There was a sense of relief that washed over him at the feel of her hand in his. It meant that she was close, that he had a better chance at protecting her from the chaos that raged around them. Another sense of relief washed over him when she didn’t resist, obeying him with no sense of questioning. Hand squeezed her own, a sense of reassurance as he lead her down the halls and towards the front gates - a risk, but he knew it was her best chance of getting out alive, with their son.                  The question finally reached his ears, only turning his head to look at her fore a moment as they rushed to their destination, ❝ Westeros. ❞ A simple answer, neglecting to mention the fact that her and their son would be going on their own. He couldn’t leave his kingdom. His people needed him more than ever in these dire moments. Hopefully Lyanna would understand, though Odin feared that it may not be the case.                  At the front gates, a carriage with two horses and a driver sat in waiting, door open with a frantic aura surrounding it. An urgency surrounded the whole situation, already the enemy starting to pool and invade by climbing over the walls, Odin knew they didn’t have much time, ❝ Get in! ❞ He demanded, helping her into the carriage before closing the door behind her, prepared to hear her protest.

     She ran with DETERMINATION at his side, fear finally beginning to seep into her bloodstream, especially when she saw from a far distance as they ran that the ENEMY was just outside the city walls, roaring their battle cries as they INVADED. They advanced with MURDEROUS intentions, and Lyanna hardly blinked an eye when he revealed their destination. Although . . . when she arrived to ASGARD scarcely a year ago, she did not anticipate returning to Westeros so soon, if at all, for she had found a kingdom where she was RESPECTED and accepted as their future QUEEN. Nonetheless, as soon as they reached the anxiously awaiting carriage, she practically leapt in, wanting to get her babe as FAR away from this imminent DANGER as soon as possible. Then the SICKENING realization hit her that Odin wouldn’t be joining her. She would be going ALONE. 

     In the very INSTANT that she made the realization, the door of the carriage flew open, and she sprung to him as fast as she could, grey eyes beginning to FLOOD rapidly. “No, NO, I don’t want to LEAVE you!” She shouted rather HYSTERICALLY, her hands gripping onto his clothes. And as a result of his mother’s frantic hysteria, the babe began to whine. ( Even he knew something was going TERRIBLY wrong. ) “I can’t do it, I can’t go back there without you . . . I won’t!” 

     “Of course I believe you, my lady,” Steven replied, forcing himself to meet her gaze as was only right and proper. “My father always told me that the Starks were the most just and fair liege lords a small house could ever have. Your lord father’s friendship with Brooklyn is and will always be appreciated.” 

     The further they walked up the kingsroad side by side, the more that Steven was less embarrassed about their first impression. His shoulders were able to sag just a little in relaxation, the fingers of one hand clutching the reins lightly while his other hand rested on his thigh. 

     “I hope that my arrival is not at an inconvenient time? My father has only been interred a month, but it seemed the right time to reaffirm House Rogers’ loyalties to the Warden of the North.” His maester had been the one to convince him that the time was nigh, that he had to take up the mantel of Lord of Brooklyn and everything that that entailed. 

     THANKFULLY, it seemed that the initial tense impression managed to GRADUALLY melt away, and Lyanna exhaled a quiet sigh of RELIEF that relaxed her shoulders and her grip on the reins, which in turn seemed to make her mare feel more at EASE. There was a strong connection between the girl and the gentle BEAST, almost as if they were of the same mind. When one was UPSET, the other was likely to know and feel it too . . . 

     With about a mile to go until they reached the gates of WINTERFELL, Lyanna was able to practice in her mind just WHAT she would say to her lord father, and she hoped to avoid any sort of TROUBLE. But at the same time, she found herself DELIGHTED and even comfortable in his company, despite their initial exchange. “Oh nonsense, this time is as good as any,” She said, a smile MANAGING to appear on her face. “We are eager to extend our HOSPITALITY, especially in a time such as this. Your father was a GREAT man, my lord. My father thought very highly of him. He will be missed indeed.”

             for a moment he hasn’t any clue what she’s doing and he can’t help FLINCHING as she reaches toward him,    only relaxing once she speaks.    he’s injured?    it’s unsurprising,   he doubts the one lyanna sees is his only one,    but he can’t feel the wound or the pain it ought to be giving him.

            a shake of his head,   moving away from her touch.     “    it’s fine lyanna,   ”    he says,    “   it doesn’t hurt.   ”    he was sore,   but in a good way,   the sort-of way that whispered you are alive,    and you have lived.     “    and i don’t think we have any bandages anyway.    ”        they were short on any necessities,   but especially on that sort-of supplies for the simple fact they never thought it’d be needed.     “   they didn’t hurt YOU did they?   ”    peter glances over her,   looking for any wounds or injuries that could have occurred when he was otherwise occupied.   but then the last thing she said catches up to him   and a hesitant SMILE forms across his bruised face.     “    i don’t like the thought of my FRIENDS hurt either.    ”       (     when was the last time he called,    or even considered,   someone a friend?   )

     The initial flinch caused her frown to DEEPEN, and she looked into his eyes with a look of EMPATHY reflecting in her own. But when he pulled away from her altogether, her hands fell, his following question causing her to eyes to divert down to the slight SWELL of her belly. Both of her hands now rested ‘pon it, and her brow WRINKLED as she spends several silent moments to HERSELF before she speaks again. “I haven’t felt my baby move since they took me off my horse. I don’t know if I should be WORRIED, or . . . if it’s even worth being worried at all,” She said, voice GRADUALLY trickling down to a murmur. 

     In truth, DESPITE the circumstances in which the child was created, she could not help but love the little babe with her entire being. It SHOCKED her just how much she felt for the tiny life QUICKENING in her womb, and just how much she wished to PROTECT and keep it safe. And now, now that she thought that her FAILED plight could have harmed the baby in some way . . . well, she didn’t even wish to think of it. “Let me rinse your wounds at least,” She said, QUICKLY attempting to change the subject. “We don’t want them getting INFECTED. A little bit of water is better than nothing.”

Years had passed since she had last seen the Red Keep — another home she had once held dear to her heart. When the new king had sent her away she had been a foolish, naive child hoping to meet her family on Dragonstone. Those dreams had soon been shattred and while Lord Stannis was kinder to her than most other’s would have been while she was his ward (his hostage), she had soon learned from him what happened to her poor mother and brother. Mayhaps then she had dreamed to become his family and while some part of her did not doubt that she was dear to him, he was hardly showing it. Still on Dragonstone with its familiar walls, familiar servants and people who atleast respected her would she have felt much more at EASE, never stepping foot into capital again. Now though she had to — smile and curtsy and pretend she did not want to strangle them all with bare hands: Lannisters and most of all that fat usurper. For now she did not have to see the man who had sat himself upon her ancestors’ throne, instead brought directly to her chambers. 

Glad for it so she could prepare herself for such a confrontation — although all time in the world would not be enough. Smile, curtsy, make sweet compliments… Or better yet, do not speak at all so not to anger the king. Handmaidens were unpacking her things while she had been pacing in her room, every once in a while stopping to let gaze drift over the city from her window. She had left King’s Landing as a child of four, frightened and foolish. She was no longer a child, instead a woman grown and RHAENYS TARGARYEN, last child of Princess Elia and Prince Rhaegar. Only did she turn when door was opened, when a word was uttered she had not heard in so long. Princess — her t r u e title, even in her heart but it had been years since someone had called her so. Some old servants on Dragonstone had quickly abandoned the habit when scolded for it although a few had taken to call her such in private, but they all had died sooner or later. 

The woman standing before her now Rhaenys did not recognize upon first sight, brows furrowing a little at outstretched arms and usage of such title. Until, with eyes drifting over features and dark hair, older now as she herself had grown, she did see the similarities to the woman she had once called her friend — Lyanna Stark, the new queen. Another confrontation she was not ready to have mayhaps, for what she had learned with time about her. Still there was the memory of her kindness, of the only friend she had had in this keep. Maybe therefore lips curled into a smile all on their own. “Your Grace.”    Curtsying elegantly with gaze cast towards the floor, Rhaenys only remained in such position for a moment before stepping closer and carefully embracing the other woman, almost scared she would step away from her yet.    “It is so good to see you again.”

     Lyanna held a great and PASSIONATE loathing for this city, for to her, it felt like death and scandal were written on every wall and stairwell with blood dripping MERCILESSLY from the curtains. It was within these very walls of the Red Keep that her lord father and brother met their unjust end at the COMMAND of the Mad King Aerys, two men who were only trying to get their beloved daughter and sister back and avenge her honor. ( But that wasn’t all. ) When she learned of the brutal deaths of the DEFENSELESS Princess Elia and her infant son, she was filled with such hatred and distrust in the very men who now called this city their own. Men killing one another in the battle field is one atrocity, but to kill a woman and her child was such an UNSPEAKABLE act against humanity. 

     Perhaps that was why she held a SPECIAL place in her heart for the fallen PRINCESS. She had been brave, and for some reason, she had been spared from The Mountain’s cruel hands. For that, Lyanna was GRATEFUL. In the beginning of her newfound captivity that her crown condemned her to, she relied so much on the presence of the PLAYFUL little child. Her laughs were music to her ears, and though she had so much of her mother’s looks, she reminded her so much of her FATHER . . . the dragon prince who seemingly brought them all into this very mess. 

     She wondered if the princess knew the ENTIRE truth, now that she had gracefully reached womanhood, including the actions of her own father, though the BLAME didn’t entirely lay with him. As she EMBRACE the princess, she could only imagine what sort of reunion this would be. After a moment, she broke away, and offered Rhaenys another warm smile before she turned to the handmaidens, busying themselves with unpacking. “Give the princess and I a moment ALONE. You’ll have plenty of time to finish later,” She said, still using her PROPER title as a bold statement, unafraid of what ANYONE might say. Nonetheless, her handmaidens left, and they were alone. “How was the journey? Not too bothersome, I hope?”

——  “I was with her when she died,” Ned reminded the king. “She wanted to come home, to rest beside Brandon and Father.” He could hear her still at times. Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister’s eyes. 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. After that he remembered nothing. They had found him still holding her body, silent with grief. The little crannogman, Howland Reed, had taken her hand from his. Ned could recall none of it. “I bring her flowers when I can,” he said. “Lyanna was … fond of flowers.”

                                            I N D E P E N D E N T & P R I V A T E                                                             LYANNA STARK

Charles Bukowski  (via ghostridden)