed to happen. Why?
I couldn't fight my father.
The lies he told himself, that he could be a dutiful Crown Prince while still caring for his realm and his family… it was all filth. Was this the agony Daeron II endured? Honestly, Rhaegar found his estimation of the so-called "Good King" dying, realizing that he had endured his father neglecting the kingdoms for years and did nothing about it. I must not let history repeat itself.
But seeing his goodfamily waiting outside the Great Hall, Rhaegar knew that he still couldn't lay a hand on his father much that he wanted to. He would need patience, and knowing that while Lya was hurt and his child was dead only stoked his tempest to an unbearable heat.
Still, he forced a facade. "Goodfather, Bran. Benjen. You were summoned too?"
"To rub our faces in it, no doubt…" Brandon held up his hands. "Yes, father. I know. Control myself."
Rickard scowled, but not at his son or goodson. "Better get these hells over with." Bearing it in stoic silence, Rhaegar wondered if Rickard would be the first one to break. One cannot bottle it in for so long.
"You can do this, my Prince," Arthur whispered in his ear. "You carry Blackfyre. You are your family's champion, not him." Rhaegar allowed such words to carry him forward.
The five of them walked along the length of the throne room. Spotting the two whitecloaks flanking the Iron Throne - Lewyn Martell and Jonothor Darry, the two brothers of the order that weren't his loyalists. His friends.
Already, a quick peek over his shoulder found Arthur glaring daggers at them. Even the kingsguards are choosing sides.
Atop the Iron Throne sat Aerys, glaring down smugly at his son and the Starks. Standing next to him was Queen Rhaella, trying desperately to hide her trembling nerves. Looking apologetically at Rhaegar… as was Ser Jaime. At least he had two allies.
Reaching the base of the dais, Rhaegar, Brandon, and Rickard all swallowed their pride and bent the knee, kingsguards too. Grudgingly and with great anger, but doing so nevertheless. "Your Grace," each said with bile in their mouths.
Aerys was enjoying this greatly. "Ah, my son. Welcome." He waved his hand. "Rise, your King commands it."
With a groan belying his age, Rickard rose from his knee. "For what do we owe this honor?" Rhaegar was impressed - his goodfather had learned to lay it on thick.
Glancing at his wife, who managed to give him the smallest of smiles, the King turned back to the three before him. "I called you here to offer my condolences for the injuries inflicted on Lyanna."
Brandon bit the inside of his cheek. He deliberately left his sword in his chambers for this very reason. "Thank you, your Grace," he forced himself to say.
"House Stark is grateful for your concern," Rickard replied, a much better liar. But this testing his resolve greatly.
Leaning forward, the King regarded his son. "You haven't said anything, Prince Rhaegar."
"Your condolences are most appreciated father." You're only sorry you didn't killed her. Rhaegar wanted to scream at his father, but instead bit it back. He could sense his mother's relief. That was worth it. "She… she has woken up and is currently able to walk without pain."
Not having known, Rhaella's eyes lit up. "That is good news, my son. Isn't it, your Grace?"
Leaning back, Aerys pursed his lips. "Aye, that is good news." He chuckled dryly. "Jenny's bewitchment was strong, but I made sure it left her."
He made it leave her? The madness had taken so fully over his father and it had taken so long for him to see it. How was I so blind? "I am grateful that you cared so much for my bride as to… battle the demons of our past."
"The doddering idiot," he finally continued, referring to the Grand Maester. "Told me that Lyanna was expecting a babe." He said it dispassionately, without even a shred of emotion… and yet this seemed different than his normal insults of Egg and Rhae… "I'll expect praise for killing the false dragon polluting her womb."
Inside Rhaegar a fury burned hotter than dragonfire - hotter than anything the stunned Starks could even comprehend. They had lost a granddaugther and niece respectively, but in Rhaegar he assaulted his very being. The dragon threatened to wake.
Aerys, in all of his 'wisdom,' decided to add fuel to the simmering fire. "And don't worry son, I'll make sure to find a pure, proper dragon bride for your true heir should you decide both Princesses hopeless."
Before Rhaegar could explode, a surprising intervention came at the hands of Brandon Stark. "Your Grace, I beseech you. House Stark is your loyal servant."
Momentarily distracted by his son acting smartly, Rickard shook it off and joined in. "The facts of Lyanna's… possession by evil spirits aside, she is a healthy woman for which the Grand Maester has said is capable of bearing more heirs for your line."
Nodding with a pensive look, the King turned to Rhaella. "What do you think, wife? Should I reward their begging?" It did please him.
She thought before she spoke. "Your Grace, I believe the Princesses serve you well. Breaking the marriages to Rhaegar's brides only send more kingdoms into Tywin's camp..."
Suddenly, Aerys struck Rhaella with such force as to send her to the ground. "Don't mention his fucking name in my presence!" he screeched as Jaime dashed to help the Queen up. "Get her with the rest of them, Lion," he hissed. An order Jaime was only happy to comply with.
Rhaegar took a step forward... only to still. Hating himself for not helping his mother until she arrived close to him. A family to protect… but not from him. A truth that had resulted in nearly destroying everything he loved. "I think mother only means that we don't want to drive the Doom upon us until we're ready to destroy the lion."
Several seconds of tension ran long, but in the end the King sighed. "You have my leave to go."
Guiding his mother out, the Starks quickly bid him farewell. Each could see the Crown Prince was close to the edge, and a silent plea from Rhaella found Rickard and Brandon leaving mother and son to dash for the Royal Quarters.
As soon as they disappeared past the doors of her chambers, both Arthur and Jaime standing guard, Rhaella opened her arms. "Oh, my son..."
"Muna…" suppressed for so long, his pain suddenly left him. Rhaegar fell into his mother's embrace, softly crying. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault. Never your fault, my son…" Her heart broke for what all of them were going through. "Gods, Lya..."
"My child's mother… our babe." It tore him inside, finally able to let it out. "Lya's first, he took it from us. My own Father..." Such was the most hurtful of all.
"I know your pain, my sweetling." One child versus over half a dozen...
Rhaegar knew. He pulled away and regarded his mother with red-rimmed eyes. Sweetly kissing her brow. "And I'm very sorry you do, muna."
In such pain and he still made sure to care for his family. I raised the perfect son. "Where is Lya?"
"In our chambers. Muna, I've never seen her so broken, so devoid of life..." She was his she-wolf, so passionate and fierce. All gone.
Rhaella's heart broke. "Is Elia helping her?'
"As much as she tries, Lya just doesn't respond."
"And you? How are you feeling?"
His eyes darkened. "If it weren't for the taboo of kinslaying, I would have put blackfyre through his back already. Realm be damned."
"Rhaegar, don't talk like that…" she admonished. "You can't mask your grief with anger."
"He has taken so much from us already, but this... this is the last straw." He pulled away, shaking. "Aerys took away... my child..." The dam holding it back broke again, and the Prince didn't resist his mother's comfort.
"Oh my son..." Rhaella cried softly as well, never imagining that the pain she went through would be experienced by her son and gooddaughters.
"I was going to be a father again... I loved Visenya already..."
"I loved her too, son." She could only hug him close.
Eventually Lyanna emerged from her bath, swathed in a thin silk robe. One that left very little to the imagination. It was one of hers, and while the waiting Elia knew it had been made for Rhaegar's appreciative stare she couldn't help but marvel at Lyanna's beauty. More than marvel, rather. "Lya…"
Lyanna jumped, heart beating. In her daze she hadn't noticed Elia was there. "Sister… You should have called to me."
"I felt you needed your solitude." Regarding her, the sight of her sister-wife broke Elia's heart. Lyanna was dreadfully pale, sunken eyes red with constant tears. "How are you, Lya?" But Elia held up a hand. "Don't give me the 'I'm fine' horseshit." The Dornish Princess knew her sister-wife well enough to know what she would say.
Lyanna starting to rummage for a proper dress. "How are the children? Is Egg awake from his nap?"
Elia shook her head. "Don't change the subject, Lya," she said. "Rhaegar's worried about you, your father and brothers are worried about you - Seven Hells, I'm worried about you." She fought to keep from crying as well. "You can't just try to wish this away." Lyanna said nothing, and Elia felt her irritation creep up. "It'll destroy you, trust me I know.," she said in a firm tone.
Lyanna swiveled around. "Don't, Elia," she snapped. "Don't stand here and say that you understand, because you don't!" Her fierceness returned, directed at the one person who insisted on pushing her. "I lost a babe! A babe that I loved with everything I had!"
"I know it happened to you, Lya, and it brings me physical pain to think about," Elia explained. "But it's not your fault. You're only killing yourself and everything you love by blaming yourself."
"But it is my fault!" she screamed. "I felt bored and caged, so I left Benjen and Oswell to breeze through the gardens where he…" Tears were now flowing from Lyanna's eyes and she didn't bother to wipe them away. "Aerys killed my child, and all because I couldn't fucking stay with my Kingsguards!" She sniffled as she took a breath. "And I'm sick of the platitudes… no one can understand the pain I'm going through right now."
"Do you think Rhaegar doesn't?!" Elia yelled back. "By the Seven it was his child too!" That hushed her sister-wife. "Our husband is suffering just as much as you and you are too selfish and wallowing in self-pity to see it!" Elia shouted, shaking her head as she wiped the tears from her face. "Visenya was his babe… and my babe. I loved her, Lya. I know now why you could love Rhae and Egg because I felt it with this babe. My heart broke when you lost her..." the Dornish Princess paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "As I did when I lost my second child."
Lyanna looked at her sister-wife in shock. "Elia…"
Elia held up a hand. "It was my second, after Rhaenys. Rhaegar doesn't know… I never told him. It all happened while he helped Arthur fight the Kingswood brotherhood and he was already in so much pain from everything that I didn't wish to burden him." Elia fell silent, the repressed emotions of that hellish time starting to bubble back up. "One day I felt rather happy, so I wore something that showed off my house sigil and colors that Oberyn had given me. Walking in the holdfast, I ran into Aerys. He was so enraged at the 'Dornish Smell' off me that he shoved me aside. I slipped and fell down some stairs… losing the babe." A tiny tear fell from her.
Watching her, Lyanna felt her own heart clench. Pained for her sister-wife. Worried for Rhaegar. A sudden, gradual shame...
Looking at the window, Elia sighed. "I refused to talk to anyone but Ellaria for moons, especially Rhaegar… it was only when Ellaria confronted me that I realized that I had made everything worse - hells, I hadn't visited Rhaenys once during my melancholy. I almost lost… everything..."
Biting her lip as Elia looked back at her, Lyanna gazed at the ground. "I'm sorry." The shame was overwhelming her. So consumed was she in her self-loathing, she didn't realize how it hurt those she loved. "Gods… I'm a monster…"
When Lyanna didn't say anything else, Elia strode to her and pulled her into a hug. "The only monster in this is the King." The northern beauty melted into her embrace. "Lya, I know talking about it only makes it even more real, but the only way out is to lean on family. Remember we're all suffering too. We need each other. As you say, the lone wolf dies..."
"But the pack survives…" The she-wolf was shaking right now, hating herself for being so blind. "How did you get over hating yourself?"
"It was hard, but we have it better now." Elia kissed her cheek. "If we are loved by so many, then we can't be worth hating."
So simple, and yet so profound - if Rhaegar and Elia and Rhaella and her brothers and her father loved her so, then who was she to hate herself? "I'm so sorry, Elia. I wish I'd known…" She sobbed softly. "I wish..."
"Shhh…" Her own cries came. "I know."
It was this scene Rhaegar found. His wives embracing, sobbing in each other's shoulders. Oh gods...
Lyanna looked at him and their eyes met. "Rhaegar," she whispered, trying to communicate all the guilt she felt.
Rhaegar rushed to their sides, enveloping both of them tightly. Making no distinction in love with either. "My loves…" He kissed Lyanna's forehead.
She buried her head in his chest as Elia rested on his shoulder. "We lost our child…" Lyanna murmured. He only held them tighter. For the first time since they lost their babe, the three cried together.
...and to think that the harsh words of my goodbrother were awful enough, many of the Northern Lords have returned to Winterfell due to the chaotic aftermath of the Ironborn raids. If a Stark sworn sword is bad enough, the Umbers are basically wildlings. Yet, if I impose the discipline of chivalry Ned would have my head. It's infuriating.
There was nothing more that Petyr Baelish wanted than to hold Catelyn Tully in his arms, but Gods… sometimes she simply irritated him. She has such moments, but at least is better than Lysa. The younger Tully was far more shrill. At least Catelyn had promise to mature.
Outside, the freezing rain pelted Riverrun castle. No matter how he stoked the hearth, Petyr felt the drafts chilling him. So a goblet of wine and a blanket wrapped thick around him would have to do.
I wish to believe that my goodsister the Princess would support my desires, but her wild nature leaves me to doubt this. Especially given her actions at the Tourney of Harrenhal...
Boredom suddenly gave way to interest. Baelish sitting straighter in his chair, feeling what came next wouldn't be the usual inane drivel.
In the capitol I came across the juiciest piece of gossip. It seems that the Knight of the Laughing Tree was really Lyanna…
Baelish's eyes widened in shock - mind spinning at the revelation. Lyanna Stark is the Knight of the Laughing Tree?! The one that the King had very publicly declared dead, executed by his son the Crown Prince at the final feast of the Tourney?
Returning to the letter with the keenest interest, Baelish found where he had left off…
My goodbrother Eddard undoubtedly knows, and while I can't be sure I suspect both the Crown Prince and my beloved Brandon do as well. Given his Grace's interest in this to the extreme, I implore you to not repeat this, though I know that I can trust you, Petyr. To disclose this would be of great detriment to my intended's House and to the Crown Prince.
Already, his mind was spinning. Petyr Baelish didn't give two sagging tits about the Crown Prince, but the opportunity to pay the Starks back for stealing his Cat and humiliating him was just too good to pass up… The more he thought, the more he reasoned, the minor heir to the minor keep of a minor lord kept coming back to something his father said. "Allow chaos to serve as your ladder, for it has served our family well."
The first Baelish used the chaos of the First Blackfyre Rebellion to win his keep as a sellsword for House Corbray, winning it on Redgrass Field.
Petyr's father used the chaos of the War of the Ninepenny Kings to befriend Hoster Tully and get Petyr himself a fostership in Riverrun, where he met his beloved Cat.
Chaos served them well, and now - the newest in the line of craven mercenaries - the smiling visage of Petyr Baelish had the one bit of information that could create its own storm of chaos. Ratcheting up his family's mantra.
Now… what to do with it…?
One Moon Later
It was a quiet day in the Red Keep. Lyanna Targaryen adored the quiet days that so rarely smiled upon the capitol of Aegon the Conqueror's empire. For the little girl eager to jump on Winter and race through the Wolfswood, actually enjoying the quiet rather than seeking out adventure would have seemed impossible. For the Princess of House Targaryen she had seen the dark side of this hellish city. Any day the quiet decided to take over was a day blessed by the gods.
Sunlight streamed through the high windows installed by Aerys I. The quiet King enjoyed plenty of natural light to read by, and Lyanna had no complaints. It was serene being seated upon a plush chair reading about the history of her husband's family. A perfect blend of the old Lyanna and the new Lyanna - her love of reading intact.
A gift from Rhaegar… all of it. Her eyes fluttered shut, smiling lovingly. Gods… I'm so lucky. Aside from perhaps her father and brothers - or her adorable son Egg - there was no better man.
"Alright, Lyanna." Dropping a rather large book on the table, Dacey Mormont collapsed into a chair, huffing out a breath. "Took me half an hour to find History of the Rhoynish Wars, and the leather-bound monstrosity was all the way at the top of a shelf on the second floor."
Furrowing her brows, Lyanna cocked her head to the side. "What makes me think that you didn't get it down by yourself." Before Dacey could respond, a dust-covered Arthur Dayne arrived behind her, trying his best to hold in a sneeze. And failing miserably. The Princess chuckled. "The mighty Sword of the Morning reduced to little more than a librarian."
Dacey smiled softly. "Amazing what batting your eyelashes can do." She giggled when Arthur wrapped his arms around her neck.
"I think you use your wiles to get more out of me than I have propriety to do," he said, kissing her neck nonetheless.
"Mmmm… you adore me," the she-bear replied.
"Aye, that I do." Lyanna smiled at the love between her Lady in Waiting and kinggsguard. The last moon found them more in love each passing day. As Arthur's hands moved to cup her belly, it wasn't hard to know why. "Any chance the future Sword of the Morning can let his father know he's alright?"
Dacey giggled again. "I'm only two moons along, Arthur." She lightly swatted his arm at his irritated groan. In the comfort of the inner palace, away from prying eyes, they could be free to love each other openly. "Forgive us, Lyanna, but the little one here is calling on me to retire for the afternoon…"
Lyanna was caught in a tiny trance, staring at the slight swell of her friend's figure with a burning jealousy. No maliciousness, just… longing. While the wounds of her lost babe had largely healed and she had allowed Rhaegar back into their bed and her family back into her heart… they would never truly go away. Always would she mourn the babe she would never get to hold. So will Rhaegar and Elia… "Go ahead," she told Dacey, smiling. "Little one comes first. Benjen can help me find my books."
"Like hells I will," the aforementioned Kingsguard shot back, only for Arthur to smack him on the back. Giving him a look belying his bad situation as he escorted Dacey out. He rolled his eyes when Lyanna stuck her tongue out at him - aye, that's the Lyanna I grew up with. Spotting someone enter a few moments later, he grinned. "I'll see if I can put your unused texts back." He picked up the tome, walking several paces before he bowed. "Your Grace."
Hearing him, Lyanna wanted to turn with a sudden terror before a gentle kiss was pressed on the crown of her head. Fragrance of lavender and Dornish apple relaxing her. "Elia…"
Princess Elia Martell rounded the chair to sit in the chair alongside Lyanna's, turning to face her with a smile on her face. "Why am I not surprised to find you here?"
"Meeting with Lord Tyrell finished early, so what better way to spend a quiet day?" Lyanna hefted the book. "Reading about your ancestors."
Clicking her tongue at the title, Elia grinned. "Learning of how the mighty Rhoynish defeated the vile Dragonlords outnumbered considerably?"
Lyanna smirked back. "No, at the point where Nymeria had to flee for her life like a coward." Even with her obvious teasing, her sister-wife scowled all the same. "Considering our new House, I would think you'd root for the dragonlords now."
"Please, you admire my Dornish heritage, thank you." If they hadn't been close before, the agony and apprehension following the… incident had drawn both women all the closer. The fact that such fear was for not and Aerys hadn't really left his brooding and fire contemplation for weeks didn't undo such closeness - even if sometimes Elia felt they weren't as close as she would like...
"You look like you have something to talk about." Lyanna's lovely northern accent pulled Elia out of her contemplation. "Elia… listening?"
"Oh, yes. I'm sorry." She fought a blush, hoping Lyanna didn't notice her eyes wandering places they… shouldn't. "Just thinking of something strange I saw this morning after we all parted." Rhaegar was currently with Melisandre, the Red Woman stubbornly remaining as a 'spiritual adviser' to the Prince even as Aerys dismissed the other mages and mystics. Neither Princess liked it, but they trusted him. "Rhaenys wanted Viserys to play with her today."
"He said no, didn't he?" While it bothered Rhaella the most, Lyanna noticed it. While House Targaryen seemed to grow closer after the loss of their babe, Prince Viserys was the opposite. Withdrawn, sullen. Spending most of his time by himself.
Elia nodded her head. "Even pushed her away - not violently or anything, but Rhaenys was saddened for a while." A sigh. "Do you think he's trying to be more like his father?"
"Gods, I hope not." Poor Rhaella… The woman deserved much better than the King. A certain Lannister comes to mind. One would have to be blind not to notice.
"Speaking of the King, he has given his assent for the Royal Progress to Dorne."
"Really?" They had talked about it, but Lyanna only knew of talk. "Rhaegar approached him?"
"Aye. To ensure good relations with the Dornish after your marriage to the Crown Prince, officially at least. In reality…" Elia left it unsaid.
Lyanna bit her lip. "Your elder brother… I don't feel safe going there, knowing how he feels about me."
"You'll be under my protection, Lya." Leaning forward, Elia placed her hand on the northern beauty's leg. Her long, shapely, creamy leg… "Doran won't touch you with Rhaegar and I there." She gave her a small smile. "Hopefully he'll love you as Oberyn does."
"Aye, hopefully." After a short pause, Lyanna rose. "I have no idea where Benjen went off to, so I'll get my next book myself. Wait here, I'll be right back."
Gazing after Lyanna, Elia had that feeling again. The feelings and desires that had slowly cropped up over the time she knew the she-wolf… only to spike in intensity after their reconciliation following the incident. Eyes raking over the simple woollen dress, hugging Lyanna's curves in all the right places. Slender waist, shapely hips, an ass to die for…
Gods, what is wrong with me? Here she was, married to the Valyrian god of a Crown Prince that she adored and desired, giving another woman gazes of pure lust. If this is what Rhaegar saw at the Tourney, I don't blame him for falling for her… Oberyn would be laughing himself silly at this.
"I need to talk to Ellaria," she mused out loud. If anyone could help with this, it was her. Especially before they journeyed to Dorne.
Her homeland tended to… encourage the most debased of behavior.
There was no Weirwood tree…
If anything could manifest in physical form how suffocating and damaging King's Landing had been for Lyanna, this was it. I came here hoping for wonder and love… She found that, but after all that had transpired with the plots, the attacks… the death, love and wonder had transferred itself to Dragonstone. Here were the Seven Hells, and she didn't even have a heart tree to pray to - to feel close to her gods and her home.
The old oak will have to do.
Nestled off to the sides of the gardens - out of sight and out of mind - the godswood of the Red Keep was nevertheless beautiful. Well-maintained by the royal gardeners, it bloomed lushly even during wintertime. Greens and vibrant pastels of color predominated, and it served to soothe the future Queen as she walked to the large oak tree in the center.
Kneeling down before it as taught, Lyanna removed a tiny cage from the folds of her dress. Inside was a rodent caught by one of the ratters - nothing that anyone would miss. Quickly she grabbed it out of the cage and pierced the flesh with a dagger she carried from the armory. The animal's cries died in a split second, all life leeching out of it. Wordlessly, Lyanna placed it before the tree, a small token of her devotion to the gods. No Andal that followed the Seven would truly understand, not even Rhaegar or Elia in her fears… thus, Lyanna was alone.
In a hushed whisper, she began to pray. "All-knowing lords, hear my prayer. Grant me serenity to accept the evils of this world. To accept the loss of my…" Lyanna choked up, fighting back a sob in a dire struggle. It was hard, even now long after Visenya was taken from her. No matter how happy she was in Rhaegar's arms or being with Elia, she would always mourn for the daughter she so loved. Perhaps she was here to make sense of it all… "And let my heart not be troubled. Let my womb prove fertile again and swell with my husband's children. Let my sister-wife and I forge a bond unbreakable by petty concerns, and give peace to my goodmother in her life." Prayer recited, she slowly rested her head on the bark. Hoping for some guidance… hoping that the oak would do. That the gods could hear her praye…
Suddenly, it was as if Lyanna was frozen in place. Consumed by an intense chill that immobilised her in ice. And in an instant her consciousness seemed to leave her body. Rocketing through the air away from the still statue of the powerful, innocent princess dropped in the middle of hells.
Her vision travelled, crossing mountains and rivers and seas… And then Lyanna stopped. Slamming into the middle of a massive blizzard. Snow up to her knees as the cold only grew. Shivering, Lyanna saw a light in the distance - it called to her, and she began running to it.
"Lya!"
It came from behind. A voice… faint but vaguely female. "Hello?!"
"Lya…" It was frantic, fearful. Reminding her of Benjen's voice during his first freezing winter when he submerged into an icy lake. "Help me!"
'Run, Lyanna. Run.' Another voice, this one far more soothing. 'Leave her… she is evil.'
"Lya!" A shadow was struggling to reach her in the distance - away from the light.
"Muna?" Lyanna glanced down to see a small boy with violet eyes and dark curls, no more than five namedays but clearly the one from her dreams. "Muna, I hurt…" Blood coated his furs, face pale.
'Run… save him… leave her…' Lyanna complied with the voice. Racing towards the light. Tugging on her son to follow. 'Run… Run!'
"Help me! Please, Lya, my love…"
But the boy wouldn't run. He barely even moved. "Muna… she's calling… get muna."
"We have to go," Lya begged as she saw him growing weaker. Needing to find the fire and warmth…
Her son tore himself from her grasp. "Muna!" he cried, running through the snow towards the shadow - against the voice's advice.
The name slipped from her mouth… "Jon! Jon, come back!" Lyanna raced after him, heart beating as he reached the shrouded figure. Praying that he wouldn't die…
But in the arms of the figure, both of them sobbing softly, it was as if all his injuries had healed…
As if all three of them were bathed in warmth…
"Lyanna… sister!"
Waking abruptly, Lyanna looked up to see Brandon looking down at her. "How… how long was I out…"
"It's almost dinnertime."
She saw the sun having gone down just then. "Shit… I've been here hours. Rhaegar and Elia must be worried…"
He laughed. "They were, but I had a feeling you were here." Brandon helped her up. "I won't say a word, but tell me… did it help?"
Sighing, Lya looked back at the tree. "Perhaps," was her answer.
"Thank you for being able to arrive at our keep so promptly. Lord Hand."
Jon Connington forced a smile. "You're welcome, Lord Hoster." He thanked the gods for small favors that his bruises Brandon Stark gave him had healed before House Tully requested the services of someone from the Red Keep. "With his Grace the Crown Prince remaining in King's Landing, I could afford to leave and address your concerns personally." Not that I wish to meet Brandon's goodfamily. The things he had to do to please Lords Paramount.
"What got the King to put you on shit duty?" Ser Brynden Tully asked with a scowl. The one called 'Blackfish' was not known for his warmth. "Tried to kiss someone not wantin' to be kissed?"
Glaring for a moment, Connington managed not to look angry or defensive. "His Grace wishes Lords Paramount to have their concerns addressed by men he trusts." At least Hoster buys it. The rumors spread like wildfire, and the Blackfish believed them rather than the official explanation.
"It's a shame that her Grace, Princess Lyanna was injured. Such a beautiful girl," Hoster mused sympathetically.
"We appreciate your concern, Lord Hoster." If only she died.
As he walked after Lord Hoster and Ser Brynden, the Hand noticed the younger Tully daughter appear from a room further ahead. Eyes cast downward as she approached them. Odd. Still, she seemed to be paying attention, for once only a few paces ahead of her father and uncle she curtsied. "Father. Uncle Brynden."
Hoster regarded his youngest warmly - truly, in spite of all her quirks little Lysa was his favorite. "Dear Lysa, you are in front of the Hand of the King. Remember your manners."
She didn't make his gaze, but curtseyed far deeper. "Lord Hand, forgive me but I did not recognize you."
Was Connington the only person that picked up on her obvious lie? Is her family that stupid or is she a better liar than one would assume? Tales of Lysa Tully's shrillness and temper spread far. "It is not a problem, Lady Lysa. Your manners are as impeccable as your form."
Beaming, Lord Tully motioned towards his solar. "This way, Lord Connington." As they walked past the girl of four and ten, Connington felt a hand momentarily grasp his own… before darting away. He furrowed his brow and made to turn and look at Lysa before feeling the crinkle of parchment in his fist. In a split second, his face became a mask.
The conversation passed by as dryly as humanly possible - as always, the politics of the Riverlands was as dry and mundane as their position was vital. Half of what Hoster discussed concerned the latest feuding between the Brackens and Blackwoods over the Teats. Are they Barba's Teats or Missy's Teats now? I don't remember.
It wasn't till two hours later that he was in the safety of his chambers that he could let his guard down. Satiate his curiosity over what the Tully girl could have wanted. Likely something stupid. While he couldn't count how many young maidens threw themselves at him - Connington being a handsome, powerful young Lord - this was a new trick.
Paper soaked with sweat, the writing was smudged but eventually Connington had a handle on it… His eyes widened and his breathing hitched.
Lord Connington, the treasonous Knight of the Laughing Tree is Princess Lyanna Stark. Be cautious.
A/N: So we have all of them healing together :)
Littlefinger you asshole!
Be sure to check out my short story "The Mystery Knight!"
Until next time! The more reviews the sooner I update :D
