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He could hear her still at times. ‘Promise me’, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. ‘Promise me, Ned.’ The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sisters eye’s. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. 
They had come together at the ford of the Trident while the battle crashed around them, Robert with warhammer and his great antlered helm, the Targaryen prince armored all in black. On his breast plate was the three-headed dragon of his House, wrought all in rubies that flashed like fire in the sunlight. The waters of the Trident ran red around the hooves at their destriers as they circled and clashed, again and again, until at last a crushing blow from Robert’s hammer stove in the dragon and the chest beneath it. When Ned had finally come on the scene, Rhaegar lay dead in the stream, while men of both armies scrabbled in the swirling waters for rubies knocked free of his armor. 
- George R.R. Martin - A Game of Thrones. Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.