A Dragon In Wolf's Clothing ~A Game of Thrones fan fiction~

Chapter Twenty Five: Baelor

Sighing, she placed a kiss on his cheek, before getting up.

"Don't be scared, Lya, please don't cry over me," he said quickly before she could leave.

"I'm a Stark. Bad things happen to Stark's sometimes, but Winter Is Coming and in winter we must put aside our fear, because worse things could happen," she said, almost stoically.

"You're a brave girl, Lyanna, and I'm proud of you. Your father would be proud too, and your mother. Now you best go, before someone catches you down here,"

***

"Ser Illyn, bring me his head!"
A roar from the crowd blew up as Lyanna and Sansa screamed. She knew it was going to happen, but as he was 'confessing', part of Lyanna thought maybe, just maybe, Joffrey might let him go. There was more chance of dragons hatching than her father's treasons being forgiven.

As she screamed, Lyanna looked out over the crowd. For a second, she thought she could see Arya. However, the little girl disappeared into the crowd, along with all hope Lyanna had for Lord Stark being allowed to live.

Assuming that she was going to get in the way, she felt the Hound grab a hold of her harshly, pulling her back from the execution about to take place. Lyanna could see another guard was holding Sansa back as she wept. Being held back by Clegane didn't stop Lyanna yelling at Joffrey to stop, even when she saw Ser Illyn Payne step forward, pulling out a great sword as Lord Stark was forced onto his knees.

"He has Ice!" Sansa cried, horrified. Though the sword did look remarkably like Ice, the Stark family sword, Lyanna knew it was just a trick. It wasn't the real Ice, as Lyanna, smart enough to realise that if Lord Stark was going to be killed, they would do it with his own sword, had hidden it in the Tower of the Hand where no one could find it. A replica had obviously been forged in its place, though looking very much like the family sword, Lyanna could tell the difference.

She had outsmarted their trick meant to upset her. If it wasn't Lord Stark's execution, Lyanna would have smirked.

Shooting his daughter's a last glance, Lyanna watched as Lord Stark lowered his head, exposing his neck, and...

No. No this couldn't be happening. Lyanna screamed, the tears from watching her uncle die gracing her cheeks. She pulled out of the Hound's grip and fell onto her knees sobbing. She hated herself for it, but, just as it happened, she had closed her eyes.

'Stupid girl,' she thought to herself. 'All those months ago when she had ridden out to see the execution of the deserter, what had Jon said to Bran and I? Don't look away, Jon had said. Father will know if you do, Jon said. And what have I done? Stupid, stupid fool!'

As she wept, she remembered another thing. She remembered being beaten and telling herself not to let herself look weak in front of Joffrey. Now however, she had let Joffrey and everyone else see her weak, see her hurt, but she didn't care.

"You're a monster!" She roared, getting to her feet and throwing herself at Joffrey. "You little beast, you evil little shit, how could you do that? You didn't even kill him yourself! The man who passes the sentence should always swing the sword but you're too cowardly to do that, you cowardly little cunt!" She spat on him and the crowd gasped. Lyanna immediately knew she'd made a mistake as two city watchmen grabbed her arms, pulling her back.

'I'm going to die,' she thought. 'Good. Kill me. Let me be a martyr in the war. Let Robb kill Joffrey in my honour. There's nothing left to live for, except Brandon.'