The Wall
Lysara Stark
Lysara was summoned to Stannis Baratheon's chambers soon after she arrived at the Wall. The gown she had been given in place of the fur cloak she had worn was red. The red had once been rich in colour but had since faded through time, it looked and felt uncomfortable to wear as it took her breath away with its iron like grip on her waist from the fitted corset inside of the dress. No matter how the dress looked, it gave off a smell of burning wood which gave her some form of comfort at the cold and cruel wall of ice. She had seen her mother wear a dress like this once with a high collar, slashed sleeves with a deep red lace beneath and gold buttons down the front. The original owner of this dress was much taller than herself as the dress had a long train that dragged against the snow covered floor.
As the squire opened the door for her, she exchanged a cold stare with the cowering boy that she towered over before entering. The first thing she came across was a small fire pit in the middle of the large chambers and then her eyes landed on the ageing man bent over his desk, his black feathered quill never leaving the parchment. His gaze narrowed as it flickered up from the piece of parchment to stare at her with nearly black eyes. A disgruntled noise left his lips as he placed his quill back in the ink pot. Ser Davos was standing next to Stannis Baratheon, wariness adorning his features when their eyes met.
"Lysara of the House Stark, Your Grace," The boy said, bowing low before he left the room at the King's command.
"Stannis Baratheon," Lysara nods. "The answer is still no. I do not kneel to a Stag King."
"So I have heard," Stannis responds. "Where is the babe? The Wildling Prince?"
Lysara remains silent, straightening her back and raises her head to meet his angered gaze. They will kill him, the woman's words plagued her. You and I both know this. The woman she made a promise to spurred a fierceness in her. A fierceness that she hasn't felt in a long time. She owed the Free Folk. The Free Folk had brought her into their home, fed her and clothed her when she had none. She had told stories to the children around the fire and ate with the giants themselves. The promise she made that night would be kept until her last breath. I won't let the likes of you hurt him, Lysara thinks while she eyes him in defiance. He's the Wildling Prince. The wild wolf. I'd set the world on fire if you touch him.
The babe that had not even witnessed its first moon had somehow gained a place in her heart. The babe reminded her of her siblings in the strangest of ways. He had the innocence of Rickon. He had the curiosity of Bran. He had the spirit of Arya and the gentleness of Jon. If he grew, she was certain he would be like Arya. The thought of her siblings brought an ache to her heart but when she held the babe to her chest it eased somewhat. The babe was under her care and that was all she knew. As were the Free Folk.
"Your siblings are presumed dead or lost," Stannis continued and she could not help but flinch at the sharpness in his voice. "You are the heir to the North. The next in line to Winterfell."
"I am a woman," She points out. "Lords tend to follow Lords. It is known."
"Your heirs won't be," He informs her, her eyes meeting his dark ones. "I need a Stark in Winterfell. You are the Stark that I need."
"I thought the Bolton's held Winterfell?" Lysara inquired.
"The Bolton's?" Stannis mused. "The Bolton's bastard does not hold Winterfell. Word has it Targaryen banners are above Winterfell...But not for much longer. I will bring a fight to this false Targaryen. I want House Stark to swear allegiance to House Baratheon and for the Northerners to join my cause. I want the Iron Throne from the false King, Tommen Baratheon. I will lead Westeros into a new age, therefore, I will need new Lords-"
"You mean to sell me to the highest bidder?" Lysara hums, her lips curling into an amused but sarcastic smile. "I have no desire to marry. I never have and I never will."
"As if you have a choice in the matter," Stannis said, leaning forward in his chair. "For the sake of the North. For the sake of Westeros. For the sake of House Stark...You must marry. However, Lady Melisandre believes different. You are a worshipper of R'hllor. Like herself. I have seen her in the flames, she tells me. Lady Melisandre has seen Volantis in your future. But she also has seen dragons in your future. I doubt you want those things. You want Winterfell. You want the North. I can give you that."
"That is all fine and well," Lysara mocks. "I must admit that I have never felt so desirable before. The witch child of a great Lord that consorts with Free Folk. I am afraid that I must decline any offers of marriage. I made a promise to the Free Folk that I would get them beyond the Wall. I won't be kneeling and I won't be swearing allegiance to you. You marched beyond the Wall, attacked the very people I have sworn to protect and I made a promise to-"
"You talk like them," He retaliates. "The Wildlings-"
"Aye, I talk like a Northerner. So do the Free Folk," She snaps. "I lived, ate, drank and slept with the Free Folk and the giants-"
"Giants?" Stannis scoffs.
"The White Walkers," Lysara hisses, her eyes narrowing. "Do you really think that they care who sits on the Iron Throne? The winds of winter are blowing, the horn of winter has been sounded and soon enough, the dead will come for us all. The nights are growing darker and colder. You are not capable of leading us into the battle for dawn. You are not a capable leader to fight against the dead. I have seen them in flames."
"You are an insolent pup," He barks, rising from his seat with his hands slammed on the table. "I will take King's Landing and the Iron Throne."
"You already tried that..." She laughs. "You lost to wildfire."
"Your father and brother were written off as traitors. It is lies. Lies that the Lannister's and Bolton's have spewed," Stannis said calmly, clasping his hands behind his back as he peered at her. "House Stark has been around since the First Men...Do you want the Stark name to die out? Do you really want to be some mere page in a history book? Is this how you want House Stark to be known for? House Lannister will deem House Stark a traitorous house. I want the Iron Throne and I know that with the North's backing I can have it."
"And what about what I want?" Lysara asked, her voice small as she looked to the stone floor. "Justice for my family. I want Winterfell but I also want the Free Folk to be allowed beyond the Wall. I want to see them go far south where the Others cannot get them. I want the babe I promised to protect to be safe from harm. I don't care about any birthright I have not at the price of becoming something that I am not. You can behead me for it. Go on. Do you really think that my life is such a precious thing to me that I would trade the lives of those people for...for what?"
"The Wall stands," He said. "The Wildlings will stay beyond the Wall."
"Then..." She trails off. "I will stay beyond the Wall."
Lysara falls silent, giving them a nod before turning on her heel to leave. The soft wind hits her as she opens the door a crack, slipping out of it like a cat would do an alley and trails down the steps, the skirt of her dress brushing the snow from the wooden steps. She holds the railing, letting her fingers lightly trace the small layer of ice that had collected on it. The noise of the door opening and closing behind her along with the hurried footsteps make her stiffen. Lysara looks over her shoulder to see Ser Davos clutching the railing, racing down the steps after her. She acknowledges him with a raised brow before continuing down the steps.
"My Lady," Ser Davos began as he hurried to her side as she trailed down the snow covered steps. "I do not think it is a wise decision to disregard Stannis' offer. You are in need of our help if-"
"If I wish to reclaim Winterfell? Please, spare me the pleasantries. It is not I who needs help, it is your supposed King that needs my help. A false King," Lysara scoffed as she bit back bitter laughter and turned to face Ser Davos with a small smirk. "The true King will lead us into the battle for dawn after we have endured the Long Night. Stannis is no true King. Neither was Robert. Or Joffrey. Tell me, why should I trade my wolf King for a stag King? What difference will it make? People will still suffer. People will still wage war. People will still die...Like, my father...Like, my mother...Like my brother..."
"I am sorry for your loss, my-"
"Though I suppose that is how life works, is it not? People live. People die. There are all sorts of cruel men and women in the world that do terrible things to the innocent all in the name of what they deem is right. What right does a stag have to judge a wolf? Same with lions and dragons. I know men like Stannis and I know he would see the world burn to get what he wants. But what about what I want? I do not want to see this world burn nor do I want to see it consumed in winter. All I want...All I have ever dreamed of is spring..." Lysara murmured. "I pray for it as does the people of Westeros. The people do not look to a King for help. The people look to their Gods albeit the false ones. The people do not pray to a King for rain or a good harvest or a short winter. The people pray to their Gods. I doubt Stannis is capable of making it rain? Unless...He has some form of power that I was not made aware of?"
"I am not one for believing in that, my Lady," Ser Davos replied gruffly with a shake of his head, eyeing her necklace with a wariness lingering behind his tired but nevertheless kind eyes. "I don't believe in the Gods. I think that mothers and fathers made up stories about the Gods to distract their children from the cruel world we live in. Little children are killed all the time. The Gods aren't with us when we are born and the Gods certainly aren't with us when we die."
"Nor do I. I believe in a God. I believe in R'hllor. I was merely a babe when I was touched by his light," She breathed. "When I was gifted this curse...A gift that I have little to no control over. He could have left me to endure a long and painful death but he did not. He let me live and in turn, I gave him worship. I was gifted fire. I do not worship nor obey Stannis. He holds no power here. He is no King of mine nor is he a God amongst men like you and many others so think."
Her attention was brought to the shadows overlooking them from above and as she searched the shadows, she caught sight of a red haired woman. The woman garbed in crimson silk regarded her with a blank expression but behind the impassive eyes held a recognition. A finely arched brow was raised towards her as the woman's long nailed hand came to rest on the wooden pillar that she was standing beside. The pale faced woman's face smiled but her eyes did not.
The woman kept her gaze before the copper haired woman turned back into the shadows. The shadows seemed to welcome the red woman. Lady Melisandre, Lysara thought to herself as she recalled the woman Stannis had mentioned earlier. One may think that Selyse wears the crown but truly it is the Lady in red, Melisandre who wears it. She turns to face Ser Davos who was staring at her in apprehension, her unflinching and cool stare made him shift uncomfortably on his feet as he slouched to the left of her.
"Never claimed he was, my Lady. None of us are heroes. It is Lady Melisandre that claims he is some sort of God," Ser Davos said, a frown on his face at the thought. "Stannis may not be able to offer you peace or freedom but he can offer you vengeance. Vengeance for your brothers and your sisters, for your mother and your father and for yourself. Honour might have died with Lord Stark...But justice did not. No man in the Seven Kingdoms is more honourable and true than Stannis. He will keep his word."
"Tell that to the burning girl," Lysara retaliated. "He didn't keep his word to her."
"Burning girl?" Ser Davos repeats, his brows furrowing in confusion.
"At Blackwater. The night that water turned to fire...Do you remember how they screamed? Do you remember how they screamed and screamed?" Lysara demanded, raising a brow at him as his face hardened at the mentioning of the battle. "The Red Woman at the Stag King's side knew what was to happen. As did I. All those lives. All those men...Most were boys. All gone. Do you remember the dreams? All those horrible dreams about fire and death. I would listen to them."
"I don't believe much in dreams, my Lady," Davos responds simply. "Dreams...Gods...The Seven Hells and Heavens...All stories."
"We serve the same purpose in this world. We all do," Lysara tells him. "No matter how old or young. How brave or weak. How wise or foolish. We all serve."
"We all serve," Davos agrees with a nod of his head. "But do we all serve the same purpose?"
"Aye, if you fight for the living..." She trailed off. "You have nothing to fear from me, Ser Davos."
"You can't be burned," Breathed the little girl, Ellina as she sat next to her along with the other children that were gathered at the large fire that burned bright. The red haired girl stared at her in something akin to awe while she sat, rocking Wild Wolf in her arms as she sang under her breath for the night to be over. "Daramyr said that it was because of someone called Rollo. I reckon that you should see Yrna...She will sort out that curse. Why would someone curse you?"
"R'hllor," Lysara corrects, her lips twitching into a smile as she notices the similarities between Ellina and Daramyr. "I don't need to see Yrna. Although some may call it a curse...It is rather a blessing. I was blessed with a lot of things. There is all but two gods. There is light and there is dark. The God of Light is filled with fire while the Other is filled with darkness. The Other is the one who breathes winter into the bodies of the dead and makes them rise again. He summons armies of rain and lightning, of ice and snow. The night is dark and filled with such terrors...Terrible things happen in the darkness but our Lord of Light casts the darkness from our lives. He has a champion...A champion to help our fight against the White Walkers-"
"You shouldn't mention them," A dark haired girl called Mally scolds, her brows furrowing as she stared at her. "Names mean power."
"Shut it!" Thorik grumbles, giving her a rough shove. "I want to know more. Who's the champion? Is it Mance? Tell us!"
"It is said that our champion was born after a long summer," Lysara recalls, thinking back to the man's words. "It is said that when the world is cast into darkness, the Lord of Light will bring forth a champion who will be reborn amidst salt and smoke, wielding the flaming sword Lightbringer to defend our world against the Other. The night we will suffer will be a long one before our champion is able to wield the sword of flame. When the sword is rekindled with fire...It is said that spring will come to Westeros once more. The flowers will bloom in the fields. The streams will flow with water once more and the leaves will cover the trees..."
The world needs Jon Snow, Lysara thinks to herself. And the man with purple eyes. Lysara listened absentmindedly as the children made up their own stories about who the champion is but her mind was on the man with the silver hair and purple eyes that were consumed by fire. She dreamt of him last night like she did most nights that weren't filled with warnings of White Walkers and winter coming.
Aegon. The man was called and her mind went back to Winterfell being taken by supposed Targaryen's. Perhaps he is R'hllor's champion...But Jon...I ask for Azor Ahai and all I see is snow. A small gurgle brought her attention back down to the Wildling Prince and she smiled, stroking his cheek with the back of her finger with a tenderness before looking back to the children at a sudden argument that was rising among the several children that were sitting near the fire with her. The children reminded her of the promise she made to the Free Folk and to the giants. It felt as if she was carrying the world from the heaviness of her promise.
"It's you!" Thorik exclaimed, pointing to her in excitement. "It has to be! Hasn't it? You danced with fire!"
"It isn't!" Mally retorted. "Our champion is Mance. Lysara is our fire bird."
Fire bird, she thought to herself. That name again. It wasn't the first time the Free Folk have called her this. The giants called her red but the Free Folk called her a fire bird. The name brings a warmth to her that she has felt once before. The time when she breathed life back into her brother. I'll find you, she thinks to herself and prays to R'hllor that her brothers are safe. I will always find you. I promise. She had never heard of a fire bird before but she assumed it was some sort of bird that lived beyond the Wall.
"Fire bird?" Lysara repeats, the name giving her a pleasant feeling. "What is a fire bird?"
"A lot of us wear the feathers of the fire bird, I do!" Jarald exclaimed, shuffling closer to her while he pulled out a thin piece of rope from around his neck and showed her a single fiery feather. It's beautiful, Lysara thinks while she marvels at the red feather that held both orange and yellow hues. If she peered close enough, she could see a hint of brown here and there although it was very little. "See! Ma says that the fire bird represents somethin'. It gets passed down for luck...Daramyr says that he has his own luck so I got it!"
"It represents rebirth," Mally said with sadness. "The fire bird is said to die but it rises from the ashes wiser and stronger than it once was. The fire bird represents new life. I think Yrna said that the fire bird died out a long time ago. The bird was caught a long time ago. There all gone now. The fire bird is a symbol of luck for us. The kneelers beyond the Wall didn't like it. The kneelers cast it from their lands with torches and their hunting dogs. The fire bird came to us and we accepted it. We are made of stronger stuff than them."
"It was a silly bird," A voice murmured causing her to look up at the frail Yrna who shakily walked towards them, her hands clasped behind the long sleeves of her fur robe. The long white haired woman grabbed her chin with her thin and shaking fingers and raised her chin so that their eyes met. "It was silly but wise. It was called the fire bird...It set itself on fire but it didn't burn...The silly thing set itself alight and rose from the ashes only to be born once more-"
"Lysara hasn't heard the story!" Jarald proclaimed, shifting where he sat in excitement. "Can you tell it?"
"What?" Yrna asked, her grip tightening on her chin. "The girl is like the fire bird. She doesn't even know her own blood, stupid girl. It was her own ancestor who had discovered the bird."
"What?" Lysara asked, stiffening as she stares into the woman's eyes as the woman looked at her in amusement.
"Above the skies of the North, a bird free us with its wings of flame. It lit up the night's sky when nothing else could. It set the wights aflame. The man that discovered the bird was the very man to drive it beyond the Wall. The first King of the North!" Yrna proclaimed, the wind picking up with her words as Lysara stared at her with wide eyes, the very words turning her blood cold as the words brought a shiver to her that not even the cloak wrapped around her could prevent. "The man that built the very wall before us. Brandon the Builder. Go on, girl. Look into the fire and tell me...Tell me of the dancing shadows within the flames."
Lysara sucked in a sharp breath, her breath hitching when the woman released her chin and let her eyes rest on the fire that crackled. The dark shadows that twisted and twirled within the array of colours began to take form as she knelt closer, her brows furrowing as she took in the strange winged creatures that were dancing within the flames.
"Do you know what your ancestor did?" Yrna hissed as she stared into the flames with horror. "He drank its blood…"
At first, she took in the two large wings and then the long tail and beak before a large fiery eye met her own and sorrowful cries echoed in her ears causing her to jump back from fright. The haunting song brought tears to her eyes but when a hand landed on her shoulder causing her to look up, she met the small eyes of the old woman. The woman leant closer and pressed her cold lips to the tip of her ear.
"The fire bird still exists," The woman whispers, caressing her pale face. "Somewhere. It lives within the land of always winter. It guards the Horn of Winter."
Winterfell
Young Griff
"That bastard rots in the dungeons while his father marches on Winterfell as we speak!" Lord Umber growled, slamming his ale down on the table. "You won't get any more information from the likes of that bastard. I say kill Roose Bolton's son, flay him and have him hang outside of Winterfell as a warning to Roose! Lysara Stark is at the Wall with Ned Stark's bastard! I heard that she got taken by the Wildlings! We have served House Stark since the First Men! Why should we serve the likes of you when we can serve Lysara Stark? I owe a lot to Ned and as long as I still draw breath, I intend for her to live! Why should a Connington lead an army of Northerners to Wall? Fuck that! I'm the man you want. I'll march for the Wall, tell Stannis to go fuck himself and bring Lysara back to Winterfell."
"It is not as simple as that," Aegon sighed, looking down at his cup of wine. "As long as Ramsay still lives Roose will still pose a problem for us. Roose Bolton will be here at dusk. Ser Connington is Hand of the King, he will march for the Wall and handle the negotiations. It will be Jon Connington that brings Lysara back from the Wall. I will hold Winterfell and crush Roose Bolton into the snow. Then, I will kill his bastard. His wound is festering and it will not be long before he is dead."
"I will not march behind a Connington!" Lord Umber booms, rising from his seat. "I will retrieve Lady Lysara from the Wall or I will march back home with my men."
"Do so, Lord Umber," Young Griff replies as he keeps his angered gaze and leans back in his chair, placing the cup on the table before he finds himself standing like Lord Umber even though the man towers over him, casting a shadow on him. "After I have dealt with House Bolton. I will deal with you next. I will march to your home and will lay waste to your army and I will burn your keep to the very ground and make you eat the ashes of it."
"Fuck off," Lord Umber grunts. "We're Northerners. You're a fucking dragon. I run with wolves. Why should I take idle threats from a boy prettier than most Lord's daughters."
"I am not your enemy!" Aegon seethes, regarding the men sitting around the table. "We have shared enemies. Your enemies are marching for Winterfell. Your enemies are ruling Westeros. Your enemies have nothing to offer you but commands. I have not travelled to the North to offer you commands. I bring you a choice. Your liege Lord Eddard Stark was murdered. That was insult enough and then they murdered your King, Robb Stark! All our lives you have to obey the lions! The same lions that had my mother and sister slaughtered all because of a name. Do you think their tyranny ended with my family? It didn't! It gave them more power...What are lions?"
The crowd of bannermen that surrounded the table wasted no time to shout their protests and stomp their feet in agreement. Lord Umber held his gaze for a moment or so before he raised his fist and slammed it against the table, it sounded like thunder in the crowded hall of Winterfell. He roared out his own opinions before Aegon raised his hand to silence them, it took the riled Northerners a while to calm before he continued. He was filled with pride and power. He felt hungry for the war that was on the horizon between himself and Roose Bolton. I will show them what fire and blood means, Aegon thought to himself in triumph as he held his head higher than before.
"Those that will fight with me tonight will forever be known as my brother," Young Griff proclaimed. "I want the lions...I want the Lannister's dead and they will die! Together, we will lay waste to their armies and burn Casterly Rock to the ground! I am Aegon of the House Targaryen, I am the blood of the dragon and I swear that those who have wronged the North will die screaming. It is not their screams I want but rather it is their blood. We will feast on it!"
More roars erupted then, more fists were banging against the tables or walls as feet were thundering against the ground. Swords were rising and axes were getting battered against shields, a small smile made its way onto his face as he took in the near overwhelming scene that he was faced with. Aegon let his purple eyes close for a moment while he began to take in the noise. Some voices were excited, some voices were angered and others were bloodthirsty. But all the voices were pained. It was a sorrowful song of what was lost. Young Griff reopened his eyes, exchanging a glance with Ser Connington who held a concerned frown but nevertheless a small smile graced his face.
"I haven't forgotten nor will I forgive what was done to House Targaryen!" Aegon said, raising his voice above the chant men. "Will you forget what was done to the North? The insult?"
"The North Remembers!"
Aegon smiled, taking in the sight that surrounded him as he took in each face. His smile widened when Lord Umber kept his gaze before standing once more and unsheathed his sword, raising it high in the air as he turned to address the riled up Northmen. Young Griff turned to face Ser Connington who stood from his chair and clapped him on the shoulder, the concern was still present on the ageing man's face as the wrinkles at the corners of his face crinkled. As Aegon was about to ask about Ser Jon's wariness, the booming voice of Mors Umber caught his attention.
"The Winter Dragon!"
"Come with me," Ser Jon murmured low, keeping his hand firm on his shoulder. "I wish for us to speak alone."
"The Winter Dragon!"
"Now!" Ser Connington growled, grasping him by the arm and pulled him out of the hall. "We need to speak alone. It is a serious matter."
"And it could not have waited?" Aegon demanded, looking at him with a raised brow but let out a grunt as he was shoved up against a wall.
"You won't win this war. You are still an insolent boy. You think that this is over?" Ser Jon challenged, raising a brow as he placed two hands on his shoulders and gave him a shake. "Aegon...You do not know what you are leading yourself and those men into. Stannis Baratheon and Roose Bolton are experienced men. Those men are dangerous and all for the sake of a lass-"
"She isn't just some lass!" Young Griff hissed. "She is Lysara of House Stark and I intend to have her as my Queen. I have won every battle so far!"
"Those were battles!" Ser Connington retaliated, his eyes narrowing. "Do you want to fight in a real war, boy? If you do, Stannis will give you a war! You call yourself a King? You aren't a King, boy! A King does not start a war! A King prevents it! Are you mad, boy?"
"You know what they say...When a Targaryen is born the God's flip a coin," Aegon jested weakly, causing Jon Connington to stiffen. "We Targaryen's are mad. It is known."
"You are mad...Yet I suppose some of the greatest people were..." Ser Jon trailed off.
Like my father, Aegon knew that was what Ser Jon wanted to add but was grateful that the man chose not to. He felt nothing but resentment towards his father for what he had done to his mother. He often wondered why his father left his mother until he saw the portrait of House Stark. The reason his father was said to have kidnapped the she wolf, Lyanna was because she was beautiful then he would have done the same to Lady Lysara.
The woman in the portrait was the woman from his blissful dreams. He dreamt of her stomach that was round with child and fell further inlove with a woman that he did not even know except from what he gathered from the illusions in his dreams. Last night, he had dreamt of her with a strange bird of flame on her shoulders. It's long feathers were like a cloak of fire down her back.
"Your Grace!" A voice shouted, causing him to look over Ser Jon's shoulder to see a wild and frantic messenger running for him. "Your Grace!"
"Yes?" Aegon asked, nodding to the messenger how bowed to him. "What is it?"
"It's Lord Bolton," The messenger breathed, trying to regain his breath as the name made him still. Aegon's jaw clenched and his face hardened as he pulled himself from Ser Jon's grip. "He is at the gates, Your Grace...He wants his son handed over to him or he will set Winterfell alight."
Author's Note: Hey, I hope you liked this chapter. The next chapter will contain a battle of words at the Wall and a battle of swords at Winterfell! I would like to thank everyone for reading this story, for following and making this story as one of your favourites. I would also like to thank everyone that has left a review, I enjoy receiving each and every one of them. If you have any questions, feel free to ask and the next update will be up very soon!
Reviews-
ZabuzasGirl: Thanks!
RHatch89: Thank you!
12345678910: Thank you, I'm glad you think so!
Saint River: I hope you like this update, Lysara and Melisandre will converse in the next chapter but will they will share some common ground, there will be a clash of sorts between them. There will be a lot of interactions with Lysara and Melisandre in the chapters to come.
enuji1799: As of this chapter, Davos doesn't have any initial thoughts he just sees a girl who has some strong views who is making a wrong choice but his opinion on her will be known in the next few chapters.
celticank: Thank you, I hope you like this chapter!
Guest: Thank you for pointing those mistakes out, I am pleased to that the Red Lady of the North is wearing her usual red again.
EMILCE CULLEN-VULTURI: Gracias!
CrystalVixen93: Thank you, hopefully, you like this chapter!
DalysanneSnow: Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you like Lysara's characteristics and perspective in this story. Although I have a lot of favourite characters, Arya, Sansa and Melisandre are favourites of mine.
Guest 2: You are right about some things that Lysara will be doing in the future but what I won't say, she is a rather mysterious character so I want to keep her ending mysterious.