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PROLOGUE  

A queen wasn’t supposed to ride ahead of the column, forsaking the comforts of a carriage ride with its plush, velvet cushions and warm furs for a hard saddle and a mount so huge it looked ill-suited for a woman of her size and rank. A queen also wasn’t supposed to jape with her husband’s men, driving as much distance between herself and said husband in a way that seemed coy and teasing rather than out of a need to stop herself from committing rash acts of treason. And last but not the least, a queen most certainly must refrain herself from exchanging secret looks with one of her knights, no matter how discreet they were about it. 

But times were changing, and under the rule of Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, nothing was as it seemed. And Lyanna Stark was no ordinary queen. She was a Stark, born and raised in the harsh climates of the North, and at long last, she was coming home.

“Welcome to Winterfell, Your Grace.”

Time had aged her brother’s face, etching lines and grooves where once there were none, but otherwise he looked just like the man who had fought his way up to the Tower of Joy so that he could rescue her. Somber and refined, with a closely cropped beard befitting a true Northerner and eyes as unyielding as Valyrian steel, he made a startling contrast to the boisterous, laughing king next to him. 

With a twinge of regret, Lyanna couldn’t help but imagine how easier her life would have been if only Ned had taken the Iron Throne instead of Robert. He looks more like a king than my husband will ever be, she thought sadly.

But now was not the time for such thoughts. She had more pressing matters to attend to. “Ned!” she cried out, abandoning all pretense of grace as she crossed the yard in half and barreled straight into her brother’s arms. “Oh, I have missed you so.” 

The genuine smile that bloomed on Ned Stark’s face when he saw his sister again for the first time in fifteen years immediately transformed him, making him appear younger than his years. He opened his mouth as though he meant to call her “Your Grace”, but in the end, even propriety was not enough against the full force of his sister’s smile. “Lya,” he greeted her instead, the warmth of it making Lyanna forget, just for a moment, that they were standing in the middle of a snowy courtyard. “It is good to see you again.” 

“It is good to be home,” Lyanna replied, squeezing Ned’s hand and leading him away from Robert. “May I present my children? This is Jon, my eldest,” she began to say, and at her urging, a dark-haired boy around Robb’s age stepped forward. He bowed, took his place beside his mother, and glanced shyly at Ned. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Uncle. Mother has told us much about you,” he said softly. 

So this must be the crown prince. Ned reined in his surprise and smiled back at the boy. He held none of Robert’s brashness and easy laughter, and instead carried himself with a quiet, solemn dignity that reminded Ned of himself when he was his age. He would make a fine king someday, Ned mused with mild approval. 

“And this is Arya, my one and only daughter,” Lyanna continued, presenting him with a similar, dark-haired child with smiling grey eyes. Even without her introduction, Ned would have immediately known who she was. One glance at her unruly mane of dark tresses and scabbed knees and Ned felt like he was staring at a young Lyanna Stark. The resemblance was uncanny. 

“Hello, Uncle Ned,” Arya Baratheon said. She did not curtsy, smile politely or raise her hand to be kissed. Instead, she boldly strode forward and hugged him with an enthusiasm that matched Lyanna’s. So unlike her brother, but so like Robert. Perhaps this one inherited not just Lyanna’s boldness, but Robert’s as well. A remarkable combination. 

When the rest of their party had been properly introduced, the king safely escorted into the Great Hall along with the rest of the court from King’s Landing, and it had finally been deemed safe for Jon and Arya to interact with their Northern red-haired cousins, Lyanna drew Ned aside for a private moment alone. 

“You look happy, Lya,” Ned observed as he tucked her arm under the crook of his elbow and guided them towards the godswood, where they would be safe from prying eyes. “I know being with Robert was not what you wanted, nor was it something Brandon would have highly approved of, but married life and queenship seem to suit you well. I am glad of it.” 

Lyanna laughed, a sound he had sorely missed all these years. “If only Brandon were here… He would have scoffed at the idea of calling me ‘Your Grace’ and deferring to my every command,” she murmured softly, knowing just as much as he did that Brandon’s absence in their lives was still a raw wound waiting to be filled. Time had dulled the edges, but still the pain was there. “I would have given him everything, Ned – lands, title, power, anything at all that he wanted. He used to promise me that he would give me the world, and yet that promise is worth nothing but ashes now because he died trying to save me. I still see him everywhere, you know. In Arya’s laughter, in every brave knight I meet on the road… He’s everywhere. And always, always he is in my heart.”

Ned laid a gentle hand on her arm. “As he is in mine,” he confessed. “If Brandon and Father could see you now, Lya, they would be proud of you. I am sure of it.” 

Lyanna smiled at him as though she did not believe him, but after a moment she rested her head on his shoulder and stared contentedly at the sky. 

“Your children…” Ned began to say, wishing to lighten the mood and drive away thoughts of long-dead Starks and ghosts of the past. 

It worked. Lyanna’s face instantly lit up as she said, “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” She quirked at eyebrow at him and added impishly, “They look like you.” 

“They look like Starks,” Ned amended. “Robert doesn’t seem to mind.” 

“Why would he? They’re his children.” There was something in Lyanna’s voice when she said that, something not quite right, but Ned had no time to ponder it further for Lyanna was quick to change the topic. “Ned, there’s something I need to tell you.” 

With a dreadful feeling in his stomach, he motioned for her to go on. 

“Robert and I did not come here all the way from King’s Landing just for a leisurely visit. Surely you know that,” his sister told him. “After Jon Arryn’s death… Well, nothing has been the same since. The council is in turmoil, Robert has become even more unruly, and there are strange rumors from the Narrow Seas about a Targaryen princess seeking alliance with a Dothraki warlord. It’s such a mess. To put it frankly, Ned… We need a new Hand of the King.” 

The implications of her statement showed Ned that his dread had been utterly justified. “Lya…” he started to say. 

“I’m sorry, Ned,” she responded with an apologetic shrug. “I told Robert you would never agree to this, much less even want the honor, but he was adamant about it. You know how much he looks to you as a brother. He would have no one else. I suggested he appoint Stannis as his Hand, but I’m sure you can imagine how much he warmed up to that idea.” 

Ned Stark frowned. “I don’t want this, Lya,” he told her. 

“I know,” Lyanna said sadly. “But life is a treacherous thing, dearest Ned, and sometimes, we don’t always get what we want.”

“I was beginning to think I might never have a moment alone with you again.”

Lyanna closed her eyes as Jaime dragged his lips from her collarbone to her breast, slowly and enticingly, in that maddening way he did sometimes when he felt like teasing her, and she had to stop herself from moaning out loud and demanding him to just fucking fuck her already, because they were in the middle of playing a game, and Lyanna hated losing, even to someone as beautiful and as infuriatingly charming as Jaime Lannister. 

“Don’t be silly,” she breathed out, grabbing fistfuls of his golden hair and yanking his head forward so she can kiss him fully on the lips. “I told you I would think of something. I know all the best spots in Winterfell, all the abandoned places where no one would ever think to find us. We’re safe here for the moment, my love.” 

Jaime smiled against her skin. “If you say so. I’m sure my queen knows best,” he murmured, immediately going back to worshipping her with his hands and tongue. 

Lyanna let out a contented sigh as she lost herself in the sensation of Jaime’s lips trailing a path of fire across her skin. At this moment, all she wanted was him, the whole world be damned. 

When Ned had told her a few days ago that she looked happy, he had been right. But what he didn’t know was that it had nothing to do with her husband or the fact that she had an entire kingdom at her disposal. No, the true source of Lyanna’s happiness was simple. It was because of Jaime Lannister – Jaime who she had not called “Ser” in private for years, Jaime who had ravaged her in hidden corridors and held her naked form in secret (always in secret), Jaime who had taught her how to swing a sword and disarm a man, Jaime who had made her laugh at every boring celebration in King’s Landing, much to the bafflement and consternation of everyone present, Jaime who had given her children their very first swords, Jaime who had threatened to gut Arya’s septa if she ever complained about her crooked stitches again, Jaime who had made Jon the finest swordsman of his age. The list went on and on. 

She didn’t know when or who had started this affair. Was it her? Was it something about her – about her jagged edges and all the broken pieces inside of her – that drew him to her like a moth to a flame? Or was it Jaime himself – Jaime with his golden smiles and wicked armor and cutting tongue – who had caused her to lose all sense of propriety and shame and throw caution to the wind? 

Perhaps the whole thing started when Jaime’s twin died in a tragic accident all those years ago. A terrible sea voyage, they called it. And just weeks before she was to marry the Lord of Dragonstone, too. After that, something within him had shattered, and the transformation that occurred had been terrible to watch. Lyanna had sensed in him a kindred spirit, and perhaps it was that notion that led her to open herself up to him. She told him about Brandon, and he, in turn, told her about Cersei, and out of their mutual grief something blossomed. And not just something. Someone. Two someones, to be exact. 

Because when Lyanna told Ned that Arya and Jon were Robert’s children, she had been lying. They were Jaime’s. And she loved them all the more for it. It had not been easy, keeping up with all the lies and the secret looks and the unspoken “what-ifs”, but both of them decided to take the risk, not just once but twice. 

The first time had been purely an accident. She’d forgotten to take her moon tea, the same tea she’d been religiously drinking every time she had to spend the night with Robert, and for that she had to suffer the consequences. But Lyanna had balked at the idea of killing an innocent child, even one not yet fully formed as the one growing in her belly, and so she’d told Robert that she was with child. She expected Jaime to feel upset, but in the end, he had surprised her. 

“Who cares if you give birth to a green-eyed, golden-haired child?” Jaime had said at that time. “If all of King’s Landing discovers the truth about us, well, fuck them. Anyone who wants to object is free to meet the end of my sword.” 

So for two hundred and fifty nine days and two hundred and fifty eight nights, she had prayed to the old gods for a miracle, and when Jon came into the world – dark-haired and grey-eyed and without an ounce of Lannister blood showing in him– Lyanna knew then that her prayers had been answered. The same thing happened when she gave birth to Arya. 

Perhaps Brandon and her father were watching over her and had interceded to the gods on her behalf, perhaps the Stark blood was stronger than she thought, but whatever the case was, Lyanna was grateful for it. Let Robert have his bastards and his whores. Lyanna had her secrets too, and she and Jaime would sooner die before they revealed them to anyone. 

“Jaime…” she whispered softly. At the height of her pleasure, Lyanna opened her eyes. And screamed. 

There was a boy staring at her through the window. 

In a flash, Lyanna shoved her lover off of her, covered herself in his white Kingsguard cloak, and hurried over to the window.  “Bran?” she exclaimed incredulously, heart pounding in her throat. She must’ve looked quite the sight to him. 

Beside her, Jaime cursed loudly and stared at Ned Stark’s young son as though he had been sent straight from the fires of hell to torment him. 

“What are you doing?” Lyanna said shrilly. “For gods’ sake, Jaime. Help him up. He’s going to fall off the window!” 

There was a pause where Jaime just stood there frozen on the spot. His jaw muscles were clenched hard and there was an odd look in his eye, as though he was waging a war with himself, but at the last moment, he sighed and offered a hand up to the boy. 

When Bran Stark had safely made his way inside the tower, Lyanna turned to face him. “Oh, Bran…” she said with a soft sigh, not knowing where to begin. “You shouldn’t have come here.” 

The boy stared at her with petrified eyes. “Aunt Lyanna…” he stuttered. “I don’t understand… Why are you…” 

Lyanna knelt to the floor and rested her hands on his shoulders. “How old are you, Bran?” she asked him. 

“Seven.” 

“Then you are old enough to keep a secret,” she affirmed. “Listen to me, my sweet boy. No one can know what happened here today. You must swear to me that you will never tell anyone. Not your siblings, not your maester, not even your father and your mother. Can you promise me that, Bran?”

“I… Yes…” he answered her. “But Aunt Lyanna… What’s going on? Why are you with him?” 

“Perhaps someday when you are older you will understand,” Lyanna murmured. “But for now this must remain a secret. If you tell anyone, Bran, anyone at all, the king would have us executed. Do you want Ser Jaime and I to die?” 

Bran’s eyes widened. “No,” he said in a horrified voice. 

“Then swear to me, on your word as a Stark, that you will keep this secret for me.” 

“I swear."

“You know,” Lyanna remarked as she cinched her dress and smoothed her hair, removing any lingering trace of infidelity one might see in her, “for a moment there, I thought you were going to push Bran off the window.”

Jaime shrugged off-handedly, not even bothering to deny it. “I wanted to push him,” he admitted. “In fact, I was just about to do it. But then I looked at you…” He paused for a moment to smile at her. “I looked at you and I thought of how devastated and mad you would be if I threw your beloved nephew off a tower and killed him, and somehow that thought was enough to stop myself from acting on my instincts.” 

“Jaime!” Lyanna gasped when Jaime tried to kiss her. She slapped him hard on the arm and said, “Are you mad? You can’t just confess to nearly murdering an innocent child and expect me to be alright with it!” 

“I thought you liked me for my wickedness?” he teased her. 

“Do I? I’m not sure I even want to be near you after what you just said.” 

Jaime sighed and wrapped his arms around her. She resisted at first, but in the end, as they both knew they would, her body betrayed her and she found herself leaning into his touch. “I didn’t do it, alright?” he whispered softly, cupping her face with both hands in a rare display of tenderness. “I could have but I didn’t. Because I knew it would have crushed you. And you know I could never do that to you.” 

Lyanna stroked his jaw with her thumb and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Alright,” she conceded. “But for now I think it’s best that we don’t see each other for a while. At least, not until we get back from King’s Landing. We can’t risk anyone else seeing us like this again.” 

“Fine,” Jaime grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and clearly looking displeased at the idea of spending a few weeks alone without his queen. “But what about the Stark kid?” 

“What about him?” 

“What do we do? Surely we can’t just let him run off to his parents knowing that he’d seen us both as naked as our name day?” Jaime insisted, raising his eyebrows and daring her to disagree with him. 

Lyanna met his eyes with a look of her own. “We do nothing,” she told him with a firmness that she had acquired through ruling the Seven Kingdoms for many years. “Bran is Ned’s child. He’s a Stark. He’s of my blood. You have no reason to fear, Jaime. He’ll keep his word.”

He looked incredulously at her. “You’re trusting our fate to a seven-year-old brat just because his father is Ned fucking Stark?” 

“Yes.” She looked at him with those unblinking Stark eyes of hers – those eyes Jaime knew he could never resist – and said, “Do you trust me, Jaime?” 

It was an unnecessarily question. “I do,” he said without hesitation. 

“Then we do nothing.” 

Jaime Lannister groaned out loud before nodding and grudgingly giving her his assent. “The things I do for love,” he muttered.

The journey back to King’s Landing was unremarkable. Bran kept his word, as Lyanna had known he would, but if she thought this would make Jaime relieved, she was mistaken. In fact, he seemed even more agitated than ever, snapping churlishly at his squire and sending Lyanna searing looks that told her all the things he wanted to do to her if only they could reach the Red Keep fast enough. It also did not help that Ned was riding by her side, keeping her distracted. 

Lyanna was no fool. She knew Jaime disliked her brother. He’d always been repelled by people with honorable reputations, preferring instead the company of daring souls and other oath breakers (and Lyanna counted herself among that lot). There was also the matter of the confrontation that transpired between Jaime and Ned at the throne room on the day Robert Baratheon took the Iron Throne. Jaime had always spoken of that day with such bitterness, and though Lyanna was of the opinion that he should have just told Ned all about it – about Aerys and his plans to obliterate the entire population of King’s Landing using wildfire – a part of her had known that Jaime was right. Maybe Ned would not understand, would not believe. And now that her brother had agreed to be Hand of the King and live with them in King’s Landing, she and Jaime would have to be even more careful lest someone discovers their secret. 

“I’m curious, Lyanna,” Ned remarked as he drew up next to her and left Robert in the company of one of his men. “If I had not agreed to be Hand, who would you and Robert have chosen?” 

“I would have insisted on Stannis,” Lyanna confessed. “Failing that… I would have nominated Ser Jaime.” 

Lyanna knew by the way her brother’s eyebrows knitted together that he did not approve. “Jaime Lannister?” he repeated dubiously. “The same man who had stabbed the very king he had been sworn to defend? You would entrust the realm to such a man?” 

She shrugged and searched for Jaime amongst the crowd of riders ahead of them, and found him surrounded by Arya and Jon, who were taking turns hitting him with wooden swords. Jaime kept blocking them with his hands, Arya kept shouting, “Swift as a deer!” but all three of them were laughing. Seeing them like that, Lyanna felt a sudden surge of affection for them – for this wonderful and beautiful family she had somehow created. 

She turned back to Ned with a serene smile on her face and said, “I trust Ser Jaime with my life. I know you may find it hard to believe, but he is loyal to me.” 

More than you will ever realize, she thought.

“Where’s your brutish husband?” was the first thing Jaime asked when he burst into her chambers unannounced, looking both hopeful and smug at the same time. 

“He’s having a drinking contest with Thoros of Myr,” Lyanna whispered, casting a swift glance to the door and thanking the gods that she’d had the foresight to dismiss her handmaidens earlier than usual. “You’re not supposed to be here, Jaime. I told you –”

Her protests were broken midsentence when Jaime grabbed her by the waist and pressed a sudden, open-mouthed kiss to her throat. He guided her to the bed, and without even bothering to draw the curtains shut, his hand began to fumble with the laces of her dress. “We shouldn’t,” Lyanna protested, though her resolve was weak and she did nothing to stop his hands from wandering further. “Not here. Someone might walk in at any moment. Let’s go to the godswood, Jaime –” 

“Fuck the godswood,” Jaime growled as he nuzzled her neck. “I’m tired of always being surrounded by those creepy trees. You’re the queen and you deserve to be fucked like one, here in your massive bed with all the gods as our witnesses. Besides, what person in his right mind would dare disturb Your Grace at this hour?” 

Several moments later, she and Jaime would learn just who that person would be. As the doors to her bedchamber opened with a resounding thud, Lyanna sat up in bed and tried to disentangle herself from her lover’s embrace, but it was already too late. She met her brother’s horrified gaze and gasped. 

“Lyanna?” Ned Stark stared disbelievingly at the scene in front of him, hardly daring to believe his own eyes.

Cheeks burning, Lyanna dropped her gaze and found herself suddenly fascinated with the floor. She and Jaime should have gone to the godswood.

“What is the meaning of this, Lyanna?” Ned asked her. He spoke in a soft but clear voice, but it was his eyes that scared Lyanna the most. Ned Stark was perhaps one of the most mild-mannered and reasonable lords in the entire Seven Kingdoms, but right now his eyes were like winter storms and she found herself unable to hold his gaze for long. 

“Ned, please. I can explain –” 

“Did he force himself on you?” 

“Lord Stark, do you honestly think that I’m the type of man who would fuck a woman without her consent?” Jaime piped up beside her. 

“Jaime,” Lyanna hissed under her breath, shooting him a warning glance. “You’re not helping. Would you leave us alone for a moment?” 

He looked like he wanted to protest, but one look at both Stark siblings and he was quick to change his mind. “Alright. If you wish it,” he reluctantly acquiesced. “I shall see you later.” Without warning, he gave Lyanna a passionate farewell kiss, one that only made the situation even worse. 

A muscle pulsed in Ned’s cheek. The smug fool even had the gall to smirk at him before leaving. Does this Lannister lion truly think himself invincible and far beyond reproach? Ned clenched his fists and tried his best to control the icy fury that was threatening to overwhelm him.  

He turned to face Lyanna, the sister who, up until that moment, he had whole-heartedly given his trust to. Who was this stranger standing before him? Gods have mercy, he thought she had been happy in her marriage. He thought she and Robert had finally found peace with each other. He cursed himself for being such a fool. He should never have left her alone in King’s Landing after the end of the rebellion. He should have stayed with her. He should have realized that something was amiss. All those letters his sister had sent him… I am happy. My children will grow up to be fierce warriors, just like their father. Gods, he should have known then that something was wrong. 

“Ned, please say something,” Lyanna said softly, her voice trembling. She looked at him with wide, pleading eyes, and after a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and touched him lightly on the arm.

Ned ran a hand through his hair and felt like he had just aged a thousand years in one day. “You are the queen,” he told her stiffly. “Your duty –”

“I have done my duty, Ned,” Lyanna replied, regaining back some of her fiery temper. 

“After everything I went through – the tourney, Rhaegar…“ She paused for a while, as though it hurt her to even say the name of the dead prince out loud. “I kept thinking that I should have died that day. But I didn’t. I survived, and I married Robert Baratheon even though it was the last thing I wanted to do in the world. Because I knew that it was my duty. Because I was a Stark, no matter how broken and dishonored I was, and we Starks always, always, do our duty. I married Robert, I bore him children – what did it matter if they weren’t really his by blood – and for so many years, I did my best to rule. King’s Landing made me miserable for years, Ned, did you know that? Growing up North and then suddenly being forced to live in a world full of lies and half-truths, it made me want to die. But Jaime made it better. Jaime made me better. I am sorry that I have been unfaithful to Robert, Ned, but I will never apologize for loving Jaime. Never.”

Ned felt something within him break as he stared at her. His sister had never looked or sounded more like Brandon in that moment, and the reminder hurt him almost as much as her words did. What were they to do now, now that things had gotten so complicated? “This is treason,” Ned said at last. “If Robert ever finds out…” 

“Why is it a crime?” Lyanna cried out with such anguish and bitterness it made Ned instinctively reach out his hand to her. “Why is it that when a king fathers a bastard, everyone looks the other way, but when a queen does it, she loses her head? Why is it alright for my husband to sin and not me?”

He had no answer for her. Life was not often fair to women. Everyone knew that. Ned wished they lived in a different world, but he did not make the rules and he learned a long time ago that wishing for such things was a futile effort. 

“Promise me, Ned,” Lyanna whispered, clutching his hand tightly as though her life depended on it (and it did). “Promise me that you will never tell Robert. I know you love him like a brother, but you don’t know him like I do. He is not the same man who rode with you on the battlefield fifteen years ago. Being king has changed him. I don’t care what happens to me, but if Robert finds out… I cannot bear to lose Jaime, Ned. And the children… What will happen to the children if Robert finds out? Please, Ned. Promise me…”

Ned Stark closed his eyes. There was no way he could undo his sister’s mistake. However, she was right about one thing. The Starks always did their duty. Ned was no exception. And so he would do his. But this time, he would choose duty to his family over duty to the realm. And may the gods forgive him for it. 

“I promise,” he uttered, knowing that the moment he said those words, there would be no going back. It was worth it though, if only so he could see the fear leave his sister’s eyes.

Varys had been called a lot of things behind his back – a mysterious eunuch, a loyal servant to the realm, a simpering fool who could not be trusted – but what people rarely knew about him was that he was patient. He had to be, if he wanted to maintain the position that he had worked hard to obtain for all these years. 

But the game was changing, and he knew – oh, he just knew – that it was not patience that would serve him this time. No, what he needed right now was action. He had been waiting for an opportunity like this for a very long time, and now that Jon Arryn was dead and Eddard Stark had been appointed Hand of the King, it seemed as though his patience had finally paid off. Things were quickly falling into place, and the only thing left for him to do now was to act. 

Oh, victory was so close now Varys could almost taste it. How sweet would it be, to finally see the rightful ruler seated on the Iron Throne? 

He suppressed a smile as he made his way to the king’s private audience chamber. True to his calculations, the king was alone, save for a few members of the Kingsguard. With satisfaction, he noted that Jaime Lannister was absent, as was Ned Stark. All the better for Varys. 

“Good evening, Your Grace,” he simpered, robes swishing as he made an elaborate bow to the king.

King Robert barely even paused to look at him. He looked tired. And drunk. A powerful combination, and one that would serve to benefit Varys even more, if he played his cards right. “Damnation. I thought I told everyone not to disturb me tonight. What do you want, Varys?” he said, his voice echoing loudly throughout the empty chamber. 

“I’m afraid I came here bearing grave news,” Varys told him, every word carefully weighed and planned. He paused dramatically before continuing, “Grave news, indeed. What you are about to hear, Your Grace… Oh, it grieves me to speak of it. But I have always been loyal to the realm and to the rightful ruler of Westeros, and so it is with a heavy heart that I say this –” 

The king waved his hand impatiently. “Just get on with it,” he interrupted him. “Say what you will and leave me be.”

“Oh, you will want to hear this, Your Grace. It is a matter that concerns the queen.”

“Tell me what’s bothering you.” 

Lyanna wrapped her arms around Jaime and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “I’m worried about my brother,” she confessed in a small voice, finally giving rise to the fear that had taken root in her since the moment Ned Stark found her half-naked and in bed with another man. 

“Do you think he would tell Robert about us?” Jaime asked, one eyebrow raised. “Come now. Ned Stark and I bear no love for each other, but even I know that he would never betray you.” 

“I know that,” she replied. “Ned is the only other man I trust besides you – well, him and Benjen – but that’s the problem. My brother is honorable, but by keeping my secret, he would have to lie and put a stain to that very honor. I can’t imagine how difficult that must be for him. I’m afraid I’ve ruined his life, Jaime.”

“There’s no help for that now. He’s in this mess whether he likes it or not,” Jaime supplied rather unhelpfully. “Besides, he was lucky he was the one who found us that night. Anyone else and I would have killed him.”

“You would do that?” Lyanna asked, staring at him with wide eyes. “You would kill a man because of me?” 

Jaime smoothed back her hair and planted a soft kiss on her brow. “Do you really have to ask?” he said. “For you, my dear Lyanna, I would kill anyone. I would do that and more.” 

She curled her body against Jaime and hugged him tighter. “As would I,” she whispered. “I’m glad we found each other, Jaime.” 

He responded by demonstrating his affection for her in the best way he knew how – by pulling her into a kiss. And for a moment, Lyanna forgot everything. She felt like she was five-and-ten again, an innocent maiden being swept off her feet by a handsome knight, and for a short while, she felt like anything was possible. 

That reaction was short-lived, however. Halfway into the kiss, Lyanna froze. She craned her neck and surveyed her surroundings with barely concealed panic, but there was no one there. She could not explain it, this feeling that suddenly crept over her, but in that moment, her instincts were telling her to run.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

“It’s probably nothing…” she started to say in a hesitant voice. “But… Jaime, I feel as though someone’s watching us.” 

Jaime drew Lyanna’s small frame closer to him, as though he could shield her from harm through sheer force of will alone. He scanned the dark chamber they were in, instantly alert for any signs of danger or intrusion, but like Lyanna, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. “There’s no one there,” he declared in a quiet voice. But his gut was telling him that there was something wrong. It was telling him that they had to leave, and in Jaime’s experience, his gut was always right. 

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, wrapping a protective arm around Lyanna’s waist and helping to her feet. “I’ll walk you back to your chambers.” 

The feeling of wrongness stayed with them for the rest of the night.

The first time Robert summoned Ned to his chambers alone, he’d felt nervous. His mind immediately went to his sister and the ramifications that might occur if the truth about her affair with Jaime Lannister was made known. But when he saw Robert’s face, he felt his worries fade a little. The king did not look like an angry and spurned lover. He merely looked troubled.

“Is something the matter, Your Grace?” 

Robert shook his head, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening as he stared into the bottom of his wine goblet. “I don’t know who I should trust, Ned,” he simply said. 

“What do you mean? Has something happened?” 

“I was just thinking about Jon Arryn…” Robert revealed. “Do you think… Do you think it’s possible that he had been murdered?”

Ned’s eyebrows went to the top of his hairline. “Murder?” he exclaimed, the words sounding foreign on his tongue. “Jon Arryn was a well-liked man. He had many friends and next to no enemies. Why would anyone want him dead?” 

“Perhaps…” the king said vaguely. “If Jon had seen something that he was not supposed to… Someone could have easily killed him and made his death look like an accident.” 

“What do you think he saw? Do you suspect someone?” 

But Robert only sighed and evaded all his questions. “The world is full of liars. Who should I trust in this day and age, Ned?” he said, repeating his earlier query. 

Not me, Ned wanted to tell him. You should not trust me. 

Instead he stayed silent.

The second time he found himself alone with Robert, his friend had been drunk. Staggeringly drunk. He was leaning heavily on his chair and his eyes were already half-closed, a sure sign that he was about to pass out any moment, but when Ned entered the room, he lifted his head and tried his best to look sober. 

“Ned!” he roared as he lifted his drinking cup in greeting. “Just the very person I was looking for. Come, sit by me.” 

Ned obeyed. For several long moments, the two of them remained locked in a terse silence. Ned kept shooting him tentative, worried looks, but Robert said nothing. Finally though, the king exhaled loudly and cast his bleary eyes upon him. 

“You know I’ve always thought of you as my own brother, Ned,” Robert remarked. “Do you consider me the same?” 

“Of course,” Ned replied at once, wondering where exactly this conversation was heading. 

“So you are loyal to me, then?”

“I am.” It was the right thing to say, but it was not the complete truth. For if Ned truly was as loyal as Robert thought he was, then why had he not said anything to him about Lyanna? He loved Robert like a brother. He always would. But he loved Lyanna more.

The third time was the worst because this time, Ned had to lie. 

The conversation had been brief and simple. Robert had asked him a question and Ned had answered him. Yet after that, things would never be the same again. 

“Is Lyanna being unfaithful to me, Ned?” 

The Lord of Winterfell closed his eyes. “Promise me, Ned. Promise me,” his sister had cried, in a room that smelled of buried secrets and infidelity. He remembered the desperate way Lyanna had clung to him, her eyes wide and terrified, and afterwards, the grateful smile she had given him when Ned had pledged his silence and loyalty to her. 

Thinking about Lyanna gave him the courage to say the lie that would soon be his undoing. 

“No.”

The queen smiled and lifted her face to the sunlight, happy to be back in the Red Keep again after a tiring but pleasant ride around the kingswood. She thought it passing odd that Loras Tyrell, who had mysteriously arrived at the capitol yesterday with his sister Margaery and his father Mace, had invited her to go riding with him. “I had heard many stories about you, Your Grace. They say you’re one of the fiercest and best riders in all of Westeros. I confess I am an ardent admirer of yours. Would you allow me the honor of witnessing your skills firsthand?” Ser Loras had said that morning. 

It was a presumptuous request, and one that Jaime would have been quick to challenge, if only he had been there to hear Ser Loras’s words. No doubt the boy held high hopes that he would be able to outride Lyanna – she who had learned to ride like a Northman at an age where other young ladies were busy with their sewing and courtesy lessons. The look on his face when Lyanna had quickly dashed those hopes had been priceless. She wished Jaime had seen it. 

A flash of gold plate and scale armor alerted Lyanna to the presence of someone else. “Ser Arys,” she greeted the knight warmly as he strode forward to meet her. She had always liked Arys Oakheart. He was always kind to her and to her children, and considering the present state of the Kingsguard, even under the leadership of Barristan Selmy, Ser Arys was one of the few knights who had proven himself worthy of his title. 

The man bowed to her. “Your Grace, I trust your ride with Ser Loras had been pleasant?” 

“Oh, yes,” she answered him graciously. She smiled at him and moved forward, fully expecting the knight to trail her, as was his custom, but to her great surprise, Ser Arys thrust his massive frame forward and blocked her way. 

The queen’s eyebrows rose. “Ser Arys, what is the meaning of this?” she asked him. “Let me pass. I wish to speak to my brother.”

The worried frown on Arys Oakhart’s face set Lyanna’s nerves on edge. “Perhaps it would be wiser to head back to your chambers, Your Grace,” he advised her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“Why? Is something the matter, Ser?” 

A heartbeat later, Lyanna found out what was going on. A group of the king’s soldiers under the express supervision of Ser Meryn Trant suddenly walked past them, dragging a man in shackles. Lyanna gasped out loud when she saw who it was. 

“Ned?" 

She met her brother’s eyes and flinched at the worry and despair she saw there. “Are you complete and utter fools? What kind of misunderstanding is this? That man is Hand of the King. And he is my brother. Unhand him at once!” she snapped, drawing herself to her full height and glaring imperiously at Robert’s men. “Stop! As your queen, I command you to stop!” 

“Apologies, my queen,” Ser Meryn drawled, bowing theatrically to her. But Lyanna was not fooled. A day ago, Ser Meryn would not have dared speak to her in such a manner. But she knew she was not just imagining things. No, something was wrong. “We are only following our orders.” 

“And whose orders are those?” 

“The king’s,” the Kingsguard knight answered her. “He has declared Eddard Stark to be stripped of his title as Hand of the King and has given us orders to escort Lord Stark to the dungeons, to be carried out immediately. Now if you will excuse me, Your Grace, I have a job to finish.” 

“The dungeons? Under what grounds?” But Lyanna’s queries fell on deaf ears and she was forced to watch them as they continued on their march, heedless of her outraged yells. 

“Stop! I must speak with my brother. Ned! No, let me go. Let me go. Ned!” Lyanna screamed as Ser Arys held her back. She fought him like a wildcat, but his grip on her was strong, and soon Lyanna was on her knees, looking disheveled and distraught, alone in the corridor save for the Kingsguard knight. 

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. Truly, I am,” Ser Arys murmured. He looked so contrite and worried for her, but Lyanna could hardly spare him a glance. Her mind was racing.

There was only one reason why Robert could have sent Ned – his dearest friend and brother in everything but name – to the dungeons. Only one reason. But how? How was that possible? Her brother would never betray her, and up until that moment, she was sure that no one else knew about her and Jaime. So who had told Robert? A sudden cold fear gripped her, and she had to clutch Ser Arys’ hand hard for support. 

She needed to talk to the king as soon as possible so that she could help Ned. God knows what he must be thinking and who might be whispering in his ear at this very moment. But Lyanna had more concerns than that. 

Oh, gods. Jaime…. 

Had he been seized? Did anyone suspect that he was involved? There was still a chance that Robert had not yet identified Lyanna’s lover. But if he had… What would happen to Jaime? And oh gods, the children… Lyanna thought back to the last time she had seen Jon and Arya that morning. Surely they were safe? Surely no one had put the pieces together yet? 

Lyanna stopped thinking and ran.

The four of them made an awkward tableau – Lyanna with her arms wrapped around her children’s shoulders, Jaime standing guard near the door, a trunk full of Jon and Arya’s things lying in front of them, the significance of which only served to heighten the seriousness of the situation. 

“What’s happening, Mother? Why was Uncle Ned taken away? And why are we leaving tonight with Ser Jaime?” Arya, ever the inquisitive child, asked her in a whisper. She clung to Lyanna’s skirts and insisted, “I don’t want to go without you, Mother. We can’t leave you here.” 

Lyanna swallowed, and at Jaime’s subtle nod, addressed both of her children. “I must stay here, sweetling. However much I want to go with you, I have to stay here and help your Uncle Ned. Now… We don’t have much time left, I’m afraid, but there’s something I must tell you,” she began to say. 

She hugged both of them to her chest and closed her eyes. She did not want to tell them the truth – not like this, not so soon – yet the situation had left her no choice. With a little help from Ser Arys, who had always remained more loyal to her than to Robert, she had been able to get to Jaime and the children first before Robert got his hands on them, but she wasn’t sure how long her luck would last. She had no idea if Robert was already privy to the knowledge that the royal children were, in fact, Lannister bastards, but she did not want to wait to find out. Sooner or later, the rumors would spread, and it would only be a matter of time before they reached Jon and Arya’s ears. Better that they learn the truth from their own mother than from someone else. Besides, if they were going to flee King’s Landing in the dead of the night, risking Robert’s wrath and making Lyanna look even guiltier in the eyes of the court, she owed it to her children to tell them the truth. 

“Before I say anything else, I want you to know that I love both of you,” Lyanna said quickly, looking first at Jon’s serious face then at Arya, who was trying so hard to look as strong and unruffled as her brother. “I love you so much it grieves me to see you go.” 

“Then why are we going?” the crown prince asked. “Please, Mother. Tell us what’s going on. You’re scaring us.” 

Lyanna kissed Jon on the forehead and took a deep breath. And then she just said it. “Your father…” she paused and clasped her hands together, willing the gods to grant her the courage to say what needs to be said. “Your father is not Robert Baratheon. It’s Jaime.” 

Jon blinked. Then he shared a look with Arya – a look that Lyanna could not, for the life of her, comprehend – and shrugged. “We know,” he said simply. 

“What?” Lyanna stared at both of them, feeling faint. She met Jaime’s gaze and saw the same expression of shock and confusion reflected in his eyes. “How did you… Since when…?” 

“Since my last nameday,” Jon confessed, smiling shyly now at Jaime. “Arya stumbled upon a secret room – the one with the weird dragon skulls – and saw you there. She overheard you talking about me, about how proud you were of me and how much you wanted to tell me the truth…” 

Lyanna’s hand went to her heart. “And you’re not… You’re not mad?” 

“Oh, we were,” Jon told her. “At first we were. Remember that time Arya and I went missing and you had to search the entire city for two days before you found us? That was us being mad. We were hurt. And confused. We wanted to run away to Essos and never see any of you ever again. But then, slowly we began to realize how much it made sense. I love our father – I mean, our father the king – but deep down Ser Jaime had always been more of a father to us. You raised us together.” 

“And… And Arya? What do you have to say to this?” 

Arya squeezed Jon’s hand and, with a bluntness that she could only have inherited from Jaime, she said, “I love you. I love Jon and Father – I mean… King Robert – and Ser Jaime. Or is it safe to call him Father now? I love all of you and I don’t care if Jon and I are bastards or if my father isn’t my real father. What matters is that you love us too. Isn’t that right, Jon?” 

Jon nodded. 

Lyanna couldn’t help it. She burst into tears. Her family converged around her – who would have thought she could call them a proper family now – and wrapped their arms around her, and still the tears would not stop flowing. Her words – a steady litany of Forgive mes and Thank yous - were lost in the sudden rush of warmth and affection she felt from all three of them. Who would have thought it, that in the midst of her destruction and the end of her world, she would find salvation again?

“Have you come here to deny everything?” 

Lyanna lifted her skirts and made the long walk to the Iron Throne, her head held high and her shoulders squared. She stopped short in front of the dais, and for the first time in three days, she faced her husband. 

“No,” she said in a clear but calm voice. “Everything they’ve said about me is true.” 

Robert Baratheon looked at his queen with undisguised agony and anger and curled his fists on the throne, barely even flinching when the blades sliced his palms open. “Then why did you come?” he bellowed. “Damn it, Lya! Why couldn’t you have just denied it? If you had denied everything, I would have believed you.” 

“For how long?” Lyanna shook her head. “No, Robert. We can no longer pretend that everything is fine. It’s too late for that now.” 

“Was I ever unkind to you, Lya? Did I not win enough wars for you? Did I not love you enough?” Robert suddenly asked her, sounding so childlike in that moment that Lyanna couldn’t help but wince. 

She never thought she would feel guilty about her actions, but the guilt was there now, gnawing her insides and consuming her until all that was left was a hollow thing – a hollow, unnamed thing that would continue to haunt her for as long as she lived. Because the truth was, despite his drinking and his whoring and all his horrible ways, Robert Baratheon did love her. She never thought such a man would be capable of love, but in his own pitiful way, Robert had given her his heart. It was a poor form of love, one that burns and destroys and consumes without abandon, but it was love all the same. 

Lyanna wanted to tell him that she was sorry, that she never meant for any of this to happen, but in the end, what came out of her mouth was, “I love Jaime, Robert.” And somehow that was worse than any form of apology she could ever offer him. 

“I love him,” she repeated softly. “If you’re looking for someone to punish, punish me. Kill me, set me aside, banish me to the far corners of the world, I don’t care. Only… Only spare Ned. He has nothing to do with this, Robert. It’s my fault. I was the one who forced him to make that promise.” 

“He lied to me,” Robert roared, his voice rising as his anger got the better of him. “He told me I was his brother and that he was loyal to me, but in the end, he lied. I gave him three chances to tell the truth, Lya – three chances, so you cannot say that I had been unfair to him – but still he chose you. He chose to protect you and that Lannister scum. How can I ever forgive him for that?” 

Heedless of the guards who were watching them at this moment, Lyanna knelt to the floor and bowed her head. She could feel her hands shaking and her heart thundering in her chest, but still she made herself kneel. She had witnessed Robert Baratheon’s anger a thousand times since she became his wife, but this was the first time she had ever seen him like this. Ours is the Fury, those were his family words. Lyanna could easily believe it now. And for the first time ever, she felt afraid. 

“Please,” she whispered desperately, feeling the hot sting of tears at the corner of her eye and hoping that it would move him. “Please, Robert. For the love you bear me, please spare Ned –” 

“For the love I bear you?” Robert echoed, his words a dangerous whisper. “What about the love you bear for me? Oh, Lya. Perhaps you should have thought of that before giving your heart to another man.”

The sun was peeking through the clouds when they brought Ned – still shackled and bedraggled and looking remarkably thinner than the last time Lyanna had seen him – in front of the thousands of people who had congregated outside the Great Sept of Baelor to witness the event. On a raised, makeshift throne sat King Robert, his face a carved mask made out of stone. 

Under normal circumstances, Lyanna would have been by his side. But these were not normal circumstances, no matter how much she wished it were otherwise, and so while Lyanna stood a safe distance away from the main spectacle, the surly forms of Ser Meryn and Ser Boros Blount flanking her on both sides, in her place stood Mace Tyrell. 

In reality, she was still queen, but Lyanna had a feeling that was soon about to change. With the help of what few friends she had in court (most of them stable boys and maids), she had learned that at the urging of Mace Tyrell, Robert had been considering setting her aside so that he may take the lovely Lady Margaery as his wife. 

Lyanna did not care about any of that, though. Robert could brand her a whore in front of the entire court and she would not have batted an eye. What she did care about was Ned. She clasped her hands in front of her and watched as the herald announced the extent of her brother’s crimes. It was only a short list – treason, lying to the king, withholding vital information – yet the crowd booed and jeered all the same.

She clenched her hands into fists and willed herself to remain calm, even though she thought it highly unfair that it was her sweet and innocent brother who was standing on trial and not her. It should have been me, Lyanna thought despairingly as she heard Ned confess to his crimes. This is no crime. Since when did loving a sister to the point of forsaking his honor count as treason? This event is a farce. 

Robert had risen from his chair now, still without looking at Ned, and was about to pronounce his judgment. Lyanna shut her eyes closed and moved her lips fervently in a soundless prayer. Even in that moment, even when the future had seemed bleak and everything felt lost to her, she held the belief that Robert would not truly harm Ned. He said it himself, didn’t he? Ned was like his own brother. He loved him more than Stannis or Renly. Lyanna knew that. The worst that could happen was that he would be exiled. 

But then the ax was brought forward and her brother was forced to kneel, and Lyanna watched – with a sort of detachment that suggested that she was not yet entirely convinced that this was no dream – as the blade glinted in the sunlight, a flash of silver against the pale flesh of her brother’s bare neck, and then it was over. 

And the blood… Oh gods, the blood…

There was a sudden roaring in her ears, and she saw rather than felt the crowd rush forward, their faces wild with bloodlust and triumph. Time slowed for her, and along with it came a horrible, keening sound– a sound so primal and raw it could shatter glass – and at the back of her mind, she realized that it was coming from her. 

She pitched forward, arms outstretched to the broken body of the man who had died trying to protect her secret, and against the pulse of the crowd and the sudden hammering of her heart against her chest, she felt the numbness slowly creep in. She did not feel the hands reaching out for her, nor hear the gurgled sounds her guards made as their throats were slit out in the open, nor the sudden thundering of hooves and the abrupt screams that followed. 

Lyanna only felt darkness and a hole where her heart should be.

EPILOGUE  

Against a darkening evening sky, a man held a queen close. 

“He killed him. He killed him. He killed him,” the woman kept on repeating. She sank to the ground and wept, her tears falling down her face like precious gems. 

“Shhh. You’re safe now, Lyanna. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Jaime cradled her protectively in his arms and waited for the storm to pass. 

Long moments elapsed. Then Lyanna turned her face towards Jaime and stared at him, as though seeing him for the first time. “You came back for me,” she whispered. “I told you to get to safety, but still you came back.” 

“Did you really think that I would leave you alone in that viper’s nest?” Jaime said. 

“But... What about Jon and Arya?” 

“They’re safe with Tyrion and my father at the Rock. If Robert wants them back, he would have to go through hell and fight the whole might of the West first." 

The mention of Robert Baratheon cast a dark cloud on Lyanna’s features, and suddenly everything came rushing back to her. “He killed Ned,” she repeated in a grief-stricken voice. She swallowed back a scream and bit her lip so hard it started to draw blood. And against her will, she felt her eyes well up with new tears. “How could he do that? Ned was a good person. He loved him like a brother. But Robert... Robert is a coward. He could never bring himself to kill me, so he killed the only other person he could. He killed Ned, just so he could hurt me. My poor brother... First Brandon and my father, and now Ned. Why? Why does everyone get killed because of me?"

Jaime reassured her that it was not her fault, but Lyanna only shook her head and wept harder. Jaime's features darkened. “I will kill him for this,” he vowed, his eyes smoldering with anger. “I have no love for Ned Stark, but for you, Lyanna… For you, I would start a war. You shall have your vengeance. My father will raise his banners and join with your nephew Robb, and together they will march for King’s Landing.” 

“Why?” Lyanna lifted her tear-streaked face upwards and asked, “Why would Tywin Lannister ever march against the king?” 

“Because I’m his son and I ask him to. Because he will never allow a Tyrell queen to rule Westeros. Because when we put Jon on the throne and win this war – and I promise you, we will win – I will resign from the Kingsguard and marry the queen regent. And I will carve out Robert Baratheon’s heart from his chest and offer it as a wedding present.” 

He brushed his thumb along her cheek and kissed her. “A Lannister always pays his debts,” Jaime said. He had never sounded as scary as he did in that moment. “And I promise you, Lyanna, I will make him pay for this. One day soon, the streets of King’s Landing will flow red with the blood of Robert Baratheon, this I swear to you.” 

That night, the war began.