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

Chapter Seventy Six: The Turning of the Tide

'I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die,'

Lyanna's thoughts were consumed by the same thought over and over as the crowd piled on top of her, her own army now turning against her as they attempted to save their own lives.

Heart pounding, stomach twisting, Lyanna found herself getting pushed further and further to the floor, feeling feet kick at her and men shove around her. Protectively, she managed to wrap her arms around her stomach, realising that if she was to truly die in this human pile up, she would at least try and protect her child, a tragic innocent who had no business to be involved in war at such a young age. She realised suddenly, as bodies fell on top of her, slowly compressing her into the muddy ground, suffocating her slowly, that she had been truly selfish and foolish, putting her own pride and arrogance ahead of another life. She may have been Lyanna Stark, daughter of a Wolf and Dragon, but in that moment, she was just another battle fatality waiting to happen, a stupid pregnant woman who was about to die in a battle that was meant to be for the good of her house.

Accepting her fate, Lyanna held her breath, shut her eyes, waiting for another body to fall and crush her.

It did not come. In fact, the crowd parted slightly, men began to pull themselves up, or others pulled the fallen off, and the once compiled crowd began to spread out more. The thundering battle cries of the Boltons still echoed around her ears, along with the cries of her own army, though there was another sound. It seemed everyone around her heard this and fell silent, though the battle raged on, and everyone strained to hear the noise of a battle horn, followed by something else; The sound of hooves plundering land at a gallop. With a last fleeting hope of surviving somehow, Lyanna's heart skipped a beat.

Stumbling to her feet, she managed to lift her head to see, riding over the hill with dignified glory and honour, the shining Tyrell cavalry, the Golden Rose flying high on the banners. Lyanna saw the army pour round into the clearing and begin down the hill, and she realised that there was far more men there than Ramsay had. The sight made many men confused, the shining Southern army appearing vastly out of place in the gritty northern landscape. They did not have time to dwell on it, as the Bolton force still bore down on them, but for Lyanna, she felt a release momentarily, knowing that they were so close to being lost, but now there was another chance. In fact, not only were men confused, but frightened, as they, along with Lyanna, felt the tide beginning to turn.

Her sword was lost, she'd dropped it in the confusion and fear of the pile up, and so she improvised, pulling Robb's dagger out of her back holster, grabbing the nearest stray Bolton and ramming it into his throat. Another ran at her and she slashed back at him, a sudden burst of energy running through her, despite the twisting pain in her stomach she was forced to ignore. Noticing her loss of a sword, Tormund staggered over to her, his face and beard bloodstained, holding a sword which was not his own, and pressed his back to hers, covering her. With the rest of the Stark army that had been compressed beginning to break off, spreading back out, the Wolf and the Wildling stayed, Lyanna calling out directions and orders, fighting Boltons that came close, Tormund offering her cover when she needed it.

"Jon?" she managed to call to the Wildling, who remained silent. Either that or she didn't hear his response over the roaring battle.

Panic took over her once more as the realisation of not seeing her brother set in. Had he been crushed? Killed? That was, until she saw him stagger over, clutching his chest with one hand and a sword in another. He looked fierce and battle-worn, stray hairs working their way out of their tight tie, his face stained with blood and filth. As he got close, Lyanna got hold of his arm in a gesture of solidarity, overjoyed to see him still, though their moment of sibling love was far from peaceful as the Boltons continued to attack.