Forsaken Bloodlines {HP x GOT}

Chapter 6.4

The meeting had concluded in the late afternoon, the scent of parchment and wax lingering in the council chamber. One by one, the lords and advisors had filed out with bows and nods, murmuring their agreements or minor complaints. Lyanna remained seated at the head of the long table, fingers steepled together in silent thought. Tom stood at her right, quietly studying her profile, his brow creased with concern.

Only two lingered—Tyrion Lannister, idly swirling the last of his wine in a goblet, and Samwell Tarly, shuffling some parchments together with uncharacteristic hesitation.

Lyanna looked up, noticing them still there. "Is something else troubling you both?" she asked, her voice calm, yet weary.

Tyrion set his goblet down with a soft clink. "I'd say troubling is a generous term for what we've heard."

Sam glanced at Tyrion, then back at Lyanna. "We heard... about the incident."

Lyanna's gaze sharpened. "I see."

Tom remained silent, folding his arms, already tense.

"I don't mean to pry," Sam said quickly, his voice sincere. "But... you destroyed part of your chambers in your sleep. You injured people. That kind of uncontrolled surge... it's not a small matter."

Lyanna's jaw tightened. "No, it isn't," she admitted. "And I've taken steps to ensure it won't happen again."

Tyrion leaned forward slightly, fingertips tapping the table. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but this isn't about what steps you've taken. It's about whether you are... capable of keeping it from happening again."

Tom narrowed his eyes slightly. "That's a bold thing to imply."

"I don't mean it as an insult," Tyrion replied evenly. "If anything, it's a concern rooted in loyalty. We've bent the knee. We've accepted her as queen. But we've all seen what happens when power—especially this kind—goes unchecked."

Sam nodded, though he seemed pained to speak. "You have more power than anyone alive, Lyanna. Maybe anyone in history. Magic—true, old magic—is unstable. Even I can feel it around you. And we're afraid that someday, no matter how good your intentions are, you'll lose control again."

Lyanna's expression softened just a little. "Do you think I haven't asked myself the same thing?"

There was a long silence. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows across the stone walls, and the air in the room thickened with unspoken fear.

"I wake up every day wondering if I'm the biggest threat this world has ever seen," she continued quietly. "I know what I'm capable of. And I know what it could do to everyone—everything—I've fought to protect."

Tom stepped closer to her, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "She hasn't given in. That has to count for something."

Tyrion sighed. "It does. But you see the irony, don't you? You're powerful enough to rule—and dangerous enough that no one should."

Lyanna looked down at her hands—hands that had healed a guard and nearly killed him all in the same night. "So what do you suggest?" she asked, voice low. "That I abdicate? Hide away from the world and hope the next ruler doesn't lose control?"

"No," Sam said softly. "But maybe... you need limits. Anchors. Like your wand. You said it helped, right?"

Lyanna nodded. "It did."

"Then keep using it," he urged. "Rely on things that bring your power into focus, not unleash it without direction."

"And surround yourself with people who'll tell you when you're slipping," Tyrion added. "Not flatterers. Not zealots. People who will say no to you."