Crowns and Cruel Intentions || Game of Thrones

18| 𝔩𝔶𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔞

the riverlands, westeros

— LYANNA SAT ALONE IN THE WOODS. Long ago her tears had stopped, likely small pieces of ice amongst the snow by now. She sat with her back to a large rock, far enough from camp that her shrieking sobs could not have been heard. Eddard Stark, the North's generous lord and protector, Lyanna Stark's loving father, was dead.

Lyanna sprinted through the halls of Winterfell, five years old, her eyes wide and bright, her skirt gripped in her little fists so she wouldn't trip over it. The shouts of her septa were lost behind her as she rushed ahead to her parents' room. Her moment was cut short suddenly as one of her little shoes flew off and she took a tumble forward. She uttered a small, oof, but cried no tears, instead scrambling to get her shoe back before the septa caught up and hurrying towards the door she sought once more, bursting through without even a knock. A wide grin split her face when she spotted her mother with a little bundle in her arms, her father right there next to her. "Mama! Is it-is it-is it??" She bolted forwards only to be caught up in her father's arms, stopping her before she could outright tackle her mother and the newborn babe in excitement.

He chuckled fondly, still holding her back. "Easy now, Trouble. Your mother's had a rough morning. Take a breath with me?"

Still shaking with excitement, Lyanna managed a few breaths before he allowed her to scurry off to hop up onto the pillows next to Catelyn. "Is it a girl??" She asked breathlessly, a wide smile on her lips.

Her mother looked at her fondly, pressing a kiss to her forehead before nodding. "She is, indeed. Meet your sweet sister Sansa, my dear."

She squeaked with joy, her father laughing softly as he sat behind her, placing an arm around her shoulders. Finally, he seemed to take notice of the evidence of her earlier fall. He gently took one of her hands in his, observing the scuffs on her palms with a small frown. "What's this?"

"Oh," she giggled nervously. "I fell."

He smiled. "Silly girl." He kissed the scrape lightly, making her giggle again before pulling her into a hug.

A direwolf pressed into her side comfortingly, and Lyanna found herself fighting back tears again. There had never been a moment with her father that she hadn't felt loved, seen, supported no matter the rules nor traditions. He loved her wholly and she knew he'd done everything he could to keep her happy and safe. Some part of her suddenly felt empty knowing he was gone. I am going to kill that wretched little king, she swore, lacing her fingers through Zalia's thick fur. If it's the last thing I ever do.

°

All the men had gathered to decide what it is they were to do now. What was their purpose now that the man they'd intended to rescue was dead? Lyanna couldn't care less at the moment. Her heart felt cold as lead, even with Marianna by her side, holding her hand tightly. The girls had shared tears together over the tragedy. Marianna had apologised profusely, debating for a long while whether or not to make appearances at Robb's council anymore – after all, was she not the last person they'd wish to see? Your loyalty means everything, now more than ever. Lyanna had assured her. Show it to them, and you will earn their respect. So here they both were.

"The proper course is clear." One of the lords announced. "Pledge fealty to King Renly and move South to join our forces with his." Since Robert's death, it would seem that Marianna's uncle fancied himself king more than Joffrey. With the way Marie talked about Renly, Lyanna couldn't exactly disagree.

"Renly is not the king." Robb spoke up.

"You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord. He put your father to death!"