A/N: I'm obsessed with these two. I can't really think of anyone else right now so Rhaegar x Lyanna it is. I legit would love to read a series just on these two alone. I don't know who I like for Rhaegar. There aren't a lot of Devin Oliver pics but I like a young Travis Fimmel. Lyanna will always be Cara Delvingne for me as far as fancasts go. Manips and chapter aesthetics can be found on my Pinterest - arielriddlefanfiction.
I write this just for fun while I eagerly await The Winds of Winter and the next GoT season. Obviously I do not profit from this.
Warnings: I'm a hopeless romantic who loves angst, forbidden romances, impossible odds, and plot twists. Rated M for violence and sexual situations. Unbeta'd.
That was the name of the dragon rumored to have made a temporary home under the Winterfell crypts.
Lyanna knew there was more to the tales than just legend. He was more than merely a myth for she had dreamt of him. Her dreams were always the same. Deep in the winding caverns past the most ancient of the Stark stone statues where the hot springs cut through the rock like a jagged blade, there was incontrovertible proof the dragon had been there.
Perhaps it was due to her own situation that she felt such a kinship to the ancient doomed lovers she'd only heard tales about. Jocaerys Velaryon flew to Winterfell on Vermax to seek out her distant ancestor Cregan Stark, and in so doing his daughter Creganna, whom Lyanna had named her direwolf after. Just like before, a union between a Targaryen and a Stark was not in the stars. How had her ancestor went on after being courted by a dragon prince? She had probably done as was her duty - and married whom her father demanded her to - but Lyanna was determined not to share that fate.
No one came after her dragon prince.
Besides, her situation was slightly different. She'd made the reckless move to give in to her passion so many weeks ago at Harrenhal, and now that her honorable brother Ned had seen fit to inform her intended of her treachery, Robert had rescinded his proposal. Lyanna could not say she was disappointed. It would be a dark mark against her she would be forced to bear over her reputation forever, but she was ultimately free of a union she never wanted. Unfortunately, following the broken marriage proposal had come the threat of another—far worse.
A bastard, a sellsword...it doesn't matter. I will marry you off to whoever will have you.
Her father's angry words rang in her head. If only Brandon had been here to help him see reason, but the Warden of the North would not be dissuaded from his path and he was set to marry Lyanna off one way or another. There would be no Brandon to save her. Her father and Ned had left for Storm's End to treat with some family there, but it didn't matter.
Lyanna clutched her flattened belly.
It had been three months since her moon's blood. She knew she carried the child of her dragon prince, for she had not been with another save him, but Rhaegar had not attempted to reach her in all this time. She would be forced to obey the will of men. At least, that's what they thought.
She ducked under the low hanging stone wall that had once stood proudly in a large cavernous room - large enough for a dragon to rest in - but years of shifting and upturn had morphed the rock into a set of twisting caves she was hardly small enough to fit through some of the openings. As she navigated through the caves she couldn't help but think perhaps it was good that her brother Brandon was gone in Essos. The Great Spring Sickness had reached Winterfell and they said it took four in ten in it deathly grip. She couldn't bear it if her beloved brother succumbed to the sickness just so she could selfishly have him near.
The spring sickness.
It was a tragic happenstance, but it was her ticket out.
The trickle of rushing water awoke her from her silent musings as the scent of sulfur wafted through her nostrils. Her feet led her of their own accord, having already been this far into the crypts many times before in her dreams. She held on resolutely to the plan she'd formed in her head. This had to be done. She would not repeat history like the Starks before her. Her name would not be stripped from her. She boasted of the blood of the wolf and it flowed strongly through her veins. No man would tame her - nor would she allow them to lord over her - and that included her brothers and her father.
The torch she carried cast oddly distorted shadows on the cavern walls, and she imagined she smelled the stench of dragon smoke mingled with the mineral rich water of the hot springs. Here the stone was glaringly white where the water reached it—pure as the driven snow. It was the furthest she'd ever been in the crypts, yet she knew she need only go a little further, and that's when she saw them.
A clutch of eggs, five of them, nestled in between a section of stone and the water's edge. Her eyes - entranced - drew to the beautiful sight as her chest swelled in triumph. Something clenched in the pit of her abdomen as she peered at the mythical eggs, drawn to them like she was called to them by magic. Three of them appeared calcified with a thick, white sedimentary layer. But the other two - one red and gleaming silver, the other purple with an iridescent sheen - appeared as hard as volcanic rock but still retained their color.
Vermax's rumored dragon eggs.
They were a treasure and priceless throughout the seven kingdoms. Even the ruling Targaryens were not said to have any. She would not - however - be selling or giving them to the southerners. It was difficult to grab the two that still held their coloring and had yet to succumb to the effect of age and sulfur, but she worked them from their ancient home before slipping the heavy eggs into her tawny bag and slinging it back around her shoulder. These two eggs belonged to her unborn child—his or her only connection to the father they would never meet. Lyanna was compelled to at least do this much for them. It was their legacy.
With the first part of her plan a success, she knew more than anything that her plan to escape north was what she was meant to do. There would be no begging Rhaegar to take pity on her. He was married to Princess Elia and would soon be having children of his own. She would not complicate their marriage with her unwanted presence. She would definitely not be marrying whichever bastard or sellsword her father and Ned were finding for her in Storm's End. The deflowered and ruined Stark girl would soon be no one's problem for anyone to concern themselves with.
Lyanna was a skilled fighter. She had also paid rapt attention in her lessons with Maester Magnus. Training with her brothers and mending their scrapes as well as her own had more than prepared her for a path as a Healer. She knew the northern herbs to best use for the most common ailments. She knew what foods to eat and cook with in the cold months. If anyone could survive north, it would be her.
The next step was convincing her brother Benjen to smuggle her north of the wall. A sickly shred of guilt culminated in her gut. Her youngest brother would do anything for her, and he would need to commit to a horrendous lie, but in the end it would be better for everyone and she only needed to make him see that. Benjen would have to claim she fell victim of the spring sickness, and he was forced to burn her body immediately to keep the plague from spreading. He would have to show her ashes to her brothers and father when they returned, and they would have to be convinced she was good and dead. The old gods knew ashes were bountiful at Winterfell. It was a lot to ask of her brother, but he would not have to live with the lie forever. He would soon be a sworn brother of the night's watch and what did it matter if he did this last small favor for his dear sister? There was nothing left for her here in the south.
Her hand wandered over her belly once more, still without any indication of a child growing within.
She would have to be strong, for herself and for her child. The north was not a place for soft people, but then she'd never been soft. Tales Nan used to tell her and her brothers of Others, and grumpkins, and snarks invaded her thoughts in an unwelcome rush of coldness. It was not just wildlings to be feared north of the wall, but also many of the unknowns she had often scoffed at as a girl afraid of nothing. If anything, the prospect of the mysterious north gave her a sense of excitement that invigorated her and made her feel alive for the first time in weeks.
The blood of the wolf had always flowed strong in her - stronger than it did in her brothers - and she did not fear the cold or what came with it.