She knew it from the horrified look on Ned's face as Barristan Selmy whispered the words into Ned's ear. Death. Death had made itself known, not on the wings of a raven and ink scratched on parchment, but from the mouth of a knight in white cloak, who was not wearing his customary Kingsguard garb at the moment.
The Stranger, reaching out with his cold, clammy hands. That god, alone among the Seven, who no one sang songs about, and very rarely lit candles for, blithely claiming another life.
She had not expected this, when they first came across Barristan Selmy. "I come bearing a message from Queen Rhaella," Ser Barristan had told them, when he intercepted Ned and Lyanna before they could enter King's Landing. He insisted that they stopped at an inn before he would relay the message. Ned agreed readily, but Lyanna was more wary.
"What if the king was the one who sent him, to arrest us, or to do some harm to us?" Lyanna whispered furiously.
"We're going into the city in any case, Lya. The king can arrest us at any time once we're there."
"Yes, but I am one of the witnesses for the trial. Once we are already seen entering King's Landing, questions will be asked if we suddenly disappear. But making us disappear now is a different and easier matter altogether."
Ned glanced at Barristan Selmy. "Ser Barristan is a man of honor. He would not lie to entrap us. Treachery is not in his nature."
"Oh Ned, don't be naïve! What do you know about his nature? Ser Barristan is a member of the Kingsguard. He will do whatever the king commands him to do, his honor notwithstanding."
Their back-and-forth whispering had caught the attention of Ser Barristan. It was Lyanna he addressed himself to, this time. "Your husband predicted you would be wary and suspicious, my lady."
Startled, Lyanna asked, "My husband? I thought you said you came with a message from Queen Rhaella?"
"I did, my lady. But the Queen has been to see your husband, and I am to tell you that he believes that you are right after all, about Durran's and Elenei's regrets. For regret is indeed inevitable, when people have acted in a foolish and irresponsible manner."
Durran and Elenei were foolish and irresponsible. They thought of nothing and no one except themselves, Stannis had said, his voice grim and disapproving, recounting the story of the building of Storm's End. A story that was more often told as the story of true love conquering all, rather than about the recklessness of two young lovers. Stannis' assessment of the situation had been too harsh for Lyanna's liking, and she had told him so. At the same time, she did also wonder if Elenei ever regretted it, if there were moments late at night, perhaps, when Elenei was consumed by the thoughts of her father the sea-god and her mother the goddess of the wind, forever separated from her by her now mortal state. Or if Durran ever regretted it; if he ever looked at Elenei in later years and wondered whether their love was worth all the blood of his kinsmen and kinswomen that had soiled the Stormlands.
There was no way Barristan Selmy could have known about that conversation between husband and wife. The message must truly be from Stannis. It did not strike her as odd until much later, how quickly she had agreed to follow Ser Barristan to the inn, once she was convinced of that. After all, she had been harboring doubts about her husband's complicity in her father's arrest; had been suspecting that Stannis, with his insistence on duty, had chosen his king over his family after all.
And yet, despite all that, she had implicitly trusted - had taken for granted, in fact - that Stannis would never be a party to anything that would put her in harm's way. Not just for the sake of the child she was carrying – his child – but also for herself, Lyanna Stark, his wife. Was that foolishness and naivety on her part? Was it love? Or merely marriage?
Once they were safely inside the room in the modest inn with the door locked and the windows closed, Ser Barristan kept glancing with concern at Lyanna's growing belly. When he finally spoke, it was to Ned that he addressed his words, speaking so softly Lyanna could not hear what he was saying.
"What is it?" Lyanna demanded, her voice sharp. And then she saw the way Ned's face crumpled, and she knew.
Oh Father, what have they done to you? What have I done to you?
The scream died in her throat before it could be let out. She dug her nails into her flesh to stifle her tears, to strangle her sobs. What right did she have to flaunt her despair and her grief after all? She had done this, hadn't she? She and Stannis between them, insisting that her father had to leave Storm's End, only for him to be immediately arrested by the king's men outside the gate. She had betrayed her father, or, to put it more charitably, she had allowed herself to be used as a tool for her husband to betray her father; which came down to the same thing, as far as Lyanna was concerned.
She dared not even begged for forgiveness from her father, knowing that she had no right to it at all.
How do you choose, when there are no good choices left? When all routes lead to danger and ruin? That had been the question vexing Lyanna for a long time; although in truth, she had been thinking mainly of her father's choice, of her husband's choice, even her brothers', not her own. But when it came right down to it, she had made her choice after all, hadn't she? She had chosen her husband over her father, and her father had paid for it with his life.
This time, her scream could not be stifled any longer. Sinking down to her knees, she called out for her father, over and over again. Ned rushed to her. "Lya," he repeated, "Lya," he kept saying, over and over again.
"It's not Father," he said, when she finally looked at him. "It's Brandon."
Brandon? It could not be, Lyanna protested. Brandon was safe in Winterfell. There must have been a mistake. A mistake, or, her voice rising, a lie. Some kind of plot to prevent them from going to King's Landing for their father's trial. Lyanna rambled on and on while Ned buried his face in his hands.
"Lya," he called out her name once more, and she knew, then, that it was the truth after all.
"How did he die, Ned?"
"Later," Ned said, trying to get her to rise from the floor. "When you are calmer, Lya."
"Now," she insisted. "Tell me now, Ned!" She was pleading with him now, no longer insisting.
Ned tried, but he found the words too painful to say out loud. Ser Barristan took over, repeating what he had told Ned earlier.
Holding on to her brother's arms, Lyanna rose slowly from the floor. Ned led her to the bed, where she sat down, sinking heavily.
Her poor brother. Her poor, poor brother. Dying so horribly, in so much pain. And his wife now a widow. And for what? Why had he been so reckless? Oh she was so angry with Brandon! How could he have acted so impulsively?
"We're too much alike, Lya. That's why you prefer Ned to me."
She had laughed, hearing that. "What nonsense, Brandon. I love all my brothers equally," she had replied, adding silently, we're nothing alike. But she had been reckless too, once. Had pulled back from the brink just before it was too late. Brandon was never given that chance.
"The king murdered my brother," Lyanna said, horrifed, as the full implication of Barristan Selmy's words finally dawned on her. "King Aerys murdered Brandon Stark, the heir to Lord of Winterfell, without any charge, without any trial."
Looking uncomfortable, Ser Barristan said, "Your brother was charged with inciting treason. And he did demand a trial by combat."
"Which is his right," Ned interjected. "How could the king burn him for that?"
"His Grace named fire as his champion," Ser Barristan said, his voice toneless.
"His Grace!" Lyanna recoiled with anger. "He is a cold-blooded murderer, yet you still –" Lyanna stopped herself abruptly, realizing the futility of a long tirade. There was no point berating Ser Barristan; the man was who he was.
"The maester said Lord Stannis' injuries are not life-threatening," Ser Barristan was saying, "although he cannot be certain why the fever has not receded. Your father is with him in the same cell, so he is not alone and uncared for, thank the gods."
"My husband?" Lyanna asked, her voice strangled. What had she missed, when Barristan Selmy was speaking earlier? The thought of Brandon dead had overwhelmed everything.
Ser Barristan looked confused. "Yes, my lady. As I told you –"
"Tell me again," Lyanna said, willing her voice to sound calm, pushing down the agitation, the panic, the frenzy.
He told her, and then said, "There is more. My lady, I come to you and your brother for the sake of Queen Rhaella, but the words I bring are in truth from Lord Rickard and Lord Stannis."
Lyanna nodded, telling him to continue.
When Ser Barristan had finished speaking, Lyanna rose from the bed, put on her cloak with her hands still shaking and said, "I am ready now, Ser Barristan."
"Lya –" Ned protested.
"You must wait for me here, Ned."