Aegon sat within the solar of Maidenpool's Castle, surrounded by his trusted advisors and commanders. With quill in hand and parchment before him, he read aloud the letter he had meticulously crafted, its words carrying the weight of his claim.
"To the noble lords of the Seven Kingdoms,
I am Aegon of House Targaryen, the sixth of my name, the rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. I bear the blood of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, the true heir to King Aerys II Targaryen and the rightful ruler of Westeros.
At Maidenpool, I stand with a mighty army, a force bolstered by the support of Dorne and my uncle, Prince Doran Martell and the Golden Company. Our alliance grows stronger, and I extend my hand to you, beseeching you to join our righteous cause.
I come not seeking vengeance, but justice. I offer amnesty for past transgressions and the restoration of your lost lands and titles. In return, I ask for your fealty and unwavering loyalty. Together, we can cast aside the Baratheons and Lannisters, whose treachery stole the lives of my mother and sister, and usurped the throne that is rightfully mine.
Choose wisely, for the consequences of defiance are dire. Should you stand against me, your lands, your titles, your wealth, and your very lives will be forfeit. I will visit you with fire and blood, as my ancestors before me."
With the letter complete, Aegon rolled the parchment and sealed it with wax, bearing his signet ring. He handed it to Maester, who bowed before accepting the task.
"Dispatch copies of this letter to every castle and town in Westeros," Aegon commanded, his voice carrying the authority of a king. "Utilize every raven at our disposal."
"As you command, sire," Maester Keln responded, leaving the solar accompanied by a contingent of guards.
Aegon's eyes shifted to his council, gauging their reactions and seeking their insights.
"Are we sure we want to mention King Aerys? His name brings unwanted memories," Lysono Maar said, alienated from his usual playfulness.
"He was a king. Wasn't he?" Ser Tristan Rivers gruffly replied, scowling at everyone and no one in particular.
At the moment, the dream came to Aegon, blue eyes staring at him from the dark specters of the winter wind. Once again, he saw the blue rose, its petals breaking through the ice, flames from a blazing pyre melting away, accompanied by the sound of the most powerful roar he had ever heard in his life. Someone died, he knew, wrapped in a strange spiral of a dream where context was simply known. Then he knew someone was born, three lives; the dragon has three heads, a voice spoke, followed by the thunderous roar of a storm, a vision of red mountains, and the sounds of the city. The dragon has three heads, the words echoed in Aegon's mind every time he looked at the comet.
"Aerys stays," he snapped himself out of his thoughts, "if we accept such a stance, we accept that someone had the right to usurp his throne. My family's throne." My throne, Aegon thought. Many eyes were in the room, but only one pair followed him. Griff saw his dream, as Griff always saw. He didn't ask, but he knew. Yet Aegon couldn't falter; he couldn't be burdened by others' doubts and desires. He remembered the wolf lady who longs for home, but her longing is death.
When he saw her by the fountain the other day, he felt the yearning for a woman's passion, a different yearning from the occasional ones he quenched by laying with important women. Once again, he was in the bed of the daughter of the Sealord of Braavos, which was seeking a crown between his legs; he was in the bed with the Red Priestess, a fervent follower of fire god R'hllor, who saw the doom of the Seven Gods of Westeros between his legs; in the bed with the first actress of the Great Theatre of Pentos, seeking gold coins from the blue-haired heir of Illyrio Mopatis between his legs.
No, this is an old yearning, the one that dimmed with the departure of Eira from this world. You are a king, not a boy, he scolded himself, control yourself, Aegon.
Harry Strickland, his features marked by lack of sagacity, spoke first, offering his support. "It is a shrewd move, your grace," he said. "Many will rise and support the one true king," he added an unnecessary remark, trying to ingratiate himself with Aegon. Aegon ignored the words of the captain-general of the Golden Company.
"We have friends in the Reach. Those who are ready to stand with a strong king, a competent leader," Laswell Peake said, "Renly has the largest force in the Realm, yet he does nothing. All under the patronage of that oaf Mace Tyrell."
The candlelight spoke to Aegon, the dragon has three heads. "That's why we must defeat Tywin Lannister on the battlefield. When and how we will clash with others, I don't know, but the Lion comes first. If we take Tywin's head, the rest will kneel," Aegon replied, but Tywin is cunning and dangerous, as Varys had written to him.
The red cloak concealed the bodies of his mother and sister. Since he can remember, Aegon dreamed of revenge, and no cruelty he planned for the Lion satisfied his hatred. Death is too simple of a reward; Tywin must suffer, he listened to his uncle Oberyn and thought of letting him torture the old man, but then the revenge wouldn't be his. The legacy, for Tywin Lannister, that was the most important possession, what remains, his family at the top of Westeros. Aegon will take Tywin's legacy.
...
Lion
The gray sky had vanished, concealed under the canopies, and the hooves of horses and zorses clattered on the muddy road, and Lucion regretted setting out, at least he expected there wouldn't be mud in the woods. Admittedly, he didn't have a choice. A rare virtue among Lannisters, not being able to choose, buy, or do what he wanted. Simply put, as he always had to explain to people, he wasn't one of those Lannisters. In fact, he had hardly ever been in a room with Tywin and his children. When the dwarf last time came to Casterly Rock, he infuriated Lucion, calling him Lannett. Bloody Lannetts, not all of them even have blond hair, unlike them, Lucion's hair was blond, like Ser Jaime's, even though his eyes weren't quite as emerald. But that damned dwarf even had different colors in each eye, looking like a freak.
Ever since his cousin Ser Kevan told him he had to go on reconnaissance, he had been nervous, as his group was attached to those odd Brave Companions. Savages didn't hesitate to mutilate servants at Harrenhal, right in front of Tywin Lannister, so foolish, they didn't even know whom to fear. If it were up to Lucion, he would have put them all to the sword after other mercenaries abandoned ser Forley Prester and deserted to the Starks after the defeat at Riverrun.
Unpredictable and uncouth, they served no purpose except sowing fear, and under their plundering, nothing was left to be taken as supplies. Already the first day, he even quarreled with a Goat. The fool wanted to take the forest path and get closer to Maidenpool
"The northern road leads through the forest, a narrow path; it wouldn't be difficult to fall into a trap," Lucion tried to convince Vargo Hoat, but the goat wouldn't listen. When he set out, Ser Kevan told him to take command, but he had only ten guards with him. Vargo had all of his men, over a hundred, it was clear he wouldn't yield the leadership position.
"Ith will be an thonor to sethve unther Lannither," he said to Ser Kevan, and soon, within a few hours of ride from Harrenhal, he revealed his lie. Lucion wanted to take Kingsroad, then head towards Antlers; he could visit Buckwells there and question their loyalty, check if they had sent men to defend King's Landing, as requested by Queen Cersei. Also, verify if the Buckwells had daughters. The way would be safer, and after Antlers, they could ride far enough east to claim they fulfilled the task when they returned to Harrenhal.
But, "...I don'th cathre," the goat kept repeating. In the end, it occurred to Lucion that Hoat was afraid just like him. Since the first reports arrived that some army had landed on Crackclaw Peninsula and was heading towards Maidenpool, outriders and scouts began to disappear. No one knew what was happening, but some fishermen at Saltpans claimed that it was the Golden Company. Goat got terribly scared, begging Ser Kevan to return him towards the Trident in a foraging effort, but he failed.
"Tywin wants to know what this is about as soon as possible. Ser Amory and his men left yesterday. Soon, Ser Gregor will also go in a fortnite. This has priority," Ser Kevan told the two of them.
Vargo squirmed, "...my men athe no good at ranthing, thath not outh spethalthy," he pleaded in an incomprehensible language.
Regardless, they were on a muddy road, in the middle of the forest and just as Lucian had predicted, the undergrowth had taken over the space between the trees. The Goat did not even want to be at the head of the column, instead, he and Lucion rode a little further back. Birds flew over their heads, their constant chirping filling the air.
"You are from Essos. You must have seen the Golden Company before," he tried to break the monotony, but Hoat snorted unhappily, rubbing his nose discontentedly, uninterested in the discussion
"You, Lannithers athe good, you havhe youth armoth and strong athmy, but still is athe westerothy athmy. those gold mothefuthers athe somethting elthe", he said nervously, while restlessly holding his horse's reins, constantly looking around.
He wanted to go back as much as Lucien did. A strange whistle-squeak disturbed Hoat further, a long sound from one side of the forest, answered by another sound from the other side, but it all sounded unnatural and too even, birds don't make noises like that. For a brief moment, the sounds stopped, after which a long sound was heard again, but it lasted twice as long and there was no reply from the other side.
"What," Lucien Lannister angrily glared at the bewildered Hoat. A powerful blow followed by intense pain hit Lucien in the helmet and an arrow fell into the mud next to his horse. Another arrow hit his chest but was stopped by his armor; a third one went under his armpit where it pierce through his chainmail.
"Runth," Hoat shrieked incomprehensibly. His men were falling on all sides while hundreds of arrows screamed tearing through the forest air. Yarek who was in Lucion's squad lay trapped under his horse choking in mud. On the other side Joen was bleeding where an arrow had pierced his visor. A heavy thud knocked Lucien to the ground; his horse lay still on top of him.
"Damth you Balthaq, I'm glath that I fucketh youth bithch" Hoat yelled at someone, moment before an arrow went through his skull. On the ground Lucion lay and wept helplessly; several arrows stuck out of his armor.
Men came out of the bushes covered in green cloaks under which flashes of gold shone through a slit. The smell of blood and stale mud slapped Lucien's face, while the cries of men and the snorting of wounded horses echoed in the sky. A dark-skinned man came up to Lucien wearing a strange feathered cloak and carrying a large bow made of some kind of bone. He looked at Lucien whose armor clanged from his shaking. "No witnesses," he said in a deep strange accent and Lucien's fear which burned all his insides exploded. He didn't know what to do; he had to run away go home... and then everything went black.
...
Small men can cast a rather large shadow.
The fire in the fireplace crackled, its glow mingling with a few braziers, skillfully arranged around Tyrion's chamber. Three shadows were, now, on the wall.
"A true shame, what befell his majesty's betrothed and young Tyrik. If they are in the hands of the mob, I shudder to think of the torment they endure," Varys said, sitting almost still in a small armchair in the corner. The spider always preferred a marginal, distant and discreet spot; deliberately, of course, Tyrion knew.
"Your efforts have been fruitless. Disappointing," Tyrion said to Varys and Bronn, not expecting a reply. Sansa and Tyrik were missing for almost a month. The world was in chaos, a vague and incoherent chaos that consumed the world Tyrion knew day by day. Honest and simple answers were scarce these days. How many pieces can a kingdom be shattered into, he wondered, as he recalled Shae's hand on his Cock; his asset that now obstructed his work, when they used to be such good friends. He and his Cock.
The knife in Bronn's hands went up and down, up and down... The sellsword was not too bothered by the overall situation, even though he was in charge of security in the city. Leaning back in his chair, he played with his knife, paying little attention to him and Varys. "I reckon the kids are dead. At least they're sweeter to eat than the fucking septon. Mind you, on an empty stomach everything goes down well," he said without any care.
Tyrion struggled not to laugh, and as always to defeat his laughter, he found his father's face in his thoughts. Tywin scolded Tyrion in a disappointed voice, "You lost a hostage, you killed my son. My only son." He had no doubt that the real Tywin would say the same as the Tywin in his mind, but Tyrion had not completely ruined the situation in this case. When it was clear that Sansa would not be found, he took a young red-haired girl whore from Littlefinger's brothel. From a distance and under a cloak she looked like Sansa; enough for the maids in the castle to think she was still here. If the secret left King's Landing, his brother could lose his head and as much as Tyrion loved or wanted to see his father disappointed sometimes, he could not gamble with Jaime's life.
With so many worries, he needed some entertainment, but he couldn't get to Shae tonight; everything was too complicated; no matter how much his Cock begged him to go. The dilemma further discouraged him and he had to direct his anger at someone.
"Well Bronn, peace in the city is your task."
Bronn was not unsettled, "When you gave me the gold cloak," he said with a grin, because he never wore the gold cloak, as a proper Commander of the City Watch should, "you said; Thieves are my concern; not hungry mouths. It's not my fault that the golden boy can't find bread for the city."
"What's happening on the shore of the the Bay of Crabs," Tyrion ignored sellsword, and asked Varys. Strange rumors were coming from all sides; a raven arrived from Duskendale claiming that all the lords of Crackclaw Point had taken up arms. Ryker claimed that Lord Staunton was to blame for that, but Tyrion didn't want to get involved in the disputes of neighboring lords. The story would be harmless if Varys hadn't relayed rumors that the Golden Company had landed on the peninsula. Tyrion hadn't heard anything from his father about hiring the Golden Company; he certainly had the coin to buy them, but he wasn't the only one; maybe Renly paid with the coin of his fat father-in-law.
"That's why I'm here," Varys replied, hiding his hands, as usual. "It seems we have a sixth king, a boy who claims to be a Targaryen, Rhaegar's son. Dorne has rebelled against the crown and supports the new usurper," he said the last part with a lament.
"Now that everyone and their mother wants to be a king, it's no wonder they've brought the Targaryens into the mix," Tyrion said, not at all surprised that someone had tried to exploit the old dynasty. There were many in the kingdom who had not gotten over the fall of the dragons.
"Yes. My little birds in Dorne have it the hardest, but they have uncovered the conspiracy. Prince Doran has gained the support of the Golden Company and seeks to put his nephew on the throne; or at least a boy he claims is his nephew."
"The Lannisters are suitably fucked, the Golden Company, which is surely better than those cunts your father bought... and the Dornishmen, fucking madmen, they fight for a trifle, they die for a trifle, they don't forget and they kill you when you least expect it," Bronn added, stabbing the wooden table with his knife, destroying the carved horns on it.
"Lord Commander is right; the Dornishmen's skills in combat are unmatched," Varys said. All in all, the news was worrisome, Tyrion was surrounded on three sides, though he could expect his father to deal with the Golden Company; they were right under his nose.
"Well, they didn't help Rhaegar at the Trident; did they! Tell me, what's the deal with the boy?" he asked Varys.
"I don't know," Varys said expressionlessly, "in the free cities of Essos, there are many boys and girls with silver hair and purple eyes. They are colonies of old Valyria after all; and the dragonlords didn't just sit in those cities," he laughed wickedly, "It's not unheard of that Prince Doran took a pretty boy from Lys and decided to make him a king."
The answer did not satisfy Tyrion, for he had heard that Lord of Sunspear, Prince Doran was too wise to get involved in such affairs so easily.
"But why?" he asked Varys irritably.
He saw on the Spider's face that he would not get an answer, "And why was your great father here, so many years ago, outside the walls with a mighty army?" To take advantage of the opportunity that opened up with Rhaegar's defeat, Tyrion answered himself, if the opposite had been the case, he would have attacked Riverrun; or set a trap for the defeated rebel army. "What did the great lion offer Robert then?" A beautiful daughter, a song that half the kingdom heard, three grandchildren with golden hair, Lannisters on every corner of the Red Keep. "Blood is an alloy," Varys continued without a question, this time, "only the best know how to forge it, so that it loses certain qualities and gains other. The followers of Aegon the Elder were called greens because of House Hightower; our lovely monarch Joffrey, besides the Stag on his banner has a lion and it is certain that it will remain so through his sons." A king does not have to be true, Doran's puppet is no less a king than Joffrey, whom Robert did not make. The Martells have long harbored hatred for the Lannisters, because of the death of Princess Elia and her children. Did the boy grow back his head that Ser Gregor Clegane smashed, Tyrion wondered, knowing that the sword of doom was over his family. Unpaid debts from the past. A Lannister always pays his debts, but these are other people's debts; more painful and fierce.
...
Lucien did not return, like many others, Kevan thought, as he walked briskly up the wide stairs of Harrenhal's north tower, and especially long ones; The stairs revealed all burden of his years, and the simplest movements made him tired, and he was needed by his older brother, now more than ever.
The war to save Tyrion; and the honor of their house; turned into a war for survival, survival of his family on the throne. Enemies surrounded them on all sides, northwest Grayjoy was again king on his islands and soon could begin rieving the coast; Young Stark destroyed their army in the north, and Renly lurked from the south, with the largest force in the realm. And a new threat east of them... If only Joffrey had not taken Ned Stark's head.
Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, sat at the head of the table, his eyes of displeasure shaped the atmosphere in the war room, and spilled over to those present, whose faces bore uncertainty and fear. Kevan's brother held in his hand a letter delivered by raven. Its contents fueled his annoyance, his grip on the parchment tightening as he scowled.
"Another king," he muttered derisively. "A sixth one".
"War of the Six Kings," said Ser Adam Marbrand with a smirk, "doesn't sound as good as five". Now was not the time for jokes, Kevan thought, especially not in front of his brother.
In the whirlwind of so many threats, this one seemed the most unbelievable; Rhaegar's son alive, he remembered the bodies, his eyes had seen the scene before the red cloak covered the ugly part and left a positive impression of the political implications. King Robert would have no rivals. Rhaegar had his own personal camp of followers before the war, those who loved him or at least preferred him to his father; if the boy had survived or gone into the hands of such, it would guarantee a prolonged war and more suffering put on the Realm. His brother was the only one who understood the weight of situation and who was ready to do what had to be done.
Kevan, a shrewd and discerning voice among Tywins council, now had to voice skepticism. "A convenient claim," he remarked dryly. "The boy is a pretender, a puppet controlled by some foreign power. He presents no proof of his lineage."
Tywin, his frustration simmering beneath his composed facade, responded with a curt nod. "And yet, he possesses the loyalty of the Golden Company and the support of Dorne," he countered. "He may prove more dangerous than the Stark boy or Renly."
It was hard not to love Tywin; no matter how difficult their position seemed, confidence adorned Tywin's face, suppressing the faint outlines of dissatisfaction and anger. He was a man who knew how to command respect and loyalty, even from his enemies, and had a vision for the future of their house and the realm, and would not let anyone stand in his way. Kevan was proud to be his brother.
Gregor Clegane, a silent presence in the room, stood tall and intimidating. His mere presence added weight to the discussion, as Tywin contemplated the threat before them.
"Send out spies to Maidenpool," Tywin commanded, his tone betraying a hint of urgency. "I want detailed reports on this Aegon Targaryen. We need to know the extent of his alliances and the nature of his support. Furthermore, contact Varys and demand a full account of collusion between Dorne and this pretender. Boy may as well be prince Dorans ploy against us. We must be fully informed."
Turning his attention to his bannermen, his eyes on Ser Gregor, Tywin issued additional orders. "Dispatch more outriders to secure our eastern flank, I don't care how many die. If these sellswords attempt any audacious moves, I want our defenses fortified. We cannot afford to be caught off guard."
Standing faithfully at his brother's side, Kevan interjected with a measured tone. "Should this Aegon prove a threat, what shall be our course of action, my lord?"
Tywin's eyes narrowed as he contemplated the question. "We will crush him," he replied with conviction. "We will show him the true might of House Lannister. No pretender, no matter how well-supported, shall stand in the face of our power."
...
Direwolf
The ancestral home of his mother bore no resemblance to Winterfell; it was smaller and caressed by gentler, warm winds; surrounded by a mighty river, whose murmur was a daily occurrence in the castle. Silence was foreign to his mother, he thought, as he watched the fishing boats skillfully maneuver the currents of the Trident in the distance. He wished his mother was with him at this moment, so he could hear her advice on the letter that had arrived, but she was on her way to Bitterbridge, where she would negotiate with Renly on his behalf.
Joined by his uncle Edmure Tully, and Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, Robb held in his hands a missive that had arrived by raven. His council gathered around him as he prepared to share its contents.
He read aloud the letter, his voice laced with a mix of skepticism and annoyance. As he tossed the parchment onto the table, his frustration echoed through the hall.
"Another king," his uncle declared, his tone tinged with exasperation. "As if we don't have enough of those already."
Robb understood the feeling, but also the inner fear, what if this was a trap of Lannisters. If they had seen through his plan to go west, and trie to sow discord among his bannermen; most of the Rivverlords had already left, to reclaim their lost castles and to harvest the last great crop, before the autumn rains destroyed everything in their path. However, Robb had heard rumors that Maidenpool was occupied by the Golden Company; but they could easily be hired and paid by gold of Casterly Rock.
His brow furrowed with curiosity, Robb sought answers. "Who is this Aegon Targaryen?" he inquired. "I thought he perished long ago."
Edmure Tully, shaking his head in disbelief, confirmed his lack of knowledge. "As did I," he admitted. "He claims to be the son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen, the heir to Mad King Aerys."
The man Robb trusted the most, his mother's uncle Brynden, was silent and looked at the others; his silence had a thunderous echo; some people spoke more with their faces than others with words. "Uncle Brynden," Robb whispered softly.
In a voice marked by skepticism, Brynden Tully expressed his doubts. "Claims are made by many, but few possess the means to substantiate them. This could be a trick or a falsehood." he retorted.
Lannisters are the worst enemies a man can have; they use poisonos lies, and doubts as their weapons. Others fight with swords, but the Lannisters with schemes. They make a man doubt, distrust others, and ultimately believe that victory is impossible. Robb will not give up. Turning to his loyal bannermen, he sought their opinions, hoping to glean insight from those he trusted.
The first man to Robb, was first to replym; Greatjon Umber boomed with laughter, his amusement resounding through the hall. "A fool's errand, I say!" he roared. "Attempting to seize the Iron Throne with a motley crew of sellswords? The Lannisters or Baratheons will roast him before he can blink."
Galbart Glover, his demeanor somber, provided a contrasting view, "He poses a threat. If he had secured Maidenpool and garnered the support of Dorne. With ships and gold from Essos, his alliances may be more extensive than we realize. We should not underestimated him."
Even if Robb defeats the Lannisters, the others will not let him keep the crown. Torhen Stark laid down his crown to save his people from the dragon's flame. How much war can this land endure?
Rickard Karstark, his voice cold and scornful, voiced his disdain, sneered "A madmen, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, who kidnapped and dishonored your aunt, Lyanna. Grandson of the Mad King, who murdered your grandfather and uncle. The madness surely runs in his blood."
Robb knew all that, but old sorrows were distant, driven away by new evils. A voice told him, go west. He saw his father's face clearly again. Go west. Think of Arya and Sansa. He had to save his sisters from the claws of the Lannisters. Go west and leave the golden companies and the golden lies to Tywin.
Absorbing the insights of his loyal bannermen, he nodded thoughtfully. "Our plans will not change. We have to go west", he declared resolutely. "But this Aegon's presence may serve our cause. His actions will divert the forces of the Lannisters and Baratheons, affording us the respite we so desperately need."
...
Cracking of ice grew louder and louder; a three-eyed raven flew through the forest clad in white; the world was more white and cold here than in Wolfswood. She was not afraid, she was used to this forest, and only followed the raven; her foot did not sink into the hard snow; tracks in the snow were hidden by a beautiful transparent mist; which allowed her to see a little, but quite enough.
"Girl should go", the raven croaked, and its "go, go, go" echoed in the silent forest. She did not answer, but continued on, following the sound of cracking ice, which shaped into a milky white figure, which despite the whiteness, stood out from the snowy surroundings. The girl lost her breath; there was a stranger in this forest, until then it was only her and the raven. No one else, never before.
She stared at the white and blurry figure for a small eternity, after which the figure took a few steps forward; and it was as if the moonlight pierced the black crowns of the trees and bathed the figure. She is beautiful, she thought, looking into the deep blue eyes, milky white skin, under which light played, like in the heart of a diamond. The beautiful white hair melted into the crown of ice, whose long spikes curved into the air. The Lady of Ice was dressed in a transparent blue dress, which changed shape like water, and gracefully blended with her slender hourglass shaped body. She held an ice spear in her hand.
"You see me", the enchanting voice of the Lady spoke, like nothing the girl had ever heard. It sounded like the freshness of morning, like the windy winter night and the cracking of ice. She just nodded, admiringly looking at the lady in front of her. The Lady continued, "listen to your father, Wolfmaid", walking around her; there were no traces on the ground, "and go on your way".
"I don't want to go" she answered, as tears began to well up in her eyes, "I don't want to marry". The ice spear, with a great hiss, shattered and the lady now held a winter rose in her hand. She put it in the girl's hands, as her small tears froze on her face, "go and find the answer".
A loud caw of a raven was heard from the unknown depths of the mist. The cracking of ice spread in all directions, and the dress and face of the icy lady shone less. The Lady no longer paid attention to her, but with a serene expression on her face she gave a sharp look to the mist. "You shouldn't be here", with a completely new voice; deep and foreign; she shouted at the mist. "This is not your domain". The caw of the raven turned into a voice, "girl should listen to her brother".
"Lyana, Lyana", she heard another voice, familiar and close. "Lyana, get up" the voice repeated. She opened her eyes. The rays of the spring sun caressed her face; she lay next to the huge root of a weirwood. "You know father doesn't like you sleeping here", Ned said quietly, betraying a strange fear only known to him. As if at that moment he was more afraid of her than of his father. "I didn't mean to fall asleep, but some of us enjoy spring", she replied with her playful mischievous voice, "and freedom she added". It was visible on his face that he got the message.
He looked nervously at her, "marriage to Robert is not my idea".
"It's not, but your silence is. Besides, you're as much a stranger to me as Robert is, why should I trust you", she said. A hurt expression was visible on his face. She knew that Ned's departure to Vale was not his decision. But he did not stand up for her when her father told her he had arranged a marriage, "with young Lord Baratheon", Rickard said it as a Lord, as if he was not talking to his daughter, but to another lord, at dinner, emphasizing the monumentality of the alliance. Lyana will not marry for politics or importance, but for Robert, who can't keep his Cock in his pants.
"Will you go south", Ned asked her. She saw blue eyes and a milky-white smile. "Brendon would tie me up and take me by force anyway", she said. I'll find the answer, she thought; an answer for the escape.