𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 || 𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐢𝐚𝐟

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 air seemed saturated with the heat of the Dornish foothills. Insects sang, birds chirped, and the moon illuminated the first rays of the night. Shadows took shape and danced over the ruins of Summerhall, still marked by the ravages of a fire. Two silhouettes stood out against the almost dark sky now. The first was a woman, seventeen at most. To call her beautiful was perhaps too much, but she had a charm, something wild about her. Her long black hair was pulled back in braids that swung from her head to her sides, her grey eyes sparkled with an unspeakable joy. Love, no doubt. The first woman wore a dress in several shades of red and black, oscillating between garnet and ruby. The second was a man in his thirties, with an imposing stature. Silver hair with golden highlights caught the light of torches and stars. A fiery red cloak enveloped his body. His indigo blue pupils blended with the lilac, and unusually, he was smiling.

𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 of them walked towards each other, love on their lips. There were only two other people, two men. A knight, a milky white sword hanging at his side. He had a dark purple look, sadness in his soul. Then the septon, the last one present, stood between the man and the woman.

❛ Look at yourselves and say the words.

— Father, Mother, Ferrant, Maiden, Warrior, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine. From this day until my last day.

— Father, Mother, Ferrant, Maiden, Warrior, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine. From this day until my last day.

— You are now married in the sight of men and gods.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 septon then withdrew, leaving only the three figures in the darkness of the night. The groom took the hand of his newly made wife and led her towards the ruins. The second left them after many greetings.

—  Your Grace, began the young woman.

— Rhaegar, I am Rhaegar to you. You are my wife now, you don't have to call me by royal titles any more.

— Rhaegar, then. Don't you think this union is unnatural? I mean... you have a wife! And children! I'm only one myself, and I was betrothed to Robert Baratheon until then.

— Lyanna, my child. The said Rhaegar burst into a pure but melancholy laugh.
I am a Targaryen, a Dragon. Didn't Aegon have two wives? And his sisters! And Maegor, while not a great example, had taken three at once! Don't worry, Zokla. Elia... Elia is sweet and loving, but she can bear no more children. I must continue my lineage. The dragon has three heads," the prince murmured under his breath.

— Zokla? What does that mean?

— Little She-Wolf in some long forgotten dialect. I read it in a book.

— Oh. ❜

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 walked in silence through the ruins of the castle. The stars shone brightly, and the air smelled of burnt wood. It reminded Lyanna of home. When she used to play with her little brother and take great pleasure in disturbing her sister's reading. When she would provoke Brandon, and he would start chasing her down the corridors.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 she went south, she had never expected to fall in love. With a prince! Whether he was a peasant or a knight errant, the problem would have been less difficult to solve. She had met the Prince at the great Harrenhal tournament. He had sung such a beautiful song to her that tears came to her eyes. Benjen had laughed at her, so as punishment she had spilled the contents of his cup on his head! And when he had crowned her. Lyanna had never felt so much fear and pride. All smiles froze. A crown of winter flowers, her favourite.

❛ Rhaegar, I have something to confide in you. Of the utmost importance.

She took his hands and clasped them in hers. He looked down on her from his immense height, she was so small.

— Well, Zokla? You're scaring me!

— I think I'm carrying your child. I haven't bled in several weeks and... I think that's it.❜