Arthur:
The Great Hall smelled like charred meat.
Scorch marks darkened parts of the tile, the last residue of the man who had been sentenced.
His stomach riled. The Sword of the Morning was still not used to the King's new form of justice. Aerys had dismissed his headsman and abandoned the gallows to those deemed traitors to the Crown. They were now given over to wildfire.
He will not be the king forever . He focused on the rhythm of his footsteps to move forward. He'll be an unfortunate footnote, he continued, ahead of him was the reason why he held such confidence.
The Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Aerys' eldest son and heir to the Iron Throne walked calmly towards where his father was perched.
Aerys will be lost in Rhaegar's light, a bright reign that will banish any darkness Aerys may have caused. Arthur believed it with every fiber in him. Rhaegar is the light.
A light that should be shining now. He stopped instinctively when his friend slowed.
There atop the Iron Throne sat Aerys Targaryen, the Second of his Name.
"Father," Rhaegar bowed.
Arthur did as well from where he stood.
Rhaegar's show of obedience only brought a sneer to the king's lips. "You're late." He waved one of his hands. His fingertips were long and gnarled.
Arthur followed the direction to see that others were in the Great Hall. It was Prince Daeron. He stood with Ser Barristan behind him. The two princes eyed each other in silence, but neither looked to give any form of acknowledgement to the other.
At the foot of the Iron Throne stood Lord Commander Hightower and Ser Jonothor Darry.
"Your brother came promptly when summoned," Aerys hissed between puckered lips. "Daeron understands his place, but you." He snapped his fingers, "I don't believe you do, Rhaegar."
"I am sorry for the delay," Rhaegar's voice was soft, but plain in tone. "I was seeing to Aegon."
Aerys made a face at the mention of Rhaegar's son and heir. "Aegon is not the king." He spat. "I AM!"
"You are Father," Rhaegar intoned.
"You do not like that, do you?" Aerys' lips pulled back to show yellow teeth within a dirty, stringy beard. "You think you should be king."
Arthur felt a cold drip down his back at the king's tone and words. He glanced to see his friend gave no reaction to his father's accusation. His eyes then moved to his sworn brothers who stood in the hulking shadow of the Iron Throne. They did not turn their heads.
"DON'T!" Aerys suddenly yelled, his high pitched voice reverberating over the walls of the Great Hall. "I do not wish to hear your lies." He stood from his throne. "You are a thief and a disappointment." He took a step down. "Mayhaps, we've put our faith in the wrong prince."
The implication hung heavy and thick in the air like smoke.
Arthur felt his face slack at what it was the king was saying. This time he saw his brothers in white could not hide their dismay at these words. The Lord Commander was frowning openly, but his expression could not be seen by their king.
"Do I have your attention now, Rhaegar?" He asked with demented delight. He never let his eldest son answer, as he turned to where Daeron stood quietly off to the side. "What do you say my son? Shall I name you my heir and the Crown Prince of Westeros?"
Arthus saw Rhaegar's shoulders tense. His friend's face betraying his surprise at such a statement.
He too could not believe what the king was suggesting.
To name another heir over his eldest, he wanted to shake his head. Madness. It's madness.
Thankfully, the Lord Hand was not present for surely that would be a dangerous idea that the lion would never release. If Lord Tywin knew of such a chance then Arthur dreaded to think what would happen to the Seven Kingdoms.
War. He felt his chest clench. He knew Rhaegar would fight for his claim and the rights of his son, and he had allies, but so too did Prince Daeron. Arthur did not want to admit it, but Rhaegar's brother's allies were strong and if called upon by the Prince would surely raise their banners for him.
Prince Daeron stepped forward, before he knelt towards his father. His form swallowed up by the Iron Throne's shadow. He did not look to revel in such a reward, but nor did he refuse it.
"I serve the Crown, Father." The Prince's voice was flat.
That seemed to please the king. "My son is a true servant to his King." Aerys clapped his hands together. "With one order, my boy, I could name you my heir. You would follow me as the next King of the Seven Kingdoms." Aerys spared Rhaegar a look, and did not hide the mean glee that shone in his eyes.
Arthur looked to Rhaegar to see his friend was watching this in stony silence, but his eyes were hard and his lips pursed together. However, it was not his father he was glaring at, but his brother.
"A King, my son is more powerful than any law," Aerys' words were spoken to Daeron, but the threat was to Rhaegar. "Your brother assumes too much of his place," Aerys' tone was as venomous as the Dornish snakes that Arthur had avoided in his youth. "He has grown content." Aerys was down to the last steps, "Do you remember what the Conqueror said of his role?"
"That a King should never sit easy," Daeron recited.
Aerys gave an imperious nod. "A lesson your brother has forgotten." Fresh cuts could be seen on Aerys' palms and wrists. He stopped on the last step. Behind him, the Iron Throne stood like a massive and ugly beast, scaled and poised to strike.
"To make you a king," Aerys surmised aloud, "would mean your wife would be the next Queen." His face scrunched up in sudden dislike of the notion. "A Lannister Queen?" He shook his head, "If I was denied one. It does not seem fair that you are to have one." He did not wait for Daeron to respond before turning back to Rhaegar.
"Do you understand me now, my son?" Aerys' mouth was cruel.
"I do, Father," Rhaegar dipped his head.
"Then make sure you do not repeat this disappointment," Aerys looked him over, eyes hooded with contempt. "I AM YOUR KING!" Spittle dribbled down his lips, "Do not keep me waiting for some brat again!" He rounded, his fists shaking angrily at his side. "Or Lannister Queen or not, I shall name Daeron, my heir." Aerys let out a shrill laugh, seemingly amused at the prospect of what that would lead to. "Now I have other matters to attend to," He turned to the Lord Commander, "Inform the Queen that I require her presence."
"Of course, Your Grace," Lord Commander Hightower gave a stiff bow and left.
"By your leave, Father," Rhaegar bowed, and with a sharp nod from his father dismissed him. He turned and left without sparing his brother a look. Arthur was quick to follow his friend, but even as he left the Great Hall, he could not escape the cold dread he felt form in his gut at what had just transpired.
Aerys would not settle for watching men burn, he realized to his horror, he'd let the Seven Kingdoms burn.
"You summoned me?"
Arthur found the Crown Prince in his chambers within the Red Keep. The table was covered by tomes, some open, some not. Two of the tall windows were open which allowed a soft breeze to come into the room, flickering some of the pages when there was a strong gust.
His friend, Rhaegar was standing by one of the open windows. He looked every inch a king, Arthur thought, dressed in his black tunic, rich embroidery and red laces with silver pins and a brooch of his family's three headed dragon.
"I did." That was when Rhaegar turned to him. He offered him a small smile but it did not settle on his lips. A look of contemplation soon replaced whatever happiness he felt upon seeing Arthur.
"You leave in the morning?"
"I do."
Arthur was headed to Storm's End for his sister's marriage to Ned Stark, the newly named Lord of the Rainwood. His brother had wanted her to marry Rhaegar while his friend had wanted her to marry his brother. In the end, his sister was married to neither prince but to a second son of House Stark.
The only one happy of this arrangement was Ashara, Arthur thought dryly. Aware of his sister's affection for Eddard Stark and how he had been the target of her desire from the very beginning. It had never been princes that she wanted, but him. He took comfort in knowing that this Eddard Stark felt just as strongly for her.
He was traveling with a retinue that included Prince Daeron and his betrothed Lady Cersei. Many guests had already gathered at Storm's End including Lord Jon Arryn, Jaime Lannister and his wife, Elia, Eddard Stark's younger siblings, Benjen and Lyanna. It was said that members of House Tully may be traveling too with Brandon Stark accompanying them as he was betrothed to Lord Tully's eldest daughter.
After the wedding, Prince Daeron, his betrothed and his retinue would be traveling to Summerhall, their future seat. They were to inspect the work that had been done this past year. And to judge of its condition, if it was in a good state and the king was pleased, a wedding would soon follow between the Prince and the Lord Hand's daughter.
"Our houses share common kin," Rhaegar remarked, pushing Arthur's thoughts away from Summerhall and back to his friend. "Targaryen and Stark have married into House Blackwood." He gestured to one of the open tomes in front of him. "There was a pact made between our families." He moved away from the window and towards one of his prized books. "It was called the Pact of Ice and Fire. " His eyes held a certain haze at those words. "It has yet to be fulfilled."
Arthur wisely stayed quiet. He was not one for diligent reading like his friend, and trusted the prince in matters of learnings and knowledge. He believed the crown prince studied more than most maesters.
"Aegon is the Prince that was Promised," Rhaegar reached for a pitcher of wine and without asking, poured two glasses. "It is foretold." He handed one of them to Arthur.
He thanked him with a nod, but did not partake. "How is your son?"
"He is well," Rhaegar answered simply. "He is with my wife and my mother." He looked down at his glass. "Aegon does not know the fate we are burdened with, but such innocence cannot last forever." His long fingers pulled the glass to his lips and he took a small sip.
"To Aegon the Sixth," Arthur prompted, raising his glass, "Let him be as fine a king as his father will be." He was pleased to see a flicker of approval come across his friend's face at those words, before he nodded and drank another small sip at Arthur's toast. The knight drank as well and was not surprised by the sweet vintage since it was one of his Rhaegar's favorites.
"I need your vow, my friend."
"What?" Arthur looked to see his friend's face set with resolved purpose.
"Are you my man?" Rhaegar asked quietly.
He is the prince not the king, a small voice whispered inside him, you are a knight of the kingsguard. He pushed down that reminder. Rhaegar will be king soon. It is in him we must trust and serve.
"I am, my prince," He put his glass down swiftly and gave the king he'd gladly follow a proper bow.
"Think carefully, my friend," Rhaegar said cautiously, "You must swear to me. To keep my trust and counsel in all things. To never share what is spoken between us."
Arthur still bowing, thought over his friend's warning, but he felt no hesitation. Despite the other vows he may have made, this one would overshadow them all. By following Rhaegar I can honor the vows I first swore as a knight and then a member of the Kingsguard. He told himself, The trials of Aerys' reign were wearing on him.
I've watched him burn men alive and stayed quiet, He thought sadly, I stood outside his door while the queen was raped. I did not move because the raper was my king. His stomach twisted, and he felt the familiar lash of loathing writhe within him. Rhaegar will change all this. He is what is good for the realm. He is what a king should be.
To serve Rhaegar I can set things right.
"I swear," Arthur knelt before his friend and Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. He felt Rhaegar's shadow fall upon him. He looked up to see Rhaegar had a small smile, but he was holding a sheathed sword. He understood, and clasped his hands around the hilt of said weapon and felt Rhaegar's hands atop his. Arthur made his vow a second time without hesitation, swearing himself to serve and honor Rhaegar above all things.
Aemon the Dragonknight, Duncan the Tall, Ryam Redwyne, his heart going over some of the greatest knights to have donned the white cloak and served the Iron Throne. Let them understand. He prayed quietly to both the Father and the Warrior. This is for the greater good.
"Rise, Ser Arthur," Rhaegar asked him after a few heartbeats of silence.
Arthur did.
"I had no doubts, my friend," he assured him, "Come with me," Rhaegar guided him to one of the balconies adjoined to his chambers. Arthur followed, taking his glass with him.
A few seats were out for guests to sit and bask in either sunlight or moonlight. A small table placed between two of the chairs. Neither man moved to take one of them. Rhaegar had settled for leaning against the railing, his glass beside him.
"My father is a difficult man," Rhaegar sighed, "But he is not the threat to my realm."
"My Prince?"
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow, something akin to amusement passing over his face. "You know it too, my friend."
"Your brother wants no crown," Arthur defended the prince, He just wanted a brother. His loyalty to Rhaegar stopped himself from adding. It was not his place to speak on such things. His friend had reason for doing what he did.
Rhaegar often said: My path is not an easy one to tread, but still I must walk it in order to serve this realm.
And with that choice to ignore his brother, Arthur noted, Rhaegar will never understand him, he thought of the two brothers and the strangers they've become to one another.
There was more he wanted to say, but he hesitated. Arthur was aware at how his next words could be construed, but for the future of the kingdoms he swore to protect he had to say them. "If your father-"
"No," Rhaegar's voice was suddenly sharp, and he raised his hand. "I cannot move against him."
"Why, my prince?" Arthur didn't understand.
"It is not the time," Rhaegar answered with a hint of impatience, "Only with the three heads can I act in that regard."
Arthur frowned, but did not speak. He mulled over his friend's mysterious words. They were not the first ones he heard from Rhaegar. The prince spoke cryptically of plans and prophecies, destinies and fate, and the terrible burdens that lay ahead of him that he must face. The meanings behind them were puzzling to Arthur, but the prince believed in them fully, and that confidence helped to ease Arthur's concern. And yet in this matter he could not understand his friend's refusal.
For the greater good, he reminded himself, and may the Seven understand and forgive me.
"The Lords see you as their king. The-" He stopped himself, he may be the utmost loyal to Rhaegar, but he still felt improper for insulting the king he swore a vow to protect.
And now I've given my vow to Rhaegar. Arthur would not let the voice plant any further seeds of doubt. I am loyal to the crown. Rhaegar is next to rule. He is destined to rule. He is the light the Kingdoms need.
With that in mind, he continued, "The King can be-"
"I said no," Rhaegar dismissed, a sudden burst of anger polluting his quiet and soft tone. "That is not the proper course." The anger had been replaced with an absolute firmness in his belief. "Regardless, it sets a dangerous precedent. If I'm to move against my father then what stops my brother from removing me?" Rhaegar shook his head. "No, my path is clear. I know what I must do."
"I understand," Arthur lied, but he found no alternative. He was not a man for debate and speeches. This was not his realm, but his friend's, and he had put all of his trust in Rhaegar. I cannot take it back now. And I do not want to.
Rhaegar studied him coolly for a few heartbeats, before looking satisfied. He then turned away. "My father's threat are shadows on the wall. His words are that of a wind blown on the last breaths of an angry, but dying storm. They do not concern me." He picked up his glass and took a measured sip. "What concerns me is my brother." Rhaegar looked him over closely, but Arthur was still in his stance. He did not even blink despite the discomfort he felt, a small, cold creep up his back at what they were discussing.
"A marriage between him and House Lannister cannot come to pass."
"Prince Daeron would-" But he quieted his protest at the sharp look from his friend.
"I have reason to believe that my brother is doing the very thing you're about to tell me he isn't."
"What?" Arthur was startled by this. It didn't seem possible. He did not know Prince Daeron well, but he knew him enough to know he was not an ambitious man.
"Indeed," Rhaegar sensed his dismay. "My brother has never forgiven me against these supposed slights I've inflicted upon him," his tone lacked emotion. "Now, the Lannisters use those grievances for their own greed."
"Treason," Arthur whispered, feeling a roiling in his stomach for what that single word truly entailed.
"Yes," Rhaegar's eyes showed nothing when they faced him. "Those I trust are gathering facts to show my brother's true intentions." He brushed some of his silvery hair out of his face, "Baratheon, Stark, Lannister, Martell," He listed them simply, but the hand resting on the railing curled tightly into a fist. "These friendships could not fool me. My brother plots and stews under delusions that he calls injustices," He gave a sad smile, " Daeron the Delusional," he recited, his voice taking on a lilt that the crown prince favored for when he sang with his harp.
"What will you do?" Arthur pushed down the foreboding that tried to coil itself around him.
"My brother's power must be cut, and his plot must be revealed."
"Prince Daeron would proclaim his innocence."
"He has that right," Rhaegar did not seem the least bit bothered by it.
"He will demand a trial by combat," Arthur pointed out, "And I cannot fight him. No one in the Kingsguard can."
"I am aware." Rhaegar watched him, but his face betrayed nothing.
"He could try to demand a Trial by Seven," Arthur argued, and he knew many of the Prince's friends would surely come to his aid. Jaime Lannister and Robert Baratheon among them, and Arthur could not name a handful of better warriors in all the Kingdoms that were not draped in white.
What force could Rhaegar call upon to fight such great warriors?
"There will be no trial, and my brother will not die," Rhaegar said in a calming voice as if trying to soothe his son to sleep. "He will be exiled. I am no kinslayer. I can be merciful and with this threat handled. My brother may live out in Essos without the burdens I must carry."
"Why won't there be a trial?" Arthur could not understand his friend's confidence.
"Because my father has picked a new champion for the Crown on the matters of treason," Rhaegar explained, "Wildfire."
Barristan:
He could not help but think on the King's words.
No, his threats, he corrected, on trying to bypass Rhaegar to make Daeron the next king.
Dark days are upon us, he feared.
They left the Great Hall in silence after Aerys' proclamations and promises. Barristan walked behind his squire, but in the glances he saw of the prince, Daeron showed no sign of his father's words having gripped him. There was no gleam in his eyes on potential kingship nor smiles of future triumphs of sitting upon the Iron Throne.
The only sound in the corridors were that of their footfalls, patting against the stone floor.
In this silence, Barristan wrestled with uncertainty. Should I say something? Should I do something? He kept walking.
This is not my place. This is not my role. A familiar voice played in his mind, one that has cautioned and consoled him more times than he could count these last few years, trying as they were.
You should've let the king die in Duskendale, a new and cold voice whispered inside him. All the spilt blood that follows is on your hands, Barristan Selmy.
"Ser Barristan?"
"My Prince?" He blinked and recovered to see Prince Daeron had stopped and turned in his direction. It only took him a heartbeat to realize his mistake. He had went down the wrong corridor and had stopped following his charge. "My prince," he said again, quickly coming to him. "My apologies," He bowed his head in shame, quietly berating himself for allowing such a distraction to blind him from his duties.
Prince Daeron regarded him before nodding, "it is alright." He assured him, his lips pressed as if he had more to say, but conflict lurked beneath his eyes. "My father has a way of distracting us, even our most loyal servants."
"I was remiss in my duties," Ser Barristan would not allow the fault to go to anyone but him. "It shall not happen again."
"Then I shall have you walk beside me," Daeron smiled, proving his words were a jest and not a reprimand.
"I would be honored," he was grateful for the prince in his understanding. I cannot be permitted such distractions. My role is to guard the prince. He told himself, trying to simplify what he could do so as to not allow his mind to wander in such dark turns in efforts to dishearten or distract him from the role he must carry as a knight of the Kingsguard.
I serve the crown. Four words that were once an honor to utter, but now… No, he stomped down on that treacherous thought more akin to a serpent before it could coil itself around him and sink its fangs into his heart.
He took his spot beside the prince as they continued in their steps through the corridor.
"Where are we off to, my prince?" He hoped a good conversation would give him a needed reprieve.
"To see the lady Cersei," He did not try to hide his grin at his answer.
"I should've guessed," Barristan replied dryly, pleased at the chuckle it got from his squire.
He was not too rehearsed in courtship having given up that life, that chance when he turned down the lordship and betrothed that awaited him at Harvest Hall. So watching it unfold between the Prince and the Lady Cersei had been an interesting, but challenging endeavor.
The two were adamant in spending time together, and etiquette demanded chaperones to be attending the couple at all times. Ser Barristan, as a kingsguard knight was one of many who had served as one and learned quickly enough that the two needed to be watched diligently. It was a more taxing ordeal than he expected. They seemed to conspire frequently to try to lose their chaperones to allow them privacy.
Kingsguard vow or not, he understood what fueled those attempts and what the two sought once they were alone. Their efforts at eluding the chaperones assigned to them by both the crown and Lord Tywin had never been truly successful, but that did not stop them from trying. If it wasn't his responsibility, Barristan may have found it a bit more amusing.
The Prince was young and his betrothed was a beautiful woman. He would not begrudge his squire such thoughts or temptations, though he only wished the Prince had a bit more restraint on them.
He's given me more headaches these last few months then he ever did in all his years as my squire.
"Prince Daeron," A servant dressed in Targaryen livery came forward carrying a sheathed sword. "It was delivered while you were with the king, my prince."
Daeron smiled, looking at the sword before the servant, "Well done." He took the sword from the servant whose head remained bowed. "Pay him," The Prince instructed, a Targaryen guard from his retinue stepped forward and deposited the coins into the servant's hand.
"My prince is generous," he stammered.
That was when the Prince turned his eyes away from the sword and onto the grateful servant. "I reward good service." He replied with a kind smile, "Thank you, that will be all."
The servant did not need to be told twice, clutching his coins, he scurried off, but not before giving Prince Daeron a deep bow.
"Come, Ser Barristan, look at this," He handed over the newly forged sword.
The sheath was unremarkable, but the hilt was not. Its crossguard was of a fierce dragon meeting a ferocious lion. The eyes of the dragon were amethysts and the lion were emeralds. "This is remarkable, my prince." Ser Barristan admired the work that had gone into the craft. He then pulled the sword slowly from its sheath, a soft hiss slipped through, the steel shimmered when the light hit it. "Well made, indeed."
"It is not valyrian, but it is a fine steel," Prince Daeron noted from where he stood. "It is shaped like mine," He placed a hand on the sheathed Dark Sister, the famous Targaryen sword.
"It is," Ser Barristan was not surprised by that given the recipient for the gift, as well as seeing the sword's slender blade and the design of its hilt. It was forged for a woman's hand. "It is a great gift, my prince."
The Lady Cersei did not practice as frequently as her betrothed, but she's progressed steadily in her skill. He had watched her train when she visited the capital. She had some talent, but he did not think she had the patience to truly excel. She was prone to get frustrated when she could not learn a move quickly enough, anger and annoyance made her words sharper than any forged sword.
Regardless, of his thoughts on her temperament, he thought she worked hard and had earned the challenge of practicing with real steel. Barristan was not sure who would be prouder, her or the Prince.
He sheathed the sword and made an effort to return it to the Prince, who shook his head.
"I wish to surprise, my lady," Prince Daeron's eyes sparkled mischievously while he smiled, "Will you hold it until it is needed?"
"Of course, my prince," Barristan answered, understanding the prince's intentions. "She will thank you for it." He did not miss a certain flicker that passed over the Prince's face at those words.
It never ceases, he thought wryly, prepared for his duties to chafe the Prince in his effort to observe propriety between a young couple who seemed more eager for scandal.
They picked up their pace in silence heading in the direction of the Tower of the Hand where Lady Cersei had her rooms.
Despite his struggles to insure the prince and his betrothed behaved themselves, the two were not without their problems. Barristan had witnessed them quarrel countless times. Her quick anger and the Prince's stubbornness, among their faults which when clashed formed a volatile reaction, but it never lingered over them for too long. He was not certain a spat between them lasted more than a day before the two were reconciled and eager to make amends for slights given.
Eager indeed, he smiled.
"Ser Barristan?"
"I am ready, my prince," He stepped backwards when Prince Daeron neared the Lady Cersei's doors. He made sure to hide the sword from the lady's view. Did Ser Aemon have to perform such antics? Barristan wondered in quiet amusement while watching the scene unfold in front of him.
The knocking was quick and loud.
It was not Ser Barristan's place to observe that the prince looked a bit anxious while he waited for his betrothed to answer.
"My prince," Lady Cersei was standing in the doorway in a simple red gown, but it did not diminish her beauty. The bright smile she wore at the sight of her betrothed made her stunning.
"My lady."
From where he stood, he could not see the Prince's features, but Barristan suspected the look he was giving his betrothed.
"This is unexpected." She did not look the least bit bothered by the Prince's unannounced visit.
"I hope this is not an inconvenience for you."
"Never," She said quickly to perish the notion. Her hand then curled around his arm. Before she could go further to assure her prince, that was when she noticed him for the first time, "Ser Barristan."
"My lady," He bowed his head. Aware that his presence was probably unwelcomed by them, but it was warranted nonetheless.
"I have a gift for you, my lady."
"Oh?" Her green eyes were curious, and her lips curved upwards in anticipation.
Barristan stepped forward and carefully handed the sword over to the prince to insure the hilt remained hidden from Lady Cersei's gaze.
He then watched silently at how she reacted to the gift. She first exclaimed loudly and happily, admiring the blade in equal parts dismay and awe. She rambled about its beauty and its brilliance. The Lady thanked her prince profusely for such a gift, promising to treasure it. She then leaned in and kissed him. Having decided that words were not enough to express her gratitude.
Not at all surprised, Barristan was lenient on his timing to intrude. He gave them a brief moment before he cleared his throat.
It was in this moment that he was grateful in knowing that he would not be attending them for the wedding in the Stormlands. They'll be Gwayne's problem, and Arthur's, and with that Barristan smiled.
Curious to see what Daeron does next? You can get a head start on Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons by checking out the early chapters on my Website at https://dravenshadefall-shop.fourthwall.com
Lysa:
"It is a pity that Lord Brandon is not able to join us."
Lysa turned in her seat from where she was looking out the window to the woman sitting across from her, Cersei Lannister. Her words had been directed to Lysa's sister, Cat, who sat on Lysa's other side.
"It is," Her sister showed the expected disappointment that she could not be with her betrothed.
Lysa had been surprised that the Lady Cersei had spoken. The Lord Hand's daughter had been quiet for much of the trip. She'd speak when spoken to, and remained cordial in her answers, but did little to expand on anything she said. Lysa thought she looked distracted with something, but she wasn't bold or foolish enough to ask what it was.
"You should tell her Cat," Lysa encouraged her sister, and saw her words had piqued Cersei's interest.
"It is nothing, Lysa," Her sister dismissed in a gentle tone that dripped with demureness.
"No, it is," She insisted. "Brandon's friend, Elbert came to Riverrun at Cat's betrothed's behest. With letters too thick for ravens to carry." She saw a bit of red in Cat's cheeks. Lysa had only heard some of them that her sister deigned to read to her.
It was all so wonderful, she thought, hearing Brandon's tender apologies and other sweet words.
"That was kind of him," Cersei's tone was bland, but her smile seemed real. "Who is this Elbert?"
"Elbert Arryn," Lysa was all too pleased to answer. "He is a distant Arryn," She continued, "And Denys' heir until," Her words and thoughts trailed off while heat came to her cheeks, "Until we have children," Still unable to hide the blush that remained no doubt across her face.
She did not think it fair she had to wait at least another year to be married. I'm not frail, she had told her father, but he would hear nothing of her words no matter how true they were.
I can give him sons now. Lysa could feel it in her blood. In her bones. She was ready. I can be brave, he loves me, I can help him.
Why must we wait? She lamented the unfairness of it. She knew her body better than her father or maester.
She put aside her disappointment but stayed on the topic due to recent gossip she had heard from some of the guards in the prince's retinue.
"I heard that the Princess may be pregnant again."
Lysa wasn't sure she should trust such sources but she was tired of the quiet that had been plaguing her for most of this trip. Now, that they were all talking, she did not want it to end and for silence to once more reign. That was boring, and she could only look out the window of their carriage for so long without getting a bit nauseous.
The bumpiness of the road did little to soothe her protesting belly.
"A child is a blessing," Cat intoned, looking and sounding so wise. Her back was straight, her hands folded in her lap. Her auburn hair wonderfully braided, and her blue eyes were kind, and thoughtful in their gaze.
Cersei favored her with a polite smile, but added nothing to the conversation.
"The Crown Prince would be pleased," Lysa agreed quickly.
I cannot wait to please my husband, she thought dreamily of her and Denys together.
Her wonderful thoughts of her perfect betrothed came to a halt just as the wheels beneath her slowed to one as well.
"What is it?" Cat asked.
Lysa looked out the window, but saw nothing of interest. She saw a few Targaryen guards milling about.
Their answer came shortly and it began with the sound of a polished knock on their door. It then opened to show the genial face of Ser Gwayne Gaunt, who offered them a polite smile and the proper courtesies. "Apologies, ladies," He raised his head after dipping it to them in greeting. "Part of our escort has gone too far ahead. Our caravan has stretched out."
"Do you know how long it will take, Ser Gwayne?" Cersei asked the knight.
"Not terribly long, my lady," He answered, a sly smile slipped in under his bushy mustache. "Is there a message I shall take to the prince for you, my lady?"
The Lady Cersei did not seem surprised or scandalized by the knight's informal question or his tone. She replied with a sincere smile and shook her head, "I wouldn't dare make you blush, Ser Gwayne," She teased, green eyes dazzling in mirth, "Red does not suit you nearly as well as white."
Gwayne laughed. "I shall inform the Prince then that he is in your thoughts ." He winked, "Ladies," he bowed to them and left.
"My betrothed was right in his name for him," Cersei was still smiling, "Gwayne the Gossip, indeed!" Her lingering amusement did not flicker out for another few heartbeats.
That was when the first shout could be heard.
"What was that?"
Her sister's question was answered not by them, but by a chorus of loud noises that seemed to be coming from all directions.
Lysa looked to the window and felt her belly drop at what she saw. "Men!" Her heart flickering in her chest like a frightened and caged bird. "Attack!"
It was terrible! Coming out of the woods were armed men. They looked dangerous and demented as if they'd just escaped the Seven Hells.
Arrows fell upon their carriage like the first raindrops of a storm.
Lysa screamed.
They're trying to kill us!
Lysa felt the fear that coiled itself around her lungs and squeezed tightly.
"What?" Lady Cersei had moved across the cushions when Lysa couldn't muster her voice to answer.
"We will be safe," Cat assured them, holding Lysa's hand and squeezing. "We have men to protect us."
The sound of steel clashing against one another wasn't as reassuring.
Shouts and curses, and clangs of metal made for terrifying sounds that had Lysa trembling.
It's too close! It's too close! She felt tears on her cheeks. Make it stop! Make it stop!
"The men are scattered!" Lysa's voice was strangled, remembering why they had stopped in the first place. "We're doomed!" The fear was heavy and pressing against her face trying to smother her.
"We are protected by the best men in the Kingdoms," Lady Cersei did not share Lysa's opinion.
"She is right," Her sister quickly agreed, "Uncle Brynden is out there," Cat's hand remained tightly wrapped around Lysa's, "Denys too,"
"Denys!" It came out more as a screech, but now she feared for him with all this fighting happening around them.
Protect Denys, she prayed, Protect us, she repeated her prayers. She closed her eyes so that she could pretend that she was back in the Sept at Riverrun.
He cannot die! It could not happen. I need to give him sons. He can't be taken.
More arrows fell upon their carriage which punctured the calming image Lysa was trying to project.
Please no, she said to herself, Please.
A finger of light could be seen shining above them, and for one glorious heartbeat, she thought her prayers were being answered, but when she looked up, she discovered to her horror it was not the touch of the gods they felt, but man. An arrow had poked through, punching through the wood.
Lysa leaned back. She felt dizzy. She closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten in hopes to banish the dizziness that covered her like an unwanted veil.
"It's Ser Gwayne!" Cersei's voice was filled with such hope that it got Lysa to open her eyes to look.
She was right. The knight of the kingsguard looked valiant in his white plate armor while he moved towards them. His sword was already bloodied by the fiends who thought to attack them.
"Protect the Prince!" He shouted as he dispatched a foolish bandit who thought to stab him when his back was turned, "Protect the carriage!" He moved with surprising calmness given the expected chaos that was all around him.
"We're safe," Catelyn didn't hide her relief.
He was only steps away from them.
We're safe, for the first time Lysa allowed herself to feel safe.
A gargled shout broke through her confidence. She looked through the window to her horror to see Ser Gwayne was stumbling forward which was how she spotted the cause.
An arrow! Her heart sank and fresh tears were falling down her cheeks. The kingsguard knight and their protector had been hit. He fell to his knees first, and then the ground before he could reach them.
"Open the door!" Cersei demanded.
"WHAT?" Lysa shrieked unable to understand such madness.
Cersei didn't look the least bit scared. "Open the door," She repeated with a sharp edge in her voice, "I will not allow them to butcher Ser Gwayne."
Lysa turned to Cat for an answer. Her sister always knew what to do, but Cat seemed silently stunned at Gwayne's unexpected fall.
Cersei moved out of her seat to get to the door.
"No!" Lysa tried to swat her hand away. "You can't!"
"I can," Cersei's growling response made Lysa instinctively lean away and that was all the Lady Cersei needed to open the door.
The screams and shouts were terrible! They were so loud, but it was the groans and cries that pierced Lysa to her bones. The wailing of the dying.
Please let that not be Denys. Lysa covered her ears, but it all bled through. Please protect Denys .
"I need help," Cersei had moved halfway out of the carriage to grab Gwayne's arms and was trying to pull him into the safety of their carriage.
"We need to close the door!" Lysa insisted.
"He lives!" Cersei snapped, "Now help me!"
Cat moved first. She recovered swiftly from her brief lapse of stillness and came alongside Cersei to help grab the groaning Ser Gwayne. They grunted while they tried to pull him inside.
The man's dead weight and armor made it no easy thing.
Lysa was continuing her silent prayer when she moved to join them. Her fingers were trembling when they found a purchase to grip around his back. She then pulled with all her might. She felt her arms shaking, but the three of them were slowly doing it.
It was a few more seconds of struggling before he was brought in and was unceremoniously left on the floor, muddied, and bloodied, but he was inside.
She felt the wetness before she saw it. Her fingers were sticky with blood. She must have touched a part of his wound. Lysa's belly roiled, and the taste of bile burned in her throat. She climbed over the fallen knight and just as her face reached the outside, she heaved. Tears blurred her vision, and her body shuddered.
Cat's hands were on her back. First they were soothing, but then they became insistent and firm. Her sister was pulling her out of the way so that they could close the door.
Lysa did not resist, reeling from her sickness. Exhausted, and scared, that was when she saw one of their attackers had noticed the open door.
He had dark eyes and his face was dirtied, and his sword was red. She felt the disgust in her belly at the slow look he gave her before he licked his lips. He was quick in his steps to close the distance between them. He was standing not yet close enough to grab them, but in the way of them being able to close the door.
"Some treasures are in gold," Even his voice was hard and mean, "And some are in flesh."
Lysa was going to be sick again. Her stomach stirred as she sagged in her seat. Her eyes were bleary, and what followed felt more like a dream but she watched it unfold as if in some detached trance.
The man put one of his hands on the door frame to steady and then pull himself inside.
A flash of steel struck forward like a bolt of lightning. A startled cry followed, he cursed and stumbled backwards as a splash of red blocked Lysa's vision for a heartbeat, drenching her and Ser Gwayne.
The source of the cut was a sword. It's wielder-the Lady Cersei.
She then pulled the blade out and slashed at the confused and wounded man a second time.
The sound of steel cutting through flesh had never sounded so sweet to Lysa's ears. She saw glimpses of the ferocious dragon and lion along the sword. Their fury had been roused by this interloper.
Their fangs were tasting blood.
The man's yelp was silenced as the sword sunk deeper into him. The body lulled forward, and went creepily still, like the strings of a puppet having been suddenly cut.
Lady Cersei's eyes were dark and blazing while her mouth was determined. She looked at their would be raper while she pulled the sword out of him. His body collapsed into a heap, hanging partly inside their carriage. She kicked his body to the ground. The thud sound it made was quite satisfying.
One hand holding a bloodied sword, with the other Cersei closed their door and then locked it.
"Lysa, you're bleeding!" Cat's worried voice pulled Lysa's eyes away from the fearsome looking Cersei Lannister and onto her worried sister.
"N-No," She muttered. Her tongue felt thick and her dreamlike daze only made her more sick. Her empty stomach churned in warning. "I-It's not my b-blood," Her voice sounded so far away.
Where am I going?
The last thing she saw before darkness came to her were tears in her sister's eyes.
Lyanna:
The solar in Storm's End was filled with warmth and laughter, friends, and family.
Their host, the Lord of Storm's End was sitting comfortably on one of the couches by the hearth. Perched on his knee was his natural daughter, Mya Storm. The girl was grinning and giggling thoroughly entertained by her father's antics which varied from bouncing precariously on his knee to being tossed up in the air with him catching her deftly each time.
Lyanna did not know who was laughing more Robert or Mya.
Sitting on one side of their host was Elia Lannister. The Dornish princess turned Lannister wife looked on amused, while occasionally cautioning Robert that some restraint is never a bad thing, especially when it comes to one's own children.
Jaime Lannister was leaning against the wall, grinning. His green eyes turning between the flying Mya and back to his wife. Japing while he watched, "Only Robert could find baby tossing an enjoyable sport."
Robert's eyes flickered to Jaime before tossing his daughter into the air, who let out an excited squeal. "You sound surprised, Lannister." The Lord of Storm's End caught his daughter with ease before sharing a chuckle with Jaime.
At the table where Lyanna was currently sitting, she was across from her brother's foster father, Jon Arryn. An old, but kind man who was currently engaged in a conversation with Ned's bride to be, Ashara. She could not hear what was being discussed, but it seemed an amusing topic given Jon's smiling and Ashara's laughter.
It was Ned's reaction to their conversation that clued Lyanna into what was being discussed.
"He did not?" Ashara asked in between her giggling when Jon Arryn finished an apparent story that featured Ned.
"He did," Jon answered with a fond smile that helped to ease the traces of the age lines on his face.
"Why wasn't I told this?" Ashara teased, turning to Ned, who seemed undecided if he should be amused or annoyed given the stories his foster father was sharing.
"It was not prudent," Ned replied with a shrug, but his small smile and his tone sent the three of them into another round of laughter.
Benjen had slipped off to bed as had the younger Renly, while Robert's other brother never made an appearance.
Had there been some recent row between the brothers? She wondered, trying to find a reason to explain such rigidness between Robert and his younger brother, Stannis.
It was Robert's rumbling voice that brought a halt to her thoughts and for them all to come back together into a single conversation. "Fearless," He praised his daughter. She was a girl of two or three, Lyanna was not certain. "She gets that from me."
"In your case we call it reckless," Elia corrected.
"She's clever too."
"So are we sure she's yours?" Jaime asked.
The jest earned a ripple of laughter throughout the room, but Robert's was the loudest. "I'll show you." His large hand rested gently on her shoulder, helping to guide her line of sight so she could see Ned. "Who's this?"
Her blue eyes sparkled in thought, smiling, "Uncle Ned!"
"Aye, Mya," Robert agreed with a grin.
Only Robert would encourage his daughter to call his friends uncles instead of what was appropriate or expected.
Lyanna felt her own lips twitch at how Mya not only saw her own brother, but Robert's handling of her. It was a strange sight to see this fearsome warrior, and a man who's infamy was centered around his promiscuity could be such a doting father especially when its with his natural daughter.
"And his house?"
Mya's face scrunched up in concentration for a heartbeat, before she put her head back and howled.
Her imitation of a wolf's howl brought amusement and acclaim from all those watching.
Robert was smirking when he tousled his daughter's curls. "That's right, Mya." He said proudly before turning in his seat so she could see Jaime, "And Uncle Jaime?" Robert asked her, "what's his house?"
Mya's blue eyes seemed to narrow and her lips pouted as she took in Jaime's appearance. It took her only a second or more before deciding. She let out a roar.
"Impressive," Jaime's praise made her face light up.
"I told you," Robert's smugness was more endearing than it should have been.
Jaime rolled his eyes.
"Alright, Mya," Robert turned her one last time back towards the table, but this time to face Jon Arryn.
Mya without pause immediately let out a loud screech.
The sudden and piercing wail made Lyanna wince. She was not the only one.
"I wasn't aware Lord Arryn's house was a dying rabbit," Jaime observed dryly.
"It was a falcon." Robert looked to be the only one unbothered by the sound. "I taught her that first."
Jaime did not look impressed. "Figures," he replied without bite.
"I much prefer the wolf," Ashara noted with a teasing glint in her violet eyes.
"I think the lion was the best," Elia had taken Mya from a willing Robert and put her on her own lap. The girl did not seem to mind. She accepted Elia's hold with a smile, her attention then her hands quickly moved to Elia's necklace, fascinated by the jewels that adorned it.
"My wife is wise," Jaime complimented, "And completely impartial."
"Clearly," Ned said from where he was sitting. His lips crooked in a smile.
At times like this, Lyanna felt more intruder than guest. There was a camaraderie between those in the room that she was not a part of. This show of friendship was so clear that even a blind man could notice it. They were so quick to fall into an easy rhythm with one another in their conversations and interactions.
"Lady Ashara has the right of it," Lyanna agreed, not allowing herself to be unintentionally excluded by her brother and friends. She knew it was not on purpose.
They were not like that. They've been nothing but welcoming to me since I first met them.
She figured they were probably unaware of how it could come across as intimidating. To be unsure if others could partake in a conversation between such intimate friends or if they should just stay silent out of fear of interrupting or ruining it.
Ashara nodded in her direction. "It is good to see I'll have such a bright sister to call my own."
Lyanna smiled, "It will be good to have a sister."
Ashara returned her smile, a brief look of relief flickered in her gaze.
Elia made a soft noise from the back of her throat to remind them of her presence. Mya tried to mimic the noise but it sounded more like a gag that had Elia and others laughing.
"Sisters," Lyanna amended. Her own smile grew. She did not find herself brave or willing enough to try to argue against what Lady Elia was implying.
The Godswood of Storm's End was deserted when she arrived. It was small and covered with green. There were a few slender trees that broke through the stony soil looking like fingers clawing upwards to reach the sky. At the center of the godswood was a large pale weirwood tree that stood out amidst all the green and brown of the rest of the area. It's face was solemn and its red eyes met hers.
Storm's End was an impressive fortress. She remembered some of the stories and histories written about it since some believed it was a Stark that helped to build it. Not just any Stark, but the famous Stark who'd earn the name, Bran the Builder.
And now a Stark will wed here.
They were just waiting for the arrival of the Prince and his retinue. Brandon had sent an earlier message saying that he would not be able to attend. He sent his apologies and promised to try to visit Ned's new seat before the year was done.
Lyanna suspected Father was upset since this had been a chance for Brandon to interact with his future bride, the Lady Catelyn Tully.
The sound of movement caused her to look over her shoulder to see who was approaching.
"Lyanna." It was Robert. He stood at a respectable distance when he announced himself. She dipped her head in greeting, but did not speak.
Robert's steps were heavy as he went. "How has your stay been?"
"I have no complaints."
"Good," Robert walked past her. "I'd be a poor host otherwise."
"I am curious on a matter," She asked, reflecting on what she had seen between the older Baratheon brothers since their arrival. "Did we come at a poor time?"
Robert frowned. "What gives you that impression?"
"Perhaps, it is not my place to say,"
"And would that truly stop you from speaking?"
Lyanna's lips twitched. "It would not."
"You are Ned's sister. I will hear your words."
"It appears we've come during a feud between yourself and your brother, Stannis."
Robert chuckled, but there was no warmth or mirth that she'd come to expect. This was neither infectious nor charming, but stiff. "What you see is us," He shrugged, "I am not close to Stannis or Renly."
"Why?" She didn't understand. Lyanna could never imagine nor would she want to imagine such a relationship to root itself between her and any of her brothers.
How could Robert shun his own blood?
"Stannis and I are too different."
"Would you think my brothers and I are all the same?"
Robert turned away from her. "No, I would not." He finally admitted after a long heartbeat of silence.
She stayed quiet, unsure if it was wise to continue to press him on this issue where she had no authority or even reason for addressing it.
"It's easier."
"What?" She was caught off guard by his unexpected answer.
"It's easier," He repeated, "To just accept that this is how it will be between us, that it will not change, so why should we try?"
"Because, he's your brother," She answered at once. Lyanna found herself disappointed in the man in front of her. It was lazy and cowardly of him to accept such a thing and give no effort to make any changes. He'd rather do nothing then even try. She found it pathetic.
He lowered his head, looking more a chastised child then the Lord of Storm's End.
"Brandon, Benjen, Ned," She listed her brothers who she loved so fiercely, "They're all so different, and they can make me mad, make me want to shout and curse at them at times," memories of Brandon's little games that he played on her came to her. She thought more fondly of them now then she did when her brother inflicted them upon her.
"However, they're always there for me. They will make me laugh. They care for me, support me."
How often had Benjen snuck out sparring swords so that they could practice together in the godswood? Or Brandon taking her riding when she should've been inside. Or Ned looking the other way for her when he should've been looking for her.
"I could not think of a life where I treated any of them as stiffly as you do Stannis," she shook her head. "You are cordial to your servants and bannermen but distant to your own brothers."
He stiffened. His expression was difficult to describe. It was not anger that clouded his features, but something else. "You think less of me." Just like with his look, she could not properly put her finger on his tone.
"I do," Lyanna would not start lying to him now. She met his blue eyes that she was so used to be shining in good cheer, but now they were dim in their gaze. There was something there, she observed, it was brief in its presence, but she saw it on his face. He was hurt.
Despite her annoyance and disappointment in him it did not mean she wanted that. I did not think myself capable of such an influence on him . She had only interacted with him a handful of times and most of it has been spread out over the years.
Why does he care? She did not want to dwell on that question or what it could lead to so she pressed on.
"Do you not have any good memories with your brothers?"
"I went to the Vale at eight. Ned became my brother." He declared the latter part fervently, "I did not see Stannis and Renly much and when I visited," He moved around the weirwood tree, almost as if hiding from her inquisitive view. "I was more eager and interested in returning to my friends, Ned, and then later Jaime and my cousin. Then I was in seeing my brothers." He moved back around, but his eyes were looking around the godswood as if trying to search for memories with his brothers, Renly and Stannis.
"There is a memory Stannis and I share," Robert looked upwards towards the looming tower of Storm's End. "We stood together on one of the parapets. We were waiting for the arrival from our parents who were returning from Essos." He pointed with his hand to the spot where he and Stannis had supposedly stood. "We were all excited to see what gifts they had brought home and the stories they'd tell us, which they had teased in their letters," A ghost of a smile appeared and then disappeared on his lips. "But that was not to be," he said quietly.
"The Windproud shattered against the rocks before the Bay swallowed it up," His voice was flat, detached from the horror he was reliving. "We watched their ship sink together. We were quiet and powerless. We just watched." His jaw clenched, "It was Stannis who squeezed my hand in comfort. I was the older brother, but Stannis was the stronger one. Is the stronger one."
Lyanna felt a pang of anguish in her chest upon hearing Robert's story and watching him tell it. She could not imagine witnessing her parents death. It was a disquieting confession from him and it gave her pause and silence.
No words were quick to come to her in an attempt to try to comfort the Lord of Storm's End.
No, not some lord, She didn't like the distance that title suddenly put between them. It was Robert. My brother's friend.
Robert cleared his throat. "Forgive me," He apologized, "That was improper of me." He misread her silence as a condemnation of him revealing such intimate things to her.
"I-I," He struggled with trying to save himself, to shield his behavior from her which he clearly believed he had tarnished by not just speaking of such things, but how he spoke of them.
He's afraid I'll think less of him for it.
She was about to scold him for thinking that or the need to apologize, but her brother's voice interrupted them. Taking away not just that chance, but any chance she had of trying to comfort Robert.
That realization brought an odd, but fleeting feeling in her chest that she couldn't quite define.
"Robert, we've received a raven," Ned moved to meet them. "It's from Lord Buckler."
The Lord of Storm's End recovered quickly at the intrusion of her brother. He forced himself to smile upon seeing him, but it did not linger when Ned's message sunk in.
Robert groaned. "Give it to Cressen," He waved a hand as if to shoo it away.
Lyanna was put off by his casual disregard about receiving a letter from one of his bannermen. She could never imagine her father responding to the news of a raven in such a way.
"It was marked urgent, Robert," Ned did not seem surprised by his friend's reaction. "Lord Buckler reports its about Prince Daeron. Their retinue was attacked on the road."
"WHAT?" Robert's voice rivaled a thunderclap.
Ned didn't flinch. "Prince Daeron and most of their guests are safe, but there were casualties."
"We need to leave!" Robert rallied swiftly. He may have been put off and dismissive about responding to odious bannermen, but when it came to something of interest to him such as the well being of his cousin, he acted at once to address the problem.
"Jaime and Ser Harbert are seeing to the horses," Ned informed them. "We're all bringing some of our men to help with their return and safe escort to Storm's End."
"Good," Some of Robert's anger was calmed by that report. "This is a fucking outrage!" He shook a clenched fist. "To attack my cousin? I will not have it!" He growled, "It's those Brotherhood," Robert spat the name out.
"Brotherhood?" Lyanna repeated.
They both turned towards her, looking mildly surprised by her appearance as if just remembering she was with them. She smothered her annoyance at how quickly she had been forgotten and ignored, because she was more curious with what they were talking about.
"Yes, the Kingswood Brotherhood," Robert clarified. "They're scum and bandits that should've been pulled out like the weeds they are."
"They would be bold to strike out against a retinue that includes a Prince," Ned observed.
Robert was not deterred. "It's them. They've grown arrogant since little has been done about them this past year. I can only do so much since much of the Kingswood is in the Crownlands."
"No one is blaming you, Robert," Ned said softly, as if sensing the underlying reason for his friend's distress.
"My cousin was attacked, Ned!" Robert's face was going red, "And it was on my land! I'll tear down every tree in the Kingswood if it means ridding ourselves of this brotherhood of rogues and cutthroats."
"Let us first get to Bronzegate to meet up with the Prince and what's left of his retinue." Ned cautioned, "Before we make any hasty decisions."
Robert let loose an angry breath before giving a stiff nod. His face returned its normal shade and soon he was smiling. "Always thinking, Ned," he slapped his friend on the back.
"One of us has to, Robert." A small smile came to her brother's face. "It's kept you alive this long."
Robert roared, but this time it was a laugh and not some angry curse. "Let us be off quickly."
"Agreed," Ned was solemn. He then turned to her to speak, but she beat him to it.
"I know," She waved her hand before he could deliver his spiel about not just what was expected of her while he was away, but that he was leaving, and she couldn't come with him.
It was all very tiring in its predictability. She'd rather not hear it for the umpteenth time. It made her want to roll her eyes.
I haven't forgotten what is expected of me. Lyanna especially knew not to voice that she was a better and faster rider than most and could be of assistance to them, because she knew what that disappointing answer would be.
"Thank you," He nodded, "We should be back within a few days."
"I'll spend all my time pacing and fretting until you return, brother." She said it with an innocent air about her which was immediately belayed by the smirk she said it with.
Ned chuckled. "I'd expect nothing less."
Robert had watched their exchange in silence. He dipped his head to her, "Lyanna."
"Robert," she returned, but it suddenly felt like such an inadequate response after everything she saw and discussed with him. And yet that was all that could be said as they left the godswood while she chose to linger.
She felt the silent gaze of the weirwood tree and met its red eyes. She dipped her head in deference to the old gods. She welcomed the peaceful calm that came over her which helped to settle her restless thoughts and confusing emotions that were beginning to tangle up with each other.
Lyanna dare not voice them aloud.
They hear me, she knew with certainty upon hearing the pale branches above her swaying in the breeze. So hopefully they'll answer me.
Curious to see what Daeron does next? You can get a head start on Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons by checking out the early chapters on my Website at https://dravenshadefall-shop.fourthwall.com
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