Chapter Text
Lyanna felt the scorching Dornish sun burn her back, the sunlight entering her small cell from the window as she cursed the lock that bound her to this room once more. She had been on her knees for days, desperately working on getting the damned thing open for an escape yet again.
Her hairpin shook uncertainly within her hands as he slipped it into the mechanism once more, hoping against hope that this would be the time. Yet again, the gods and fate ignored her and yet again her hairpin was unable to achieve anything. Huffing in resignation, she sat down upon the hot stone floor and buried her face within her arms, feeling tears gather around her eyes.
She did not know how long she had been here. She'd lost count of days, even with the sun outside. Her captors had locked her up in this accursed tower like some maid from a children's story, and all for all of her rage and desperation, she had remained there. Her memories of her brothers, Winterfell and Jaime her only companions in this circle of hell they referred to as Dorne.
After she broke Rhaegar's nose, she never saw the mad prince again. Her glorified bodyguard, Dayne, would occasionally come to check on her and talk, but she would always blow up in his face or ignore him, if she felt particularly forgiving that day.
The first few days... They had not been easy. Her mind had went wild with fear, about her own fate and about her family's. She did not know anything about the outside world, the Kingsguard would tell her nothing and all she could deduce was that she was some sort of a hostage.
She knew there must've been a war after what happened in the Riverlands. Rhaegar had made it inevitable. Her taken hostage with very dubious intentions and...
Gods, Jaime. She could not stop thinking about his hand flying in the air on that chill night. Rhaegar Targaryen had made him into a knight, and he had unmade him one just as easily. She feared for Jaime, maybe even more than she feared for herself. Afterall, despite the dire circumstances she was unharmed. More than that, she could plan and make her escape.
She looked down once more at her hairpin, held firmly within her palm and sighed. Right. Tough luck with that escape.
She knew she had only been reassuring herself. That she was trying something. The truth was that she probably would not leave this tower without the approval of either Arthur or Rhaegar, and despite their apparent disagreements, they still acted together. Besides, even if she escaped she was not exactly feeling up to a daring escapade.
The sickness had begun a few days ago, she was pretty sure. It came very irregularly, but she knew for sure that when they came in, she would be in no condition to travel. Especially in this gods forsaken sun. Honestly, why did people even live here?
Her father would probably know, lecturing her on a highly detailed explanation about the geopolitical importance of Dorne. She groaned and nestled her face within her arms ever deeper, feeling her tears come again once more.
"I miss father." she said to no one in particular. Hers was the only voice she heard these days.
----
Lewyn pat his steed on the neck as he took in the sight of the small watchtower ahead of him. If Varys' information was to be believed, this was where Rhaegar had been holed up in ever since the Riverlands. His grip tightened on his reins, knuckles turning white.
He trusted Rhaegar. He thought he knew the prince. Within the Red Keep, they all had the hope that Rhaegar would be a new Daeron II. A wise King, a King who would protect Dorne from those who sought to harm her. A King who did not burn men, women and children for mere entertainment. They all saw the makings of wisdom and benevolence within the heir and rested easy, knowing he would lead them after Aerys became nothing more than a pile of ashes.
They were all of them decieved. Rhaegar had opted to bring about this war. Every step, every road taken here had been deliberate. Only now he thought he could truly glimpse into Rhaegar Targaryen's motivations, his agenda. And what he saw shook him to his core.
He gave his horse a nudge as he rode forth at the tower, his loose Dornish gown and scarf protecting him from the heat. Varys had helped with sneaking him out of the Red Keep and had bid him to forego his white armor. That was perfectly acceptable for Lewyn. He did not want to see that accursed armor ever again.
He rode until he came upon a familiar knight bidding him to stop, his milky white blade out of its sheath and pointing towards the ground within his grip.
"Halt!" he yelled, his voice booming through his helmet. "State your business!"
Lewyn lowered his scarf and leaned forward upon his steed, so that Arthur may see him more clearly. "I come seeking my sworn brother and my prince. I reckon I have found them."
Ser Arthur, eyes widening momentarily, took a step back. "Prince Lewyn? How... how are you here? We thought we lost you in the Riverlands."
He nodded affirmatively. "You did. I pulled myself out of that mess and crawled back to the capital. Imagine my surprise when I see only Aerys, and no sign from either of you."
His sworn brother pursed his mouth grimly. "You know our prince. He would not have come here if it weren't of importance. We... I should have come back for you."
"Nonsense." Lewyn said, shaking his head. "I wouldn't. By all rights I should have been dead. Only made it out through blind luck. Lannister wasn't so lucky."
Arthur's hands shook slightly, Lewyn noted. "Is he... dead?"
"He is. Broke his neck from the fall. Dead on the spot."
The knight closed his eyes shut and lowered his head. Lewyn understood him clearly. From Arthur's perspective, he had caused the death of an innocent. The son of a traitor, perhaps, but still an innocent boy who died trying to save his beloved.
"Gods forgive us." Arthur muttered silently.
Lewyn did not respond as he dismounted and hitched his horse upon a fence in the shade.
"Rhaegar... Rhaegar will want to see you, now. And the girl... she ought to know."
Lewyn, again, did not deign his sworn brother with a response and simply walked past him into the stairs ascending into the tower itself. Arthur shadowed him quietly, clearly struggling with himself with each step of the stairs he took. Lewyn let him brood. He found that he could not muster any sympathy for his sworn brother at this moment.
It wasn't that his loyalties shifted. He cared for these people intensely. The Kingsguard and the Royal Family. Elia and her children, obviously, but also the gentle Queen Rhaella and the sharp witted young Prince Viserys. The cocky but fiercely loyal Ser Oswell Whent and the wise Lord Commander Gerold the White Bull. Ser Barristan the Bold and brave Ser Jon Darry. The man behind him was the Sword of the Morning, the most impeccable knight he had ever had the pleasure of meeting. A walking symbol of honor and integrity... And despite the recent revelations... Lewyn still cared deeply for Rhaegar as well. He was his nephew, husband to his niece Elia and father to her children. He may have joined Aerys' court to protect her from Aerys, but he had gained hope for the future from Rhaegar's benevolence and stature. He had admired the young prince and cherished the fact that he seemed to adore his niece and her children as much as Lewyn himself did. And yet...
They had been sullied that night.
No matter the intentions, no matter the escalation of it all, they chose what happened in that clearing on that night. Rhaegar chose to maim the boy and start a war, Arthur chose to follow him in this mad quest after some Prophecy and Lewyn chose to throw his hat in with Rebels and Traitors. He chose to entrust the lives of his family to villains like Tywin Lannister and The Spider, Varys. What did that make him? What did all of this made either of them?
Blind leading the blind into assured destruction. And him, there in the background, forsaking his holy oaths and loyalties to the royals for the sake of his family. History would not be kind to him no matter which side won this war, he knew. He had earned the moniker of Oathbreaker ten times over for certain, but he knew this was the way to go.
He would try to save Rhaegar still. The prince was family. He may have started this war deliberately, but he was still family. That counted for a lot.
Upon entering the tower, they stood in the center of a very small central hall that connected to other rooms within the tower, with one hearth and a small roundtable at its center, with spiral staircases ascending higher up. At the head of the roundtable sat a very disheveled Rhaegar Targaryen, his usually shining silver curls now messy and drab. It was not hard for Lewyn to spot the heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes and the crumpled state of his doublet.
He immediately went to one knee and bowed his head as soon as he saw him. "My Prince. I have come to join your side once more, as your faithful Kingsguard."
Rhaegar did not respond for a moment. He liked to do that to unnerve whomever he was speaking to, Lewyn knew. Finally, he opened his mouth to ask a single question.
"How did you find this place?" he asked, voice dangerously low.
Lewyn kept his head bowed. "The King demanded you be retrieved to assume command of the Crown's armies. The Spider provided your location to him, and he sent me to fetch you and Ser Arthur."
The Prince scoffed and stood up. "Take command of the Crown's armies, he says. Does he think I've sat here idly?" he ranted, not particularly directed at Lewyn himself. "I have taken the neccessary precautions. We will not be defeated."
Still bowing, Lewyn spoke. "I do not doubt that, Your Grace. However, I fail to see the significance of remaining here when our enemies are to our North."
Rhaegar turned to him and bid him to rise with a simple gesture. "How right you are. Our enemies are indeed to our North. Even further North than you suspect, uncle. This place, it was supposed to be the first front against them. Now it's merely a staging ground. I could..." he said uncertainly, then quickly shook his head. "No, no I cannot. I would not. I am better than that. And she... she doesn't deserve... Arthur spoke truly then. I am no monster."
Lewyn had never seen Rhaegar like this before. The prince had been bound to melancholy but this...
All he could do was simply nod unsurely.
Rhaegar must've sensed his discomfort or come to his senses, for he closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them once more, he seemed much steadier. "Worry not, uncle. We have support of your nephew. Prince Doran has sent us the very best of Dorne, led by the Red Viper himself. They'll be here any day now. Afterwards, we can march North and..." he paused, seemingly thinking. "I have a sizable information network keeping me alert upon matters of war. By now, the Lannisters must've reached the capital. We must go there at once and break their siege. That shall be our immediate course of action."
Lewyn cursed internally. Of course Oberyn would be leading the Dornish into battle. It had been a fool's hope to think they could sit the war out. If he could only smuggle Lyanna Stark out before his nephew's forces arrived, he could tip Varys off and ensure Elia and her children were to be evacuated before Rhaegar managed to send word of his treachery to the capital. Hopefully then Oberyn would turn the army around...
No, that was a fool's hope, he knew. Oberyn's blood boiled for war and battle. With or without Elia, he would march side by side with the Targaryens for the sake of war alone. And by that point, Doran could not rightfully call his levies back to Dorne without looking weak, or worse, a traitor...
Damn it all, he had been too late. Dornish blood would be spilled, that was inevitable now. But Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon... He could still get them out of the capital and sit on the negotiation table with Tywin Lannister if Rhaegar lost the war. If he won, he could claim he spirited them away for their safety.
His mind raced, but outwardly he nodded at the Prince, forcefully placing a proud smile upon his lips.
He had to plan. He had to make sure Elia and her family survived this war unscathed. Too much was at stake, each and every misstep could lead to oblivion.
He had to plan.
----
Lyanna had seen the rider from her window, but could not discern their identity from her cell way up in the tower. She saw Ser Arthur escort them inside, so at the very least they must be an ally of the Targaryens. No good news to be had for her, clearly.
Some days she held hope that a search party carrying the banners of the North or even the Westerlands would show up in front of her window and storm the tower to take her home, to reunite her with her family. She knew it was a vain hope, less and less likely to come into fruition by the day, yet the thought of reunion was the only thing that kept her sane most days.
She sighed, remembering the summer snows of the North, so different from the wasteland of Dorne. Jaime had joked with her about it once, about gathering up all the snow in the North and selling it to Dorne since they clearly needed it. She laughed bitterly, tears staining her cheeks yet again.
A knock came upon her door at that moment. Hastily wiping her tears, she raised her chin and stood tall with all the defiance she could muster.
"I am decent." she called out. "Come in, you bastard."
The door creaked open to reveal Arthur Dayne, his head lowered. He took a step inside, but said nary a word. After him walked in another man, and Lyanna's mind reeled back from the shock. Her heart begun to race as she recognized him. That man... he had been with Jaime, the night this all begun. He had gone down with him upon that horse.
The knight glanced at Arthur first, who kept avoiding her gaze, then back to her. He took a swift breath. "My Lady... I can tell you remember me. I am Lewyn Martell, a sworn knight of the Kingsguard. I was there with you that night. You asked me to treat Ser Jaime's wounds."
Lyanna nodded wordlessly, her throat so, so dry all of a sudden.
"There is no easy way for me to say this." he began, and Lyanna could already feel her legs begin to shake. "That night, when we were ambushed... I can't..." he closed his eyes and cursed quietly, looking back to Ser Arthur once more with a scowl, then turned back to look at her bearing a forlorn expression. "Ser Jaime did not survive the night. He lives no longer. I am sorry."
She couldn't help the sob that escaped from her mouth, nor could she help her knees giving out under her weight. She collapsed on the stone floor and desperately held her hand to her mouth to stifle the incoming wave of screams.
Jaime... Gods, Jaime... He could not have died. This man had to be lying. Not him, not Jaime. Not the boy who would infuriate her but make her smile all the same. Not the boy who went through every trial imaginable just to be together with her. Not the boy who stood in front of her and drew his sword in her defence against the Kingsguard. Not the boy who shouted to the heavens that he would become the most honorable knight the world had ever laid eyes upon.
He could not be gone.... He could not be...
She felt the man draw closer. Maybe he wished to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, or maybe he wished to get her to stand up. She slapped his hand away and jolted upwards.
"Do not touch me!" she yelled between her sobs. "You're all murderers! Y-you're all murderers! He was... he is..."
She wiped her face with her sleeve, determined not to show weakness when she saw him. Standing in the doorway, gazing upon her with pity.
She lunged at Rhaegar, but Lewyn held her back firmly. "I'LL END YOU!" she roared. "I HEREBY VOW! YOU WILL RUE WHAT YOU DID TO US! I WILL RIDDLE WITH HOLES YOUR ROTTEN HIDE! WITH EVERY LAST DROP OF MY BEING I MAKE THIS VOW! ETERNAL DAMNATION ON YOU AND YOUR HOUSE!"
Lyanna raged blindly. All she knew at that moment was she would kill them. Kill them all.
In her grief induced rage, she had not noticed the army bearing standards adorned with the sun that had appeared over the horizon, visible from the window of her cell.
Soon, very soon, that army would march Northwards to lay waste to all that she held dear. Men would face each other on the field of battle and crows would circle those very same fields that saw thousands butchered. But, for now, she did not think of any of that. She did not think of the vast stretches of land that would soon be littered with human corpses.
All she had on her mind was the slaughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and the desecration of everything he stood for. Her hatred reserved for him was visceral.
She would avenge her beloved and reap retribution upon the vile Targaryens, or perish in the attempt. So she vowed and so it would be.