She hasn't quite followed the stories, but something about Lyanna is calling out to her. "She's beautiful," she murmurs, a strange quietness to her voice, and her hand closes around the harpβ
There's a scream and Jane turns to the sound of the voice. A tower. She doesn't know how or why, but something tells her she has to hurry. She takes a step forward, yet her body feels impossibly heavy; it's only a moment later that she realizes that she's in armor, and carrying a sword. A man's armor. A man's sword. A man. She's a man.
She blinks, and she's inside the tower. A woman is lying in a bed of blood. She's beautiful. "Lyanna?" she croaks, and her feet move on their own accord and drag her over. She kneels by the woman's side, taking hold of her hand. She's cold. She's dying. "You're not going to die," she says, in a man's voice.
The princess, back in the realm of the living and in the now, doesn't even realize she's slipped away, having grown as pale and as still as the statues in front of her. Except that her eyes are wide and her lips are moving. "Promise me, Ned. Promise me," she echoes the Lyanna in her vision, her brown eyes staring far, far away. Beyond the statue, beyond the crypt, beyond the present. "Aegon. His name is Aegon Targaryen. If Robert finds out, he'll kill him. You know he will. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned. Promise me."
Then Jane draws her hand back with a gasp that echoes in the darkness, stumbling back and practically into Jon. "Promise me, Ned. Promise me," she continues to mutter, as though delirious with fever.
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There's a scream and Jane turns to the sound of the voice. A tower. She doesn't know how or why, but something tells her she has to hurry. She takes a step forward, yet her body feels impossibly heavy; it's only a moment later that she realizes that she's in armor, and carrying a sword. A man's armor. A man's sword. A man. She's a man.
She blinks, and she's inside the tower. A woman is lying in a bed of blood. She's beautiful. "Lyanna?" she croaks, and her feet move on their own accord and drag her over. She kneels by the woman's side, taking hold of her hand. She's cold. She's dying. "You're not going to die," she says, in a man's voice.
The princess, back in the realm of the living and in the now, doesn't even realize she's slipped away, having grown as pale and as still as the statues in front of her. Except that her eyes are wide and her lips are moving. "Promise me, Ned. Promise me," she echoes the Lyanna in her vision, her brown eyes staring far, far away. Beyond the statue, beyond the crypt, beyond the present. "Aegon. His name is Aegon Targaryen. If Robert finds out, he'll kill him. You know he will. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned. Promise me."
Then Jane draws her hand back with a gasp that echoes in the darkness, stumbling back and practically into Jon. "Promise me, Ned. Promise me," she continues to mutter, as though delirious with fever.