Game Of Thrones... With A Twist

A Game of Thrones - Chapter 2

<Before Lyanna Stark's Crypt, Crypts of Winterfell, Winterfell, The North...>

Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, let the tears run down his pudgy and bearded cheeks as he cried, feeling the loss that had never healed no matter how many whores he had taken to his bed nor how many times he had tried to drink himself into oblivion.

Placing a single feather upon the stone had of the statue, he grieved as the stone face of the only woman he would ever be able to love stared back at him. 

"Did you have to bury her in a place like this?" Robert asked, his voice wavering a bit with the tears and the heartache.

Ned only watched silently, knowing that though Robert may cry now, should he ever discover Lyanna's secret... there would be hell to pay. "She should be on a hill with the sun and the clouds above her." Robert said fervently. 

"She was my sister. This is where she belongs." Ned answered calmly, wondering whether Robert would ever be able to let Lyanna go and move on with his life.

The King on the Iron Throne had never moved on from Lyanna Stark, and as such, the twisted image of the mighty warrior king, a fat oaf, was all that was left of the man that had once been one of the greatest warriors that the Seven Kingdoms had ever known.

"She belonged with me." Robert said in a hard tone as he reached out to tentatively touch the stone carving of Lyanna's face. 

"In my dreams, I kill him every night." Robert growled, his thoughts turning to the man that had stolen Lyanna away from him... the man that had led poor Lyanna wholeheartedly to her death because he had believed in a prophecy.

"It's done, Your Grace. The Targaryen's are gone." Ned said, really wanting to get away from this topic... considering his own personal involvement in this matter.

Robert lowered his head in primal rage, an echo of the ferocious Demon of the Trident within his fattened body. 

"Not all of them." He stated ominously thinking of two other Targaryens far away, across the Narrow Sea... all the while blind to the hatchling hidden amongst the wolf pups.

<Magister Illyrio Mopatis' Mansion, The Free City of Pentos, The Narrow Sea, Essos...>

A young girl of seventeen looked out the from the balcony of the mansion that had been her home for a year, its owner hosting the last two remaining Targaryens in the world.

She was a beauty unlike any other, with silver hair and alluring, nearly otherworldly, amethyst eyes as she looked out to the world with an unflinching gaze, her mind burdened with the fate that she would soon be subjected to because of her brother's fanatical and self-destructive obsession with the Iron Throne of Westeros.

"Daenerys!" A voice that she recognised, but would be the first to admit that she was not sure whether she hated it or loved it, called for her, breaking her from her own self-destructive thoughts.

The young Targaryen turned around to see another silver haired man with amethyst eyes, his having a touch of madness within them, entering her chambers with a silver-white dress in his hand.

"Daenerys! There's our beautiful bride-to-be." He said jovially as she left the balcony overlooking the Narrow Sea and walked into the roofed confines of the mansion. 

"Look. A gift from Illyrio." He said with a smile as he held the dress towards her. 

"Touch it. Go on. Feel the fabric." The Targaryen, Viserys was his name, said as he offered the dress to her. He made a small 'hmm' sound as she did so quite obediently, just a young naïve girl in a big world really.