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Lyanna is a foolish child. She runs away with Rhaegar, damning the consequences that a broken betrothal comes with, and pays the price with blood on her hands. Rhaegar tells her that it is Aerys who is to blame for her family’s death, but Lyanna knows the truth. Brandon and her father would still be alive if she had chosen duty over love. Aerys was the one to cut the rope, but she put the noose around their necks. She will never forgive herself.
Ned chooses to kneel when Robert falls at the Trident, Rhaegar’s promises of Lyanna’s safety ringing in his ears. Jaime Lannister slays the King a week later, and Rhaegar is crowned the first of his name. The realm rejoices for their golden prince, while Lyanna weeps for her family.
The raven arrives the day after word comes of Rhaegar’s coronation. Ser Arthur and the others have been commanded to bring Lady Lyanna to the capital, where she can prepare for the birth of the King’s daughter. Lyanna breaks her silent suffering and begs Arthur not to take her, pleading with him to take her far away from the pain she has caused.
Arthur regrets but he doesn’t relent. “I must obey my King, milady. I cannot disregard my oaths, nor will I forsake my honor.”
She does not blame him. Lyanna is well aware of the pain that is caused by broken oaths.
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She awakes to the iron scent of blood. It’s not a smell she is unused to, having had it haunt her dreams every night, but the sight of it covering the bed fills her with fear. This is no dream. Lyanna scrambles to lift the sheets, frantically grasping at her stomach, hoping against the odds that her babe is alive. There’s too much blood. Dread fills Lyanna’s heart, and the scream pushes past her lips before she can stop it.
The door is thrown open with a loud bang and Arthur is there, eyes darting around wildly to assess the threat. She looks up at him with wild eyes, hands covered in blood.
“Arthur,” she chokes out. “Arthur, the babe.”
Arthur retreats to shout for Ser Oswell to ride for a maester, but Lyanna sees the look in his eyes when he returns to her side. There is no fixing this.
___________________________________________
Without the third head of the dragon that Rhaegar so desperately wanted, Lyanna Stark becomes nothing more to him than a problem he needs to solve. She’s a sullied woman, known as the Dragon’s Whore throughout the Seven Kingdoms. No House, not even the Northern Lords, want such a stain in their bloodline, no matter how ancient a house the Stark’s are.
Rhaegar will not risk his people’s anger by bringing the woman who’d killed thousands into his home, does not dare insult his wife that much. Ned petitions the King to take his sister back to Winterfell, despite the risk of alienating himself from his vassals, but Rhaegar refuses.
Instead, he spins a pretty tale, as he so often does in his songs, about the Dragon who saved the Wolf pup from a Stag, and gave her to a Star.
Lyanna protests, asks to go home, but Rhaegar has already sung his song. She is still the stupid girl who fell in love with a man she couldn’t have, who chose love over duty, and honor, and family, but Rhaegar escapes the history books with barely a stain on his name. He is the benevolent King who helped his closest friend save his beloved from an unwanted marriage, and at the end of the war was generous enough to release the Star from his vows in order to marry the Wolf.
The first time she saw Arthur drunk was the night they heard Rhaegar's song on the journey to King’s Landing. Lyanna had thought he would drown himself in ale by the time the night was through. She finds him in the morning with dark eyes and bruised knuckles saddling the horses.
“Rhaegar will play us for the fools,” he says.
“I was a stupid girl. It will not be playing for me.” She will claim her part in this, owes it to the men whose blood stains her hands. “I only wish he had not dragged you into this.”
“He was my brother.” Arthur spits out. “I fought for him, believed in him, and yet he takes away my honor to save his own.”
Lyanna has seen how much Arthur’s honor means to him, knows what the sword on his back represents.
“He cannot take away your honor, Arthur. You have proven over and over that you have earned that sword. Rhaegar’s pretty songs don’t change that.”
He is still angry, rightfully so, but he manages to smile at her, even if it is closer to a grimace. “We will have to play the part, Lady Lyanna. For all that Rhaegar is not his father, he is still a dragon.”
___________________________________________
Rhaegar forces them to kneel in front of the Seven Kingdoms and repent for their sins. Lyanna acts the part, asking Rhaegar for forgiveness for their foolishness, all the while doing her best to spare Arthur from her mistakes. She tamps down on the wild-wolf inside of her, though she feels it’s attempts to roar out of her and eat Rhaegar’s traitorous heart. She had fooled herself into being in love with this man for months, the spell breaking with the death of her beloved brother, and she feels nothing but contempt for him now.
She is a pariah in the capital, and even Ned avoids her. She can’t find it in herself to blame him for it.
Worse than anything is watching the strain embed itself deeper into Arthur’s face as the days pass.
Eventually, a note from Ned finds itself into her room, asking for her to join him in his chambers. A part of her wants to avoid her brother, not wanting to see the judgement on his face, but she is still a Stark, and the wolf misses her pack.
Ned sweeps her into his arms as soon as she enters the door, and though she hates herself for it, she buries herself in the arms of her elder brother.
“I spoke to Ser Arthur. King Rhaegar has generously released him from his vows, allowing him to take up the mantle of Lord of Starfall.” Ned nearly spits out the words. “He petitioned the King and I for your hand. King Rhaegar has made it clear to me that this is not something I can refuse.”
Lyanna weeps into Ned’s neck. “I’m so sorry, Ned. I was such a fool.”
“You were a pawn in their games Lya. I beg your forgiveness for not being by your side when you needed me.”
She pulls back, taking his face in her hand. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
Ned says nothing else, only pulling her closer once more. Lyanna wishes Benjen were with them, the last of the Starks together once more. But Benjen is safe in the North, standing guard at Winterfell. Lyanna mouths a silent prayer to the gods pleading that this will not be the last time she holds a brother in her arms.
___________________________________________
Lyanna wears grey on her wedding day. Few are in attendance at the Sept, enough of the court to ensure the legitimacy of their marriage, but nowhere near the number that the sister of the Warden of the North would expect to have at her wedding. It is clear that Rhaegar has no desire to anger his people with a lavish wedding for his whore.
It is of no concern to her, for the sooner she is married, the sooner she can be far away from the capital, away from the hateful glares of the court. The pretty tale of the star and the wolf may not be true, but Lyanna knows that Arthur will not be a cruel husband. His sisters may not welcome her, but it can hardly be worse than to be hated by all seven kingdoms.
Ned hands her off to her new husband with a kiss on the cheek, and Arthur leads her up the stairs to stand in front of the High Septon. He pulls gently at the ties of the grey stark cloak, careful not to yank the loose tendrils of hair that frame her face.
Lyanna wants to scream, pull the cloak tight around her once more, and ride hard for the north, never to leave it again. She tightens her hold on the edges for just a moment, taking one last deep breath before she permits the Stark mantle to drop from her shoulders. An attendant moves to take the cloak from Arthur while another hands him the embroidered purple cloak of House Dayne. For the first time, Lyanna notices that Arthur is no longer wearing the traditional white of the Kingsguard, himself also dressed in fine purple cloth. The observation makes her feel less alone as the cloak settles around her.
Rhaegar’s late arrival in the balcony high above them causes a stir of whispers throughout the room. She is surprised at the King’s coming, as she’d managed to convince herself that he would not make an appearance. She supposes she shouldn’t be, for Rhaegar is still playing the part of indulgent brother to Lord Dayne.
“Milady.” Arthur squeezes her hand behind the fold of her new cloak where their hands are clasped together. She startles, unsure as she is of her part in the ceremony. She’d never bothered to learn the vows of the Seven, another small rebellion against her engagement to Robert.
“You must say the words,” Arthur whispers under his breath. “Follow my lead.”
Her gaze locks with Arthur’s and he nods encouragingly at her.
“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” they repeat together slowly, Lyanna a half breath behind.
“I am hers and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days,” Arthur says.
“I am his and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days,” she echoes.
Arthur runs a soothing hand up her arm and steps closer. “With this kiss, I pledge my love.”
Lyanna is grateful for the moment he gave her to prepare, though his lips are soft on hers, his hand gentle as it rises up to cup her face. She can hear Rhaegar applauding from his place above them, and Lyanna makes sure to press herself closer to Arthur. They break apart, though Arthur keeps their foreheads together for a moment longer.
The setting sun breaks through the stained glass window of the Sept as they turn to face the crowd, and Lyanna struggles to keep the smile on her face as they march down the aisle.
When they arrive back at the Red Keep, the men of the North surround the newly married couple. Ned appears once again at his sister’s side, holding her grey maiden’s cloak.
“Rhaegar insisted on your being wed in the eyes of the old gods and the new,” Ned says.
“He doesn’t want the risk that the north will not see your wedding as binding.”
“The King is a clever man,” Lyanna sighs, although she is well aware of the Northern Lord’s animosity towards her after the destruction she caused.
Ethan Glover spits on the palace stone. “Bastard,” he sneers.
“Quiet!” Ned snaps. “Not in the man’s own home.”
Lord Glover hardly manages to look repentant, and a few of the other accompanying men grumble under their breaths. Ser Roderik Cassel cuffs the younger man on the back of his head.
“Keep yer foolish mouths shut. Lady Lyanna may not be coming North, but Ser Arthur is a fine man as you idiots all well know.” His gaze shifts to Lyanna.
“We would not have allowed the marriage to occur if we did not know that Ser Arthur would treat you with honor, milady.”
The others mumble their agreements, though a few hard glares are shot in Arthur’s direction. Ser Roderik joins them, his own being the harshest. “But you only need to send word if you are unhappy. You will always be of the north child.”
Lyanna chokes back a sob as she kisses the old man’s furry cheek, his kind words more precious to her than all the jewels in the kingdom. She doesn’t understand their kindness towards her, doesn’t deserve it, but she thanks the gods for it nevertheless.
___________________________________________
For the second time that day Lyanna and Ned stand side by side at the end of an aisle. This time though Lyanna feels far less fear, without the court breathing down her neck. Instead, a crowd of smiling Northmen greet her, and though they appear gruff and uncivilized to the rest of King’s Landing, they look of home to her.
Rodrick stands beneath the heart tree as she and Ned slowly proceed between the torches.
“Who comes before the old gods this night?”
“Lyanna, of the House Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the gods. Who comes to claim her?” Ned asks, words resounding around the clearing.
“Arthur, of House Dayne, heir to Starfall and Sword of the Morning. Who gives her?” Arthur, though unused to the ways of the old gods, even appears more settled in the godswood than he did in the Sept. It’s almost enough to want to make Lyanna thank Rhaegar for his insistence on another ceremony.
“Eddard, of House Stark, brother of the bride and Warden of the North.”
“Lady Lyanna, will you take this man?” Rodrick asks.
“I take this man,” she answers, this time without hesitation. Arthur helps her to kneel beside him at the foot of the heart tree, as Ned steps back to join the rest of the crowd. She prays that they will be content in their marriage, and begs the god to ease the suffering she has caused.
The group remains in silence for a time, before Ned clears his throat. Arthur stands, slipping the purple Dayne cloak around her shoulders once more as she rises to join him.
“The King will be waiting for us,” her new husband says. “I tried to talk him out of the bedding ceremony but he would not be swayed, milady.”
Lyanna still smiles at him gratefully. “We must do as the King wishes.”
“It will not be long until we are given leave to ride for Starfall.” He says.
She brightens at the thought. “I look forward to that day, Ser Arthur.”
___________________________________________
They are sat at the head table, Arthur directly at Rhaegar’s right and Lyanna next to him. She cannot find it in herself to be grateful to the King for their place of honor.
The eyes of the crowd stare endlessly, ladies and gentlemen alike murmuring in disgust at the new Lord and Lady Dayne. It is only Arthur’s steady presence beside her that keeps her face relaxed. But even that cannot stop the flare of panic she feels when Rhaegar announces that the bedding ceremony will commence.
Men flock to her, and Lyanna stiffens. Arthur holds her in the seat beside him for a moment, long enough to whisper, “I will geld any of them who harm you, milady. You need only say the word.”
She manages to smile gratefully at him, but there isn’t time for any words before the men hoist her onto their shoulders. Her gown is ripped from her, and the chemise underneath torn, but before it can be stripped from her Ethan and Rodrick and the other Northmen have pushed their way through the crowd and claimed her for their own. She loses nothing else, despite the protests of the southron lords.
The Northmen deposit her at Arthur’s chambers with quick efficiency, and leave her alone in them with gentle smiles of encouragement.
Despite the efforts of her people, her gown is far gone, and her chemise torn too much to be wearable. The wardrobe is empty, aside from a simple tunic and pants, so Lyanna slips a grey tunic on, removing her smallclothes as she goes.
Rising noise in the hall alerts her to the imminent arrival of her husband. She hurries to the single chair by the fire, the only place where she’d be half hidden from the crowd at the door.
Arthur bursts through the door to a chorus of giggles, his shirt in shreds and his trousers lost to the hall. He is barely covered in his smallclothes. Lyanna quickly averts her eyes.
“ Seven Hells. ” He growls, as he slams the door shut. The ladies of the court move back down the hall with a clatter. “They are vicious, milady. How did you fare?”
“Far better, it seems. My brother’s bannermen did their best to protect me.”
“Good,” he says. And then, as if it hurts to say, “I managed to buy us a few minutes.”
“A few minutes before what?” Already, she dreads the answer.
Arthur pulls on a dressing gown, looking like he’d like nothing better than to stab something, though it is more likely to be someone, with his sword.
“The king has informed me that it is imperative that this marriage is official. As he cannot take any chances, he, the High Septon, and the small council will be arriving to ensure it is consummated.” He runs a hand through his curls. “I had to fight not to run Dawn through his throat.”
A high keening sound rips from her throat.
“He cannot,” she says helplessly, the tears she’d held in all day running freely now.
When she looks up, Arthur is kneeling in front of her. He takes her hands in his own, far larger, one’s.
“I swore today before all gods that I would protect you. I wish that I could spare you this, Lyanna. To go through with this is the only way I know how to get us out of the city.”
The tears will not stop falling.
“Once we are at Starfall, I swear to the seven that I will not force my attentions upon you. We must only do so this once.”
If she’d had any less of a trying day, Lyanna might have told him that it was not the thought of him that had her in such tears, but the audience to their joining that had chills creeping up her spine. As it is, she reached for him instead, desperately pressing her lips against his.
“I will not have an audience. Not this first time.” She says against his lips. “I refuse. Rhaegar can go to hell for all I care.”
She kisses him again. “How long before he comes?”
Arthur is too busy pressing kisses down the column of her throat to respond. Lyanna supposes it doesn’t matter, anyway. The door is locked, and if they enter, they’ll only see what they wanted.
She clutches at his hair, finally succumbing to the urge she’s had since she’d seen him that first time at Harrenhal. Arthur moans. She pulls a little harder, and he nips at her throat in response.
“Do you mind that I’m not a virgin?” She cannot help but ask.
His beard scrapes against her skin, and the feeling sends a burning heat straight to her core.
“One of us should know what they’re doing, I figure.” He says.
She laughs. “I’m no expert, my lord husband.”
“And I was not always a kingsguard.” He responds. “We will make do.”
Arthur pushes the string at the top of her shirt apart with his nose, and seems to realize for the first time what she’s wearing.
The growl comes from deep in his throat, and he’s pushing the linen up and off far quicker than before.
“If you’ll let me,” he pants, the hot breath a delicious elephant on her skin, “the next time, I am going to spend hours exploring your body. I want to know each sound you make. Where I can kiss you to make you moan, or what will make you call out my name.” He nips his way down her body, stopping to tug at her nipple with his teeth, before he reaches his goal. She raises her hips as his tongue encircles her clit.
“Damn him for making me rush this.” Arthur grinds out.
She feels the words as much as she hears them, both the whisper of breath on her cunt and the scraping of his beard on her thighs.
Damn him indeed.
Arthur sucks and licks at her cunt until her back is arching off the chair, and she is nearly collapsing to the floor. The orgasm rips through her, and she is frozen for a moment, her hands tight enough to nearly rip out her husband's hair. She releases him slowly. Arthur wastes no time in lifting her from the chair so he is able to sit, she on his lap.
“Rhaegar could be here any moment,” she urges, even as she’s loosening his smallclothes, his cock springing free. Though it’s not needed, she strokes it a few times, his member longer and thicker than Rhaegar’s had been.
His mouth is at her breaths, nipping and sucking again. The man is damn skilled with his tongue.
“Arthur,” she moans.
“Lyanna,” he answers teasingly, and then his cock is inside her. He is gentle, but Lyanna has no time for gentleness, the wave already building inside her again. He kisses her, and she tastes herself on him.
She rides him, harder than she’s ever ridden a horse, even at full gallop, Arthur kisses her, again and again, wherever he can reach. Her head leans back and then she is cumming again. Arthur follows not a moment later, and collapses into the chair. She follows, small enough that she can tuck her head beneath him, his cock still inside her, even as it softens.
He strokes her back, fingers dragging lightly along her curves. She closes her eyes, drifting into a light doze and this is how Rhaegar finds them.
The King is a barely contained ball of fury, his violet eyes flickering in the firelight. Lyanna blinks sleep from her eyes as she gazes at the small council that have invaded her wedding night.
Arthur tenses with the same rage in the king's eyes, covering Lyanna with his own body before he reaches down to pull his discarded dressing gown over her.
“Out,” barks Rhaegar.
The small council obeys.
“I informed you that the small council was to make certain that the marriage was consummated, Lord Dayne.”
Lyanna feels the wolf howl within her, and this time she does not leash it. “Was there some doubt, your grace?”
She lets the robe slip off her shoulders, and lets Arthur’s cock slip out of her as well. Rhaegar’s eyes do not leave her bared breasts.
Arthur makes no sound, but covers her again with the dressing gown. She perches herself back on his lap, hiding his cock from the King’s view.
“You deliberately disobeyed.”
The wolf howls for joy at his anger. For all that she thought she loved him those months ago, the hate she feels is magnified tenfold.
“We would be happy to perform again, your grace.” She squirms slightly, and Arthur’s cock hardens again in response. “My husband is ready when needed.”
“It won’t be necessary.” Rhaegar growls and stalks towards the door. “Lord Dayne, you and your new wife will take your leave King’s Landing by sunrise tomorrow. You will only return if you are summoned.”
“Yes, your grace.” Arthur’s voice has no hint of softness. The door slams with finality.
Arthur lifts her to her feet. “Get dressed. Quickly. I’ll have horses readied for us, and we’ll be halfway to Dorne before sundown tomorrow.”
“You’re still worried.” Her husband is already throwing clothes into a trunk she’d missed in her first glance around the room. She steps behind him, gently squeezing his shoulder. “Do you think he’ll harm us?”
Arthur throws another few shirts into the trunk, before slamming it shut. He clasps her hands in his own.
“He’d have another rebellion on his hands if he hurt us now. We’ve made him angry, yes, but he has no desire to fight an endless war in the north. We will live in peace, as long as we do not provoke him any further.”
Her clothes from the north fill up half the trunk, plainclothes for Arthur in the rest.
“Take a few dresses in your saddlebags. I’ll arrange for the rest to be sent to us, but I’d rather ride south on our own, as quickly as possible.” He kisses her cheek and hurries from the room. “I’ll be back in an hour. Be ready.”
Lyanna lingers on the brief kiss for far too long. She will like having Arthur as a husband she thinks, briefly cursing Rhaegar for giving her something to thank him for. Too much time is wasted dwelling on such, and Lyanna hurries to pack up the few belongings she will need for this journey to her new life.