A mythical Encounter

Sansa was about to faint, she was sure of that. Her prince gave her a rose, a blue rose, just like Rhaegar gave her aunt at the tourney of Harrenhal. It was chivalrous, it was romantic and it was just soooo dreamy.

She managed to keep herself from fainting, but couldn’t avoid giving off a girly squeal. So far the royal visit was surpassing her boldest dreams. The entourage entered the court with splendor, the knights of the kingsguard in their white cloaks looked imposing as they were supposed to and the Queen and princess were as beautiful as her stories had made her expect. Equally high were her expectations for her prince. And he jumped over them like stag above a crumbled branch.

Lyonel was the epitome of manliness. He was muscled like maidens fantasy and with about seven feet of height and everyone, except Hodor that is, had to look up at him. And what a wonderful face that awaited up there.. Sansa had a hard time putting into words how the princes face looked, even in her thoughts. He wore his thick, dark hair well kempt. His face was defined by hard lines, most of all by his chiseled jaw. His mouth formed a calming smile that radiated warmth and his eyes… His eyes had the bright blue depth that drew you in and never let you go. He looked like he stepped right out of her dream and into her life.

And now after spending time with him, that sentiment proofed more real than her heart would have imagined possible. He was a thinker, a reader, a romantic and a dreamer. He shared her passion and lived by it, a knight and a chevalier like they made them no more. And so when he gave her that rose, that was the drop that made her heart, already filled with longing and desire, overflow and her whole body started to tingle. Especially in the forbidden place she found herself exploring time and time again when her mind drifted towards her prince.

~

Sansa looked lost for words and Lyonel almost withdrew the rose in the assumption his gesture might not have the desired effect. But when his hand made the slightest movement, the ladies hands both rushed forward grabbing the rose and clutching it to her bosom before carefully raising it to take in its scent.

“Th-thank you my prince, you’re too kind”, she finally said and held his gaze for a moment longer than she probably intended. Her breathing had turned labored and with her head slightly angled backwards to look at him, Lyonel had a prime view down her modest but still delicious cleavage. Shortly after his eyes coincidentally wandered there, the vailed orbs were pushed out- and upward. When Lyonel tried to look at her eyes in bewilderment, that seemingly broke Sansas trance and she turned back towards the walking path.

“Shall we continue?”, she looked over her shoulder and seemingly by accident arched her back.

The two continued venturing through the godswood, making smalltalk about stories and poems, occasionally stopping to admire the almost otherworldly beauty of Winterfells godswood. It was a stunning place, but nothing drew more awe from Lyonel than the heart tree. Subconsciously their pace slowed down as they drew closer to it, its carved face demanding their reverence.

In Lyonels mind the time slowed down when he acted on pure instinct and reached out to the faces resin tears. And as his fingers brushed the blood coloured tears, a sad moan drummed in his ears and his sight turned black.

He was not in the godswood anymore. At least he was not in *Winterfells* godswood anymore. There were still trees around him. Oaks and ironwoods, soldier pines and weirwood trees, but the one in front of him was not the same he had faced in Winterfell. This one was… older. His face in a way less human than the mourning man the heart tree in Winterfell depicted. This one was the rough draft of a stoic warrior. Duty, it rang through Lyonels head. Duty and courage, it repeated slow and solemnly, but with the conviction to last the ages.

A rustling behind him made Lyonel turn around. Over the cracking snow a four legged animal strode towards him. He could not make out what exactly was coming closer, as it was obscured by the snowy shrubbery. A dear maybe? On first glance, the strange creatures height and stature looked more akin to that of a horse, but as it fully entered the clearing Lyonel stood in, it became clear. Raising its antlers proudly in the air was a stag, a stunning animal whose shoulders alone towered over most grown men.

As, out of nowhere, flames engulfed the mysterious creature, it shrieked. But not in a cry of anguish, instead a twisted mating call was emanated from the depths of the stags lungs. The snow around it was melting and the animals fur blackened, before burning off and revealing flesh. Piece by piece it was consumed by the fire, but the creature didn’t flinch or take any action to extinguish it.

Lyonel rushed forward. He just had to push it in the snow, else it would helplessly burn away. The agitated prince shoved his arms towards the burning heat and when they made contact-

His hands landed on the heart tree, his palms firmly planted on the eyes of the carved face.

“Woooh, calm it down there! You nearly threw me off”, a voice called him from the tree top. The ancient tree was mildly shaking from the princes forceful push and among the upper branches an experienced climber made his way down.

“Bran! Show a little respect, it is the crown prince you are talking to!”, Sansa reprimanded her little brother. Non-pulsed by it he just shrugged.

“Oh, calm yourself dear sister. I doubt he even heard me”, Brandon Stark landed beside Lyonel and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him from his revery, ”Your highness? I meant you no disrespect.”

The Northman bowed theatrically and chuckled.

“N-no, it’s alright”, Lyonel reluctantly lifted his hands from the tree and reached his right one out. Bran shook it, a smile on his face.

“We can be informal. This isn’t a throne room and you’re not standing in front of your future king, but your future brother in-“, Sansa gasped, “arms.”

Bran noticed his sisters reaction at what she anticipated Lyonel saying and showed clear amusement he hadn’t said that. And while Sansa took on a shade of red, embarrassed about her assumption, the young men shared a juvenile laugh.

“That’s great to hear, I look forward to becoming your brother in-”, dramatic pause, “arms. But I better go inside now. Old maester Luwin will hit me with his cane if I’m not on time for our session. I love reading about the lords and especially the knights, but if he wants to discuss the sigils and banners of the smallest of houses again, I fear I will fall asleep and not wake for months.”

Bran chuckled at his own joke, heraldry a topic that irritated him to no end, but this time Lyonel did not join in. A coma. The thing the Stark son described was a coma. And Lyonel shuddered remembering his fate in canon. The fall, the coma and how that turned him into a sour greenseer in a wheelchair. That should- That would not happen with Lyonel around. He swore that to himself in that moment.

“Well, then be on your way. I’ll make sure we have some time later and maybe talk about your future. I could use a trustworthy Northman in my entourage, especially if it’s one without the grimness that usually comes with it.”

A big smile on his face, Brandon Stark left his sister and her suitor. But not before once more bowing theatrically low to taunt Sansa, with the wished for effect. She huffed and dismissed him with a slight of hand.

“What an annoying little…”, she muttered to herself, only focusing on Lyonel when Bran was out of sight.

“I’m sorry for that. He can be like that sometimes, but he does mean well. I think,” an apologetic smile came over her lips. “But before he interrupted us, you were looking at the heart tree, weren’t you? It is captivating, isn’t it.”

It was not a question, she shared his look at the huge, pale white tree with its red leaves. It stood before them as it had for countless generations and would for many more.

“My father gets a similar look sometimes. He sits in front of it and polishes his sword or armour. I think he values the calm of it all. There could be a tourney and a feast and a brawl all rolled together outside of it, but somehow the godswood would still be like this. It’s like the heart tree is watching over it.”

Sansa delicately took Lyonels hand in her own and placed both of them carefully on the side of the tree. This time everything stays as it is, but goosebumps still travel over Lyonels skin. He feels little pushes traveling through his fingers, like the tree had a pulse of its own.

“As a child I was scared of it. A big wailing face is not something that children find calming, you know? But over time it grew on me. You see, the heart trees face is not carved to scare us, it’s a reminder of the terrors it shields us from. It’s suffering, so that we don’t have to. That’s still too grim for me, but –“, she pauses.

“-there is beauty and honor in shielding those you care about, those you love”, Lyonel completed her sentence, lifted their hands from the heart tree and held hers tightly.

Their eyes met and the world around them disappeared.

“Yes”, Sansa answered, either to affirm what the prince had said or what his eyes had asked.

He made a half-step towards her, their bodies so close he could feel smell the sweet and subtle perfume she had donned herself with. His still free hand angled her chin upward towards his own and their mouths sought each other like two pieces of a whole, forcefully broken apart, aiming to reunite.

They found each other, Sansas lips quivered until Lyonel pressed his own on them. At once the contact calmed her and she melted into his kiss. They shared a loving embrace, neither of them willing to break it. And the moment might have lasted forever, had it not been rudely interrupted.

“Sansa! What come over you?”, a matronly voice made itself heard from behind the couple.

Sansa jumped a little, patted her dress in an attempt to regain some composure and fixed her eyes on her feet. Lyonel turned around to look at their intruder and found the lady of Winterfell looking angrily at her daughter and then flustered at him.

“A-and you young man? What do you have to say in your defense? Kissing a highborn maiden, how dare you?”, addressing the prince her tone became far less intimidating and at the end came off more like a question of interest instead of a rhetorical one to shame him. A weakness Lyonel would make sure to exploit.

“I’m sorry my lady, but as the woman Sansa obviously inherited her beauty from, you must understand the near divine effort it takes a man to resist it”, he took a moment to enjoy her mildly flustered reaction, ”I did not aim to tarnish your daughters honor and I’d beg her forgiveness should I have overstepped any boundaries against her will”, Sansa meekly shook her head left and right, her cheeks reddened.

The matriarch of the Stark family was dumbfounded at Lyonels compliment. It has been a long while since the lady of Winterfell has gotten any compliments. At least ones she cared about. Her husband let out some nice words every couple of years, but out of courtesy. And it really felt that way, overall the Northern love was a sober one. She had had charming suitors back in her youth, but now she had grown accustomed to her arranged marriage. A stolen kiss between lovebirds was something she knew back from her home in the South. At that time she had been among the young ladies snickering about it, but now she was a grown woman and this was about her own daughter. She would show this stu- degenerate, how to properly behave.

“Sansa, go in and visit Septa Mordane. It seems you could do with some revised lessons”, her daughter threw Lyonel a wishful look, but demurely made her way back where they came from.

“And you, y-young man”, her authoritative tone wavering again, “you’re going to follow me and we will have a talk about proper conduct among nobles.”

Oh, I’m sure we will, Lyonel looked the lady over as soon as she turned her back to him to lead the way.