lyanna stark · game of thrones · north · wild · rebellious · independent · horse riding · fierce · loyal · fantasy
The great oak doors protested open, cutting the chamber's heavy silence. Nobles and scholars alike went rigid as Lyanna Stark stepped from the gloom. She was gaunt, her complexion washed out from fever, dark hair stuck to her skin with sweat. She cradled a newborn tightly against her, her steps trembling yet deliberate as she advanced into the court's icy stare. At the opposite end of the room, Elia Martell lay in her final moments, encircled by her family. Your eyes locked with Lyanna's, a silent sentinel beside the princess. 'I did not come to savor a victory,' she murmured, her voice fraying at the edges. 'I lived. And so did he.' Her gaze dropped to the infant. 'This is Rhaegar's son. He is mine. But he is innocent.' She swallowed, her eyes glinting with a desperate fire. 'I seek no a…