AN: Written to the theme of "Historical Characters" at Valyrian_Forged on LJ.
She glowed in the night with quiet beauty that spoke volumes. Her eyes shone like dismembered twins, different in appearance but in nature the same. Miniature stars to complement the Goddess they rested upon. Her pale silk locks woven from dreams of long ago, of happy memories now remaining the only trace of a long lost humanity.
He has forgotten much of his life as a mortal, there is no need to remember such mundane things as kings and wars, rebellions and brothers at arms lost forever. But he remembers every single moment of her. – his star of the sea.
"Promise me, Ned..."
He nods, for what else can he do? Her skin is hot from fever but he cannot let go of her hand, sure that if he does, she will too. He holds her closer to him, wishing he could give her his own life's blood. His lord father gone, Brandon gone and now Lyanna too is slipping away.
"Please Ned, do not think too unkindly of me."
Once again, Eddard nods but this time, she doesn't respond. Her eyes are open but her hands are limp, and that is his final memory of his sweet sister.
Princess Elia could have run, all the servants were. It wouldn't have been too hard to wrap herself and her babe in an old shawl and escape with the bedmaids. She was not noticeably Targaryen, they might not even look for her if it wasn't for the boy at her breast.
No, Elia may not have been a Targaryen but she was most certainly a Martell, and abandoning her home was not an option. If the Gods decreed her blood be spilled in the red keep, then she would not spill it with her back turned to her foes.
He sings with a harp because he doesn't know how to cry.
He sings songs of loneliness and sorrow, songs of days gone by and opportunities lost to the wind, songs of lovers torn asunder in the cruel snows of time.
Of course, out in the battlefield, they expect songs of a different nature, of steel and fire and blood. But those bring him no joy either.
So the crowned prince continues to sing, because he doesn't know how to cry. How to defy time and culture and duty and honour, and for a few precious moments, simply be.
Joanna Lannister placed a hand on her stomach protectively as she felt the babe inside move. After giving birth to twins, Lady Lannister was no stranger to the aches and anxieties that came with childbirth but lately, a terrible fear had crept in her heart, one she dared not confide to her husband. The Maester had said there was a possibility the child might... But Joanna hadn't wanted to hear more. The Gods would never be so cruel. Nonetheless, she made sure to light a candle to the Mother every day, praying for the safety of her unborn child.
End Note: You might be seeing a lot of Lannister related works which may or may not be because its my official house at westerosorting on LJ.