Leila Lannister was the devoted child, the one who surrendered youth for a life she didn't wanted and joy for all the heartache in the world. How will she survive her devotion?
'I was just three name-days old when the tourney of Harrenhal happened but despite my youth I remembered it well. My siblings and I were enthusiastic and very delighted to see our father joust, for we have never seen him joust nor have we seen knights in all their chivalry. On that fateful day, we were all happy but we never expected something else. Our mother sat there, smiling still as our father passed her by for the the she-wolf to give her the crown of winter roses and to give her title as queen of love and beauty.
I know, as a maester, I should not be saying opinions and only state the necessary facts of the times. But I am not like all maesters and would do so write what I known and felt personally about the tourney all those years ago. Besides, it is my own mother's life I am writing about and I am one of the people who played a part in the story to come.
Growing up, I was so angry about it and I was not the only one. All of us, from my brother Aegon and to our youngest brother Aerion, all of us lost respect and affection for our father for what he did to our mother in front of the entire realm. I had never forgotten the look on my mother's face, so solemn and composed but I knew deep inside she was broken the moment my father paused before Lyanna Stark and named her his queen of love and beauty.
And I never forgave him for hurting my mother until it was all too late.
-Maester Maekar, Chapter V of the White Queen.
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LYANNA COULD BARELY SEE IN THE FROST COVERED SURROUNDINGS. All she could see was snow, all she could feel was cold and all knew she knew was nothing. Upon her feet, she felt the white cold gather and the same blizzard that had sparked towards her over a dozen times over was there too. Lyanna Stark was alone in the thought of the dark winter night.
But over and over again, she would look up into the sky as three large shadows fought through the snowfall and its strong winds. Strong and heavy, she would protect herself from the sweeping air with both her arms, feeling the same silk nightgown she wore every time she appeared in these visions of the unknown. But she was sure that she was dreaming. What else could it be but a dream? Dreams can repeat over and over again, you remember and then you forget. But they come back to haunt you still.
This dream does that to the she-wolf.
One moment, she knew that she was drowsy and tired, wishing to lay down onto the bed and rest. Then the moment she closed her eyes, she was elsewhere. She was here, alone to feel the white winters blow through her skin. Lyanna even thought the dream to real. Too real indeed for she felt the snow fall upon her skin in the pattern of a snowflake, so beautiful and complex just like herself she thinks.
