he’s delicate, just as his mother instructs. taking the gift in his hands, jon frees it from its paper wrapping. he knows of this harp, has heard hundreds upon hundreds of stories of it fall from lyanna’s lips.
rhaegar could soothe even the most ferocious soul with these silver strings.
jon carefully sets the instrument upon a tabletop before turning to his mother. “ this was my father’s. i… have you always had this? ”
Lyanna watches her boy - for even as a man grown he’ll always be her boy - unwrap the harp. It’s painted base faded but the strings made a sound as angelic as ever. She can tell from the look on his face that he understands what he holds in his hands.
“Not always.” Lyanna admits. “But for a long while. Barristan Selmy hid it in Kings Landing before it was sacked and brought it North the first time Robert visited Winterfell. You were three or four I believe.” She watches him set the harp down, he doesn’t know how to play, there was no teacher at Winterfell but it didn’t matter, it was his no matter if he wanted to play it or not.
“When you were still in my womb your father used to sit in my tower room and play that for me. The first time I felt you move within me he was playing it and singing for us.” A shadow of a smile crosses her face, her eyes slightly glazed over as she remembers. “He left for war not long after that and I haven’t heard it played since.”
