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At first, she thought it was a joke and she told Ned so. She told him that it was not the time for jesting. But he only shook his head. “This is no joke, Lyanna.”
She stared at him. And stared. And stared. Until the truth dawned upon her with the power of a hammer, much like the one that had taken Rhaegar’s life at the Trident. The very same one, and it would not relent... Outside, the storm raging over King’s Landing made her think of Robert’s fury, the one that he had unleashed in that river… The Kingsguard at the tower had taken care not to mention the details and the handmaidens she was given here were silent as graves – sometimes, she felt she would go mad with the lack of someone who would talk to her – but she had heard the words of the guards when they changed at her door. Some of them were men she had known since she was a child; some of them, she had even spied on in the practice yard as they trained and they had always looked at her with a smile. No smiles for her now. Just the meticulous care that she and the dangerous babe she had given birth to would not disappear in the middle of the night. And no care with their worlds – not that Ned would ever let someone go away with insulting her in any way – but they traded stories and versions of what had happened at the Trident and the loudest-voiced of them, she heard. In some traitorous part of her heart, she rejoiced each time she heard of how Rhaegar had fallen and she was disgusted with herself. He had not known what their love would lead to. No one had.
But he was dead and everyone blamed them for the destruction that had unfolded. People would likely gloat to see her getting wed to… to…
“I won’t do this,” she said curtly. She thought she was being quiet but the babe moved in his cradle anyway and opened his eyes. Grey eyes, like Brandon’s. Like her father’s. Guilt flooded her again despite her sound mind telling her that it was not her fault at all. She stayed still and he went back to sleep. Only then did she look at her brother. “I just won’t.”
“I’m afraid you did not understand me, Lyanna.” Ned’s voice was cold, colder than she had ever heard it before… before everything. And she was no longer Lya to him. Never this. “You will wed Oberyn Martell next week. The agreement had been signed and sealed… and you can be sure that I won’t give you the chance to fool me, the way you did Father. You will be here to head for the sept…”
Lyanna laughed, incredulous. The sept? The sept? Was he trying to humiliate her even more? A marriage made in a sept was no marriage at all! She’d be nothing but Oberyn Martell’s whore!
“Do you hate me this much?” she asked softy, almost reconciled with the thought that he did. Everyone else did, after all. She had had so many plans for her babe and now, no one had come to congratulate it on his birth. The derision she saw in the eyes of the highborn in the rare occasions when she left her chambers made it clear that it was not only fear of the new King – they truly despised her. They considered her no better than a mistress, not the adored princess she had imagined she would be, astounding the world with the glorious tale of her love with the handsome prince. The smallfolk would have torn her apart… the surviving smallfolk, that was it. At least Tywin Lannister’s barbarity could not be laid at her feet! But Ned seemed to blame… everything else on her. Her and Rhaegar. Not that he had ever said so. He had never been the one to rant in fury. But the quiet distance he put between himself and her spoke volumes.
“I don’t hate you, Lyanna,” he said tiredly. “Believe it or not, I’m doing this because I think it’s the best for you as well.”
She could not believe his brazenness. “So handing me off to her family is in my best interest?” she asked.
“Would you rather return to Winterfell?” he asked.
Lyanna rose and started pacing. Yes, she wanted to return to Winterfell with her child but the Winterfell that she had left, not the one that she would find now. Not the Winterfell where everyone would blame her. She and the babe would not be safe there, although she had taken all precautions she could think of, going as far as to refuse her son the Targaryen name he was entitled to and leaving it to Ned to choose one. Worse, she was not sure that Ned would actually fight for her being able to keep her boy with her. The prospect of a new war seemed to terrify him more than anything and more than once, she had noticed him stare thoughtfully at his nephew, perhaps thinking of the son whom he had not yet seem and who was growing up without him. Ned had a family of his own and they were his priority now, as little as he knew his wife.
I didn’t know Rhaegar when I ran away with him either, a treacherous voice reminded her but Lyanna chased it away firmly. Love was worth it all… and now, she would pay for it. One way or another.
“I’d rather become a silent sister,” she stated because anything was better than leaving herself and Jon to Oberyn Martell’s whims and vindictiveness. He undoubtedly thought his sister was the true victim – his sister who would retain and even elevate her status, Rhaegar’s death having spared her the utter humiliation of being questioned and forced to name the father of the babe she was currently expecting. Lyanna knew for sure that it could not be Rhaegar. As fiercely as she had rejected him in the heat of her grief and anger, he must have known that she had not meant it. He could not have gone back to the wife he had never wanted in the first place, could he?
“What, with the Faith?” Ned asked and his face became as cynical as their father’s had been sometimes. “I thought you didn’t acknowledge their rituals? Or do you acknowledge the ones that suit you at the moment… again?”
Lyanna flushed. It was true that she had wed Rhaegar before a septon, although one that was quite drunken and unworthy of respect, but she had always intended to have a proper wedding before a heart tree. But it would be of no use to explain this to Ned. He had decided to think the worst of her, always. He would likely give a rueful smile without exactly telling her that what a little fool she was but she would feel it anyway. She had felt like this as well, after all, after her father and Brandon’s deaths and before Rhaegar’s own…
“You won’t have me in Winterfell, will you?” she finally asked, going straight for the matter as she had not done in years.
“Your presence will create many problems for me,” he replied candidly. “But I think you won’t be safe there anyway. No, Lyanna, I will not have you in Winterfell. And I won’t be bringing your child to Winterfell. I have a child of myself now and he comes first. I am not raising a claimant for the throne and that’s it.”
“My son is no claimant for anything!” Lyanna snapped. “And if Robert is so scared of children, perhaps he should reconsider wedding Elia Martell, eh? You know, Rhaegar’s first son’s mother? And I will not wed her brother, just so you know!”
Ned sighed. “Did you already forget your insistence that you were Rhaegar’s second wife and one true love? That you cursed our future queen for traitor when you heard she was going to marry Robert? Where does this leave your son if not in the position of a claimant and pretender?”
Lyanna looked down. She could barely remember those first days of shock and grief caused by all the changes – could she have really put her child in danger through her quick tongue? She had to admit that it was possible.
“I won’t do this,” she insisted but when she looked at the Stark-looking but not a Stark babe in the cradle, the babe that only had her to protect him, she started giving the matter some thought; when she thought about the changes in Winterfell that she had helped causing, however inadvertently, her determination faded. And when she took her last stroll through the city, closely guarded, of course, the sight of the decimated population finally tipped the balance.
Oberyn Martell did not care for propriety and paying her visits. Lyanna was more than a little relieved. She was at a loss at how to behave with him, what to talk to him about, what questions to ask. They could not exchange even the most trivial of courtesies asking about the wellbeing of the other one’s family…
But the seamstresses came into her chambers every day and Lyanna took pride in suffering their attentions without snapping once. The women were not to blame – they simply obeyed the orders the King’s grandmother had given them. Lyanna overheard them talking between themselves that they hoped to get the order for the future Queen’s wedding gown as well and marveled at how little the smallfolk cared about events that left the entire world shaken and changed.
She had had her share of love and it was only right that now, she would pay the price. She did not want to create any problems for Ned and the North. She did not want for her child to be considered a threat to anyone… and yet the closer the date of the wedding drew, the more her fear grew, wild, animalistic fear that far exceeded any reluctance she had had about wedding Robert. No matter what, she had never doubted that Robert was mad about her. The little that she had seen of Oberyn Martell at Harrenhal told her that he was fiercely protective of his sister – like her own brothers had been of her… And Lyanna had been quite inconsiderate where Elia Martell was concerned. Would the Dornishman make her pay? Yes, of course, in any way he thought appropriate. She had heard some things about him even… before and while they had looked amusing and thrilling, she would not like to live with them.
Perhaps he would refuse the wedding. This would not create any such of the scale that would have come about if she had. But the day approached and Ned did not come to tell her that her new betrothed had changed his mind. Lyanna would not leave Jon out of her sight as she prayed constantly for… something to happen to the man. To her chagrin, it was just a waste of time because it was not wholeheartedly – Oberyn Martell had not done anything. She had. She and Rhaegar. She could not truly wish for something bad to befall him. And she did not quite dare to pray to the old gods to prevent the wedding. She had once and they had heard – in a way that she, in her heart of hearts, would never think worth it. No love, no silver prince was worth such a thing.
Ah, but she was turning into as much of a traitor as Rhaegar’s sickly wife, their future queen – if she survived this long! Then again, why not? The woman had survived two difficult childbirths. Why not a third one? With the way the Seven laughed at Rhaegar’s face, Elia Martell could even give Robert an heir in no time at all!
And then, the day arrived, as bright as a promise. A mockery. Lyanna had not slept at all last night but her anxiety of the night to come was such that she was wide awake as they washed her, combed her hair, arranged the folds of her gown – and such a magnificent gown it was! Lyanna had heard that Elia Martell had had a hand in choosing the design and almost expected to look hideous but the pale lilac made her hair a deeper shade of brown, lent some colour to her cheeks, and even gave her something like a curves – well, the Princess would know all about creating the illusion of curves, would she not? In the chest, particularly!
When Ned came to take her, she was already calm. Way too calm. “What did you put in my wine?” she asked, ever so calmly.
He did not try to deny it. “Something to soothe your nerves,” he said but Lyanna could hear the words that he did not say. Something to make sure you won’t create any problems… and bitterness rose from the pit of her stomach all the way to her lips. That was what he thought about her. That she was this irresponsible. That was how it would be.
The wedding would not take place in the Great Sept. She would be spared this, at least. But when she entered the palace sept, Lyanna realized that it was a good thing that they had given her the potion. When she saw the group of men gathered before the statues, she recoiled and almost turned back to run, fear rising high, the enormousness of what would happen now dawning upon her, finally. She forced herself to move her feet but when she met Oberyn Martell’s level stare, she wanted to scream. Robert Baratheon, the new Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, was there as well, with the widow of the man he had slain. No clever design of the gown could hide Elia Martell’s pregnancy and Lyanna was struck again by the realization that she was entering a family as reckless as to conduct an affair here, under Rhaegar and King Aerys’ very noses. And Elia was said to be the restrained one… What kind of life would Lyanna have with her brother?
As the High Septon intoned the words, Lyanna’s panic grew until only one word remained in her watered down mind – run, run, run. She suppressed it and suppressed it until she could no longer suppress it – unfortunately, at the least appropriate moment. Defiance broke to the surface and she repeated the words “I take you for my husband”. But she omitted the word lord.
“My lady,” the High Septon spoke in a low voice, “it is I take you for my lord and husband”.
“There were enough lies spoken for one day, by all of us,” Oberyn Martell said indifferently. “Of course I’ll be her lord. Lady Lyanna is going to understand it soon enough, I promise her this.”
Lyanna almost screamed as the ceremony was resumed. Now, no one even waited for her words and actions. The rite went on. The world went on and there was nothing that she could do to change it.
The End