Chapter Text
History is written by the victors. The reality of those that live in the present is molded into whatever the victors wish it to be so. Some names are sullied. Some are venerated. Some are forgotten.
They tell stories of the She-Wolf - in the North and the South.
They tell of her beauty.
They remember the colour blue of the winter roses she was crowned.
They whisper of poor Lyanna Stark who was lusted after by a prince as mad as his father. They say she was kidnapped and raped.
All the tales told are about Lyanna the Winter Rose.
They never hear the story of Lyanna the Wolf.
No one will tell tales of how the She-Wolf hunts with ferocity. No one will know of her prowess with the sword that she learned side-by-side her brothers. There will be none who will remember Lyanna Stark’s laugh - the full-bellied sound, the hiccup-like sound, and the ones she snorts like a boar.
History is written by the victors. The truth of the past is oftentimes forgotten as the victors rewrite a person to be.
No one alive can now tell her son about the woman that his mother was. They cannot tell her of her defiance or her ferocity. He will not know how fiercely his mother loves. Her son will never know that he is a child born of a love between three people.
No one alive will remember that Lyanna Stark is more than the woman that caused the fall of the Targaryen Dynasty.
No one will be able to remember that Lyanna Stark fell hard and fast for Elia Martell just as she had with Rhaegar Targaryen.
No one remembers the story of the She-Wolf.
There is a saying that burns in her soul that goes, “The North Remembers”.
But it does not remember the truth - that Lyanna Stark hated the Baratheon man her brother brought back. She did not like his licentiousness nor his utter lack of respect for her person.
The North Remembers what happened at Harrenhal. They will remember the crowning of their She-Wolf as the Queen of Love and Beauty but they will not hear the stories of how she donned an armor and fought in the tourney.
They will rage wars that their own was kidnapped, not knowing that she had ran away with a man and woman she loves.
They will remember her eyes, but they will never see the shape or color in her son’s eyes no matter how similar they may be. Or, perhaps, they do see it but they remain mum about it.
They will whisper that it is a coincidence. They will say that the blood of the wolf runs strong in her son. But they will never come to the conclusion that her son is borne from the She-Wolf and the Silver Prince.
The North Remembers but they cannot remember a story they do not know about.