The sun hung low over the Tower of Joy, casting a blood-red hue across the desolate Dornish landscape. The battle was over, but the air was still thick with the scent of death. Inside the tower, Lyanna Stark lay on a bed, her once-vibrant eyes dulled by exhaustion. In her arms, a newborn stirred, his tiny fists clenched as if grasping for something just out of reach.

Jaime Lannister entered the chamber, his golden armor stained with blood and dust. The usual arrogance in his step was gone, replaced by a rare vulnerability. He approached Lyanna cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Jaime," Lyanna whispered, a faint smile playing on her lips as she turned her head toward him. Her grip on the child tightened, as if she feared he might vanish if she let go.

"I came as soon as I could," Jaime said softly, kneeling beside her. "You should be resting."

"There's no time for rest," Lyanna replied, her voice trembling with the effort of speaking. "Not for me. Jaime… you must promise me… promise me you'll protect him."

Jaime looked down at the infant, so small and fragile, with a shock of dark hair and the faintest hint of violet in his eyes. He felt an overwhelming sense of awe and fear. "I swear it, Lyanna. No harm will come to him. He will be safe… I'll make sure of it."

Lyanna's lips quivered as she tried to smile, but the effort was too great. Her gaze fell to her son, the last piece of Rhaegar Targaryen and the Stark bloodline. "His name… his name is Daemon… Daemon Targaryen. But the world cannot know… not yet. Promise me… promise me he'll know who he is… who his father was… that he'll know I loved him… more than life itself."

Jaime's throat tightened as he nodded, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "I promise. I'll tell him everything, Lyanna. He'll know his father's name, and he'll know that his mother… was the bravest woman I ever knew."

Lyanna's grip on Jaime's hand weakened as her strength waned. Her breathing grew shallower, each exhale more labored than the last. Jaime felt her slipping away, and panic surged through him. "Lyanna, hold on. We can get help—there's still time."

But Lyanna shook her head, a soft, resigned smile on her lips. She knew the truth, even if Jaime could not accept it. With the last of her strength, she pressed the baby closer to her chest, as if trying to etch the memory of his warmth into her soul. "Tell him… tell him to be strong. And tell him… to forgive…"

Her words faded into silence as the light in her eyes dimmed. Jaime watched, helpless, as Lyanna Stark took her final breath, her spirit leaving the world with the quiet dignity she had always possessed.

For a long moment, Jaime could not move. He was frozen in place, his hand still clasping Lyanna's, now cold and lifeless. The baby stirred in her arms, letting out a soft, plaintive cry that shattered the silence of the room.

With trembling hands, Jaime gently lifted the infant from Lyanna's grasp, cradling him close. He looked down at the child, whose tiny fists clenched and unclenched as if reaching for something just out of reach. The sight of the baby, so full of life, struck a deep chord within Jaime. He felt a fierce protectiveness welling up inside him, a need to fulfill the vow he had just made.

"You'll live, Daemon," Jaime whispered, his voice a vow. "You'll live to be strong, and one day… one day, the world will know who you really are. But until then, you'll be Daemon Lannister. My son."

Jaime rose to his feet, the weight of the child in his arms grounding him, giving him purpose. As he turned to leave the chamber, Ser Arthur Dayne stepped forward, his expression a mixture of sorrow and resolve.

"What now, Ser Jaime?" Arthur asked quietly.

"We take him to Casterly Rock," Jaime replied, his resolve hardening. "He will be raised as a Lannister, and the world will never know the truth until the time is right."

Jaime's gaze fell on a chest in the corner of the room, marked with the sigil of House Targaryen—a three-headed dragon. Inside, it held the remnants of a once-great legacy: Rhaegar's harp, the Targaryen flags, Lyanna's maiden cloak, and the ancestral sword Dark Sister. But more importantly, it contained documents and letters—pieces of a hidden history that could change the fate of Westeros.

Jaime lifted the lid of the chest, revealing its contents. Among the items were letters from Lyanna to her son, written in the days before her confinement, filled with love and hope for a future she knew she might not see. There were also letters from Rhaegar to his son, words of wisdom and duty from a father who dreamed of a united realm. A single letter from Elia Martell, addressed to her own son, sat atop a stack of documents, a poignant reminder of the lives shattered by the quest for the Iron Throne.

Elia, in her grief and loss, had written to the child that would never know her love. In her heart, she had come to see this new babe—Daemon—as her own, a final act of love and forgiveness toward Rhaegar. Her words spoke of hope for a future where the child could unite the realm in a way Rhaegar had once envisioned, free from the bloodshed and betrayal that marked their past.

Jaime's eyes lingered on the annulment papers, officially ending Rhaegar's marriage to Elia, and the marriage announcement, signed by the High Septon, legitimizing Rhaegar's union with Lyanna. These documents were the key to Daemon's true identity, the proof of his rightful claim to both Targaryen and Stark blood.

"These will stay with him," Jaime murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "They are his birthright… and one day, they will prove who he is."

Arthur moved to lift the chest, carrying it as they made their way out of the tower. The weight of it mirrored the burden they both now shared—the responsibility of protecting Daemon's true identity until the time came for him to reclaim his heritage.

As they stepped into the fading light of dusk, the crimson sky seemed to bleed into the horizon, a harbinger of the trials and tribulations that lay ahead. The road back to Casterly Rock was long, and the future uncertain, but Jaime's resolve was unwavering.

He glanced down at the child in his arms, the last Targaryen, and the ghost of Lyanna's smile haunted his thoughts. Jaime knew that this boy—Daemon Targaryen, now Daemon Lannister—would change the fate of Westeros. But for now, he would be protected, hidden away in the heart of the Lannister stronghold, nurtured by a family that would one day help him rise to greatness.

The sun set on the Tower of Joy, casting long shadows over the riders and the tiny bundle cradled in Jaime's arms. The future of Westeros had been irrevocably altered, but only time would reveal the full extent of the changes that were to come.