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Feb 21, 2020 1:47 AM
Storms and Vivids in Westeros
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There is an ancient book of prophecies, held deep within the archives of the Citadel. The Prophecies of the First Men, it is titled, and that is what it holds.

Of course there are many books of prophecy in the citadel. Aside some few copies of the words of Daena the Dreamer or other Targaryen dragon dreamers, there are many which carry the words of woodswitches and others purported to have the gift of prophecy. The difference between this book and those is that every prophecy set in the first three-hundred pages has come true.

The unnamed seer saw all which was to come, from the invasion of the Andals to Robert's Rebellion, and even fortold of the plague which would take that Baratheon King's life. But among the many prophecies one stands apart from others in its brevity and boldness:

THE WALL SHALL FALL. HUMANITY SHALL BE PRESERVED BY THE SONG OF ICE AND FIRE.

Of course, ancient books such as this one are kept in the most secure and safe of environments. The book read by any who saw these words was a copy of a copy of a copy. As often comes to pass when one is transcribing an ancient, frail tome, the scribe misread and miswrote some words here and there. Crucially, he misread this word - 'Song' should, in fact, have been 'Sons'.

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He's hurt and bleeding and so many of them are dead, but the way is clear. No man stands in his path to his sister. He climbs the Tower of Joy three steps at a time, no mind to anything else but Lyanna.

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The tower is tall, but of course stairs are nothing to what he has been through to reach his sister's side. The door at the top is unbarred and unguarded, as all guards lie dead at the foot of the tower. His way is clear, and the door opens easily as he reaches it. 

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Inside, lain upon a bed heaped with furs despite the heat typical of the Dornish Highlands in summer, is Lyanna.

At the sound of the door opening she pushes herself up weakly, "Arthur?" She rasps. Her gaze goes automatically to the large basket upon the bed as she moves. 

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He rushes through the door upon hearing her voice. "Lyanna -"

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-- and is pushed to the ground, a sword readied and swinging at his head --

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Her eyes widen at the speed of these events, "Ned?!" She cries, and, "Caster, no!" 

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Ned rolls with the push and clears himself away from the blow.

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Caster doesn't continue and looks at Lyanna in confusion. "My lady?"

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"He is my brother-" she gets out, before dissolving into a coughing fit. 

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This does not reassure Caster at all. But he throws the other man a wary glance, rushes over to her and hands her water. And then stands between them.

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Ned stands and steps forward. "This need not concern you, boy. Step aside."

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"Ned, please, he is only trying to protect us," she murmurs after the coughing subsides, holding her water in shaking hands. She holds it between the blankets covering her knees so she can rest a hand on the wide bassinet. 

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This stops him short as he takes in the scene.

"...Us?"

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This raises Caster's heckles again and he places his hand on his sword.

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"Yes, us," Lyanna agrees. If she was paying any attention to anything other than the contents of the bassinet, Caster's action might concern her. She is not, however - all the commotion has woken her babes, one of whom is making quiet noises. She slowly lifts him out of the bassinet, revealing a dark haired infant with blue-violet eyes. 

Hesitant, yet somehow defiant, she looks to Ned to gauge his reaction. 

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He is visibly distressed! "He -- Lyanna, I'm so sorry. I didn't get here in time."

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"He- No! No, Ned, he didn't- it wasn't-" she looks down at the baby, miserable, "It wasn't like that. He didn't steal me. I wanted to go." She closes her eyes, hugging her son close, "I never meant to start a war," she murmurs, "I just wanted..." to be free. Free from a marriage to a brute that wouldn't love her, and worse, wouldn't let her be herself.

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This stops him short.

"You..." Brandon and their father were dead. So many people have died for this, their friends, family, allies. "It can't be true."

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She closes her eyes, curling around Baelor, "I'm so sorry," she breathes, "I didn't want this. We-" she is cut off by another bout of coughing, worse than the last. She quickly turns her head away from the babe, splattering the sheets with blood from her dry, chafed throat. 

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The baby starts to cry, gripping his mother's shift tightly. 

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Which sets off the other baby too.

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Caster doesn't know how to help her, so instead moves over to the second baby to try and calm him. He keeps his eye on the other man though.

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The sight of her blood, the sight of her, how ill she looks and how desperate... it triggers something in Ned. This is his sister, whatever happens. They're Starks.

He kneels before her beside and takes hold of her hand. "It matters not. We are together now. We can go home."

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Once the coughing has abated again, she focuses on soothing Baelor. Once he settles down a bit, she beckons Caster to take him and put him back with his brother, where he latches onto Baelon with a vengeance. Strength spent, she falls back against the pillows, coughing again before she can answer her brother. 

Breathing harshly, she looks up to give Ned a sorrowful look, "I... don't think," she pauses, swallowing to get some moisture into her throat, "...I think I'm dying, Ned." 

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"No. You - I just found you."

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