A Dragon In Wolf's Clothing ~A Game of Thrones fan fiction~

Chapter Nineteen: Attack

"What will you call him?" Alize asked as she wrapped Lyanna's child up in a towel; they didn't have any clothes for the baby as he was two months early.

"It's a he?" Lyanna exclaimed grinning. She was exhausted, but refused to sleep until she had her child back in her arms. Her whole body ached too, but she didn't let it show.

"Yes, didn't you check?" Alize laughed as she handed the little bondle back into Lyanna's arms. He was asleep, but that didn't stop her from touching his little chubby cheeks. He was tiny, but chubby. He had a few strands of dark hair which crowned his small head and she had managed to glimpse at them long enough to see he had brown eyes; he was perfect.

Lyanna shook her head. "I didn't care,"

"Was it true what you said earlier? Was your mother really a Targaryen?" Alize asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Pausing, Lyanna thought about her answer. Could she trust Alize with the truth? Afterall, she was a handmaiden, probably supplied to her by the Lannisters. She could easily be spying on her for Cersei, and if Cersei found out about Lyanna's parentage, she would waste no time telling Joffrey, or Robert. Either way, Lyanna and her son would end up dead. The thought of her dying at the hand of one stupid handmaiden was ridiculous. However, Alize seemed trustworthy. She had helped Lyanna through the last seven months, but now, could she really be good enough to hear the biggest secret in King's Landing and not report it back to the king or queen?

Lyanna nodded reluctantly before looking down at her son. If he ended up dead because of her stupidity, Lyanna didn't know what she would do. She would probably join him in the grave, though, and she was sure her father and sisters would be murdered also, for knowingly harboring an enemy to the crown.

"You can trust me," she said quietly, her hand on Lyanna's knee.

"You're going to tell the queen, aren't you?" she didn't believe Alize's pledge of trust.

Alize laughed."I'm from Highgarden, my lady," she pointed out. "The Tyrell's supported the Targaryen's in the war. Do you think I'd want to get the only Targaryen for miles around killed?"

"Its my mother that's a Targaryen, my father's a Stark, which makes me a Stark," Lyanna sighed, glancing across the bed to where Winter was sprawled out, her red eyes trained on the baby in Lyanna's arms.

"You need to get some rest, my lady," Alize said, taking the child out of Lyanna's arms and laying him down in the wooden cradle she had brought in moments before. It was then that she realised how tired she truly was and it wasn't long after Alize had left the room that she fell asleep.

Lyanna wasn't sure how long she was asleep for, but when she woke and saw the moon in the night's sky through the thin drapes, she knew it had been a long time. She also knew that something wasn't right. Everything seemed normal; the candle by her bed was still burning, the singing from the streets below, even the soft breaths from her son. Everything seemed as it should be, but something was wrong. The floorboard creaking added to her theory.

Lyanna slowly reached out and took the dagger laid on her bedside table into her hand before hiding it under the sheet. She thanked the old gods that she had remembered to put her dagger on the table the night before instead of leaving it by the vanity table, which was on the other side of the room. Holding the cold metal hilt, her thumb tracing over the large ruby, she tried to make out any shapes which could be an intruder in the room, but, despite the candle flickering by her bedside, it was far too dark to even see her hand if it was in front of her face.

Her heart was pounding as she tried to reassure herself; the Red Keep was old, and old buildings did creak in the night, especially castles. No matter how much she told herself that she was being ridiculous, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was in her room. For protection, she slid the dagger under her pillow carefully, trying not to cut the fabric open; heaven forbid that she destroys any more of the feather pillows Joffrey cares about so much.