FIC
Title: Carthage
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters/Pairings: Lyanna/Rhaegar, Ned, Robert/Lyanna
Word Count: 1708
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Regarding the Westernosi equivalent of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand.
Notes: Written as a pinch hit for my asoiaf_equinox fic exchange for alyxbradford. sainfoin_fields scanned it for errors even though she has not read the source text.
It is far too easy, to slip away. Lyanna is known for being self sufficient and proud, like a spirited horse. She often slips away to no ill effect, why should they suspect that today will be any different? They have no way of knowing that her ride through the dusty trees is not a joyous pastime today, but a slow and careful descent. The air is thick with them, pollen coating her cloak and hair.
Ned noticed that she was quiet at lunch, and she was about to give everything away out of habit, when he added that he too found the crush of people here oppressive. Lyanna let him think that was the source of her melancholy. He missed the North, Winterfell and the Eyrie were desolate places, sparsely populated with a sort of lonely pride . There was a time when Lyanna felt the same way. Now she is drawn to the fire. Ned began it of course, bringing Robert home with him during his yearly visit. Lyanna suspects that the gap between her and her brother is not in essence but in awareness. Robert was rough, crude even, but there was something about his energy, his careless abandon, that pulled the stiff and proud Starks towards him. In the North, they always say that only fire can melt ice; when father told it to Brandon and Ned, it was an epithet of war, but when he told it to Lyanna later on, it was one of love. At the time, Lyanna thought the prior more interesting. Fire melts ice but the melting drowns fire once and for all. Robert wasn’t fire though. Baratheon was a pale dilute. After the initial shock of the chase, Lyanna soon realized he pursued her like he might the breaking of a spirited horse. (Oh why is that always the metaphor! ) So she resisted harder, fearing the ultimate conquering and the boredom to follow. She has now tasted the flames and the thought of ice and snow is suddenly untenable. No she does not miss the North.
The riverbank arrives before she is ready for it, and he is already waiting. As she steps onto the small boat, leaving her horse behind, Lyanna knows that it is too late to turn away now. There is no more time for protests and delays, Rhaegar clasps her tight and she sinks down under him, inverted and conquered. There is no more ice in her heart, as the fires of passion flame brightly. He gasps her name, as if it is a song, and she is left shivering, not from the cold but from the lack thereof. In the moment, Lyanna feels she really will melt away into the river and be consumed utterly, no trace left to find of her.
Rhaegar’s eyes shine with tears and he promises they will have a new start, and Lyanna feels like she has already had too many. Whatever happened to the carefree maid riding through the snow? Ned is not the only one who misses her.
From boat to ship to horse again, it seems a lifetime since she has seen anything familiar. Lyanna draws connections between unknown landmarks, as if the strangeness were well known instead. While Rhaegar sleeps, she connects the non-existent freckles on his flawlessly ivory back. She loses herself in the immediacy of the moment. It is as if she has passed out of the world of her brothers and father and into a new one, where the rest of the world is only shadows. Sometimes it is hard to remember their faces. She presses against Rhaegar’s warmth and whispers the names of those she has left behind into his skin. He never speaks of those he has. His songs are still sad though, and Lyanna suspects that it is not only because he knows no others.
One afternoon, Lyanna remembers the joy on the Princess Elia’s face, back at Harrenhal. Her brother was close at hand, resplendent in southern scarlet, the two laughed like confidants. Rhaegar paid them no mind. Lyanna wonders what they look like now, and imagining Oberyn’s rage reminds her briefly of her own brothers. For a moment the haze seems to fade but then Rhaegar returns with sweet berries and his kisses obliterate the memory.
When Rhaegar shocked the crowd by crowning Lyanna Stark Queen of Love and Beauty, she was not surprised. All week she’d felt the pounding of her blood in response to his, felt the invisible ties between them growing strong. Nothing of note had occurred between them, and yet she knew that sooner or later he would come for her and that she would go with him. It was a full two days later when he followed her on her afternoon ride. Lyanna remembered her father’s saying, remembered the second meaning, wonder if they were not one. He kissed her and she did not fend him off as she had Robert. There was nothing coarse or dissolute about the Crown Prince. His claim to her had nothing to do with a chase. They did not speak that day, but on the next one of Cersei Lannister’s handmaidens delivered a note to Lyanna. It did not say whom it was from, but she knew immediately. She noticed Robert’s attentions at dinner even less than she had since they arrived. Already she was slipping into another world, one originated by a passion and exclusive to that passion.
All the time she is burning inside, now possessed of a fire all of her own. Now Rhaegar seems refreshingly cool, as he is pressed against her. When he leaves at last for war, drawn away by the news (which they receive but Lyanna does not take note of), she feels only feverish and retreats to the solace of the room they shared. Part of her expects to come to her senses, wake up and remember who she is and where she belongs. Without a flame, the ice will re-solidify, she reasons. If anything she burns hotter, however. The rest of the world goes further out of focus. She has a hard time remembering the women who serve her. Once she thinks she recognizes one, her golden hair catches the sunlight and reminds Lyanna of something, but she cannot hold the thought.
Sometimes she hears bits of songs that Rhaegar has sung, more to himself than her. It is as if he is still here with her. She wanders the tower, looking for the source. She dreams she is back in Winterfell, still a small girl who can climb into her father’s lap. He tells her stories that she’s never heard before, stories about maidens and princes and spells and war. She does not remember the news about his death, except in glimpses where she weeps; then her handmaiden brings her tea and when she asks Lyanna what is wrong, she cannot remember.
One morning she wakes, to find her last maid servant gone. One of the Kingsguard knights Rhaegar left behind for her safety, she has never learned their names, brings her breakfast instead. The world seems more solid than it has since Harrenhal, and Lyanna is surprised to find she is interested in the world outside. She reads all the letters, absorbs their terrible contents, and she cries bitterly when she realizes what havoc her feverish passion has wrought. It would have been better if she’d never left the north. It would have been better if she’d never met anyone with fire in their blood. She steals a knife from the kitchen, while no one is looking, and decides not to face the aftermath. It is a cowardly move, but satisfyingly final and she knows she cannot meet Ned’s eyes if he survives to rescue her. She knows she also does not want to know if he does not. For Ned will never stop trying if he is alive.
Life takes longer than expected to drain from her. Poison might have been a better choice, but after months of delirium she wants this one action to be clear headed. Too late she looks up to find that her brother has found her at last, hacked his way through her guards and found her. It is too late for him to save her, but too early for her to avoid seeing him suffer at her condition. She is glad to see him, despite herself. His face is the most previous thing she can imagine, and he does not even seem angry, just hurt.
Suddenly, she remembers. She knows where she had seen the chamber maid before. Her hair was a yellow of the west, and she was one of Cersei Lannister’s girls. Lyanna remembers Tywin Lannister smiling, as he handed Rhaegar his own wine. She remembers the bitter taste in her tea.
“Oh Ned, we’ve been mislead!” she cries without thinking about it, burying her face in his chest.
Ned looks as though he might cry, which is a sight Lyanna has not seen in as long as she can remember. He clutches her dying body with a grip of ice. Tywin Lannister planned this all out, used some herb to drive Rhaegar and herself mad. It had started the revolution, destroyed the man who would not take Tywin’s daughter as a bride, and disposed of her, the betrothed on Robert Baratheon, whom the masses are now calling out for as king. Tywin Lannister caused a revolution to make his daughter a queen, to appease his own ego. Lyanna wants to tell Ned, to warn him, but she is getting very weak and it is difficult to speak.
“It was Tywin Lannister…” she manages to say, “He planned this all. Please Ned, promise me. Promise me you won’t let him do this again. Promise me, Ned…”
She is almost out of breaths. Ned’s face shows he doesn’t understand, but he promises anyway, “I promise Lyanna, I promise with everything I have left.”
Lyanna tries to say more, tries to explain, but the world is growing very dim now, and she feels terribly cold. It is far too easy to slip out of life, and this time there is no fresh start awaiting her. There never was.
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters/Pairings: Lyanna/Rhaegar, Ned, Robert/Lyanna
Word Count: 1708
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Regarding the Westernosi equivalent of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand.
Notes: Written as a pinch hit for my asoiaf_equinox fic exchange for alyxbradford. sainfoin_fields scanned it for errors even though she has not read the source text.
It is far too easy, to slip away. Lyanna is known for being self sufficient and proud, like a spirited horse. She often slips away to no ill effect, why should they suspect that today will be any different? They have no way of knowing that her ride through the dusty trees is not a joyous pastime today, but a slow and careful descent. The air is thick with them, pollen coating her cloak and hair.
Ned noticed that she was quiet at lunch, and she was about to give everything away out of habit, when he added that he too found the crush of people here oppressive. Lyanna let him think that was the source of her melancholy. He missed the North, Winterfell and the Eyrie were desolate places, sparsely populated with a sort of lonely pride . There was a time when Lyanna felt the same way. Now she is drawn to the fire. Ned began it of course, bringing Robert home with him during his yearly visit. Lyanna suspects that the gap between her and her brother is not in essence but in awareness. Robert was rough, crude even, but there was something about his energy, his careless abandon, that pulled the stiff and proud Starks towards him. In the North, they always say that only fire can melt ice; when father told it to Brandon and Ned, it was an epithet of war, but when he told it to Lyanna later on, it was one of love. At the time, Lyanna thought the prior more interesting. Fire melts ice but the melting drowns fire once and for all. Robert wasn’t fire though. Baratheon was a pale dilute. After the initial shock of the chase, Lyanna soon realized he pursued her like he might the breaking of a spirited horse. (Oh why is that always the metaphor! ) So she resisted harder, fearing the ultimate conquering and the boredom to follow. She has now tasted the flames and the thought of ice and snow is suddenly untenable. No she does not miss the North.
The riverbank arrives before she is ready for it, and he is already waiting. As she steps onto the small boat, leaving her horse behind, Lyanna knows that it is too late to turn away now. There is no more time for protests and delays, Rhaegar clasps her tight and she sinks down under him, inverted and conquered. There is no more ice in her heart, as the fires of passion flame brightly. He gasps her name, as if it is a song, and she is left shivering, not from the cold but from the lack thereof. In the moment, Lyanna feels she really will melt away into the river and be consumed utterly, no trace left to find of her.
Rhaegar’s eyes shine with tears and he promises they will have a new start, and Lyanna feels like she has already had too many. Whatever happened to the carefree maid riding through the snow? Ned is not the only one who misses her.
From boat to ship to horse again, it seems a lifetime since she has seen anything familiar. Lyanna draws connections between unknown landmarks, as if the strangeness were well known instead. While Rhaegar sleeps, she connects the non-existent freckles on his flawlessly ivory back. She loses herself in the immediacy of the moment. It is as if she has passed out of the world of her brothers and father and into a new one, where the rest of the world is only shadows. Sometimes it is hard to remember their faces. She presses against Rhaegar’s warmth and whispers the names of those she has left behind into his skin. He never speaks of those he has. His songs are still sad though, and Lyanna suspects that it is not only because he knows no others.
One afternoon, Lyanna remembers the joy on the Princess Elia’s face, back at Harrenhal. Her brother was close at hand, resplendent in southern scarlet, the two laughed like confidants. Rhaegar paid them no mind. Lyanna wonders what they look like now, and imagining Oberyn’s rage reminds her briefly of her own brothers. For a moment the haze seems to fade but then Rhaegar returns with sweet berries and his kisses obliterate the memory.
When Rhaegar shocked the crowd by crowning Lyanna Stark Queen of Love and Beauty, she was not surprised. All week she’d felt the pounding of her blood in response to his, felt the invisible ties between them growing strong. Nothing of note had occurred between them, and yet she knew that sooner or later he would come for her and that she would go with him. It was a full two days later when he followed her on her afternoon ride. Lyanna remembered her father’s saying, remembered the second meaning, wonder if they were not one. He kissed her and she did not fend him off as she had Robert. There was nothing coarse or dissolute about the Crown Prince. His claim to her had nothing to do with a chase. They did not speak that day, but on the next one of Cersei Lannister’s handmaidens delivered a note to Lyanna. It did not say whom it was from, but she knew immediately. She noticed Robert’s attentions at dinner even less than she had since they arrived. Already she was slipping into another world, one originated by a passion and exclusive to that passion.
All the time she is burning inside, now possessed of a fire all of her own. Now Rhaegar seems refreshingly cool, as he is pressed against her. When he leaves at last for war, drawn away by the news (which they receive but Lyanna does not take note of), she feels only feverish and retreats to the solace of the room they shared. Part of her expects to come to her senses, wake up and remember who she is and where she belongs. Without a flame, the ice will re-solidify, she reasons. If anything she burns hotter, however. The rest of the world goes further out of focus. She has a hard time remembering the women who serve her. Once she thinks she recognizes one, her golden hair catches the sunlight and reminds Lyanna of something, but she cannot hold the thought.
Sometimes she hears bits of songs that Rhaegar has sung, more to himself than her. It is as if he is still here with her. She wanders the tower, looking for the source. She dreams she is back in Winterfell, still a small girl who can climb into her father’s lap. He tells her stories that she’s never heard before, stories about maidens and princes and spells and war. She does not remember the news about his death, except in glimpses where she weeps; then her handmaiden brings her tea and when she asks Lyanna what is wrong, she cannot remember.
One morning she wakes, to find her last maid servant gone. One of the Kingsguard knights Rhaegar left behind for her safety, she has never learned their names, brings her breakfast instead. The world seems more solid than it has since Harrenhal, and Lyanna is surprised to find she is interested in the world outside. She reads all the letters, absorbs their terrible contents, and she cries bitterly when she realizes what havoc her feverish passion has wrought. It would have been better if she’d never left the north. It would have been better if she’d never met anyone with fire in their blood. She steals a knife from the kitchen, while no one is looking, and decides not to face the aftermath. It is a cowardly move, but satisfyingly final and she knows she cannot meet Ned’s eyes if he survives to rescue her. She knows she also does not want to know if he does not. For Ned will never stop trying if he is alive.
Life takes longer than expected to drain from her. Poison might have been a better choice, but after months of delirium she wants this one action to be clear headed. Too late she looks up to find that her brother has found her at last, hacked his way through her guards and found her. It is too late for him to save her, but too early for her to avoid seeing him suffer at her condition. She is glad to see him, despite herself. His face is the most previous thing she can imagine, and he does not even seem angry, just hurt.
Suddenly, she remembers. She knows where she had seen the chamber maid before. Her hair was a yellow of the west, and she was one of Cersei Lannister’s girls. Lyanna remembers Tywin Lannister smiling, as he handed Rhaegar his own wine. She remembers the bitter taste in her tea.
“Oh Ned, we’ve been mislead!” she cries without thinking about it, burying her face in his chest.
Ned looks as though he might cry, which is a sight Lyanna has not seen in as long as she can remember. He clutches her dying body with a grip of ice. Tywin Lannister planned this all out, used some herb to drive Rhaegar and herself mad. It had started the revolution, destroyed the man who would not take Tywin’s daughter as a bride, and disposed of her, the betrothed on Robert Baratheon, whom the masses are now calling out for as king. Tywin Lannister caused a revolution to make his daughter a queen, to appease his own ego. Lyanna wants to tell Ned, to warn him, but she is getting very weak and it is difficult to speak.
“It was Tywin Lannister…” she manages to say, “He planned this all. Please Ned, promise me. Promise me you won’t let him do this again. Promise me, Ned…”
She is almost out of breaths. Ned’s face shows he doesn’t understand, but he promises anyway, “I promise Lyanna, I promise with everything I have left.”
Lyanna tries to say more, tries to explain, but the world is growing very dim now, and she feels terribly cold. It is far too easy to slip out of life, and this time there is no fresh start awaiting her. There never was.