Lord Eddard Stark rode his destrier hard; he and his seven companions raced against the rigid terrain and against time. Ahead, the sun was setting; its iridescence glorified the endless, crimson desert's landscape with immortality… countless canyons and scattered cactuses cherished its dying offerings. Gladly accepting them, they shimmered with starlike, diamond-like sparkles. Despite everything, even he had to admit that the Red Mountains held a beautiful tenancy.
However, he wasn't here to swoon at the scenery's elegance. No, he was here to save his little wild sister, Lyanna Stark; and a turret in the distance held his gaze… they'd finally made it. The tower's neck was skinny and long; dirty-orange, mudstone-bricks bridled its shaft. The sun grazed its entity, giving the fortification a majestic appearance, but a haunting sentiment. The dying sun made it blend perfectly in with the blood-tinted desert, and with its pinky gulches that speckled around its formication.
That's it; the Tower of Joy.
Despite its name, Ned had to admit that it matched the surroundings well.
However, the same could not be said for the deteriorating, five-foot-tall limestone wall, which snaked the sky-scraping structure all the way around in a skirting circle—acting as a natural barricade at the bartizan's foot.
There, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's three-most-loyal kingsguards sat like statues atop the decayed barrier, waiting for them with their gear and weapons in hand. I'm going to save you, little sister, I promise. The commander of the three knights was Ser Arthur Dayne. A Targaryen sigil engraved his silver armor; a three-headed-dragon on his chest. Ser Arthur, Ser Gerald, and Ser Oswell were the last things that stood in the way of the Usurper's victory. Nodding, he and his fellow two sworn brothers grabbed their gear and stood.
The three knights walked out to meet Stark, his six bannermen, and the drunk that had come along for the ride.
Why in the fuck did he come here?
Both sides approached each other on the desert's sunbaked ground, only stopping when they were a conversation length away.
It was time to parlay.
"Lord Stark," Ser Arthur Dayne said, beginning their negotiations.
"We looked for you on the Trident," Ned replied, trying his best to control the wolf that stirred within.
"Rhaegar lies six-feet-beneath the ground. Why weren't you there protecting your prince?"
Arthur merely shrugged his shoulders. "Our prince wanted us here."
Eddard grounded his teeth together. He didn't come all this way to talk; he came to save Lyanna. "Where's my sister?"
The Dayne grimly smiled before he put on his war helmet and picked up both his swords. "I wish you well, my lord, in the wars to come… and now it begins."
"No," Ned said in his Northern accent. "Now it ends!"
Everyone drew their swords; the battle began.
At first, everything seemed to be a painting—random swords met random swords, fiery sparks ignited, and blades danced with one another. Both sides were even, but Ser Arthur was the best swordsman in Westeros. With ease, he cut Howland Reed down. Meanwhile, Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell had purged Nyder and Slyder. The sight was anything but glorious. If they had any momentum before the fight began, he now knew they lost it, and if they weren't quick, they'd all be dead soon.
Snarling, the Quiet Wolf closed in on Ser Oswell in single combat. The knight had excellent skills, but Lord Stark had youth and with it speed. He baited his enemy into a trap, and once he did, he slashed his sword at the man's throat, leaving a fine gorging red line with his blood seeping out. He had no time to see him fall as he turned around, but he heard him do so. Concurrently, Ser Gerold had slain Artos and now engrossed in a duel with Thoros of Myr. The man was clearly drunk, but his flaming-steel blade blocked, deflected, and countered all of Hightower's strikes. It wasn't long until he too killed the other knight. There was now only one Targaryen loyalist left, Ser Arthur Dayne.
They surrounded the knight; Cryber, Thoros, and Ned… giving the Sword in the Morning all he could handle. But with Dawn and Star, Arthur hacked, sliced, and slashed every move his enemies made at him. Cryber was the first to make a mistake; he swung his sword past Dayne's shoulder, and the Kingsguard ended him when he chopped his head off. Thoros next launched himself in a flurry with his flaming sword, but Dayne too cut him down, pruning his side, taking him out of the fight. It was just him and Ned. They traced each other in a circle, and they clashed; their swords pranced in perpetuity. However, even from the start, Arthur had the edge, and soon he too disarmed Ned. The Wolf closed his eyes; the Sword was about to strike him down.
GASH!
Howland and Thoros had stabbed their swords through Arthur's neck and chest. The Dayne fell to his knees. Ned nodded at the two fellow survivors, giving his thanks. He retrieved Dawn from the ground and used it to end the knight's misery. He tired, but he couldn't rest, especially not when he heard his little sister's laborious screams. He couldn't waste time; he needed to save her.
Ned leaped over the limestone wall and ran up the battlements, the sooner he raced the steps, the sooner he could save his little sister. It took only a minute to reach the room—a nursery that smelled of roses and blood. His sister laid in a bed; the covers drenched red.
Ned didn't care what he had to do—they had lost too many family members in the last year, and he'd be damned if he was going to lose his little sister.
"Ned?" said Lyanna weakly.
"Lyanna!" Ned yelled as he rushed to her bedside.
"Ned… is that… is that really you?"
"It's me, Lya, I'm really here."
"I missed you, big brother."
"I missed you too."
"I want to be brave."
"Shh, Lya… you are."
"I'm not!" Lyanna whimpered, gasping for air. Ned lifted his hand from the bed, covered in blood. "I don't want to die," she said, feebly.
"You're not going to die." Ned urgently looked around and saw a handmaiden. Why the fuck is there no maester here!? Gods damn you, Rhaegar Targaryen! If you loved my sister, you could have at least gotten her a maester! "Get her some water! Is there a healer?!"
"No, no water! Ned, listen to me!" Lyanna protested, every word a struggle. She brought Eddard's ear down to her lips. "His name is Aegon Targaryen… if Robert finds out, he'll kill him, you know he will…"
Ned shed tears, especially when the midwife handed him the blanketing bundle, inside it was her sister's newborn son, Aegon Targaryen. "Promise me, Ned? Promise me?" she said weakly, as she did, Howland and Thoros entered the room.
He didn't know who the man was but knew he had magic; hell, it was only because of him they found Lyanna. Ned knew little about the red priests, but he knew they had powers mortals did not wield. Could he bring her back? It was as if he knew what he was thinking when he nodded. Ned then looked at his sister's lifeless form.
"I promise, Lya…"
When Lyanna opened her eyes, she realized she was no longer in the tower. Instead, she was somewhere else; everything was white; the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The room looked to extend for miles; it seemed enchanted to extend forever. She then heard a man chuckle. Lya turned and saw him—he was six-feet-tall, he had long, greying, brown hair, a wild, braided beard, and had kind, inviting almond eyes.
"Welcome, Lyanna Stark."
The man looked at her with keen and kind interest. However, Lyanna wasn't happy; Lyanna was angry!
Is this punishment! Why couldn't have I just lived! I could have raised my child at Winterfell! I want to be with my child!
"I know you are angry-"
"Who are you?" She didn't ask; she demanded. "And am I dead?"
The man merely studied her. "For now, yes, you are… and I have many forms… but in this world, I am Rhaellor, the Lord of Light, the Giver of Life."
Giver? Can he?
It was almost as if he knew what she wanted.
He smiled.
She wanted to cry! She was going back! She was going to be with her son! She was about to hug the man, only deciding not to when he spoke again.
"Before my servant resurrects you, there is someone who wants to see you."
"Who?"
The fire god merely smiled as a figure approached them.
Lyanna winced her eyes; he had platinum blonde hair, he had an elegant face; he stood tall, and then her heart raced. She began feeling wet and warm; only one human-made her have this feeling. It was Rhaegar Targaryen; it was her husband. She couldn't help herself.
"Lyanna!"
"Rhaegar!"
She lunged herself at him and hugged him fiercely. Her husband held her for what seemed to be forever, and she felt content being in his arms. Her face streaked with tears; this would be the last time she'd see him; he was her love. They kissed. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, and he let it have an entrance. Their kiss seemed to last forever, but when it ended, Rhaegar kissed her forehead just like he did when they married by the river.
"You look beautiful, my love," Rhaegar told her, his hands gently stroking her elegant face.
She blushed. "I wouldn't call myself beautiful, right now, Rhaegar." He laughed, kissed her again.
"You'll always be beautiful, my queen," he said, leaning his lips towards her ear, "And our son will love you so much, Lya."
Lyanna felt herself succumb to her emotions. "How, Rhaegar? How can I go back? I died; my last words were to my brother."
"Because you are worthy, Lyanna," the Lord of Light said. "You have made mistakes, yes, but the Mad King destined this war to happen."
Lyanna and Rhaegar broke away and looked at their host.
"Your father's death, your brother's death, were not your faults. It was Aerys; it was him and him alone," he said, putting a hand gently on her shoulder. "Many who are resurrected don't deserve it. You, however, do. Not just because your son needs his mother… but because you are a beautiful person—inside and out. It is not my duty to tell you what you should do… but I offer you this chance… Do you want to go back?"
If her heartbeat wasn't fast already, it was racing now. If she went back, she knew in her heart that she'd never see her husband again, but if she didn't go back, she knew her son's life in the North would be extremely unkind to him. She knew her brother; she knew he married the Trout, and she knew there was no chance in hell the bitch would let her baby get to have the Stark name. That made Lyanna shiver at first before anger stemmed like a seed, erecting a plant. Lyanna loved Rhaegar with all her heart, but her baby boy needed her, and she knew she would never abandon her son. She took a deep breath and looked at Rhaellor's stature with determination.
"Yes."
The god snapped his fingers. "After you say your goodbyes, close your eyes, and you will be with the boy," he instructed. "You have two minutes. We'll meet again, but until then remember these words: crëparvo and rëparvo. You'll be able to do magic, giving your son a much more accommodating childhood." He said before vanishing.
Lyanna looked at Rhaegar and kissed him hard; it was a wet kiss.
"I love you with all my heart. I promise you, Rhaegar, I will raise our son to be a king, I'll love him, I'll care for him, and I'll make sure that he knows that his mother loves him, that his father would have loved him, and I'm going to make sure that he knows how to rule… I make this vow with the Old Gods as our witnesses."
"I know, Lya," he said, caressing her graceful cheeks. "Sweetheart, you need to go now. Our baby boy needs you."
"I know, I'm going to love him, Rhaegar, I promise." She would be with her baby boy, her treasure; the reason why she wanted to go back. Gulping, tears formed in her eyes, and then she said, "I love you, Rhaegar Targaryen."
Rhaegar was crying as well. "And I love you, Lyanna Stark, and I always will."
She thence closed her eyes.
Ned was about to give up.
Thoros had been chanting the words to bring his sister back from the dead for the last hour and counting now. Aegon slept in his arms, ignorant to what was going on, while Howland covered his face with his hands; he really didn't like the drunk, and neither did Ned. Thoros took another sip from his flask, savoring the rum in it.
"Vúdá Kôdà Lüdà! Vúdá Kôdà Lüdà! Vúdá Kôdà Lüdà! Vúdá Kôdà Lüdà! Vúdá Kôdà Lüdà!" Thoros chanted. Each time he said the words, he screamed louder and louder, but nothing happened. The drunk turned silent until he muttered one word, "please." Ned's hope to bring his little sister back slowly dwindled. Why do I entertain this! She's dead! This is filling me with false hope! Gods, why did Lyanna have to die!? Why!?
Thoros gave up; he stood and started walking away.
But something that Ned had thought impossible happened.
His sister's eyes, his wild little sister's eyes opened, and she gasped for air.
And then, he knew it happened, Lyanna Stark, the fierce She-Wolf of Winterfell, had returned from the dead.