"What will you call him?" Alize asked as she wrapped Lyanna's child up in a towel; they didn't have any clothes for the baby as he was two months early.

"It's a he?" Lyanna exclaimed grinning. She was exhausted, but refused to sleep until she had her child back in her arms. Her whole body ached too, but she didn't let it show.

"Yes, didn't you check?" Alize laughed as she handed the little bondle back into Lyanna's arms. He was asleep, but that didn't stop her from touching his little chubby cheeks. He was tiny, but chubby. He had a few strands of dark hair which crowned his small head and she had managed to glimpse at them long enough to see he had brown eyes; he was perfect.

Lyanna shook her head. "I didn't care,"

"Was it true what you said earlier? Was your mother really a Targaryen?" Alize asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Pausing, Lyanna thought about her answer. Could she trust Alize with the truth? Afterall, she was a handmaiden, probably supplied to her by the Lannisters. She could easily be spying on her for Cersei, and if Cersei found out about Lyanna's parentage, she would waste no time telling Joffrey, or Robert. Either way, Lyanna and her son would end up dead. The thought of her dying at the hand of one stupid handmaiden was ridiculous. However, Alize seemed trustworthy. She had helped Lyanna through the last seven months, but now, could she really be good enough to hear the biggest secret in King's Landing and not report it back to the king or queen?

Lyanna nodded reluctantly before looking down at her son. If he ended up dead because of her stupidity, Lyanna didn't know what she would do. She would probably join him in the grave, though, and she was sure her father and sisters would be murdered also, for knowingly harboring an enemy to the crown.

"You can trust me," she said quietly, her hand on Lyanna's knee.

"You're going to tell the queen, aren't you?" she didn't believe Alize's pledge of trust.

Alize laughed."I'm from Highgarden, my lady," she pointed out. "The Tyrell's supported the Targaryen's in the war. Do you think I'd want to get the only Targaryen for miles around killed?"

"Its my mother that's a Targaryen, my father's a Stark, which makes me a Stark," Lyanna sighed, glancing across the bed to where Winter was sprawled out, her red eyes trained on the baby in Lyanna's arms.

"You need to get some rest, my lady," Alize said, taking the child out of Lyanna's arms and laying him down in the wooden cradle she had brought in moments before. It was then that she realised how tired she truly was and it wasn't long after Alize had left the room that she fell asleep.

Lyanna wasn't sure how long she was asleep for, but when she woke and saw the moon in the night's sky through the thin drapes, she knew it had been a long time. She also knew that something wasn't right. Everything seemed normal; the candle by her bed was still burning, the singing from the streets below, even the soft breaths from her son. Everything seemed as it should be, but something was wrong. The floorboard creaking added to her theory.

Lyanna slowly reached out and took the dagger laid on her bedside table into her hand before hiding it under the sheet. She thanked the old gods that she had remembered to put her dagger on the table the night before instead of leaving it by the vanity table, which was on the other side of the room. Holding the cold metal hilt, her thumb tracing over the large ruby, she tried to make out any shapes which could be an intruder in the room, but, despite the candle flickering by her bedside, it was far too dark to even see her hand if it was in front of her face.

Her heart was pounding as she tried to reassure herself; the Red Keep was old, and old buildings did creak in the night, especially castles. No matter how much she told herself that she was being ridiculous, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was in her room. For protection, she slid the dagger under her pillow carefully, trying not to cut the fabric open; heaven forbid that she destroys any more of the feather pillows Joffrey cares about so much.

After what felt like centuries, she heard another creak. This time, it sounded closer to the bed. She squinted, again trying to make out shapes but failed. She glanced over in the direction of her son's cradle and knew that her wolf was softly snoring beside it, and her theory of the creaks being Winter pacing the room was destroyed. In the same second that Lyanna decided she should try to get bck to sleep, someone jumped on top of her.

A sweaty hand clamped down onto her mouth as the person sat upon her hips, their weight crushing her. The person pulled the sheets off from on top of Lyanna as she struggled to get the dagger out from under her pillow. As her attacker managed to get the sheets off her and began to try and lift her night skirt, she pulled out the dagger. Without hesitating to see who this man was, she rammed the dagger into his stomach three times, blood pouring onto her pale body. The man screamed out in pain, rolling to the side, before Lyanna herself jumped on top of him.

"Who are you?" She demanded, ignoring the pain coming from her thighs, still aching heavily from birthing. She looked the man in the eye, despite the darkness, seeing the fear and pain in his expression, all whilst hoding the bloody dagger to his throat.

"You bitch," he cried through his pain. For a second, before he spoke, she thought he was Joffrey. However, her attacker seemed bigger than Joffrey, and reeked of wine, and her original theory disappeared completely as his voice came out far deeper than her husbands.

"Who are you, and what did you want with me?" She repeated, pushing the knife to his throat harder. Although the knowledge that the man was going to rape her ran through her mind, she knew there must be something else too; he could have raped anyone, why would he brake into the Red Keep just to fuck her?

"I'm not here for you, bitch," he spat at her, his hands clambering over his bleeding wound. "I was sent to kill you, and your bastard son, thought I'd have a bit of fun before I killed you,"

"He's not a bastard," she hissed. "And if you were sent to kill me, you are here for me. You aren't very clever, are you? Who sent you?"

The man screamed, groaning at the sight of the blood staining his hands. "Why would I tell you, you little bitch?"

She growled at him, before spitting out, "Tell me or I'll slit your throat,"

"What's the difference? I' m going to die anyway," he grinned a toothless smile at Lyanna. She spat on him once more, before slitting his throat. The blood flowed out of his wounds swiftly, staining both her white night dress and her hands red.

Lyanna hardly had chance to get up off the corpse she had created before two more men had come into her room. She stumbled to her feet, holding the dagger out as protection. She wished she had a sword, but there was no point wasting time wishing, as wishing wouldn't make a sword drop from the sky into her hand. The two men laughed at her, pulling out proper blades, sharp blades. As one of them reached out to grab her, Lyanna slashed the blade at him. It cut his arm and he sniggered at her failed attempt to hurt him.

"Who sent you?" she demanded as one of the men grabbed hold of her wrist. They managed to pin her against the wall and she screamed as they bent her arm back. She swore it was broken. She tried to slash the dagger at the one holding her, but it was futile.

"Someone who really wants you and your son dead," the other man said, pushing his face right up into hers. She felt his tongue caress the side of her face and she recoiled in disgust. A hand grabbed her neck, spinning her around, but still pushing her against the wall. Somehow, they had managed to disarm her and held her own bloody dagger to her throat.

"If you're going to kill me, tell me who sent you, it won't matter, dead people can't talk," She hissed, still struggling slightly. She felt one of the men push himself right into her face and she recoiled from the stench of his breath.

"We're not allowed, little lady, but our boss did tell us to tell you 'knowledge is power,'" he whispered into her ear, nibbling on her ear lobe slightly. She tried to pull away in disgust but he held her tight.

'Knowledge is power'. That sounded like house words. Which house could want her and Joffrey's heir dead, though? Until seven months ago, she was a bastard and made no enemies, so who would want her dead, but be pretentious enough to want the last thing she heard to be their house words?

'I'm going to die,' she thought bitterly. She thought about how she would never see her family again, her brothers, her sisters and it made her want to cry. How could these men be so unfair to take life away from her when she had only just birthed a child of her own?

Lyanna struggled in the man's grip, watching as his friend made his way slowly to her son's crib. Her struggles were in vein and she knew that, but it didn't stop her trying.

For some reason, her mind drifted to Daenerys Targaryen. Daenerys was a girl of sixteen, a year younger than Lyanna herself, but was her aunt. She had been married off too, and if the gossip in the Red Keep was correct, assassins had been sent to Vaes Dothrak to have her and her unborn child killed. Never had Lyanna related herself to a Targaryen before, but now she was seeing a similarity between herself and her aunt on the other side of the Narrow Sea. Now the two Targaryen's would both die without meeting each other, the last two of their kind. If she survived, Lyanna decided, even though she knew she wouldn't, she would make it her duty to track down her aunt across the Narrow Sea.

Lyanna's eyes were shut. If she was going to be forced to witness her son die with no hope of rescue, she wasn't going to watch. She felt weak. She had trained for two months with her brothers in Winterfell and for five months in secret with Jory in King's Landing, but yet she had let herself get disarmed so easily without even hurting the two men in front of her now. She was a failure.

In a matter of moments, the situation changed entirely. She felt herself get thrown onto the bed harshly and heard the screams of the two men. She dared to open her eyes, to see Winter on top of the first one, her paws holding him down as she tore his throat to shreds. Blood was pooling out from the wound and bubbling out of his slightly opened mouth. Next to him, the other man also had no throat, but was still twitching slightly, choking on his own blood.

Lyanna staggered off the bed and fell onto her knees, watching her dire wolf lick her paws clean from blood. It was only then that Lyanna noticed her son's small cries of terror. She prayed to the old gods that he hadn't been hurt, and her prayers were answered when she saw him laid how Alize had left him. Taking her son into her arms, Lyanna tried to calm him but it was no use. She felt like crying herself, which made her feel even more useless than before.

Winter padded over to where Lyanna was knelt in the corner, licking Lyanna's arm. It was then when she realised that one of the men had cut her on the jaw with her own blade as he pushed her. The flow of blood seemed never ending, but it didn't seem to be in a fatal position; a few inches south and it would have punctured her jugular. She didn't feel the pain, though. The adrenaline from having killed a man was still running through her, though that did not improve her mental state. She sat, panting hysterically, remembering the man's screams. She wondered if her mother and father screamed like that when they were dying.

"Lya!" A voice said in her doorway. It was one of her father's men. Usually, she knew everyone in her father's service by name but in that moment, she couldn't put a name to a face; probably because of the fact it was dark, as well as Lyanna being hysterical. About ten Stark men came into her room in that moment, each of them with a sword drawn.

'Where were these men when I was convinced I was going to die?' she thought. She wanted to voice how, if Winter wasn't here, they would have come too late and would have found her raped and murdered along with her son, but she couldn't speak.

"Are you alright?" one of them said gently, offering her their hand for her to stand but she ignored him, still trying to get a grip on herself. "Lyanna, answer me!" It was then that she realised that the man stood over her was her father (uncle, she reminded herself). In the darkness, she could see the heavy bandage over where the King slayer's man had put a spear through his leg. She also noticed that he was leaning on a cane, something she didn't notice earlier that day.

"I-I killed him," Lyanna wished that it were her brothers who were with her now, she wished that she could go home, where she never had to kill anyone, or fight anyone except for training. "He wanted to hurt me and murder my son,"

As she stood shakily, her son's cries slowly quietened as the corpses were being pulled out of the room. Wanting to throw up at the smell of blood, she stumbled out onto the balconette , gasing for breath.

"Lyanna, please, are you alright?" she heard him pleading behind her. She was shaking so violently she was scared she'd drop the small babe, so she handed him to her father gently.

"Who's house words are 'knowledge is power'?" he asked, managing to get a grip on herself. "Those men- they told me that the one who sent them told them to say that to me,"

"I don't know whose words they are," Lord Stark admitted, making her nervous; if he didn't know, it could be anybody. "Come, Lya, you can't sleep here tonight. You'll have your old room and I'll have guards stationed outside your doors," 

He gave her son back to her and she held him tightly. "They wanted to kill him," she said uneasily.

"It seems like they wanted to kill you too. I think you should be glad you still had your dire wolf to protect you," Lord Stark said, reminding her of Lady and Nymeria. "Come with me, Lyanna, it's not safe here for you anymore,"

"Can I go home now? Back to Winterfell?" she whispered, looking up at Lord Stark, feeling more like a child than ever before.

"No, not yet, love, but soon," he said, making her smile slightly. "We'll all be back in Winterfell soon,"

She shook her head. "Not soon enough," Lyanna sighed, walking past her father and out of her room, not daring to even glance at the dead bodies.

Winter ran after her as she carried her son down the corridors of the Red Keep. She was still terrified and felt weak, as she didn't have her dagger on her, but by the time she got to the Tower of the Hand, she felt safe. She was surrounded by her father's men, men that she had been surrounded by as she had grown up. No one could be more trustworthy than the northenmen, especially the guards of House Stark. There were few men she could trust with her son's life, especially now, but she could trust all of these men.

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Hey guys!

Long wait for this update, I know, but its here now, and a very tense chapter indeed!

What do you guys think to the twist? Please leave me some feedback on this chapter as I worked so hard on it! Also, the next chapter is where we find out what Lyanna's son is called!

Stay tuned for the next chapter and remember to check out my other stories!

~Olivia