Chapter Text
Prologue - 282 AL
"How many babes will we have?"
Lyanna asks this after their loving, when the sheets are warmed and the fires within them have consumed all energy. She murmurs it into his chest, her pillow, her refuge.
Rhaegar gives her a little kiss on her head, and answers, "As many as you will give me." Then his hand slips down from her waist to her abdomen, which was still as flat as a plain. "But at the very least, one."
"One." She repeats it as she repeats all his words, as if they were faery-speak that required a breathy tone, one as light as a sprite's wings yet as sweet as a ripe elderberry. "I will give you six, my love. Or seven, or eight, or ten." Her nails dug into his back, leaving four half-moon marks as a temporary promise. He chuckles into her hair, and strokes her stomach.
"I will have them all. All ten of your little babes running around the Red Keep, knocking over servants, dirtying the floors, screaming so that half of King's Landing will hear." It was a sweet scene he painted, yet Lyanna did not see it as such. There were things in there she would have erased, replaced with something else. She sighed a forlorn sigh. Rhaegar noticed. "Does that not please you, Lyanna?" How disconcerted he sounded! It was to be expected as such; when people saw things different from Rhaegar, he fretted.
"It pleases me some," she conceded with a small smile. She felt Rhaegar's eyes trying to meet hers, and thus she tilted her head up so that the may receive her gaze. His hand quickly flew to her face, where he stroked her brow so lightly, as if she were a babe herself.
"What of it does not please you?" His thumb dragged down the side of her face, leaving her flesh burning in its trail, until it rested on her lower lip, where it rubbed back and forth, back and forth.
"Must we go to King's Landing?" She asked him in all urgency, at which he frowned and paused his stroking. "Let us stay here, where we are happy. Send away your knights and your servants. Leave the tower to the two of us, and you may cook and I may clean. I will never wear a dress again- nay, I'll near wear a thing at all. We may live together, alone, in peace, forever." The image she conjured brought a lilt of excitement to her voice, a flush of awe to her face. Surely, her eyes must have brightened also, as Rhaegar's face softened at her, and he returned to teasing her lip.
"And who will be king? Shall I rule from Dorne, so far south from the heart of the kingdom, and send all my orders by raven?" Lyanna wanted to whisper yes, to press herself to him in a moment of ecstasy and allow herself to succumb to the sweet fairytale. Yet he spoke with the tone of an amused father, not like she, like an enraptured lover. He was only humoring her. Lyanna knew what this meant. "Nay, my sweet, that is madness. We shall have King's Landing and all its luxuries, and you shall be quite content there. Besides..." His hand left her face to find purchase on her back, where he pushed her closer to him, pressing her breasts onto him and setting her hips in line with his. He murmurs, "Dorne discomforts you. You say it gives you heat." The sun's heat was not what she felt now, as the moon hung over their tall tower, but a carnal one, one that started between her legs and rose up to the center of her belly.
"Yes, it does, it does," she said breathlessly as she regained her wits. "Forget Dorne, then. Let us go north, beyond the wall, where it snows day and night no matter the season." Lyanna missed the snow, more than she would ever miss the sand surrounding her. "We will need no one there. We may hunt, and run, and live. Let us be wildlings together- I'll be your shieldmaiden, and you my man." This was even better than the last! Cold, crisp winds, thick warm furs, and enough snow to blind.
Rhaegar chuckled at his too, not any more serious. Lyanna furrowed her brows at him- I mean it! she wanted to cry, but couldn't.
"Wildlings? Savages, more like," he said with a edge of disbelief. "That is what they will call us." They? Who was they? The only 'they' that mattered to Lyanna was the two of them.
"Let them call us that, then. At least we'll be free." There is nothing greater than to be free. Wind at your back, feet stained with dirt, knees with grass, and not single wordly possession festooned about you. It was all she ever wanted.
Rhaegar sighed now, dropping his amusement to replace it with exasperation. "Lyanna-"
"Oh, think of it, Rhaegar!" It was her turn to stroke his face, to push those silver tresses out of his eyes, to let him see her clearly. "Every night we will have a fire, and each other to keep us warm. We will make love under the stars, and I will give you ten children, all savage little babes, who will find others like us and be happy like we are-"
He shushed her with a kiss, which Lyanna submitted to for only a moment before wrenching away. Unbidden tears pricked her eyes- she understood what he was doing, what he was trying to do. She could already hear him saying Enough, Lyanna. Close your eyes, you are speaking out of exhaustion. Oh, but she wanted so badly for it to happen, this fantasy of hers. It was all she wanted.
"I remember the first time you kissed me," she murmured in a thin voice, fighting back emotion. "You tasted like a dream. Like hope, and fairy dust, and a hundred possibilities." She burrowed her face back into his chest, to avoid his searing gaze. "Now it is different." But how so? He still thrilled her with his kisses, still sent a river of love coursing through her veins, but it was no longer a mysterious love. All was clear. She knew her place, and he knew his.
"Come now, Lyanna," he whispered sweetly into her hair, lulling her into an even temper. "Dreams are for those who have yet to live. We live now- dreamers can only hope to do what we do now." His hand massaged the small of her back, kneading little circles that relieved all stiffness. Lyanna felt herself at ease again, under his intoxicating spell that played on her nerves like fingers on harp strings. "You will not be discontent in King's Landing. I will see to it."
"How?" She whispered back, her voice weakening with the weight of sleep. "What will you do?" Lyanna wanted stories like that ones he told her in their letters. She wanted thrills, delight beyond description. She did not want reality, she wanted magic, things that sounded wonderful but may very well be impossible. Let me hear your promises again.
And thus, he began. "I will buy you a horse of silver- a finer mare you won't find anywhere, and she will be as swift and sure as the wind." A coat to match her Rhaegar's locks, gleaming in the sunlight, softer than down. "I will fill a whole room with your winter roses, brought straight from the North and filling every inch, every corner." From Winterfell, those roses will be and no other Northern city. "We may go riding, we'll sup together at every chance, and I will warm your bed every night." Yes, every night, she would sleep by him, lay with him, envelope herself in him and she does now. "And I will give you ten babes- gladly, I would give them to you, and care for you with each one you grow full with."
Yes, yes.
These dreams were different. They were truer, more honest, yet brought with them the thrill of solidity. I will, we will, Rhaegar said, not I may, we might.
It was real. It was not like Robert, who she had to fake smiles for, whose hands she could hardly withstand on her. What Rhaegar made her feel was a rush of life that could not be compared. He gave her purpose. He gave her love.
King's Landing would be heaven if he were there beside her.
---
It had been three years.
Three long, full years since the dust had settled, since Robert Baratheon's death in a river stained with his blood, since the burned bodies of Elia and the children were buried, since the Mad King burned with them, and the corpses of fighting men were left to rot in the sun. It had been three tiresome, grueling years with a heavy crown weighing on Rhaegar's head, years spent making peace and receiving guests, pleasing the realm and occasionally his wife. It was often difficult, being queen to a dedicated king, and Lyanna found those years to be filled with much wanting. There was a lust for home, for Winterfell and summer snows. Winterfell was comfort, an arsenal of memories, the only place in the land where she could sleep peacefully. Lyanna had not returned since she ran from it.
Winterfell was in her past, not yet in her future, and thus the present was filled with yearning too. Lyanna often found herself aching for the way things were, at the tower in Dorne, where Rhaegar was seldom too tired to make love, and never so overwrought. Life then was exquisite; it was a seemingly endless summer, ripe with the fruits of discovery, the fragrance of love, and the promise of life. Life she was able to bear then, in the form of her little son.
The tower passed, and life as queen began. She struggled for some time to try and fall into her subjects' good graces, but Elia's ghost still fulfilled the role of a perfect queen, leaving Lyanna despised and alone. For three years, Lyanna had only Jon. Her son, her only child and her only source of definite joy. There was Ned and Benjen, as well, though only through written correspondence. In flesh, however, she had Jon, who filled her days with delight when her busy husband could not. Jon was enough for Lyanna.
But the pressures of being queen were never more great when she bears one child, and one child alone, and buries four others in the ground.
---
The night had begun with much passion.
When he fell into bed beside her, Lyanna was quick in straddling him, quick to press kisses to his awaiting mouth. It took her only moments now to ascertain if her husband was too worn for affections past a chaste kiss, and tonight a faint fire flickered behind his eyes. If Lyanna did not take the initiative then, she knew Rhaegar would; they had been trying desperately for the past three years now to fill Lyanna's womb with a seed that would quicken to term. This was a task she knew Rhaegar viewed as part duty, part love, but since it was duty, he was willing to do it whenever he could. Lyanna had no similar notions; she simply wanted him inside her, to love her as he used to with the same reckless abandon that pervaded him in the Tower of Joy. Rarely did she receive this, but still she hoped.
Thus, when she kissed down his throat and sucked at his skin, he did not expect herself to stop suddenly to lay her head down on his chest. Rhaegar was still moving forward, opening the back of her gown to place a cool hand on her warm skin, then sliding up to run his fingers through her hair. Lyanna could not move.
She appeared to have worried him, prompting him to ask, in that soft, husky voice he reserved for her and her alone, "What is wrong?" When she did not respond, he sat up, pulling her with him, so that he may meet her eye. His hand cupped her cheek ever so sweetly, his fingers still intertwined with hair so that his touch felt softer than usual. "What is wrong?" He asked again.
Lyanna raised her stormy eyes to him, trying to conceal the sorrow with poor results. "It is nothing you should worry about," Lyanna said unconvincingly. "You've better things to think about." But his eyes bore into her still, awaiting a proper response. With sudden passion, Lyanna clutched the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. Her head was tilted all the way up in order to meet his eye. "You know I value the opinion of you and my family above all others. You know I care not for cruel whispers on strangers' tongues as long as you and my brothers hold me in high regard. You know that, don't you?" Her voice was hardly a murmur, but it fell out urgent and quick. Rhaegar nodded his agreement soundlessly. Lyanna took a heavy sigh, and said, "The court hates me."
Rhaegar frowned, confused by her statement. "Hates you? Those men and woman do not hate-"
"They do!" She cried out feverishly, biting back tears. "They call me names behind my back, Rhaegar! They call me the wolf-bitch, Lyanna the Barren, wolf-slut, dragon's whore-" Each word was said with increasing intensity until Rhaegar's sharp look stilled her tongue, sending her into his chest again with eyes full of tears. "I cannot pretend... No matter what... Everytime I walk..." Lyanna had raised her head up high for so long, endured their mockeries day after day until now she found she could bear them no longer. She used to laugh to herself, growl that they ought to see her as the wolf-queen she was. But it was difficult to keep a still chin when they spoke of her empty womb, mocked the children she lost, and the babes she had yet to lose. It was too much- couldn't they see that she ached for another babe? That with each one that fell bloody from her womb, Lyanna felt the consequences reverberate throughout every aspect of her life? Lyanna would endure Rhaella's scorn, the Dornishmen's insults, the Maester's ill-boding frown, and Rhaegar's disappointed eyes. Why must the court, lords and ladies of nothing, exacerbate her plight?
"They speak as if I do not try," she whispered hoarsely. "I want so badly to give you another babe." Unbidden tears fell, staining his shirt darker. "I do not wish to bury another. I have prayed and prayed, and yet the gods take them from me before they leave my womb." The farthest any of her dead babes had gotten was five moons, enough to be a bump on her belly, before it too fell. She wouldn't leave her chambers for weeks after, but when she did the court's whispers rose quickly to her ears: A war fought for a barren bitch...
Rhaegar's gentle hand stroked her hair, soothing her immediately, bringing an end to her tears. The hand drifted to her chin, tilting it up so that he may meet her eye again. His eyes were cold as a winter's breeze, but his touch indicated that the harshness was not for her. "I have not heard such whispers," he said. "Who spreads them?"
"Cersei Lannister," Lyanna answered quickly. Of this, she was sure. The daughter of the Master of Coin had become popular at court, much unlike Lyanna, and yet she knew that she always envied her. It was Cersei's pink lips that curled into a smug smile whenever the whispers abound, the sparkle in her ruthless green eyes making it known that it was she that inspired all this. In their dealings with each other, she made obvious her disdain for her, and Lyanna knew, she just knew, it was her.
Rhaegar blinked, not so sure. "You are aware her father sits on my small council?" He asked, almost as a warning. "I cannot come to Lord Tywin's daughter with false accusations-"
"They are not false!" Lyanna returned, tightening her grip on his shirt. "I simply know it is her. Please, Rhaegar, speak to her for me. Tell her to stop. I would have done so myself, but I knew you'd think it unseemly..." But how she wanted to! A well-placed word or two might humble the lioness, make her seal her lips regarding her queen. Lyanna would like to see her shut up.
Rhaegar gave a sigh. "Then I will speak to her for you." His brushed his lips to her brow, and Lyanna fell calm.
"Thank you."
Then in a slow motion, he eased her onto her back. On reflex, Lyanna's legs tightened around him, then his hands ran up her arms to press them to the pillows beside her head. She always felt most intimate like this, with Rhaegar's lips hovering above her own, his chest pressing down on her breasts, and hands on her wrists, assuring her that he was near. Soon he would be inside her, and Lyanna would be filled with ecstasy. He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth before drifting to her throat, his lips wet and warm.
"I had always wanted to give you many babes," Lyanna whispered in a sigh. "Many little babes that would fill your halls with cries and laughter." She felt him smile against her. He then raised his head to look at her. "Now I want a babe so that I may cease their whispers."
His lips went to her jaw, brushing it lightly, and extracting from her a low moan. "You are my queen, and they shall treat you as such," he murmured against her skin, sending a wave of heat rushing through her. "I will put an end to it, my love."
"You promise?" She asked childishly.
His gaze returned to her, as heavy as the weight he pressed upon her wrists. "I promise," he said, sealing his vow with a kiss.
Over the years, Lyanna learned that Rhaegar's gilded words did not always come true. She only hoped that this vow did not succumb to the same fate as the withered promises from ages past.