Robert’s Rebellion (282AL - 283AL)
Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned… Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black… “I bring her flowers when I can,” {Ned} said. “Lyanna was… fond of flowers.”
-“Why did she jump in the sea, though?”
-“Her heart was broken”
-“Did someone break it?”
His little ship had a black hull, black sails, black oars, and a hold crammed with onions and salt fish. Little enough, yet it had kept the garrison alive long enough for Eddard Stark to reach Storm’s End and break the siege. Lord Stannis had rewarded Davos with choice lands on Cape Wrath, a small keep, and a knight’s honors… but he had also decreed that he lose a joint of each finger on his left hand, to pay for all his years of smuggling. Davos had submitted, on the condition that Stannis wield the knife himself; he would accept no punishment from lesser hands.
“A little closer,” you whisper over the screams. “Just a little closer, brother.” Swords always spoke to me louder than words. I never realized they speak with your voice.
Clack! Brandon! Brandon! Clack! Clack!
I watched you from the edge of the godswood, Lyanna, regretting for once the new weight on my hip that meant I was too old for duels with broken branches. What you lacked in form you made up in relentless enthusiasm. I never crossed swords with you, not even wooden ones. I couldn’t have fought you anyway, not even with steel in our hands, perfectly countering each other’s thrusts.
I looked for you in the Barrowlands, riding the Rills alone. A wolf is not meant to be without a pack. I never saw a she-wolf in all my wandering there, never found another who bled winter, though not for lack of trying – a bloody sword is a beautiful thing. But they were all only women; I devoured them, until there was naught left but bones.
I never danced with you at the tourney. What if I saw the pain in your eyes over our respective marriages? Worse, what if I didn’t? I wasn’t sure. I did not know how you felt. I understand not the reasons behind what you did, nor what you didn’t. Only winter is certain.
I was never shy about taking what I wanted. But wild, old creatures like you were not meant to be taken. They have minds of their own, and must come of their own accord. For Rhaegar to take you…or so I believed…. I rode like an avalanche down on King’s Landing.
“A little closer,” you whisper over the screams. “Just a little closer, brother.” Swords always spoke to me louder than words. I never realized they speak with your voice.
Until now.
Is the shining steel that hangs at the tips of my fingers – so close the middle one brushes it, hard and sharp and cold – is it a blade? Or is it your soul I am finally so close to reaching, Lyanna? I do not know anymore. I only know I need it, more than anything I have ever needed in life.
“Just a little closer, Brandon.” Who is screaming, Lyanna? He sounds like someone I used to know. I need to reach you.
“Just a little closer, brother.” The swords will sing, North and South. You have the worst singing voice, sister, painful as a knife on glass, even to me.
“Just a little closer, love.” I do love you, Lyanna. I do. But I cannot. My shoulders ache. The snare bites into my neck. I am trapped, dying.
I never understood how you felt, until now.
I have reached you after all.
Brandon Stark | Ghosts of the Rebellion
there’s no salvation for me now,
no space among the clouds,
and I feel I’m heading down,
but that’s alright
Nobody would survive Rhaegar Targaryen - not his wife Elia and not his lover Lyanna. Both died for the love they bore him, both before their time.
The slim, sad girl who wore a crown of pale blue roses and a white gown spattered with gore could only be Lyanna.
