Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She felt as if she could not breathe.  Every step was agony, and yet, she knew she had to find Robb.  Lady Catelyn Stark walked through the camp, searching among the men sworn to her son.  Each bowed to her, in respect of her grief, but she ignored them all. Still searching, she reached a grove of trees and then, she fell upon one, at last unable to keep her body erect  After a moment where she finally caught her breath, she heard the sound of a sword hitting against a tree. Moving closer to the sound, she saw Robb, his face wet with tears. Catelyn ran to him, enveloping him in an embrace.

In between his tears, he cursed them, cursed them all, and vowed to do to them what they had done to his father, her husband.  She tried to calm him, reminding him that they still held Sansa and Arya. “But we’ll get the girls back, and then we will kill them all,” she assured him.

It was later that night that she began to think through just how House Stark would avenge itself on the crimes of House Lannister.  She knew her counsel from earlier in the day was correct. To strike directly on King’s Landing and the Lannisters was to sign the death warrants on her daughters.  There had to be another way to overthrow them.

“What would you do, my husband?” she mused aloud.  There had to be some way to protect her children and expose the treachery of the Lannisters.  Then, for reasons unknown to her, she remembered a conversation she had with Ned years ago. “For as long as Robert and his heirs sit on the Iron Throne,” he told her when he revealed a secret to her.  At first, she shook her head. Jon Snow was leagues away, by now a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch.  Among their vows was to hold no titles. But she knew it was vow made with incomplete knowledge. Who knew that, if knowing who he was, he would have gone to the Wall.

She stood up left her tent, heading for Robb’s.  Along the way, she was told by one of the knights camped with them that Howland Reed had joined the forces Robb was mustering.  “House Reed arrived early this evening, my lady. I believe Lord Reed was to see Lord Stark,” one informed her.

Cat made her way to the tent and, sure enough, Howland Reed was there, shaking hands with Robb.  “My apologies, my lord, but it took some time to make it out of the Neck,” the Lord of the Crannogmen said.  

“You are here, now.  That is all that matters,” Robb replied.  “You received the raven then, with the news of how they butchered my father?”

“No, my lord, in fact--” Lord Reed began until he saw Catelyn.  He knelt in front of her, sorrow heavy in his voice. “My Lady Stark, words fail me.”  He bowed his head more, not looking into her eyes. “I feel I failed him.”

She could not speak for a moment, too overcome with grief.  But it passed and she nodded to him, accepting his condolences.  “Lord Reed, I wish we were here for better reasons,” was all Cat could say at the moment.  Another breath and she felt herself more at peace. “Your journey must have been difficult, my lord.  Come, I have some refreshments in my tent.”

Howland Reed gave her a queer look, but then seemed to understand her.  He turned back to Robb, wordlessly asking permission to leave. Robb looked to his mother, who gave him the same insistent look she had just given Reed.  “There will be a council meeting soon, for any of the remaining banners who have yet to arrive,” he said, then nodded his dismissal.

Catelyn and Howland made it back to her tent, where she closed the flap as soon as the man was inside.  Reed looked around, unsure of why she had asked him. In truth, they had never been particularly close. She was the wife of his liege lord, the only man to return with Ned Stark from Dorne.  The fact that the other man had returned with a child that was not hers, he had felt, always put him at a disadvantage with her favor.

“Lord Reed, there are matters which I need to speak with you about, yet we must be careful as we speak,” she began nervously.  “With my husband’s death, you are now the only remaining survivor of the final battle of Robert’s Rebellion, the last witness to the death of my good sister, Lyanna Stark.”

Lord Reed didn’t know quite what she was getting at and he was scared to continue.  “My lady-” he began.

But she cut him off.  “Many years ago, Ned told me about the battle, and the aftermath.”  She wasn’t sure if she was making herself clear, but she did not want to come out and say it directly.  “I know,” she concluded, at last, hoping she was being understood.

It was unimaginable to Howland Reed that Catelyn Stark could be speaking of what he thought she was speaking of.  As far as he had ever known, the only souls who knew the truth of what happened at the Tower of Joy were himself and the two Dornish handmaidens who he had found in the room when he went looking for Ned.  The Kingsguards who stood as protection were long dead and none of their other companions survived. And Ned had sworn him to never speak of it.

Yet here was Ned’s wife, who had lived for years angered at the one blemish on the impeccable honor of Eddard Stark.  How long had she known? And if so, if the stories were true, why had she acted the way he had heard of down through the years?

Cat sat down in a chair, guilt painted all over her face.  “There was an incident and Ned took me away, told me everything,” she began, “Or at least, as much as he knew.  It has been many years that I had to be the way I was. Ned was so fearful of the slightest change in temperament, that it could raise a comment that would be picked up and carried off to the wrong people.”  She was near tears now, between Ned’s death and seeing Howland. But she felt the gods had sent her a sign, that they were pointing the way. “I was going to Robb’s tent, to tell him of my knowledge, when I was told you had arrived.  So, I must ask your counsel. Should I tell Robb what I know? Is this a way to stop the Lannisters?”

Howland sat down next to her, collecting his thoughts.  “My lady, Eddard made a vow to his sister. I do not think it was meant to be broken even with his death.”  At that, Cat’s face collapsed. He saw that, but with his fingers, raised her chin up. “But he also told me the boy’s true name.  I have heard it said that he has joined the Night’s Watch. If he took his vows as a Brother of the Night’s Watch, it is as Jon Snow.  But that is not who he truly is.”

The light returned to Cat’s eyes.  She saw a way for it to possibly work.  “I must tell Robb, though. His counsel on the matter is most important.  It could impact him in ways that are...unexpected.” She had heard talk around the encampment of where the North goes from here.  From what she was hearing, the truth about Jon could be critically important.

“Aye, my lady.  I think your son would want to know this about his brother.”

Catelyn was ready to correct him but stopped herself.  She had always tried to look disapproving whenever one of her children, save for Sansa, referred to Jon as their brother.  But she saw that he truly was, and prayed that even after the truth was revealed, they, including her elder daughter, would still hold those same feelings.

Together, they returned to Robb’s tent.  Greatjon Umber was with him, advising him about troop movements.  At their entrance, the Greatjon bowed his head. “My lady, words have never been my strong suit, but I am certain you know the sympathies are with you.”  He saw Howland then. “Lord Reed, a surprise to see you here.”

“When I was notified of Lord Stark’s death, I knew my place was here, Lord Umber,” was all he replied.

“Lord Umber, I have some things I need to discuss with my son.  If you will excuse us?” she asked demurely. The older lord nodded and bowed to Robb.

Once he was gone, Robb turned his attention to the map before him.  “We cannot be a part of the Seven Kingdoms any longer. Not when such monsters sit on the throne!  And to think of all that Father suffered to rid us of the Targaryens. Lord Umber thinks we should declare our independence.”

Catelyn came to stand beside him, gently nudging his face to look at her.  “My son,” she said, her smile lopsided. “You must not make any decision before you hear what I and Lord Reed are about to say.”  She led him to a chair, making him sit and then taking one right next to him. Lord Reed stood a few steps behind her.

Robb could not remember seeing the look his mother wore any time before, save one. That thought briefly flashed in his mind when he was young and Jon had been deathly ill.  She and Father had been away for a night. But when they returned, she wore the same expression he was seeing now. “What is the matter, Mother?”

Cat looked to Howland once, who nodded, and she began.  “Do you remember the time Jon came down with the pox?” she asked.

He was astounded that he had been thinking of that very incident.  “Yes. In fact, I was just remembering it.”

“You remember your father and I going away the night he recovered at last?”  Again, her son nodded. “I am deeply ashamed of the reason why we went away. Earlier that day, your father...he overheard me pray to the Stranger of...peace in the next life...as I sat at Jon’s bedside.”

Robb jumped out of his seat immediately, pulling his hand away from his mother.  “You prayed for a young boy to die!? Mother, I cannot...I know you have no love for him, but to do such a thing--”

“Is unconscionable,” she concluded for him.  “From the moment I arrived at Winterfell with you in my arms and Jon in his, I was jealous...jealous of a woman he would never speak of, of a look Ned would give his son.  It was at times a madness, and at that moment, the madness overtook me, I admit. But your father heard me and swept me away from the keep. I thought he was putting me aside, taking me back to Riverrun, but he was not heading south.  We went to a small hunting lodge your grandfather had built for him and his sons. And, after we were settled, Ned told me...told me who the mother of Jon Snow was.”

Robb was thunderstruck.  He knew, deep in his heart, his mother’s irrational fears of Jon.  He had tried to talk her out of them many times as he grew. Before the incident she was speaking of, her eyes would flash dangerously, making him back off.  But after, there was another look when it was brought up. He often thought it was sadness, but he dismissed it, remembering all the times before.

And this was why.  She was sad because she knew a truth.  He never thought it was this truth, but she knew something more.  And she had kept silent. “You knew who his mother is, yet denied him that knowledge?  You and Father?” That was the galling part. He knew how his brother had always begged for the woman’s name, where she was from even.  Yet it went unsaid.

Cat felt a strength with her next words.  No, they did not absolve her of anything, but she hoped it would comfort Robb.  “I could not tell because I made a vow before the Old Gods and the New I would not say a word.  I made that vow because of a vow your father made to the boy’s mother. He swore he would always protect Jon...from those who may want harm to come to the boy.”

It wasn’t making any sense.  Who would want to harm the bastard son of the Lord of the North?  He had an heir by that point, and even if he didn’t Ned and Cat were still very young.  More children were sure to come. “Protect Jon from whom?” Robb asked.

“From King Robert Baratheon and Lord Tywin Lannister,” Howland said, at last, relieving Catelyn of the burden of the story.  When he had Robb’s focus, he explained further. “When we arrived at the tower we had been directed to before us stood three of the Kingsguard; Lord Commander Gerold Hightower, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Arthur Dayne.”

“Father told me that, told me that he defeated Ser Arthur in single combat,” Robb said.

At that, Howland grimaced.  “To my shame, that was not the way it went.  I was injured early in the fight, not being any great warrior, but between the two parties, Hightower and Whent were cut down, yet so was everyone besides Ned.  So, it was left to him to face Dayne, but the Sword of the Morning had knocked Ice out of your father’s hand. He was about to kill Ned when I, from behind, stabbed Dayne in the neck.  He dropped to his knees, Ned staring at me in shock. But then your father slashed his throat, killing the great knight. Not a moment later, a scream could be heard from atop the tower.  Without saying a word, Ned rushed to the sound.”

Robb thought he knew the story, but it had been a lie.  Another lie his father had told. There was more of the story, however, that Robb remembered.  “Aunt Lyanna?”

Catelyn nodded.  “Yes, your father found his sister in the tower in a room that smelled of blood...and winter roses.”  She paused to gather herself for the rest of the story. “She was dying, but it was of no fever. She had given birth, but it had difficult and it was realized she would not make it.”

“Aunt Lyanna gave birth to that dragonspawn’s bastard?  That is who Jon is, Rhaegar Targaryen’s bastard?” Robb’s face grew stormier with each reveal, Catelyn could see.  She knew she had to quell it before it grew uncontrollable.

“Not Rhaegar’s bastard.  His trueborn son,” she said with a calmness she never expected.

Her son’s eyes narrowed in disbelief until Lord Reed spoke up again.  “By the time I, at last, reached them, Lyanna was dead, her brother holding her hand in his and her son in his arms.  When I came to them, he looked at me and said simply, ‘My nephew, Aegon, son of Rhaegar of House Targaryen and Lyanna of House Stark...King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men’.”

“Lyanna was never kidnapped, never raped.  They were in love, so much, he annulled his marriage to Elia Martell and married her.  She died giving birth to their son,” Catelyn said.

It was a shock after shock to Robb.  Jon was not a bastard, not even his brother.  He was the true heir to the Iron Throne, with a claim that would have superseded Robert Baratheon and any of his alleged children, surpassing the Beggar King in Essos and his sister, surpassing any others coming for the throne.  And that was when he saw it. The reason it was such a secret, the reason why the lie was so meticulously laid, the reason Baratheon and Lannister would come after a newborn boy.

Cat saw the dawning of the news on her son and helped it along.  “If it was known that Lyanna had given birth to Rhaegar’s son, Tywin Lannister would have never let the boy live.  He would have sent assassins to kill him, same as he did to Elia’s children. And the boy was Ned’s blood. He would go to any lengths to ensure Lyanna’s son lived.”

“Even sully his own honor,” Robb whispered.

Howland and Catelyn nodded.  “And when I found out, by then it was known what my opinion of the boy, of the whole situation, was.  Ned feared that if I changed my attitude towards him, it would be noted and maybe even heard by Varys’ little birds.  So I lived the lie. But now, Lyanna is gone, and Ned is gone--”

“And Jon is a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch by now,” Robb shot back.

“Yes,” Howland replied, “but as Jon Snow.  An alias created to protect a prince. But if his true name is spoken, he could be, in all likelihood, absolved from his oaths.”   

Robb looked to his mother, as any child would look for guidance from his mother.  “What are we to do? This changes everything. Father...vowed to protect a baby, but he is a man grown and a great swordsman.”

“Yet the lions are still out there,” Catelyn said, nodding her chin in the general direction of where Jaime Lannister sat in his cage.  “And Jon has no inkling of any of this. There is still great danger about us.”

They were all silent now, thinking of the ramifications of it all.  That was when Lady Mormont came calling outside the tent. Robb let her in.  “My Lord, we must discuss how to answer this grievous crime committed against House Stark.  All the lords are gathered, all their banners. Will you be joining us?” she asked, her rough voice not any gentler.

“I will be there after I finish matters here.”  The woman bowed and left. “What do we do?” he asked.

“I advise caution, my lord.  Let us see what the others have to say.  There are three kings running around the Seven Kingdoms, let us learn where everyone falls,” Howland suggested.

“I think that would be wise as well.  We do not have to come up with an answer immediately,” Cat agreed.

With that consensus, they walked to the fire, where the Lords of the North greeted them.  They began speaking out against Joffrey Baratheon, for Renly Baratheon, about Stannis Baratheon.  

Then Greatjon stood.  “My lords. MY LORDS! Here’s what I say to these two kings.”  He spat to make his point, garnering cheers from various corners.  “Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the south?  What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong.” A few peals of laughter sounded out, making even Catelyn, devout daughter of the Seven, smirk.  “Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again?”

That made Cat’s eyes fly open.  She looked to Howland, who was equally nervous.  Robb sat quiet, hearing the man out.

“It was the dragons we bowed to and now the dragons are dead.”  Umber pulled his sword, pointing it to Robb. “There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to.”  Then he knelt, shouting “The King in the North!”

Robb stood slowly with his mother watching him.  Just a short time ago, he had learned the boy he thought his brother was, in fact, a king.  Now he himself was being proclaimed one, being given a seat three hundred years unoccupied.

“I’ll have peace on those term.  They can keep their red castle and their iron chair too,” another lord added, following Greatjon Umber’s gesture.

Finally, Theon Greyjoy stood, asking Robb, “Am I your brother now and always?”

“Now and always,” Robb replied.

Theon followed suit, swearing his sword to Robb.  All the others followed, shouting “THE KING IN THE NORTH!” many times.  Robb turned to her as if asking silent permission. She did nothing but blink and Robb turned back to his banners.

He held his hand, silencing them all.  “My lords, I thank you for your words,” he began, slowly, thinking of the words he needed to speak.  He looked down at Lord Umber. “Lord Umber is right. We did bow before the dragons. King Torrhen Stark looked across the Trident, and saw Aegon with Balerion the Black Dread, and bent the knee.”  He moved away from where he had sat, walking to stand before the all. “But what if I were to tell you, that one dragon still lives?”

Looks of shock swept the assembled.  “The Mad King’s son and daughter, yes,” Galber Glover said.  “You mean to swear us to the Beggar King?”

Robb shook his head.  “No, not those dragons.  They spring from a seed of madness.  This dragon,” he continued. “This dragon is a Northerner, raised amongst us.  And though dragonblood may be in his veins, it is a white wolf he is more likened to.”

Murmurs and looks of confusion ran rampant through the crowd.  No one seemed to understand him. No one, but Theon. “You cannot mean?”

After a single nod, Rob explained himself.  “My lords, I apologize, for I have just heard the tale myself.  You all know my father to be a man of the utmost honor, so great, it was said he could never tell a lie.  And he never would, but for it to save the life of his blood. When he returned from Dorne, at the end of a rebellion, he brought back with him two things.  One was the bones of his beloved sister, taken, allegedly, by the Dragon Prince. The other was a small babe he claimed as his own.” Then he dropped his tone, his volume as he admitted the truth.  “But it was not true.” Then he looked to Howland Reed.

“I was with Ned and found him just after we fought three Kingsguard.  He found his sister, just passed from childbirth. In his arms was a newborn boy, one its mother swore Ned to protect.  And for sixteen years, he did as he swore, protected the child, by claiming him as his own bastard,” he said to the hush that had settled in.

“Jon Snow is my brother in every way that matters.  I grew up with him, learned with him.” He looked to Ser Rodrik Cassel, who caught on as well, and smiled broadly with Robb.  “Trained with him. I was proud to call him brother...but he is not. He is the trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and the Princess Lyanna Targaryen of House Stark.”

“How do you know this to be true?” Lady Maege Mormont asked, her eyes narrowing at Robb and Howland.

It was then that Catelyn stood.  “Because of a shame of mine that forced the truth from my husband.”  Then she recounted the story she had just told Robb.

“There is also evidence,” Howland said.  “With the princess’ bone, Ned placed in her tomb a box given to him by the handmaidens in Lyanna’s service.  It contained letters and the binding cloth from their wedding, with the three-headed dragon and wolf sigils. Thus, it is proven that no kidnapping occurred, no rape.  They were wed in the eyes of the Old Gods and the Faith, by the High Septon himself.”

The chattering picked up again, leading to questions being thrown at the three.  “Then why are we just hearing of this now? Why did Lord Stark not come forward sooner?”

“Because of the murders of Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon, innocent children murdered by House Lannister to attempt to destroy the Targaryen line.” Cat shot back.  “By the time she was to give birth, Lyanna was sure to have heard of that and when her brother found her, swore him to protect her son, for she knew he was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.  Ned kept that vow, the best way he could think of.” Her anger was boiling. “Would any of you do differently, should a child of your blood be placed in the same danger?”

A quiet chorus of “no” followed another question.  “I heard he pledged himself to the Night’s Watch. Their vows include taking no crown,” Rickard Karstark pointed out.

“Jon Snow took that vow, aye,” Howland admitted.  “But that is not the name Lyanna told Ned, or Ned told me.”

Robb spoke.  “So you see, my lords, I cannot allow you to give me a crown.  Yes, I am a Stark of Winterfell, a descendant of the last Kings of Winter.  But Jon Snow, Aegon, Sixth of his Name, is family to those who conquered Westeros, and those who bent the knee.  If any man has a right to a crown, it is him!”

And with that, they cheered.  It took Catelyn by surprise how voraciously the lords reacted to Robb’s words.  But she was proud of him. He had stepped aside, an unspoken oath to Jon uttered by him and called on by the others.  It was ironic, this moment. For years, she had feared Jon would one day try to usurp her children's’ place for Winterfell, but instead, Robb had stepped down, refused the acclamation, calling for the man who was the true king, even if he didn’t know.

Silently, she prayed that Ned would forgive her for the path they were about to tread.  It would be no easier for them, but all of Westeros knew, the only way to stop the lions was with a dragon.

“What do we do next, Mother?” Robb asked, thunderstruck at what had occurred.  He knew he had to refuse being named king. It was not his place, knowing what he knew now.  But Jon was at the Wall, with no clue as to what was going on down south.

Cat thought for a moment.  “First thing is we send a raven to Luwin immediately and tell him to find that box Howland mentioned.  I will set out in the morning for Winterfell and go through it.”

Robb agreed.  “Bring another Northern Lord with you, so it can be said others with no connection to the battle in Dorne have seen it and its contents.  And a raven should be sent to Castle Black to alert them, and get counsel about Jon.”

“I thought I heard once the maester is a Targaryen,” Catelyn said.

“If that is true, it could help us,” Robb replied as Maege Mormont approached them.  

“My lord, my lady,” she said with a clumsy curtsy.  “I heard you speak of returning to Winterfell to help prove what you have told us.  Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark, father or mother.  We shall not break faith now. And on a personal note, it is that I would like to go along with you.  Lady Lyanna was a friend to me, so much I named my youngest after her.”

Catelyn smiled, remembering the feast at Bear Island when the Lady of the Keep gave birth to her last child.  “I should like your company, Lady Mormont.”

“And  I should like to come as well,” Greatjon Umber offered.  “It amazes me, what you have revealed when I mentioned bending the knee to the dragons.”

“A fortuitous turn of phrase, my Lord,” Robb said, nodding along with his mother.  “Your travel will be seen to. Lord Reed, as he can identify the box and Ser Rodrik, I believe, should accompany you as well,” he added as the aforementioned men joined them.  The lord and the lady excused themselves, leaving the four, along with Theon, in a huddle.

“Jon’ll be right pissed at me.  All these years calling him a bastard when all the while…” the Ironborn said, shaking his head.

“He’ll not take it out on you, Theon,” Robb tried to assure him.  But a dark thought took hold. “If there is anyone who may feel the brunt of his anger, it would be Father.  Even if he did lie for a reason, Jon will take it hard. He so emulated Ned Stark, often acting more like him than his own firstborn.”

“I never believed Ned, my lady,” Rodrik said.  “It was not in his characters, to break a sworn vow, be it marriage or protection.  But you knew all these years?”

“After Ned told me, I told him I wish he hadn’t.  But it was my cruelty that forced the issue into the light.  And it is the wrath of Cersei Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon that sets it free,” Catelyn said, trying to sound confident.  

Now, though, Catelyn Stark sent up another prayer, hoping it would be heard by the Old Gods, the Seven and her beloved husband.   I swear Ned, we will get justice, for you, for Lyanna, for Jon, even for Rhaegar Targaryen.  We will finish what the Conqueror started and end House Lannister, once and for all. I swear it, by the Old Gods and the New.

Chapter Text

Catelyn and Robb sat up most of the night with Lord Reed, Lord Umber and Lady Mormont discussing the next steps that should be taken.  Robb agreed with Greatjon Umber’s suggestion to declare independence. “It is impossible to remain a part of the Seven Kingdoms after they executed Father.  He learned the truth about the queen’s children and was killed to keep it silent.”

“It is an obvious power grab by the Lannisters,” Greatjon Umber said.  “Lord Tywin made a play to be named Hand of the King after Cersei married Robert, especially when Ned turned it down.  Robert chose Jon Arryn instead.”

“Lord Tywin has probably been steaming at Casterly Rock these past seventeen years,” Robb snarled.  “Now, with his grandson on the throne, he very likely means to take the power he was denied.”

Catelyn looked down at her hands, trying to bring all the pieces they had together in her mind.  “We have knowledge about the Targaryen line, one that no one suspects, we have a collection of incestuous bastards, either on or poised to be if necessary on, the throne.”  Then she turned to the side of the tent in the direction of the makeshift cells holding captive from the battle. “And we have Jaime Lannister.”

Robb could see where she was going with the line of thought.  “Right now, he is a valuable captive, one that we could exchange for the girls if they are willing.”

“My lady, for all these years, there has been a degree of subterfuge regarding Jon Snow,” Reed said.  “He was rather in plain sight, a member of the household of the Warden of the North. I think it best, at least until we can inform Jon, to keep up the pretense of the lie.  If for no other reason, it will keep him safe from those with ravens at the ready.”

Robb nodded in agreement.  “And we should assume that what was said this evening will not stay within our encampment.  Lord Varys most certainly has his little birds among us.”

A thought occurred to Cat.  “What if we use that to our advantage?” she asked.  “What if we take Lord Umber’s advise and seceded from the Seven Kingdoms?  We could even declare you king, and when Jon is informed, you’d abdicate.” It was a sound plan, Cat thought.  It would go a long way to distracting the Lannisters from their main goal of getting to Castle Black and telling all to Jon.  

Robb stood, a weariness in his face.  “It is late, and there is a long journey ahead of you tomorrow.  Best we rest and regroup before you leave in the morning.” All agreed and nodded, leaving the tent one by one, until only his mother remained.  When they were gone, he turned to her. “I fear, Mother, we have failed to take one thing into account with this scheme.”

Cat raised her eyes to him, echoing his thoughts.  “Jon.” Robb knew his brother better than everyone, save Arya.  Robb had been right when he said Jon was more Ned’s son by demeanor than he.  If he swore his vows to the Night’s Watch, he may be too honorable to break them, even in the face of such a situation.  “We still have a long journey to make, first to Winterfell and then to Castle Black. I will think of...something to say while we travel.”

Robb frowned.  “It will be most difficult for you, Mother.  He’s always had a fear of you and you have never been able to show him kindness.”

“All very true.  Pray to the gods that I find the words when I see him,” she said, as she kissed his cheek.  She said good night to him and walked out into the chilly night. It was late and she did need her rest, but first, she wanted to speak to the maester about sending a raven to Luwin at Winterfell.  The message would not be specific, but ask him to check the grave and retrieve the box. She also asked him not to tell Bran or Rickon that she was making her way home. She wanted to surprise them after so long away.

And in the end, she decided not to send any word to Castle Black.  She thought that Luwin would be better to send the message to the maester there than an unknown man who traveled with them.  

She was heading to her tent when Howland Reed saw her.  He approached her, bowing. “My lady, I have been thinking it over and I would like to make a suggestion.”  He waited until she nodded, then said, “In our journey to Winterfell, we could go a route that takes us near Greywater Watch.  My two children are there, Meera and Jojen. They are a little older than your two boys, but I had a thought that Bran and Rickon may enjoy the company of those closer in age to them.  And, as Bran has already taken on many of the duties as Lord of Winterfell, it may benefit my son to learn alongside him.

Cat did not see much a problem with the suggestion but had one question for him.  “Why Meera as well? Wouldn’t you want to leave one of your children there in your stead?”

“If it were possible, of course.  But Meera has always been protective of her brother.  He has been sickly and she has been the one who nurses him through them.  Because of that, they are quite inseparable. So, if Jojen goes, so Meera feels she must as well,” Howland explained.  “Besides, I have complete faith in my maester as to the smooth running of Greywater Watch in our absence.”

It was understandable by Howland’s telling, so she agreed.  And it may do Bran some good to have a boy of a similar station who was close to his age.  He thanked her for granting his request and bid her good night.

At the thought of Bran, Catelyn decided she had one last piece of business before settling in for the night.  She went to see Ser Jaime where he was tied up. She wanted to look the man in the face and ask him why he pushed her ten nameday’s old son out a window.  When she reached him, Cat came right out and asked, “How did my son Bran come to fall out a window in an empty keep?” she asked.

“Poor footing?” he asked sarcastically.  “Did you not warn him the dangers of falling from such great heights?”  He smiled wickedly as if he were tempting her to do him harm.

“Why did you push him?” she asked again.

Still, he would not answer.  “You should get some rest. It’s going to be a long war,” he replied.  “And the lions are circling.”

For a moment, she was about to slip, say something that she shouldn’t, but instead, she smiled at him.  “Just remember, Ser Jaime, there are creatures greater than lions. Best not to wake them.”

Without another word, she swirled around and marched away from him, exhaustion ready to take her.  Just as she was going to enter her tent though, she caught sight of something in the sky. Against the obsidian blackness of the night, a star streaked across it, red and angry, almost like fire from a dragon’s mouth.  For some reason, she thought it a familiar sight, but from where, she could not place. The moment passed and she went into her tent and laid down to sleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hundreds of league north, Bran Stark turned his head to look out the window from his bed.  It was late, but he couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t since word had reached Winterfell about his father’s death.  In the nights since then, he had often heard Rickon cry out for their lord father. Bran would try to get up, to give comfort to his young brother, but then the cruel memory returned, that he was unable to do the simplest thing.

Now, as he lay there, waiting for the terrible truth to revisit him, he noticed a comet across the night sky.  It was something that was rare to see, Bran knew and wondered if there was a reason it was making its presence known to the world now.

The next morning, he heard other talking about seeing the comet.  Some thought it was meant to symbolize his father’s blood or the colors of House Lannister.  But Osha, she said something else. “The stars don’t fall for men. The comet means one thing boy,” she announced.  “Dragons.”

But Bran knew better.  “Dragons are all dead,” he corrected her as he stared into the pond.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“They all died out centuries ago,” Bran told her.  

“What if they just went into hiding?  They are fearsome creatures, but even they would be afraid of being hunted to extinction.”

As much as Bran wanted to believe her, he knew from his lessons that they had withered to almost nothing, no longer the beasts that made his ancestor bend the knee to the Valyrian conquerors

Later that day, he sat with maester Luwin, recounting the conversation with Osha from earlier.  “What do you think the comet means?” he asked the old man.

Luwin looked at him curiously.  “Many people believe that comets have meaning.  Oftimes, their sightings portend the end of an era.”  

“How so?”

“The last time I remember seeing a comet, was at the beginning of Robert’s rebellion,” he explained.  “And soon, the Targaryen dynasty fell. The end of three hundred years of rule.” But he smiled. “I have also heard it said that a comet can symbolize rebirth, too.  The wake of the comet cleanses the earth for a renewal.”

Bran thought about this.  “But are they just the same thing?  An ending for a new beginning?”

“Very astute, my lord.”  He looked pleased by Bran observation.  

“Osha says it means dragons,” he went on, telling his teacher what the wildling woman had said earlier.

Something in the maester’s face shifted, changing his expression entirely, but just as it went one way, it was back.  “She says many things, my lord, many things.”

After the lesson, Bran was tired, so Hodor was called to put him to bed, allowing Maester Luwin to check his birds.  While he was away, one had returned with a scroll tied to its leg. He took it, unrolled it, and read it. The message was from Lady Catelyn, informing him she was returning to Winterfell and to go to the tomb of Lady Lyanna.  A box would be there, one that must be removed and brought to her when she was home. She also said she wanted him to not tell Bran or Rickon of her return, that she wanted to surprise them.

It was all very curious to him, the return and the retrieval of this box.  He generally did not want to disturb the dead, but Lady Catelyn had so ordered it.  So, before the evening meal, he went to Mikken, telling him what was needed. He trusted the blacksmith, knew his loyalty to the Starks was absolute and he had discretion on matters that were in need of it.  Together with three strong lads, had them remove the lid of the young lady’s crypt. As Lady Stark had said, within the crypt there was a box, but it was more the size of a chest.

“Do you want to have it taken to your chambers, maester?” Mikken asked.

Luwin thought for a moment.  “No, I think it best to remove it when Lady Stark returns,” he said.  He took a closer look at the chest, noting some of its features, before signaling the tomb closed once more.  

The men were dismissed and Luwin was prepared to leave to look into his books when Mikken stopped him.  “Maester, were my eyes deceiving me or was there an iron emblem with a three-headed dragon on the box?” Luwin did not answer, but the man was intelligent enough to know he was right in his assertion.  

It concerned him that there would be any item in Winterfell with that symbol.  It was known that House Targaryen had initiated the action that had led to their own downfall, the kidnapping, and rape, of Lady Lyanna.  So why was it here? Who had brought it and placed it in the grave? Then he looked to the darkness settling in and remembered something from long ago.

He returned to his turret, going through the shelves looking for records from the time of Robert’s Rebellion.  Luwin had been assisting at Riverrun back then, where Lady Catelyn had given birth to Robb at the time. When he traveled north with the Lady of Winterfell’s party at the end of the rebellion, he met her husband and afterward, Lord Stark asked that he be assigned as the new maester.

Luwin found the book he was looking for, a diary of the positions of the stars.  It would seem a trivial thing, but he always had a keen interest in that subject, even going so far as to acquire a far-eye from Myr.  At last, he found the date and entry he was looking for. It was a time nearly a year before the end of the rebellion, a year before Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn both returned to Winterfell, although separately, and each with a child.  Lord Robb was a child of six moons, and Jon Snow was perhaps two months younger than his half-brother.

He had to strain to read his own writing in the remaining light of the day, but then, to reassure himself, spoke aloud his words from long ago.  “‘A curious sight in the night sky. I saw a comet streaking, with a red tail as fiery as the flames of the dragons of yore’.” He had remembered this entry, nearly eighteen years after it was written.  For some reason, his mind making a connection between the sigil hammered into iron on the box, the reappearance of the comet and the wilding girl’s word to Bran, about the comet signaling the return of dragons.

He spent most of that night peering through the far-eye, studying the comet further, then going back and reading his description of the comet from before.  From his sight and his memory, they seemed to be the exact same star. He had recorded every minute detail and found those same attributes in the one that evening.  

The next morning, before beginning his duties, he went looking for Osha.  Luwin had been suspicious of her when she had been brought to Winterfell, but she had taken to Bran, keeping an eye on him.  It took awhile, but he finally found her in the godswood, praying by the weirwood. “Why did you tell Lord Bran that the comet means dragons?”

She turned to him, a queer look on her face.  “‘Cause it’s the truth,” she said. “A comet appeared when the dragons came and appeared again when the dragons died.”

“And what do you know of dragons?  None came north of the Neck, Aegon’s own even,” Luwin stated.  

“Why do you think we know nothing of dragons in the Land of Always Winter?”  When he did not answer, she went on. “The gods tell us of dragons. Who are we to question?”

“The dragons are all dead,” he stated to her.  “They died hundreds of years ago.”

Osha swayed as she walked to him.  “So says you,” she replied as she passed him.  Before she left him, though, Osha had one parting piece of information for him.  “And at least one did come North. His rider made a deal with the Lord of Winterfell at the time.”  Then she was gone, leaving the maester mystified as to how a Wilding would know anything of the history of Westeros.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Varys walked around the corridors of the Red Keep, taking an internal assessment of the current state of affairs.  He had a boy king who looked to be taking on the same persona as a madman from years ago. The Hand of the King had been executed even after mercy had been promised.  His elder daughter had not been seen since the special that had ended his life, the shock so great. His younger daughter, if his little birds were correct, had vanished from the capital.  The new Lord of Winterfell, who had been marching south to free his father, was now in all likelihood, still on the march, but with vengeance and twenty thousand men.

The queen, who had little control over her son when he was prince, had lost all of it now that he was on the throne.  And it appeared that it is was she who was running the kingdom, even if her father had been named Hand of the King. And Varys didn’t much relish the idea of Tywin Lannister’s arrival, though he may have more sense than Joffrey and Cersei combined.  

Across the Narrow Sea, his associate had lost contact with his people accompanying the Khaleesi, though word was her brother was dead.  Well, at least one good thing had aided his plan. He dreaded the idea of Viserys Targaryen, Third of HIs Name more than he did Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name.  Varys had also not heard any further word from his own man somewhere in the Great Grass Sea.

As it stood now, the Spider’s only hope was the young girl who was exiled from her homeland on the day of her birth.  Not the best of plans, but it was the one he had.

The eunuch sighed, remembering when his options were so much more palatable.  Yes, the king was mad, but his heir seemed to be trying to free the Seven Kingdoms from his reign.  That, however, had ended when he had looked upon the face of a pretty Northern lady and decided he must have her.  It was what had plunged the kingdom into war, a war that ended the life of the prince, his father and the sorry girl herself.

Varys had done everything he could to bring the girl back to her family.  And Ned Stark had found the lady Lyanna, but she was already dead, killed by a fever somewhere in Dorne.  He remembered the melancholy of the brother when he had returned to King’s Landing with her bones, grief shared by King Robert.  After they had departed, the man formerly betrothed to Lyanna comforted himself between the thighs of a succulent redhead at Chataya’s.  

It wasn’t often the Master of Whispers thought of Lyanna Stark.  She had been a spirited young woman, from all his birds sang. There was something about her that had caught Rhaegar’s eye and never broke its hold.  There was a tragedy in there somewhere, Varys knew. If not for the fact the prince was married, he thought they would make an excellent match. It could have, at last, fulfilled in some way a pact the two families had agreed upon in another age.

Varys furrowed his brow at that thought.  He remembered reading about Cregan Stark and the Pact of Ice and Fire, signed between Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Warden of the North.  Still going through his memories, he returned to his rooms, looking for a book on the great houses of Westeros. It was similar to the one Lord Arryn had and had come into Varys’ possession shortly after Lord Stark’s arrest.  He flipped the pages, coming to the section on House Stark. He went back, looking for Cregan’s name. And finding it, he raised an eyebrow.

Among the daughters of Lord Cregan Stark was one named Lyanna.  It was quite a coincidence that the man who agreed to join his house to the Targaryens had a daughter, with the same name as a woman who could be kidnapped by a son of the Targaryens. Of course, the Starks reused names quite often in their family, a part of him reasoned, thinking it over.  

But another part of him urged him to dig more into the Starks, the Pact, and if there was more to Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, daughter of Rickard Stark, than everyone thought.

Chapter Text

When she was within sight of Winterfell, Catelyn Stark’s heart lightened. It had been months since she left the North on a mission to warn Ned of the threat the Lannisters could be to their family. When she was last here, she was a lady; now she was a widow, with one son in the battlefield, two daughters in the hands of the enemy and two young sons who were probably very frightened at the thought they were alone.

But no more. Cat looked back from atop her horse to Howland, Greatjon and Maege. “My lords, my lady, if you will not mind me riding ahead, it has been a great while since I saw my sons. I…”

Maege smiled. “Say no more, my lady. I, too, have not seen my little ones in quite some time. Go be with your boys, we will catch up soon.”

With the approving nods of the men and a smile from Ser Rodrik, she kicked her horse into a gallop, rather unladylike for her. But, at that moment, she was a mother, missing her two small boys. As she approached, she heard the bells ring out, and shouts from the towers, of a rider approaching. The gates opened, and at long last, Catelyn Stark was home.

She was helped down from her horse by a stableboy, turning around, searching and listening for her boys. Then, a cry of “Mamma!” brought her eyes in the direction of the Great Keep. There, she saw the small body of a boy and the large body of a direwolf charging to her. Cat braced herself for a collision of the two, but the wolf stopped. Rickon, however, didn’t stop, launching himself into his mother’s arms. “Mama, your home!” he shouted delightfully.

“Yes, my sweetling, I am,” she said, embracing him as if she would never let go. He had grown in her time away, but he was still her little boy. “Oh, how I have missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he said. “I was ‘fraid you wouldn’t come home.” He pushed back from her and she saw tears welling up. “But Bran said you would be. He was right.”

Over her son’s shoulder, she saw Maester Luwin approach, a gentle smile on his face. Cat nodded to the old man, and he returned the gesture. Still holding Rickon, she drew closer to the maester. “I see you received my message,” she said as she kissed Rickon on the cheek.

“It was very difficult to keep a secret, I will have you know, but neither Lord Bran, nor, as you can see, Lord Rickon, had any clue,” Luwin confirmed.

“Mama's coming home was a surprise?” When he saw both mother and maester nod and smile, his smile grew. “This is the best surprise!”

At last, Catelyn had to put her youngest down. “And now, let us share the surprise with your brother, what do you say? Go, find him, but don’t say anything and we will follow.” With that, he dashed off. By the time he was out of earshot, she turned back to Luwin, “Maester, did you check in on that thing I asked you to?”

Luwin’s head went up and down once. “As you wrote, it was there. I decided not to remove it, but placed a guard at the tomb at all times.” The sound of horses’ hooves followed this information and the remainder of her party arrived in the courtyard.

“Thank you. Please see to that my companions are brought to the Guest House and looked after. I will go find Bran and I will speak with you later.

“Very good, my lady. I left the little lord in the great hall, going over requests,” he told her. “I must say, he has done an excellent job in his brother’s stead these past months. A bit impatient at times, but he is but a boy. That is to be expected.”

“Thank you, maester, for the high praise,” Catelyn said. She always knew Bran was the brightest of her children. Robb was the strength, Sansa the beauty, Arya the wildness, and Rickon the innocence. And Jon...he was not her child, but she could see he was the noblest of the children, not a surprise given what she knew of him.

When she reached the Great Hall, she could hear Bran’s normally patient voice growing exasperated. “Rickon, I have work to do. I can’t play with you now,” he said. She could see from the door that he wasn’t looking at his little brother, concentrating on reading something.

“I don’t want to play, but I want to share a surprise with you,” Rickon argued.

Bran, at last, looked at his brother, then around the room. “I don’t see anything else here.”

“Are you sure?” Catelyn asked as she stepped into the hall. Immediately, Bran’s eyes found her and his mouth dropped open. He was so shocked, tears sprang from his eyes, and the dam burst for her as well. “My son!” she cried, rushing to him.

“Mother?” he whispered, then shouted “Mother!” If he were able, he would have rushed to her as she did him. But, with his fall taking his legs from him, he had to wait the seconds it took her to get from the door to the High Table.

When she reached him, he literally fell into her arms. She tried to support his weight, but he’d gotten so big, she had to ease him to platform the High Table was on. “Oh, my dear boy!” she cried as they embraced. She remembered the fear she felt when he would not wake, and then the shame when she left him to warn Ned. She despaired that he would die, but now, here he was, in her arms. “Bran, oh, Bran,” she kept repeating.

“It’s alright,” he comforted her. “You’re home now.”

She pulled away only a little bit, turning to Rickon and opening her other arm to him. He ran to her and the three shared one big hug.

After a few minutes, when they had calmed down, Catelyn looked to Bran with pride. “Maester Luwin tells me how good you’ve been as Lord of Winterfell. Robb is so terribly sorry he had to leave it to you.”

“But he had to try and save Father,” Bran finished, his voice quiet.

Catelyn gulped a breath, trying to stem the tears at the memory of hearing of her husband’s death. “Yes, he did.”

“And the Lannisters still killed him,” the older boy stated.

She looked at Rickon, not wanting to discuss this in front of him. “Rickon, why don’t you see if there are any sweet treats in the kitchen? I’ll even let you have them before dinner.” Her youngest’s face lit up and he scurried out of the room, not a word said. Then she looked at Bran. “Yes, he was, but Robb and I swore a vow that we will make them pay.”

“How? Mother, they could come here and kill us all if we rise up,” he said, fear quivering his voice.

Cat didn’t think it was the right time to tell him, so she merely said, “We have a plan, but there are some things we need to investigate first. But I promise, once I finish, I will tell you...everything.”

He seemed to accept her answer, then asked, “Did you see the comet in the sky when you were in the south? All of Winterfell was talking about it.”

“You saw it too?” It shouldn’t have been a surprise to her, but it was for some reason. “Yes, I did see it. The first night was the night…” She felt her eyes grow damp, remembering that night.

“The night you learned about Father?” She nodded as he continued to talk. “Some of the people here said it was to symbolize Father’s blood. Others say it is a sign of a great victory for Robb.” Then he paused, biting his lip. “Osha said it meant dragons.”

His last sentence caught her by surprise. Robb had mentioned the wilding woman he and Theon had captured not far from Winterfell, and that he had pressed her into service, but Cat didn’t know she had been looking after Bran. But why would the woman say dragons? “And what do you think?” she asked her son, making a mental note to find and question this woman when she had the chance.

“I really don’t know. Maybe it means all those things,” he replied as Luwin entered the Great Hall.

“My Lady, your guests have been seen to. I would suggest, as it is getting late, that we begin our project in the morning,” the maester said.

“We have guests?” Bran asked. “Are they going to help us fight the Lannisters?”

“Yes, they are,” she said. “They are some of your fath--” She stopped herself, correcting her words. “--your brother’s bannermen. Greatjon Umber and Maege Mormont and Howland Reed.”

“Howland Reed?” The last one struck up her son’s curiosity. “He fought with father in Dorne, against the Knight of the Morning Star!”

She smiled as she confirmed what he had said. “Yes, and we brought his son and daughter with him. I was telling Lord Reed how you have had to take responsibility for Winterfell and he thought you may help teach Jojen, his son. The boy will one day be Lord of Greywater Watch. He’s a little older than you in age, but he hasn’t had much taught to him about running a keep. Would you like to meet him?”

Bran didn’t look enthusiastic but nodded his head. “Alright, I’m going to go have Lord Reed come with his children and see to the rest of your guests. We’ll have a great feast now that I’m home. How does that sound?”

Now he smiled again. “Wonderful,” he replied, grinning from ear to ear. She was turning to leave when he had one last thing to say. “Mother,” he called to her. “I’m happy you’re home.”

“So am I, my dear. So am I.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They did have a grand feast, the cook preparing Lady Catelyn’s favorite dishes. Still, she was tired from her journey and after seeing her boys off to bed, retired to the Lord’s chambers. When she entered the room, she realized that when Robb returned, she would have to vacate, as she was no longer the Lady of Winterfell. But that would not be for a while, she suspected as she lay down and fell asleep.

The next morning, after seeing Jojen and Meera Reed off with Bran, she went searching the godswood. The place still made her uncomfortable, as if Ned’s gods disapproved of her presence. But still, she entered, searching for one person in particular.

Catelyn found the woman kneeling on the ground, studying a plant. The leaves underfoot alerted Osha that she was not alone and the woman looked up, startled. “I am Lady Catelyn Stark,” she began, trying to be pleasant. “My son Bran and the maester tell me you have been looking after him. I would like to thank you.”

“But you wouldn’t be needin’ me anymore?” she said, a harsh tone in her voice.

Cat tried to ease her nerves by smiling. “No. On the contrary, you have been good for him. I would like you to stay with us, for him.” Then she walked closer. “I have other questions for you, about a conversation you had with my son that he told me about.”

Osha raised her chin, trying to look defiant. “Fine. Ask your question.”

Catelyn walked over to the weirwood, looking at its carved face. “You are a follower of the old gods, am I correct?” The woman still looked at her suspiciously, so she explained further. “I was just wondering how a wilding woman would know about dragons.”

Now the other woman smiled. It was not a kind smile, but the tension seemed to ease with it. “You’re talkin’ about the comet that appeared in the sky a few weeks ago.” She lifted her eyes to the early morning heavens, bright and blue. “You know of the dragon it was a sign of. The dragon who dwelt amongst you.” Cat didn’t say anything, just nodded. “My mum told me about seeing it years ago when I was young. Said there were stories about it foretelling of a great prince. My people have their own story about this lad. Said he will come to fight the Others.”

“The Others?” That sounded like something from the stories Old Nan would tell the children. The Others who brought the night and the cold. “But they’re just tales to frighten children.”

“So say you, but that is what we know. That the prince will come, bringing the light, bringing the dawn.” That said, Osha began to walk away.

“Is that all your stories tell you? And what does that to do with dragons?” When Osha didn’t answer, Cat shouted. “I am not finished with you. Tell me what else you know!”

Osha turned to her and said one last thing. “Listen to the song, milady, the song of ice and fire.”

Cat stayed in the godswood a few minutes more, trying to decipher what the woman meant. But her concentration was broken when she heard footsteps. She looked up and saw Howland Reed. “My lady, Maester Luwin has been looking for you. He asks, do you want to retrieve the box from Lady Lyanna’s tomb now?”

Cat remembered time was of the essence with their project. She had already seen that Luwin sent a raven to Castle Black, inquiring after Jon Snow. Now, though, she knew they had to look into the box.

She led Luwin, Howland, Maege, Greatjon and Hodor and a few other strong lads down to the crypt and over to Lyanna’s grave. At Luwin silent command, the cover was lifted, allowing Catelyn to look in. Then she gazed at Howland. “This is the box you brought back from Dorne?”

Howland came alongside the grave and looked down. He let out a slow breath, placing his hand on the box before shifting to look at the other item what was there: Lyanna Stark’s bones. A sadness threatened to overtake him, so he looked back at the box they had all come for. He confirmed it with merely a look.

At his agreement, Luwin looked over at Hodor. “Hodor, please remove this box and bring it to my chambers,” he requested.

The simpleton cheerfully obliged. “Hodor!” he said as he hefted the box. It looked to be a chore, even for a man of his size, but he managed to do it, with the rest following him.

Lady Catelyn stopped her exit from the crypt. “Go on ahead. I wish to...be alone for a moment,” she told Maester Luwin, who understood and left her. When he was gone, she returned to Lyanna’s tomb. It was not often she would come here, but Cat knew it was almost as sacred to Ned as the godswood. If there was any right in the world, his remains would be brought here, to rest with those of his father, brother and sister.

She stared for a moment at the stone effigy in front of her. “I am sorry we had to disturb your rest, my lady,” she said to it, feeling uneasy. This was an unfamiliar setting for her, rows of graves, but Cat felt she owed some explanation. “I am sorry for what I said all those years ago, that it made Ned break his vow to you. I am sorry I held such...hatred in my heart for your son in the first place. And after I knew, I am sorry I wasn’t able to take him in my arms and comfort him when he needed it, take pride in him when I could. I am sorry I never was able to be a mother to him.”

Then Catelyn looked around, found a candle, lit it and placed it in the statue’s outstretched hand. “I vow to you, Lyanna, that I will do everything in my power to give your son the life he should have had. I will do what I can to see all the wrongs are made right, and I promise that he will know who his mother and father were and that he was wanted.” Her voice broke a little when she concluded, “I swear it, by the Old Gods and the New.”

There was nothing more she could say, so she left. When she arrived in Luwin’s turret, Hodor had already brought the object in the room, though from the maester’s grimace, nearly dropping it and cracking his floorboards. But he thanked the man, who merely replied “Hodor” once more before leaving the group.

When he was gone, the five of them gathered around the box. It was more a chest, carved from a weirwood tree. The hinges and embellishments looked to be Valyrian steel, which wasn’t really a surprise when Cat thought about it. She bent down and noticed a lock. “There looks to be a key necessary to open it.”

Almost like magic, Howland produced said key. It had a silhouette of a wolf’s head within the bow. “I have kept this on me every day since Eddard gave it to me. I knew this day would come, my lady, and that it was you who I would be handing it to,”

Cat was mystified by his words, but when the key was placed in her hand, she forgot any question she had. She just looked at the key, looked at the lock, but hesitated.

She felt wrong in opening this box that held answers for a young man who kept asking for them. What right did she truly have to look in and learn long-forgotten truths?

As if sensing her hesitation, Howland rested his hand on her shoulder. “This box does not just contain the remains of a love lost. The crown prince...believed he and Lyanna were predestined to unite. After Harrenhal, after their meeting, he delved further into the research he had collected since his youth about a prince that was promised, one who will lead a great battle. Some of that research was placed in here as well.” He took a breath, saying, “There are things for the boy’s eyes only, yes, but I would think there were other things he would need, not just to reclaim his identity, but to fight the coming battle, he and his allies.” Howland nodded his head to the small gathering.

Cat nodded, acknowledging what he was saying. She placed the key in the lock and turned. A puff of smoke, as if from a dragon, escaped from the box, dust from seventeen years set free. Once it cleared out, Cat saw the contents of the chest.

There were many things within, and she lifted them out one at a time. There were a few bundles of letters which she noted were addressed to both Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar. She passed them to Howland, who in turn passed them to the others. When they reached Luwin’s hands, he was about to undo the knot. Cat stopped him. “Those are not something we should be reading. Leave them for Jon.”

Next were two books, old and thick. Those went directly to the maester, who read the titles out loud. “History of the Conquest by Benifer, and The Dance of Dragons, a Secret History by Munkun,” he hummed as if to indicate he was thinking. “I remember reading a book Munkun wrote about the Dance of Dragons, but the title was different. And Benifer wrote this in his exile after escaping Maegor.”

While he went through the books, Cat found the handfasting cloth. As Howland had said, the silk was indeed embroidered with both the dragon on one side and the wolf on the other. When she went to pick it up, three rolled parchments slipped from it. Putting it on the desk, she took the scrolls out.

One had a blue ribbon around it while the other two had red ribbons tying them. The blue ribbon was held in place with a wax seal bearing the mark of the High Septon while the other two were embossed with two wax seals.

Cat unraveled the first scroll, reading it thoroughly to herself before informing the others. “It’s a marriage certificate. ‘In the presence of the Old Gods and with the blessing of the Seven, I hereby declare the lawful marriage of Rhaegar of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms to Lyanna of House Stark, Daughter of the Kings of Winter of Old, and so proclaim that any children they may be granted shall be called trueborn, with the title of Prince or Princess and given all rights of their station, including succession to the throne should the obligation fall upon them’. It is signed by the High Septon.”

She put that parchment down and handled the others. Both had a common sigil that indicated the Hand of the King. The second seals was a wolf on one and a seahorse on the other. “This is the sigil of House Velaryon, is it nor?” Cat asked.

Greatjon took it to examine. “Yes, it is, my lady. They were of Old Valyria, like the dragons.”

Luwin put down the books. “May I see those?” he asked Lord Umber. When the scroll was handed over, and Catelyn handed him the second, Luwin brought a candle closer for inspection. Then he went to one of his books, and to a particular page. “This is extraordinary,” he said. Gently, he peeled the seahorse in wax away from the paper and pulled the ribbon to the edge to remove it. Then he did the same with the direwolf sigil. When both were unrolled, he looked at the writing.

It was taking him a long time to explain himself to everyone, so Catelyn tried to prod him. “Maester, what is it? What is written on these scrolls?”

He stood straight, still looking amazed. “This scroll is written in High Valyrian, my lady, while the other is in the common tongue. They were probably both written over a hundred years and fifty years ago. See this?” He pointed to ink that was slightly faded but still legible. “These were both signed by Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Lord Cregan Stark.”

She tried to place in her memory who the men were. “Was he not Hand to Aegon the Third?”

Luwin’s head bobbed up and down vigorously. “Yes, yes he was. He served but a day and then returned North. It was the visit by Jacaerys that prompt him to take sides in the Dance of Dragons. They struck a deal in support for Jacaerys’ mother. Then, after Lord Stark left his office, there were questions as to what he got out of the deal, as he seemed to not want power.” He held both scrolls aloft. “Lady Catelyn, I believe that these are House Stark and House Velaryon’s copies of the Pact of Ice and Fire.”

“And how is that significant, maester?” Maege Mormont asked, showing some confusion.

“Because, my lady, it was rumored that part of the pact was that there would be a joining of the Houses Stark and Targaryen, of the wolf, and the dragon.”

It was then Lady Catelyn Stark saw it, clear as day. A joining of Stark to Targaryen, the dragon to the wolf. All she could say in her wonderment was, “Lyanna and Rhaegar...and Jon.”

Chapter Text

Lord Varys walked through the Red Keep, so far into own mind, he did not hear who was speaking to him or what they were saying.  It took a second time of his name being called for him to pay attention. He turned to see who the man was and pursed his lips. “Lord Baelish, and a good day to you,” the Master of Whisperer said.

“A good day to you, my lord.  How have you been faring during this time of rebellion?  Have your little birds been singing sweet songs for you?” Petyr Baelish asked.

“In some corners, yes, in some corners, no,” Varys replied.  “Strangely, those in open rebellion to the throne do try to stay tight-lipped to their affairs.”

“If you aren’t receiving the information you are searching, for, are you looking hard enough?” Littlefinger retorted.

“My dear friend, of course, I am,” Varys replied, a little bit offended.  “As I am sure your birds are harmonizing just as well.”

“You flatter me, Lord Varys.  My concern is solely with the realm’s purse.  What need do I have for secrets and spies?” The tall man’s lips curved upward in a sneer.

Varys merely raised an eyebrow to that sentence.  “And how are you finding our new Hand? It was rather surprising that Tywin Lannister did not come himself, but sent his younger son instead.”

“Well,” Littlefinger remarked, “it would be rather difficult if he sent his older son, seeing as he is a captive of the Northern forces.”  Again, that thin smile appeared. “I know Lord Tywin thinks little of Tyrion, but of his three children, I feel, from my already limited interactions, he is the most like the father.”

“Don’t let the Queen hear you say that,” Varys advised.  “Cersei Lannister has always viewed herself as her father’s heir, in everything.”  Thinking on Tyrion Lannister, he went on. “I tend to agree with you, Lord Baelish.  Lord Tyrion, I think, is even smarter than his father. It was interesting, as well, seeing he and his sister interact when he arrived at the small council meeting on the king’s nameday, as well as the effective way he removed the distasteful Janos Slynt.”

“What little we were able to see,” Baelish pointed out.  “And I am sure Lord Slynt was merely following the queen’s orders, as wrong as they may have seemed.”

“Yes, well, I suspect the next few moonturns will be very interesting to see.”  Varys bowed to the other lord. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I have birds to check on.”

“Don’t let me keep you from them,” he offered smoothly, “and may they continue to bless you with their beautiful melodies.”  At that, Littlefinger bowed once more and departed.

But he actually left Varys with an interesting thought.  Littlefinger did seem correct about one point. Tyrion Lannister appeared to be more level-headed than Cersei in matters of politics.  And he had compassion for the weakest of people, unlike Lord Tywin. Varys couldn’t stomach the news that the bastard baby of a whore and the late king was murdered in front of her mother and the hunting down and murdering of King Robert’s vast collection of illegitimate children.  Children were innocent. It was paramount of his beliefs. No matter if they were bastards or trueborn, every child should be given a chance to show the world the type of person they were.

Varys thought briefly on a young man he hoped was far away from the capital by now.  It had become obvious that he had grown into the very image of his father and that posed a threat to his life.  Not the boy himself, but the fact of his existence being so obvious. He didn’t know why, but from the moment he had learned of the boy, he had a sense the young man was the only hope for his bloodline.  It was a silly notion really. The lad did still have two uncles and a cousin to continue the march of the stags. But when he thought of Stannis, Renly and Shireen Baratheon, he had a terrible sense of foreboding.

Arriving back at his chambers, he noted that the door was ajar.  He stepped in cautiously, only to find a small child there. He smiled at the boy and when he was given a scroll, the boy received a treat.  Varys was thanked and the child dismissed.

When he unrolled the scroll, he was intrigued, but also surprised.  The North had declared they were, once again, an independent kingdom, with no further ties to the Iron Throne.  Lord Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell had declared that his ancestor, Torrhen Stark, had bowed and submitted to the dragon Aegon the Conqueror had brought with him to the edge of the Trident.  Since there were no more dragons, and since any fraternal ties that existed between the houses of Stark and Baratheon had been laid in the ground with his father, he saw no reason to submit to the South.

The young man did seem to have balls of steel, Varys would give him that.

Any further thoughts on the matter were halted when he saw a young page at his door.  “His Grace, King Joffrey, demands your presence in the small council chambers in the Tower of the Hand, milord.”

This was not good.

But he was summoned and he went, to find the boy king fuming over the news.  “I shall have his head, I swear it! He dares defy me? Defy the Iron Throne?  I will see him and his traitor family beheaded and their heads along the walls of the city, and I shall start with his sister!” he screamed without control.

“You will do no such thing,” Lord Tyrion shot back rather quietly and calmly, all things considered.  “She is to be your bride. It is better to unite kingdoms in marriage than in death. The girl is innocent, your grace, and she is devoted to you.”

Joffrey was about to continue the argument when Cersei stepped in.  “My son, I think it best we on this council investigate this further.  We will consult with the laws and precedents and bring you a solution that will befit your noble wisdom.”

They were placating words, Varys knew.  Cersei wanted her son out of the room so cooler heads should prevail.  But it worked. King Joffrey exited the room with one last murderous glance at his uncle.

Once he was gone, the queen dropped any pretense of gentility she had acted for her son.  “He is right, this will be answered for with their blood.”

“Fire and blood, sweet sister?” Tyrion asked archly, quoting the words of the former royal house.  Then he picked up the parchment. “I’m surprised he has not declared himself King in the North, as his family once was.  It does seem to be the thing to do nowadays.”

“While I am certain it will be forthcoming,” Littlefinger began, “I am sure Catelyn Stark is advising caution to her son for now.  House Stark is proud and would not like to be looked on as fools like Robert’s brothers. And, all of us remember the last time a Stark did something rash.”    

Varys took a shuddering breath, the smoke from the pyre under Lord Rickard Stark still pungent all these years later in his memory.  He had known the king was losing his mind for a while before that, but there was no coming back after that act. That was when he began, in earnest, looking at ways to unseat the Mad King.

“Well, we shall see,” Tyrion concluded.  “Lord Varys, see if your birds will fly further north, and let me know what they say.  I want to take the measure of the man before we plot our next move.”

“You will do nothing now?” Cersei hissed at her brother.

“Yes, your grace.  As Lord Baelish pointed out, nothing good comes from rash acts.  Let us gather our intelligence before we figure out our next step.”

She stood from her chair, as murderous of a look falling upon her brother as her son had given the man earlier.  “I cannot wait to hear what Father has to say when he learns of this.” And in a swirl of silks, she was gone.

The other lords on the small council also took their leave, but Varys stayed behind.  He watched as Lord Tyrion went to the table where the wine was and poured himself a drink.  “My Lord, I do think yours is the wisest course of action. I have had reports that in the time since his father’s execution, Robb Stark’s host has not moved from their present position.  If I were to hazard a guess, I would say he’s waiting for something to continue on,” the Spider told him.

“And what would your guess be, regarding the why?” Tyrion asked.

“I cannot say.  I do know that Lady Catelyn has left her son, along with a few of the Stark bannermen.  I would assume she has decided her presence is needed at Winterfell. She has not been back since she visited Lord Eddard here last year,” Varys replied.  “She does have a son who was tragically crippled when the King’s party traveled to Winterfell.”

Tyrion snorted when that was said.  “I was there when he fell. I heard the cry and then that sickening thud.”

“Do you have any idea how he came to fall?” Varys asked, not expecting an answer.

He was not disappointed.  “Get those birds in the air, Lord Varys.  I feel the time is running out for us.” He walked out of the room with that said.

Varys sighed.  Tyrion was right, time was running out.  But for whom, he wondered. That was the true question.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It had been one week since they had retrieved the box from the grave of Lady Lyanna Stark, and Cat was growing anxious.  Maester Luwin had locked himself in his turret, immersing himself in what had been discovered therein. It had mostly been the books he examined, the two thick tomes as ancient, Cat joked, as Old Nan.  She would see ravens flying away from and back to the rookery, but Luwin had not emerged to tell him what he had learned.

She tried not to think about it, and bask in her sons.  Rickon was still all energy, running about the keep with little scolding, often chasing Nymeria, Summer and Shaggy.  Bran, well, he had quite happily handed over his duties as Lord of Winterfell to Cat when she returned. He at least seemed happy that he had Jojen Reed to keep him company.  Similar to Bran, the boy was older but not in the best of health. At dinner the third night, a seizure had taken over him. His sister had rushed to him and Luwin had been able to give him some herbs that slowed the fierceness of the tremors.  

The looks she had seen on the boy’s father and sister were hauntingly familiar to what she must have looked like in the aftermath of Bran’s fall.  She had nearly lost her mind with grief then, not leaving his room even with force. The only time she had experienced that level of fear was in the aftermath of learning Ned’s secret.  It had taken Jon a week to recover, for he had not been so out of the woods as Robb had proclaimed when they had returned to Winterfell. She sat up with him, weaving a prayer wheel for him, begging the Stranger not to take him.  And he lived.

Thinking on it now, she was even more horrified by her attitude those first years of his life.  She hadn’t seen the joy in Robb’s eyes at having a brother, a playmate. All she saw was betrayal.  And how ironic it was, her thinking then that that little boy would rise up to steal his brother’s titles.  For now, it was that brother who was trying to crown the poor boy, now a man, as king.

It was then that she saw Maester Luwin approach her.  “My lady, there have been some...developments. I think we must talk.”

As they rose in the tower leading to the maester’s chambers, her sense of dread rose too.  The man’s stern visage was even grimmer than usual when they entered the room. Howland Reed was already there, and Luwin had stated that he didn’t feel it was of the utmost necessity that Lord Umber and Lady Mormont be present for this discussion.

The old man took a seat at his desk and she and Reed sat as well.  He held a raven’s scroll in his hand. “I just received this from Castle Black.  Jon has been sent on a ranging beyond the Wall to search for Benjen Stark,” he said concisely.

Catelyn’s heart dropped.  She had feared this, that he would not be easily reached to deliver this news.  “Did it say when he would return to Castle Black?” If he returned, a small voice whispered to her.

“Unfortunately, it did not.  They have gone looking for Benjen.  He disappeared beyond the Wall before Lord Stark’s death,” Luwin reported.  “The maester also writes that Jon very nearly deserted the Night’s Watch when he learned Lord Eddard was dead.  Some of his brothers managed to talk him back. It was after this that Lord Commander Mormont set off to search for Benjen, Maester Aemon wrote.”

“Aemon...?” Catelyn asked.  Something clicked in her memories, a lesson from when she was a child at Riverrun.

Luwin smiled.  “Maester Aemon, son of Maekar, First of his Name.  Brother of Aegon the Fifth, Uncle to Jaehaerys, great-uncle to Aerys the Second, great-great-uncle to Rhaegar,” the maester replied.  “While there is little else said in the scroll other than Jon is out somewhere in the Land of Always Winter, I get the sense from the tone that he is concerned for the boy.  As if he knows who Jon is.”

Howland sat back in his chair.  “What do we do now? There’s no telling where they have gone to search for your good-brother, my lady.  And I would think the lords are getting restless for some action to be taken for the North’s independence.”

“I have learned something that may help up in that matter,” Luwin said, reaching for one of the books found in the weirwood chest.  “It’s a curious thing from back during the Conquest. As you know, Aegon soundly defeated many of the reigning kings in Westeros. The kingdoms of the West, the Reach and Harren the Black in the Riverlands were decimated and their swords forged into the Iron Throne.  But there are no swords of the North in it. Due to the fact that Torrhen Stark knelt, shed no blood of his men or the forces of House Targaryen, Aegon allowed them to keep their swords.”

“I guess,” Cat said.  “I think I remember our maester teaching us some basic history.”

“Well, according to Benifer, Aegon also made a pact with Torrhen.  Aegon felt that there was a level of trust in this man who bent the knee, went against many of his own bannermen, rather than risk destroying his kingdom against the dragons. The maester even posited that a sort of friendship developed between the two.  Whatever the case, there were many aspects of this agreement, the most well-known one being the king’s justice.”

Cat understood what he was speaking about.  Whenever there had been a sentence of death on a criminal or deserter, it was Ned, as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, who carried out the sentence.  It was the ‘old way’, the way the Kings of Winter had carried out executions. Somewhere, dimly, she remembered Ned telling her the Conqueror had allowed them their tradition, respecting it even.

“Also within this pact was a sort of mutual defense, that should one house be attacked, from within or without, the other was asked to come to their aid,” Luwin added as he handed Catelyn the copy of the Pact of Ice and Fire written in High Valyrian.  “I can’t be sure if this was well known by the time of the Dance of Dragons, but it was reaffirmed a century later when Jacaerys Velaryon flew to Winterfell and got Cregan Stark’s support of his mother. And the pact they signed, it also indeed added the clause of marriage.”

It meant little to her, as she never learned the language, one spoken almost exclusively by any with the blood of Old Valyria.  She was sure the Targaryens kept themselves versed in the language and a few other families of the same blood may know it, but outside that ethnicity, it was a dead tongue.

“As I said, it was rumored that part of the pact was a marriage alliance, sometime in the future, between the Starks and the Targaryens.  Specifically, it was understood to be between a Lord of Winterfell and a princess of House Targaryen.”

“Rhaegar and Lyanna,” Catelyn whispered in awe.

“But,” Howland interrupted, a puzzled look on his face, “was it not to be a Targaryen princess and a Stark Lord?”

Luwin smiled broadly.  “Ah, that is where the importance of the language of the pact comes into play.  I said that the copy belonging to House Velaryon was written in High Valyrian. Well, in that ancient tongue, the word for that corresponds to princess, and the word that matches lord, is not gender-specific, meaning that the document truly says in the language of Old Valyria, ‘upon the marriage of a Lord or Lady Stark to a princess or prince of House Targaryen’.”

“Now, factor in the alliance agreement between Aegon and Torrhen.  Not only was there that tie between the Starks and the Targaryens but then there was a marriage.  The date of the marriage is also very critical.” The maester next handed her the parchment signed by the High Septon, declaring Rhaegar and Lyanna legally wed.

Catelyn looked at the date.  She didn’t understand until she remembered her near wedding to Brandon Stark.  The date she saw was a full moon before they were to be married at Riverrun.

Howland looked at the document as well.  “They were married before Brandon ran off to King’s Landing.  Before his father went there to plead with Aerys.”

“The Crown Prince and Lyanna were married before they died, yes.  And with their marriage, there was, as I said, another tie between the two families.  By their marriage, they were strengthening the protection for each family, ‘from within or without’.  I think it can be interpreted as protecting the Targaryens and the realm as a whole, from the madness King Aerys was falling into.  I’d even go so far as to state that Rhaegar would have stood against his father when Lord Rickard and Lord Brandon were killed. And coming to the defense of House Stark, should dire fates befell any of Winterfell.”

“Were there not rumors, Maester, that the Tourney at Harrenhal was a cover for a council that would remove the king and install Rhaegar as regent at least?” Catelyn asked.

“Aye, that was the rumor.  The wheels were already in motion then, it was said.”  The old maester nodded his head.

“So, Aegon and Torrhen come to this agreement, which eventually includes the promise of marriage, and is consummated by Rhaegar and my good-sister.  But the prince still went off and fought for the royalist at the Trident,” Cat reasoned.

Now Howland looked troubled.  “There was talk in the camp that Rhaegar wanted to meet with Eddard and Robert,  but Lord Baratheon would hear none of it. He was determined to battle the Crown Prince himself, to kill Rhaegar himself.  The fact that they were kin held no meaning for him.”

“Rhaegar could have wanted to tell the rebels about the pact between Aegon and Torrhen, Cregan and Jacaerys and his marriage to Lyanna and try to do there what he was unable to do at Harrenhal.  If Lord Eddard had known of the first, he most likely would have switched sides, and possibly taken most of the rebels with him. Then they could have gone to King’s Landing and ended Aerys’ reign,” Luwin spelled out.

“And he never got the chance to do it,” Catelyn concluded sadly.  Then she saw something more there. “These books were in the Tower with Lyanna, Lord Reed?”

“Aye, my lady.  On our way to Starfall, and then onto King’s Landing, Ned read through many of them.  I suspect he probably knew what the maester has been telling us,” Howland answered.

“Ned was not just protecting Jon because he was Lyanna’s son.  That may have been the main reason, but not the only one. He was maintaining the Stark end of the agreement between the Conqueror and his ancestor.  ‘Protect from within and without’, it says?”

To her mind, it sounded reasonable.  Now, she had to deal with the news that Jon may be unreachable, for an unknown time.  He had gone on a search party looking for his uncle, but Cat knew that in all likelihood, Benjen Stark was dead and the same could befall his nephew.   

As if reading her mind, Howland asked, “Where does this leave us?  We have a possible route to a declaration of independence, and a king to swear our fealty to, but he is, for all intents and purposes, unreachable and ignorant of this knowledge?”

She turned to Howland.  “What if that is our justification for going against the Baratheons?  We are, if not protecting the Targaryen’s, at least avenging them. The Lannisters murdered Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon, even Aerys, and Robert Baratheon sneered over their corpses.  All the while, this can be the cover we use until we can get to Jon to tell him.”

“Well, the first thing I would recommend is we get clarification from the archmaesters on all these different aspects, especially Benifer’s writings.  If they can be verified, we should send a raven to Robb immediately to let him know. I think I will also have the maester scour the records to see if there is any further information to corroborate the marriage performed by the High Septon,” Luwin advised.  “In that time, we may hear more from Castle Black on where Jon is. If we do not, then we can decide then how to proceed.”

Cat turned to Winterfell’s maester.  “And it is Aemon Targaryen who is maester there, you are sure of that?” she asked.  When he nodded to her with confidence, she said, “No matter what, I think we must ask him about these matters at the very least.”

“I agree,” Lord Reed said.  “Also, I remember hearing about the closeness that there was between Rhaegar and Aemon.  I believe it was said that he would write often, asking about the family history.”

Cat glanced quickly at Howland.  How would he have heard anything of the kind?  Not just for the vast difference in rank there was between the Reeds and the Targaryens, but also the notorious isolation of the people of the Neck.

But the wonderings were left unanswered.  “I can write to him, inquire on those points.  If that is true and he has documentation not at the Citadel, it could help us,” Luwin replied.  

“And so we must wait some more,” Cat sighed.  This was where her fear lay. If they waited too long, thinks could be pushed beyond the brink on all sides.  The already brimming war between the Lannister and the Baratheons could explode more, create more sides that may slip the realm into further chaos.  But what else was there that any of them could do? “We will proceed as we have,” she reluctantly agreed before rising from her seat. “Since we can do little else, for the time being, I shall spend the time I can with my sons.  And pray to the gods that they show us the way.”

Chapter Text

After speaking with Luwin, Catelyn Stark was despondent. It seemed near impossible now to reach Jon. He was somewhere in the Land of Always Winter, out searching for his uncle Benjen. Probably out fighting wildlings and who knew what else.

Thinking on Benjen for a moment, she wondered if he knew the truth about Jon. She would never have asked, of course, not after giving Ned her word regarding the secret. Benjen had never let on if he did, at least not to her memory. But was it possible? She had heard it said once that the youngest Stark had sent word to Brandon about something, but she never knew what the message was about.

It mattered little, now.

Cat wandered around the godswood for a time, trying to collect her thoughts. She had come to find the peacefulness that Ned had felt in this place. A part of her did actually hope that the Old Gods were looking down upon her, could help her come to a solution for all her problems.

In the end, there were no answers for her there. It was growing dark, and she was tired, so she returned to the keep. After saying goodnight to her boys, she retired to her bed and fell asleep.

It was not a peaceful rest.

Catelyn found herself far off the ground, looking down on a vast white field. Then she noticed what looked like ants from her perspective approach. Almost all of them looked so small, except for one who stood taller amongst the gathering. They stood there, waiting for the gate to be opened to let them through.

She turned to her left, watching a man staring down at the crowd. Cat followed his sightline to one figure at the head of the group. She could see that person step forward a few feet, and that was when she knew it was Jon. He was waiting there, waiting for the order to be given to open the gate. Cat turned to the man near her. She, too, was waiting for the order to be given, but he continued to stare down at Jon. Then, he turned his back and said to his brother, “Open the gate.”

Cat took a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

After she watched Jon walk into the tunnel, she made her way down, knowing she needed to reach him. She began her descent--

--And now she was in a room, at night. It was bitterly cold, and she could not fall asleep, even before she heard the wolf begin to howl.

Wolf howl? Ghost? She hurried out of the bed as quickly as possible, threw her cloak on and went outside. From the steps to her quarters, she saw a figure in a corner of the yard. Her feet, of their own volition, moved her down the steps, where she was met by an older man, balding and bearded, who ran to the body in the snow.

Body in the snow! It can’t be, she wanted to cry as she ran to Jon’s side. But then she saw it, saw his blood seeping into the snow. She fell to her knees, crying out to him. He wasn’t dead, she whispered. No, he can’t be.

Then other brothers gathered, took Jon’s body and carried it off. What was left was blood, too much blood, she knew. The bearded man put his hand on her shoulder. “My lady…” He could not finish his sentence.

She turned back to the snow, to the blood. “I have lost them all,” she said. “Robb is dead, Sansa is held against her will, Arya, no one has seen since Ned died, Bran has been lost far from here, and Rickon disappeared with him. And now Jon!”

With those words, Catelyn woke up, sweat drenching her. She found herself in her bedroom, the fire still roaring. Trying to breathe, the memory of the dream was too frightening to allow her to sleep, so, after some time, she rose from her bed to wander around Winterfell.

That was something she hadn’t done in a long time. She used to do it, well, it felt like every night when she came here. It so new to her then, strange with its grey walls and godswood. The sept hadn’t been built yet. It was where she would go as a girl when she could not sleep, to read or pray. But she had no place to worship, and it felt wrong of her to go to the ancient forest the Northerners felt was holy. So she would walk the halls of the keep.

That was what she had been doing the early morning she had gone into Jon’s room when he was sick. Her gut clenched, the words she had said so long ago returning to her. What she had seen, was that her punishment for her cruelty? Would Jon die, as she had prayed all those years ago for?

Her musings had consumed her so much, she did not recognize where she had gone until she was there. The heart tree stood before her, it’s gaping maw running red with the tree’s sap. Blood red, the same color she had seen in her dream. She collapsed in front of it, as if the weight of all she knew fell on her, crushing her body.

“You must leave here,” a voice told her. Catelyn turned around and saw Osha. The woman stared at her, before adding, “You must look for beyond these walls for the answers to your problems. There is no way to find them here.”

“Then where am I to go?” she asked, begging the woman for an answer.

“That I cannot tell you. There be no dragons at Winterfell no more.” With that, the wilding left her sight.

There had been a dragon at Winterfell for many years, Catelyn Stark knew. And she also knew there still was a dragon in the North.

When the sun rose the next morning, Catelyn knocked on Maester Luwin’s door. He was startled, to say the least, but even more so when she told him why she needed to speak with him so urgently.

“I must go to Castle Black,” she said. “Jon has kin still there, and I believe him to be an important key to aiding us in our mission,” she said to him.

“My lady, Castle Black...the Wall...it is not a place for noblewomen,” he stuttered out. “The Night’s Watch is not what it use to be. It is now more a penal colony for the vilest of criminals the Seven Kingdoms has. There are few men of honor who chose that life, who dedicate themselves freely to the duty of the Watch.”

Cat let out a sigh. She knew what Luwin spoke of, who he spoke of. Still, her mind was set. “If a queen is able to visit the brothers of the Night’s Watch, surely the widow of the North’s Lord Paramount can as well.” Then, after a pause, she added, “I must go there. He is the last dragon left in Westeros. I know he will help me.”

She was determined to go and was able to communicate that to the maester. He smiled, realizing it was futile to continue arguing against her. “I will send word to Maester Aemon to expect you soon, then. Who shall I say will accompany you?”

Cat paused there, not sure of how to answer. But then a voice spoke up from behind them. “I shall see Lady Stark to Castle Black, maester,” Maege Mormont answered. “She will be safe with me. Then, if you please, my lady, I shall return to Bear Island. Seeing you with your sons makes me yearn to see my own cubs. My youngest is around the same age as your own wild wolf. That and I would like to hear of my brother, even if I know he is not there.”

That seemed to put Luwin at ease. He knew she was not as hardy as a Northern woman, but having a she-bear with her would go far to shield her as much as possible. “I thank you, my lady. And after we have reached there, of course, you may continue on to see your daughters. A mother should not be so long away from her children,” Cat accepted. Then she turned back to Maester Luwin. “Please send word to Castle Black to expect Lady Maege Mormont, sister of the Lord Commander, and Lady Catelyn Stark.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Maester Aemon had heard the men speak of the comet that had been seen in the sky a few moons ago. How it glowed red as it traversed the sky, night and day. Oh, how he wished he could see the comet again.

It had been many years since he had seen one. The last time one appeared, he was an old man, but he could still have use of his eyes. He had seen it then, and he rejoiced. He knew it to be a sign of the coming prince, one who was to be born of ice and fire. The one Rhaegar of House Targaryen was so anticipating.

Aemon knew his great-nephew had found his Ice, and they were together. He could remember awaiting the arrival of the raven’s scroll from King’s Landing in a few months time, announcing the babe’s birth. But what he got came much sooner, and brought ill tidings. And another came, and another came, and another came, all bringing him news of the tragedy that had befallen his house. In his near sixty years of service to the Night’s Watch, it was the closest he had come to fleeing his sworn oath.

His brother’s great-grandson had died in a battle in the Riverlands. His brother’s grandson had been slain by a knight of the Kingsguard, one who was sworn to protect him. And then there were the children, Rhaegar’s children. What happened to them was monstrous. Oh, he wanted to leave, take the swiftest horse his old body could handle and made way for the south. But, he knew that would be impossible.

He could never say what it was exactly that had dissuaded him from his original goal. Common sense, mayhaps. In the days after the urge to leave left him, he thought he heard a voice tell him he would be needed where he was, that his reason for taking the Black would be revealed to him in due time. The only place he would learn this was at the Wall.

He waited many years. He grew older, blinder, and frailer. He cursed the gods who had told him to return, for he could not see anymore why he would be needed here. He began to pray to the Stranger, to release him from this mortal flesh. But still, he lived.

Then came the day he believed would never occur. He sensed the presence of something long gone, but familiar. The voice was Northern, and the lad was described as having grey eyes and dark, curly hair. But there was no mistaking the blood Aemon sensed in him. The blood of the dragon.

He asked the boy his name and was told it was Jon Snow. “I’m the bastard son of the Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark,” the boy said.

Every instinct within Maester Aemon wanted to correct him, tell him the truth. But the old man knew of the reputation of Lord Stark. He knew if he told the boy he was his bastard son, he had a reason. And soon, Aemon knew the reason himself. It was because of that series of messages he had received all those years ago, telling him about the destruction of House Targaryen. Lord Stark was protecting the boy, the boy who was the true son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

He would honor Lord Stark’s silent decree, and protect the boy, at least as well as he could. And so he had, at least until the lad was told his father had been arrested in the capital. Aemon tried to counsel Jon, told him of his own struggle to keep his oath as his own family was decimated. Jon had run away when word came of Lord Stark’s execution, but he returned to Castle Black with his brothers later that night.

Then Lord Commander Mormont decreed a ranging to search for Benjen Stark. Jon traveled with them, and it was understood he may not be back for some time if he returns at all.

But then word reached his ears of the comet. It was probably able to be seen all through the known world. But why was it reappearing at this time? From all he had known, it would be too soon for it to return, would it not? Not even eighteen years, since it had crossed the sky last.

There was a sign in the quick return, there had to be. And coming so soon after the death of Lord Stark, as well. Perhaps he had been wrong in his words to Aerys’ grandson. Perhaps he should have told him directly to leave Castle Black, ride for the south, for his father. But there was little he could do now.

“Maester Aemon,” a young brother asked after him, “a scroll has come for you, from Winterfell.”

“Winterfell, you say?” he repeated. His hearing was beginning to go the way of his sight.

“Yes, would you like me to read it?”

“Aye, lad, I would,” he answered.

The boy began. “‘Inquiring as to the wellbeing of Jon Snow, son of the late Lord Eddard Stark. Needed for urgent family business. Please convey to him the importance of returning to Winterfell’.”

Aemon tsked to the reader. “'Tis a sad thing when family needs you, but duty calls you away.” He found it curious why Jon Snow was being called back. From things he had heard around the men of the Night’s Watch, he had seemed unhappy there, a member of the family, yet at the same time not. Now they needed him, but why? There was little he could do as a sworn brother.

It upset him, how important it seemed for Jon to be sent home. He pondered on the message sent by Winterfell’s maester for a few days more, reliving memories of a person long dead.

“Uncle Aemon, it is good to see you again!” Rhaegar said as he was greeted by the old man.

“My prince, while I am flattered you think so, I also believe you to be full of horseshit. Come so far in the summer snows to see a man time and the Stranger seemed to have forgotten? Tosh!” Aemon said as he hugged the younger man.

“I mean that with all sincerity, Uncle,” Rhaegar replied solemnly. “I find I am in need of your counsel as well. I think...well, I think I have unlocked the secret of the prophecy.”

Aemon raised an eye to that. He knew the boy had become interested in something called, ‘the prince that was promised’. It was Aemon’s fault, really. He was the first to assume Rhaegar to be this prince, being born during the fire of Summerhall, as the land cried tears for those lost. He’d heard the boy patterned his life after many things the ancient scrolls said, becoming a warrior when he learned of it being an aspect of the prince.

But now, he sounded as though he believed something different. “Prophecies can be tricky, my prince. They can easily be read wrongly.”

Rhaegar nodded. “Yes, I know this. But...this feels as if to be the correct course.” He sat across from Aemon. “I believe I have found Ice.”

Aemon chuckled. “We are in the north, boy. There is nothing but here.”

The young man allowed the old his jape with patience, then continued. “I have met a woman of a House, here in the North, whose family has a Valyrian steel sword called Ice.”

Aemon smiled kindly. “My boy…” he began.

“But there is more. She is...she is remarkable. Fearless and protective. She has a wildness and an intelligence that is quite uncommon for anyone really, especially a woman. There are youth and age in her soul...and she knows of the coming darkness.”

The boy was enraptured, it was quite clear. “But what of your wife?” Aemon asked. “We may have taken more than one wife when Aegon ruled, but that would be frowned upon now. The Faith…”

“A dragon does not bow before gods,” Rhaegar retorted, harsher than his usual demeanor. But then he calmed. “And I have no intention of taking a second wife.”

Aemon sighed. “What you seem to speak of...it brought near-destruction of our house, my prince. To raise a bastard…”

“And I do not intend to do that either,” he said. “Before I came here, I spoke with my wife. She has never taken to King’s Landing, and she fears for the safety of herself and the children, so we came to an agreement. The marriage will be annulled by the High Septon, but upon my ascension to the throne, I will re-legitimize them and return them to their places behind me.” He knelt in front of his uncle now, his voice a near whisper. “My children with Lyanna Stark do not need to sit upon the Iron Throne. It is not ‘the king who was promised’, but a prince. And a prince is what he will be when he is born. He will battle the Long Night, and bring the Dawn.”

Rhaegar sounded so sure of himself, so certain of every step. Aemon stayed silent for a few minutes, trying to decide what to say to him. In the end, the battle for his soul was not that difficult. “And how can I serve you in this battle, your grace?”

Rhaegar had chuckled softly at that. “I am, in all honesty, not sure, Maester. The research you have helped me uncover has been most revelatory, so any further would be even more helpful.” He fell silent, pondering on. “There is something you can do, maybe not now, but if it is needed in the future.”

“If it within my power, it will be done,” Aemon assured him.

The look of melancholy fell upon him again, as if it were permanently etched on his features. “Should fate decree I am not able to be there for my son, for any of my children...tell them of me. Tell them all I have done, I did to ensure that they, and my people, have a future.”

“Even as a bridegroom, you are still hemmed in by sadness. You must try to focus less on the ills that could befall you, and more on the joys there are in life, my boy,” the old man replied. But he knew this man. Aemon also knew the ways of the world and how precious life truly was. He chose to argue no more. “I shall do as you ask, yes, of course. But you must swear to me, you shall fight to your last breath to see your children grown.”

“By the Old Gods, and the New, I shall fight till there is nothing left in me to fight, so that I may see my son live.”

“Maester?” a voice called to him. He had been so caught up in his memories, he must not have heard the boy for a while. “A raven came from Winterfell again. Shall I read it?” Aemon nodded and heard the message. The widow of Lord Stark was to visit, to see about Jon Snow, and was bringing with her Lord Commander Mormont’s sister with her. It was quite unusual for women of high birth to pay a call to Castle Black, but then he wondered if it had anything to do with the request of the boy’s return to Winterfell. It was all very intriguing, Aemon thought. He looked forward to meeting this woman, to learn why she sought out the boy so desperately.

Chapter Text

It was something he could never explain and something he feared, but from time to time, Jon Snow dreamed of dragons.

It never made sense to him.  He was of the North, and what did they know of dragons?  The furthest extent they had with dragons, as far as Maester Luwin taught, was Aegon the Conqueror and the dragon that made the last King in the North bend the knee.  As a descendant of Torrhen Stark, albeit a bastard one, he supposed he had some connection to that historical fact, but other than that? It was something that never made sense.

Yet, since Lord Commander Mormont led the ranging party from Castle Black months ago, all he ever seemed to do, every night, were dreams of dragons.  Ever since that one night he saw that comet crossing the night’s sky, it was the mystical beasts he ever saw when he closed his eyes.

He laid there staring up at the night sky and saw a thing of beauty.  Fiery red, it’s tail was, as if the breath of, well, a dragon. But it was only the one night he saw it.  The next one, he looked for it, wanting to study it in more detail, but it was gone. And it left dragons flying through his mind.

That was something that frustrated him.  He had a mission, to look for Uncle Benjen, to see if there was anything to the Lord Commander’s belief that there was something else north of the Wall.  He wants to do good, prove himself, but he felt his dreams could be a distraction.

He tried to think of other things tonight, like his sister Arya.  He feared for her, and for Sansa, with no one in the capital to protect them, now that Father was dead.  He knew Arya was scrappy, and at least had something to fight with, if she still even had Needle.

He smiled at that thought.  She had been so happy when he gave her the thin sword Mikken made, literally leaping into his arms.  He knew she would be pleased. She was like him, an outsider in the family. He was proud of her for that, no matter how many headaches he knew it caused Father and Lady Stark.

Lady Stark.  She was an enigma to him.  He could clearly remember her scornful looks when he was a child.  It was because of them, he kept to himself. Father had tried to have him be part of the feasts held at Winterfell, but for the first ten years, after he heard her use the word bastard, Jon stayed in his room more often than not.  He didn’t want to make a fuss. And the first time she had called him that, even though he didn’t know the meaning at the time, was when Arya neared her first nameday.

Jon and Robb had been playing with their baby sister, trying to get her to go to either of them.  Robb used a doll to get Arya’s attention, but she would have none of it. She only gave him a queer look.  Jon, though he had no toy for her, waved her to him and, on unsteady legs, took three steps to him. She fell on her bottom, but pulled herself up again and took the next four steps.  Jon saw her go wobbly, and closed the distance to her, picking her up before she collapsed again. When Arya was in his arms, though, she gave him a near-toothless grin, and said “Jon!”

Lady Catelyn heard that and was not pleased.  “My daughter’s first words, and it’s the name of that bastard you brought back with you!” he heard her lament to his father later on.

“It’s not as if she knew that,” he pleaded.

“I’m of a mind she did know it and did it intentionally!”

It was an irrational belief, Jon knew logically, but it seemed to set a precedent.  And from that day on, Jon unknowingly had been given claim to Arya’s heart. She followed him everywhere, which only made the Lady of Winterfell even angrier.

Until one day, when he saw something else in her eyes.

He had been very sick.  Maester Luwin told him later that he feared for Jon’s life.  A fever and pox had caused the illness, and he was in and out of consciousness for a few days.  He didn’t remember much, but he did think, for a moment, Lady Stark visited him. The memory swished around in his imagination, one of her talking of peace, and the Stranger.  He didn’t know much about the New Gods, but he did know that the Stranger was the image of death in the Faith.

Then all of a sudden, she was gone from the room.  Had his father seen her there? Jon could never say.  He fell back into the fever again, and this time did not awaken until the next morning.  Maester Luwin was beside him, smiling in relief.

“Your fever has broken, young Master Snow.  It will take a while before you feel all better, but I promise, you will,” the maester told him.

Robb arrived shortly thereafter, dragging Father behind him.  Both were overjoyed to see he was awake and on the mend, but all Jon could do was stare behind them, and seeing a pair of blue eyes fighting back tears, a mouth turned up almost in a smile.

It looked to Jon like Lady Catelyn was pleased to see him feeling better.  And from there on, he hoped she would warm to him. He noticed her weaving a prayer wheel for him later that day, but she said little while he was still abed.  

After his recovery from the illness, Lady Catelyn kept a distance from him.  She was no longer outwardly mean to him, but he still felt like an outsider to her.  Even on his nameday, the one day out of the year that Sansa was nice to him, she nearly went from sunup to sundown without even seeing him.  What was odd to him was the fact that, in coming back from a ride with Father and all his siblings two years before, he saw her emerge from the Winterfell crypts, one of the places she almost never went.  She saw him dismounting from his horse and took off in the opposite direction.

That was the last deliberate thought he had before falling asleep.  And, just as they had for many of the past nights, he dreamed of the dragons again.  But this was a little different, tonight.

When he saw the dragons, he saw them from a cliff jutting into the sea.  Wind flipped his cloak every which way, almost knocking him over, as one of the winged creatures swooped around twice before coming to land in front of him.  His eyes went wide as it took two or three steps towards him.

It was then that he heard a voice.  “Go on, Jon, touch it. It knows you, knows who you are.  The maester told me dragons know their own and will not harm those with dragonblood.”  He turned, and there was Lady Catelyn, not five feet from him, coaxing him to reach for Drogon.  Drogon? How did he know its name? he wondered. But he did as she said, removing his glove and petting its snout.  He felt as though he was being watched from above, but when he looked around, all he saw was Drogon and Lady Catelyn.  

Under his hand, it sounded as if the animal purred!  This behemoth, acting not all that different than Ghost.

Jon’s eyes flew open as a warm wetness was lathered on his face.  He found himself nose to nose with his white direwolf. “Ghost!” he cried, leaping away.  He sat up wiping the wolf’s saliva from his face. When he was sufficiently dry, he threw the great white wolf a scolding look.  “You want to freeze my nose off with your tongue!” He sat up further, looking the animal straight in the eye. “What, you know what I was dreaming of and got jealous?  Nothing for you to worry about, they died out long ago.”

Ghost seemed unconvinced, whimpering to him.

“Big baby, come ‘ere,” he said, feigning annoyance.  When the direwolf curled up to him, he rested his head against its furry haunches, stroking it.  “I promise, it’ll always be you and me. We’ll both die of old age up here in the North.” With one last black thought, he said, “It’s the only place for either of us.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Low to the ground, picking his way through the brush and sticks of the godswood, he saw the world from a new perspective.  The great trees looked so much higher from here. He wanted to climb them but knew it was impossible, more now than ever. He turned his head, walked back to the keep.  Smallfolk gathered, as they normally did, going about their business. Some scurried away from him, others didn’t. A few even held a hand out, patted the top of his head.  He moved off, entered the Great Keep, climbed the stairs and saw Jojen standing at the end of his bed. The boy twirled around, saw him, and looked back at the bed.

“The freedom of the wolf,” the mysterious boy said.

Bran opened his eyes, looking up.  Jojen must have been there the whole time he was asleep.  Or was he in the wolf again? “Why are you here?” he asked.

Jojen smile a bit.  “To see you. To find out if you are ready.”

“Ready for what?” Bran asked again.

But before the other boy could answer, his mother appeared at the door of his chambers.  “Excuse me, I didn’t know you had company,” she said to him.

“It is no trouble.  I know you need to speak with him,” Jojen said.  “We will talk again later.” Then he was gone.

“He’s strange,” Bran told Mother.  “It feels like he is always watching me.”

Cat smiled at him.  “You have always been a very intuitive boy.  Maybe he is too, senses it as well,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.  “Bran, there are things I must tell you. Things you need to know...and things you will not like hearing.”

Bran didn’t like the way his mother phrased that.  “What will I not like hearing?” he asked her, resigned to whatever she was to say.

Cat’s eyes left his, looking down at her hands.  “You have shown yourself to be a wise and fair lord, even at such a young age.  Robb and I need you to continue.” She took his hands, looking back at his face.  “I have to leave again, for possibly a long time.”

Something inside Bran was not surprised by this.  It was more than the way Mother had been acting since she had returned to Winterfell.  It felt...like he could see it in the future. “Where are you going?” he asked her. “Does this have to do with the Lannisters, what they did to Father?”

She turned herself around, sat shoulder to shoulder with him on the bed now.  Her arm was around him as she spoke again. “As I said, a very intuitive boy. I am going to tell you a story, but I ask you not to tell Rickon.  He is too young to understand it all.” She gave him an imploring look. He nodded. “Many years ago, when he was about your age, Jon Snow was very sick.  So sick, he nearly died.”

That sounded familiar to Bran.  It may have been told him by Old Nan, but he let his mother continue.

“To me, he was the son your father brought back with him from the war.  A son birthed by a woman he had lain with, a son who was not my own. And, I admit, I hated Jon for that,” she began.

“But it wasn’t his fault,” Bran argued.  “It was Father who shamed himself.”

Mother smiled once more.  “You are right, it was not Jon’s fault.  But, at the time, I did not see that. All I saw was a boy who was not my son, who your father loved so much.  And in my anger at his existence, I prayed he was no longer here.” Mother closed her eyes like she was trying not to remember.  “And then, he got sick. I thought the gods had answered my prayers. I did not want the boy to suffer, to linger in his illness, so I asked the Stranger to take him, maybe even back to his mother.”

Bran narrowed his eyes, thinking over the words.  “You wanted him to die?”

Mother inhaled a sharp breath as she nodded.  “I did. I am not proud of it, I knew it was wrong, but I did so anyway.  And your father heard my prayer. All he did was look at me, then he turned and ordered a change of clothes backed for me.  I thought he was going to take me back to Riverrun, back to your grandfather.”

“But he didn’t.”  It was not a question as, obviously, his mother never went away.  He remembered her almost always being here, save for when he first woke after his fall.

She shook her head.  “Ned took me to that cabin, the one he would take you and Jon and Robb.  I didn’t know why until we were settled in. Then, he said he had something to tell me, but that I could not drop a hint I knew this forthcoming information.  I vowed to him I would not break his confidence,” she continued. “And I have not repeated this story, until the night we received the raven telling of your father’s execution.”

“Lord Reed knew this story because he was with your father when your Aunt Lyanna was found in Dorne,” his mother continued.  “She did not die of a fever, Ned said, but she had just given birth. She had lost too much blood to survive, but the son she delivered was healthy.  Lyanna begged her brother to protect her son, for she knew if it was known he existed, Robert Baratheon would have sent assassins to kill her newborn babe.”

Bran thought he was understanding her, but he wasn’t sure.  “Did Father protect the baby?” he asked haltingly.

“Your father would do nothing less than give his life to do so, once his word was given.  This child was his blood, the last remnant of a sister he loved dearly.” She wore a sad smile, one of both pride in her husband’s actions, and grief at the price he must have paid to honor his sister.

Now Bran thought this over.  A baby Father swore to protect, at such high a price.  “Was Jon the child?”

Closing her eyes once more, his mother nodded.  “Yes, he was. The only two living people who knew were your father and Lord Reed.  And then, from that day forward, I as well. And I kept it to myself, until…” A shuddered sob broke loose in her, but she regained her wits.  “After we learned Ned had been executed, Lord Reed joined us in the Riverlands. When I saw him, I thought it a sign from the gods that the time had come for the truth to come out.  The day I was told, it was explained to me that the secret could not be spoken of until after either the king nor his heirs sit upon the throne.” Now her expression to stern. “Joffrey is not the son of King Robert.  He has no living heirs.”

“So now it can be said?” Bran queried.  

She nodded.  “Lord Reed told us of a box in your aunt’s tomb that contains evidence to back up the truth about Jon.  I will ride to Castle Black, consult with people there and try to figure out a way for the truth to be known, to ensure that the kingdoms unite behind King Aegon, Sixth of his Name.  Robb knows this now, as well as our lords, and he awaits what I find in order to act in the name of his true king.”

But something didn’t add up to Bran.  “I thought Aunt Lyanna was kidnapped and raped by the Mad King’s son, Prince Rhaegar?  How can Jon claim the throne?”

“She was not kidnapped by the prince.  They met and...fell in love. He was able to obtain an annulment for his marriage to Princess Elia and then married Lyanna.  Jon was born after their marriage, after his father fell in battle after Jaime killed the Mad King, and after Rhaegar’s two older children were murdered.”

Bran pondered what he had been told.  “That is what makes him king then? And you are going to travel to Castle Black and tell him?”

Mother nodded once more.  “There is a man there who is kin to Jon.  I want to speak with him while I wait for Jon to return.”  Bran felt a sense of alarm when she said that. Mother noticed.  “He is out beyond the Wall, but the message I received said he expected back soon.”

“Can I not come with you?  It’s been so long since I saw him.  He left before I awoke,” Bran reminded her.

“I wish that you could, but remember, there must always be a Stark at Winterfell.  You must continue as you have, seeing to our house. Lord Umber has offered to stay and assist you, serve as Rickon’s and your protector along with Maester Luwin.  And Jojen and Meera Reed will stay with you as well,” she told him.

Bran didn’t like that.  Meera kept to herself mostly, watching over her brother.  But Jojen… “I understand Mother,” he replied solemnly. He didn’t really, but he wasn’t going to admit that to her.  “When will you be leaving?”

“Not for a few days,” she assured him.  “I am waiting to hear back from Robb and Maester Luwin is waiting on some research from the Citadel.  When all of the comes back, I will set off for the Wall.”

“And bring back Jon?” he asked, hopeful to see his...well, cousin, actually, soon.

Mother got up from the bed and kissed him on his brow.  “And bring back Jon,” she said, after a slight hesitation.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She had barely gotten out of the door before the tears fell.  She hated lying to her children, had hated it from the moment Ned told her the truth about Jon.  And here she was again, lying to Bran about bringing Jon home. It was her goal, of course, but she knew it would not be as easy as Bran made it sound.

Catelyn walked down to the main hall and found Lord Reed awaiting for her.  He must have seen her red eyes, because he asked, “My lady, what troubles you?  Have you received bad news?”

She wiped the remainder of her tears.  “No, my lord, nothing of the sort. It is just--I told Bran that I would be leaving soon, to go to Castle Black.  I explained to him about Jon, Jon’s mother and he thinks...he thinks I will be bringing Jon back with me.”

“And you did not tell him Jon was beyond the Wall?” he guessed correctly.

She shook her head.  “Most of the children were quite close to Jon, growing up.  They all hold such affection for him. I didn’t have the heart to tell Bran where he really was.  Or if there was a chance he wasn’t…”

“My lady, do not believe that.  I feel in my bones, Jon is alive.  They are hard beasts to take down, the dragon and the direwolf, even more so combined,” Howland said, trying to cheer her up.

It worked a little.  “I have faith that he is alive and will remain so until he is an old man.  I owe it to Lyanna...and the Prince Rhaegar, to see wrongs righted since Ned cannot.”

She nodded to Lord Reed and turned to go about her business.  As she made her way around the corridor, a servant passed her, curtsying.  Lady Catelyn made her own acknowledgment and walked on, never noticing the look the servant gave her retreating form.

Chapter Text

His son Jojen had another attack one night, and again, Maester Luwin gave him herbs that seemed to help him, but it was still advised to Lord Reed that his son should stay abed for a least a day.  So, the morning Lady Catelyn Stark and Lady Maege Mormont were set to leave for Castle Black, Howland Reed went to see his son.

“You are leaving today, aren’t you?” Jojen asked before his father could even close the door.

“I wish I didn’t but I must.  I have to be in place for you at the Wall,” Howland told his son.  “If that is still what is to happen?”

“It is.  Bran, Meera and I shall cross into the Land of Always Winter and seek out the Three-Eyed Raven.  Then, Bran will prepare for when he is needed in the war to come,” his son intoned dully.

Lord Reed hoped this was not the way it was to be, but he had come to never question his son’s visions.  If Bran Stark was needed, he would go there. “But how will you know when it is the time?”

“After the reavers set out to try and build their empire, after the flayed man has burned it to the ground.  The wolves will be forced to retreat and then I will see you again,” he replied.

Howland remembered when he had first been told of this from his son’s greensight.  He did not believe it, but then Jojen had informed him that Lord Eddard Stark had been executed at the Great Sept of Baelor.  It brought tears to his eyes, thinking of his friend, such an honorable man, being executed on false charges. The raven’s scroll that came as confirmation had been the final part to set his mind to rest.

He gave his son a kiss on the forehead and turned to leave.  When he got to the door, he looked back at his son. “I will see you, then, when I see you.”

“And I shall see you for the last time,” Jojen replied to him.

Those words filled him with such sorrow he had to leave.  Walking into the hall and closing the door behind him, he found Meera.  He didn’t need to say any words. “I will keep watch over him, and Bran, Father.  I swear it.”

He gathered his daughter in his arms.  “Do your best to bring all of you back,” he begged, deciding against telling her Jojen’s last words.

“I will, Father,” she replied earnestly, almost as if she could.  Then they separated, him kissing her forehead, and headed out.

Cat and Maege were near the stables, awaiting their mounts.  “Ladies, I think it’s advisable that I accompany you,” he said.

“Lord Reed, I thank you for your consideration, but we should be fine,” Lady Catelyn said.  But he knew they wouldn’t be. They traveled with no forces, just two women headed to the Wall, a place now manned by murderers and rapists.  No matter how fierce Lady Mormont believed herself to be, he wouldn’t have felt comfortable with the idea of the two alone on the trip.

“Lady Stark, I feel I should go with you,” he insisted.  “I know I am no great fighter, but a man with you, at least, will warn bandits off.”  He saw her try to protest until he added, “I promised your sons I would continue to watch over you.  You know how your husband felt about oathbreakers. Do you intend to make one out of me?”

She looked to be considering it, then nodded.  “Your advice is sound. But I warn you, we must leave immediately.  We’ve been too long here as it is.”

Howland smiled as he saw a houseboy bring his things.  “Is this quick enough for you, my lady?” By the time his satchel was in his hand, the horses had been brought out and Lady Stark helped onto hers.  

“You were planning on coming all along.  Why didn’t you just say so earlier?” she asked.

“Forgive me, but I suspected you would argue the point and I was looking to avoid such an event,” he told her.  In truth, his son had told him he would need to be at the Wall for a time in the near future the night before after he had been seen to by Maester Luwin.

But Catelyn seemed to buy the explanation.  If she were to say anything against that, it was interrupted by Rickon and, on the back of Hodor, Bran coming into the courtyard.

On the simpleton’s back, Bran was able to reach his mother’s eye line.  “How soon will you and Jon be back?” he asked her quietly, so as to not have his younger brother hear.  

“I cannot rightly say.  But, I promise, I will send a raven to keep you informed,” she answered, kissing him on his temple.  “You’ll watch your brother, right?”

Bran nodded as Rickon looked near to tears on the ground.  Seeing the little boy’s face, Greatjon Umber picked him up and lifted him so his mother could offer him a kiss.  “You’ll be a good boy for your brother and Lord Umber?”

“Yes, Momma,” he replied, trying to stop his crying.

With the boy returned to the earth, Cat’s attention went to the Lord of Last Hearth.  She needn’t have said a word because Umber spoke first as if reading her mind. “I will defend your boys as if they were my own, I swear it.”

“Thank you, Lord Umber.  We are in your debt,” she said.  Then she nodded to him and Maege.  “It will be a long journey. Best we begin.”

With a round of final goodbyes, they were off.

They rode as hard as they could, for as long as they could each day.  As they moved north, Howland and Maege caught game for their dinners and they spoke of their families as they ate.

“I can only remember seeing Jon once, my lady, but I believe I know why he was brought to Bear Island now,” Maege said one evening.

When Howland asked his question with his expression, Cat told him.  “Lady Mormont sent word she had given birth to her last daughter seven years ago, and with the news came a request to Ned.  She wanted to honor Lyanna by bestowing the name on the babe.”

“Lyanna was a friend to me.  Broke my heart when we received word she had died.  I knew one of my daughters would carry her name, though and thought the Starks should be there,” Maege said.

“And Ned thought Jon should come along, even if he didn’t know why,” Cat went on.  “I remember seeing him go up to the bassinet and looking at the baby. It was like he knew who she was named after.”

Howland saw that Lady Stark looked pensive next.  “What was she like? Lady Lyanna? After her death, Ned never spoke of her.  The children would always ask, especially Arya, but he would never tell them about her.”

He smiled at her question before responding.  “The word around the North was she was a wild one.  That was why it took so long to betroth her,” he began.  “She rode like her brothers, could hit the center of the target with an arrow every time, and would rather run away to Essos than marry.  It was only the pushing of Winterfell’s maester that made Lord Rickard force the issue.”

“Luwin?” Catelyn seemed shocked.

“No,” Maege shook her head.  “‘Twas from the Reach, I think.  Maester...Walys. He wanted Lord Stark to become more powerful within the Seven Kingdoms.  Thought the way to do that was with aligning more with the South. He’s the one who sent Ned to the Vale and suggested the match between you and Brandon.”

Howland grimaced.  It was a rather indelicate thing to say.  He knew that Cat had been infatuated with Brandon and less than pleased to have to marry Lord Eddard.  Ned had told him that as they made their return north. It was probably the reason why he didn’t want her to know the truth about Jon from the first.  

For her part, Cat did not look to take offense at the remark.  “So the maester wanted the Starks more involved in the South.” She let out a little chuckle.  “Oh, the irony. To think that the lady who fought against marrying a Southron lord ended up marrying the crown prince!”

“‘Tis a tragedy, my lady.  But I doubt Lady Lyanna would have married Prince Rhaegar if she were forced to.  She had to come to it by her own free will,” Maege said.

“Yes, but look where it led.”  Lady Catelyn’s eyes showed her sorrow.  “Look at all that must be done to right all these wrongs.”  Then she yawned. “It’s getting late. We should try to rise with the sun and continue to the Wall.

“Aye, you’re right, my lady,” Howland said.  “I’ll take the watch for a while and you two get some sleep.”  They agreed without a fuss and soon, he was alone with his thought.  Lady Stark was right, all this would have been prevented if not for an ambitious maester and a headstrong girl.  But, this was the cards that had been dealt to them, and they would have to play the hand to the end.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Robb was meeting with Smalljon Umber, who came to replace his father at the encampment, Brynden Tully, and Roose Bolton when the maester came with the scroll.  “From Winterfell, my lord,” Robb was told.

Robb looked at the seal and saw it was indeed from Maester Luwin.  Shooting a look at his uncle, he unrolled it and read it. “Confirmation about Jon.  Marriage pact in hand. Also learned Aegon the Conqueror bestowed on House Stark the rank of prince and it was attached to the marriage of a Stark and Targaryen by Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon’s Pact of Ice and Fire during the Dance of Dragons.  Can be used to lay the groundwork for independence. Lady Stark to travel to Castle Black to meet with Maester Aemon. Jon not currently reachable.”

“‘Not reachable’?  What does that mean?” Smalljon asked, grunting out the words.

“It means that, for now, we can proceed with a declaration.  I can demand it as a Prince of Winter,” he told them.

“No, you cannot,” Lord Bolton replied.  When Robb looked back to him, he explained.  “How many people know about your aunt’s marriage to Rhaegar?  And of those who don’t, how many will believe you if you made it public?  The realm still believes she was taken against her will.”

“Segments of the realm believe that,” Ser Brynden directed to Bolton, “But the prevailing opinion at the time was that they ran off together.  Even after the war, many still believed that, and that the story of the kidnapping was a lie used to overthrow King Aerys and House Targaryen.”

“Then the argument will be, why was this agreement never acted upon before?  It has been near three hundred years since Aegon united the Seven Kingdoms and over a hundred since the Dance of Dragons.  Yet now, House Stark announces that they are the same rank as the Martells? You will be laughed at, my lord, and maybe far worse,” Bolton shot back.

“Then what do you suggest, my lord?” Robb queried him.

“Declare the North as a separate kingdom, and yourself its king,” he advised.

But Robb was already shaking his head.  “No, I will never do that. Jon is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and I will not be called a usurper.

“You can abdicate once Jon has arrived.  Declare now, then step down and tell the whole truth at that time,” Smalljon suggested.   

Robb looked to his great-uncle, who seemed to disagree.  “My lords, you have given me much to think on. The hour is late and I am sure we are all tired.”  He was not looking for anyone to speak, and all seemed to understand that. They filed out, but Ser Brynden remained.  

Once they were alone, his uncle came to stand next to him.  “I don’t trust Bolton,” he whispered.

“But he’s right.  We cannot stay aligned with the South any long, and the forces we have gathered grow weary of this waiting,” Robb agreed with reluctance.  “And yet I would feel dishonorable to Jon if I went that route. Jon, who never wanted anything more than to be a Stark.”

The Blackfish laughed.  “I haven’t told my brother that,” he said.  When Robb turned in his direction, he explained, “Your grandfather has never gotten over the shame Ned Stark brought upon Catelyn for raising that boy at Winterfell.  He was half-ready to march his host North and wrench the boy from Lord Eddard himself.”

“What stopped him?”

“I did.”  Now he sat and poured himself an ale.  “I told him that if he did, he’d be at war with his good-son, taking a babe from his only remaining parent.  That Lord Eddard was adhering to our house words better than we. I told him I thought the mother was Dornish, hence the more lax attitude about a bastard.  Then, years later, your mother wrote that she had grown used to the boy, that he was no trouble. Hoster suggested having the boy fostered at Riverrun, but she turned him down.”

“It must have been after Father told her,” Robb thought aloud.  He still found himself angry with his father for the lifetime of lies Jon was forced to endure.  In the beginning, of course, it was necessary. Jon was a mere babe, an easy target. Lord Varys had little birds all over the Seven Kingdoms, and it could easily be picked up and carried off to the capital, where it could be learned of.  But, as Jon grew? Why the need then? At that time, Jon was regularly asking about his mother. Why couldn’t he be told then?

“Yes, Bolton is right,” Ser Brynden agreed.  “We must send King’s Landing the proclamation of independence.  And we also must stake your claim to the title of prince.”

“Then how do we do that without telling them of Lyanna and Rhaegar’s marriage?”

“We don’t tell them about the marriage,” he stated simply.  “Aegon wanted to grace Torrhen Stark with the title of prince, which your ancestor refused.  It wasn’t tied into a marriage until the Dance of the Dragons.” Then he smiled. “Who has to know it is tied to a marriage now?  When all the pieces are in place, then we announce it when we tell of Lyanna and Rhaegar’s marriage. And if your cousin is unreachable now, who’s to say he won’t be informed in the near future?”

“Brother, you mean,” Robb countered.  “He may not have my blood, but in every other way, he is my brother.  I told that to the lords when I informed them about Jon’s true identity, and I repeat it here, Uncle.”

A look of approval became visible.  “Your father would be proud of you for that,” Ser Brynden said.  “But it does not change the fact that we need to buy more time for Cat to find and bring back Jon from the Wall.”

He knew that, and Uncle Brynden did have a point about keeping the second part of the story a secret still.  But it felt like a lie. A lie of omission, maybe, but still a lie. He knew that Ned Stark would disapprove of such an act, but it was his father’s lies that led them here.

“In the morn, I will inform the lords that I will declare myself as the prince of an independent North and that any action to stop us will be taken as an act of war,” Robb declared.

A few minutes later, Robb found Theon in his tent, asleep alone.  “No whore tonight, Theon?” he asked waking his foster brother.

“Seven Hells, Robb, you nearly scared the shit out of me!” he cried, startled.  When he composed himself, he made a space on the cot for Robb. He sat and handed Theon the scroll, which was taken and read.  “My prince,” he said, a smile spreading across his face.

“Aye,” Robb answered.  “However we cannot yet find Jon.  Mother is setting off to look for him, but gods know how long it will take her.”

“So then, it’s true about Jon?”

“Seems that way, if there is indeed proof of a marriage,” Robb nodded.

“Shit, he’ll never let me hear the end of this.  I treated him like shit for all those years, thinking he was a bastard, when really…”

“You will be the least of Jon’s concerns,” Robb said before standing and pacing.  “Father kept this from him all this time. It was one of the few things my brother was wanted for.”  He ended that conversation with the shake of his head. “Theon, if we are to unseat the Lannisters, we will need allies.  We will need the Iron Fleet.”

Robb could tell Theon was nervous.  He hadn’t been back to the Iron Islands since Ned had taken him to be fostered at the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion, a fact Theon reminded

him of.  “Your father led the attack on Pyke, Robb.  No way would my father support yours or Jon’s claims to any throne.”

“I know it will be difficult, but if we can give him something he wants…”  Robb knew there was truth in his words. “Will you try?”

“I haven’t seen him since I was taken.  I don’t know if my words will have any meaning to him,” Theon replied, “but I will try.”

Robb grinned.  “Thank you. Set off as soon as you are able.  We need allies and fast.”

“Yes, my prince,” Theon replied with a sly grin.

“You needn’t keep calling me that, you know?” Robb asked, figuring Theon was intending to be an ass about it.

“I know, my prince.  But I should give you the respect you are due, my prince,” Theon replied, confirming Robb’s belief.  Then, his smile widened. “Besides, Jon’s not here to tease, so I am afraid you’re the best target, my prince.”

Robb thought of a good retort, but finding none, he grasped the pillow his foster brother had been asleep on just now and gave him a good whack.  It caused them both to dissolve into laughter.

Chapter Text

]

It was unusual for the Spider to receive two songs in one day, but it happened, occasionally.  Yet, he could not recall it ever happening that the birds were singing so similar a tune.

So it was when he read the first raven’s scroll, brought down from Winterfell.  He raised an eyebrow when it told him Lady Catelyn Stark had the intention of traveling to the Wall to bring back Jon Snow, but a pit formed in his stomach as he read the next part.  “Lady Stark spoke of owing it to Lady Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar that wrongs are righted,” the writer said.

Varys had to sit down immediately.  Was that...was that why the Lady of Winterfell intended to seek out her husband’s bastard?  Was he truly the son of the prince and the Northern lady Rhaegar had been accused of taking against her will?

The next scroll came from his source at the Citadel.  “Two recent requests for information from Luwin in Winterfell: agreements between Aegon and Torrhen Stark after the Kneeling and supplemental information about the Pact of Ice and Fire.  Possibility of further terms of both to benefit House Stark.”

That was a curious bit of information being sought out, Varys thought, as he scurried to his own collection of books.  It was one he had taken many years to acquire. One could not gather information without having some knowledge of where it would derive from.  He found the volumes he was looking for and, again, his eyebrow went up.

If it was true what he was reading in the first, the Starks had been denying themselves of a great deal for more than three hundred years.  Who would have thought a conqueror would seek such an alliance with those he now ruled?

Next, he paged through the other tome he brought to his desk.  Finding the passage, it did confirm the curious stipulation in the treaty signed by Jacaerys Velaryon and Cregan Stark.  He smirked, recalling his just recently thinking about the subject. It did seem to be a sign, this confluence of facts coming together.

But the Master of Whisperers concerned himself more with the information from Winterfell.  He shook his head, aggrieved that he had not thought on it sooner, such as when the heir to Winterfell, Brandon Stark, stormed the Red Keep searching for Prince Rhaegar and his sister.  Varys had suspected there was something more to the prince and the lady, but he had never have believed it would go so far as to a child.

Varys wondered on that for a moment.  Was it the truth that Jon Snow was still a bastard, by his estimation, not of Ned Stark, but of Rhaegar Targaryen?  Was there anyone who could answer that question still alive? He thought on it, trying to come up with someone who was around the Crown Prince at the time.  There was one man, but Varys had little idea where he was. But he knew how to find the man. He sought out a little bird to carry out this particular mission.

The next morning, a young girl, a maid within the Red Keep came to clean his chamber pot.  She was an ordinary looking girl, one who had a single family member left. When she was done, he, as he always did, offered her a candied plum.  “How is your brother, dear?” he asked her as she sucked on the sweet.

“He is well, and told me to thank you again for finding him the position,” the girl replied.

“Did you ask him my question when you saw him?”

She nodded her head.  “He told me he remembered seeing a man with his description still within the city.  He has even come into the tavern.” Taking a bite out of another, she added, “He actually is quite a regular.  Said he’s there every third night, talking with ship captains.”

“Did your brother hear where the ship captains were from?” Varys further inquired.  

“Essos, mostly.  Slaver’s Bay, I think.  My brother said he was talking intently to one.  He’s at the tavern one every fortnight, maybe a little longer.”  

“And when was the man there last?”

“Two nights ago,” came the answer.

Varys smiled and nodded, handing her the whole box.  “Tell your brother I will see he is properly compensated.”  Then he sent the girl on her way.

It was late when Varys made his way to the tavern.  It was a place he would never frequent of his own free will, but it was not unduly disreputable.  Upon entering, he caught the eye of the brother, who subtly nodded his head to the corner. The man Varys was looking for was there, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.  However, it was very difficult, given his decades of service in the Kingsguard.

When he made sure the man was not looking his way, Varys slipped into the seat across from him.

Ser Barristan Selmy actually jumped from fright.  Taking a few calming breaths, he eyed the Spider. “You are not someone I would have thought to see here,” the old man said.

“This is not a place I would have thought you would be in, Ser Barristan.  In fact, I thought you’d have gone to see the keep I so generously prepared for you,” Varys replied quietly.

“You know I would not take you up on your offer, Spider,” he retorted before drinking from his tankard.

“My little birds told me you have been speaking to captains from Essos.  Would you, by chance, be planning to seek out Daenerys Targaryen?” the eunuch asked.

“You know damn well that is what I intend,” he answered, “and I do thank you for the information, as little as it is.”

Varys smiled mildly, as was his norm.  “Perhaps you would not like to go to Essos.  Perhaps there is a way you can serve the true rulers and remain in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“There are none left here,” Barristan said with a hint of sadness.

“Well, there is at least one, but he is old, blind and has already renounced the throne twice over,” The Master of Whisperers corrected.  “But tell me, Ser Barristan, would you be shocked to learn there is perhaps another dragon on this continent? That a possible heir to the Iron Throne has been among a noble house and been ignorant of the fact his entire life?”  There, Varys noted to himself. He saw the mask of ignorance slip away for a moment. The former lord commander knew of what Varys spoke of. “And you have not once considered seeking him out since recent events?”

Barristan put down his mug.  “He’s taken the Black, renounced his claims.”

“Can one renounce a claim they have no idea they had?”

The former Lord Commander closed his eyes, trying to keep his emotions in check.  “When Lord Stark returned to King’s Landing with the boy, I knew the truth. I also knew I could not speak it.  Not after what had happened to his brother and sister.” Barristan explained further, after taking a breath. “The Prince and Princess had agreed and she was to return to Dorne.  But Aerys would not allow Elia and the children to leave, even if he despised them for their mother’s blood. I was shocked when I heard what happened to them. It is as much Aerys’ fault Rhaenys and Aegon are dead as it is Tywin Lannister’s.”

Varys understood where he was coming from.  He too had been appalled at the sight of Rhaegar’s two children, their bodies beyond recognition.  Then he realized there was a question that needed to be answered. For once, without wordplay or tricks, he asked directly, “Is he truly a bastard?  If not of House Stark--”

“No,” Barristan replied definitely.  Then his expression softened. “I was there, at the Isle of Faces.  It took some doing, asking permission of the Green Men for the High Septon to step foot there.  But when he gave his trueborn name, they welcomed us, took us to a tree overlooking a small pond.  We stood back, naturally, even if there was no one there who would harm them. Later I signed as a witness, as did Oswell and Arthur.  They went off with the Prince and Princess, while I rode to King’s Landing. That was the last time I saw her. Rhaegar, of course, rode north, with me accompanying him.”

“But he was married.  I know the Faith has an issue with multiple wives…” Varys asked.

“The High Septon annulled the first marriage.  Something Elia knew of and welcomed really. They had it all worked out,” Barristan replied, his voice growing quieter as he spoke.  He took a breath. “He is in the North?”

“Yes.  My little birds tell me Lady Catelyn Stark has set out for Castle Black to seek him out, maybe even tell him the truth,” Varys confirmed.

“Catelyn Stark knows?”

“It was written to me that she owes this to Lyanna and Rhaegar,” he explained.  Then he looked the older man directly in the eyes. “What do you owe them, my lord?”

“Much, my lord.  To them and to Lord Stark.  I was there when he was executed.  I went into the sept and prayed for him afterward.  I should have offered him a prayer of thanks as well.” Varys could tell his response was both genuine and heartfelt.  “But what of Daenerys Targaryen? You told me she and her brother before her believed they were the rightful rulers of the Seven Kingdoms?”

Varys harrumphed.  “That seems to be the dilemma.  I have lost track of her. The last I was informed, her husband was dead and she was left wandering the Great Grass Sea.  I am working to find her but there is no guarantee I will. So, my lord, I ask again, what shall you do? Seek out the princess lost somewhere in Essos or the rightful heir to the throne at the Wall?”

It seemed as though Ser Barristan Selmy de-aged in front of Varys’ eyes.  He sat up straighter, held himself proudly and determined his true course.  “Well,” he commented slyly, “I will not be taking up residence in any keep you may have gifted me with, that is certain.”  Then he flashed the Spider a smile. “I suppose I will not be needing passage to Essos, then?”

“No, I guess not.  But it just so happens I know of a ship headed for a fishing village in the North that has the most unusual varieties of the species.  Many are considered delicacies here in King’s Landing.” Varys stood and was followed by Selmy. “I could introduce you to the captain.”

He let out a laugh.  “Would it be possible if we were to meet tomorrow?  I think I shall be needing to purchase some warm cloaks if I am to head that way.”  He smiled broadly at Varys. “Meet here tomorrow, say, midday?”

Varys returned the expression.  “That would be quite fine. I will see you then.  Oh.” He stopped short. “I have an idea regarding our exiled princess.  But it may take some time. I must see how things play out here,” the Master of Whisperers said to his fellow loyalist.  It was a strange relationship the two men had. One honorable to the last, the other mistrusted by all.

But it had been a beneficial relationship for the last several years.  And now, it only looked to improve.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Having lived so many years in the North, naturally, Catelyn Stark had been told tales of the Wall, description of it.  When he came to visit, Ned’s brother Benjen would regal the children with tales of life there and beyond. Old Nan had spent years weaving myths and history together to tell of it.  

Seeing it before made the stories pale in comparison.  It was an unbelievable thing, hundreds of feet in the sky, made of blocks bigger than the walls of Winterfell.

“It is a sight, isn’t it my lady?” Howland Reed said as he stopped beside her.

“I cannot imagine the methods of building such a thing today, let alone eight thousand years ago!” She replied excitedly.  “I am almost able to believe that giants helped in its construction.” That was how Old Nan’s tales told it.

“I’ve seen it many times since my brother took the Black and every time, I find it unreal,” Maege commented.  But then, she grew serious. “My lady, I must tell you, without Jeor here, the command of Castle Black falls to the master-at-arms, Ser Alliser Thorne.  I caution you, do not think to find him forthcoming with help in locating Jon.”

“Why not?” she asked with concern.

“Ser Alliser only took the Black to spare his neck after the Sack of King’s Landing.  He was loyal to the Targaryen’s to the last, but in defeat, grew bitter towards them, the Crown Prince especially,” she explained.  “He believes the dynasty was destroyed over a man’s lust for another man’s betrothed.”

“But if he is as loyal as to the Targaryen’s as you say, would he not welcome the prospect of restoring it with Jon?” Catelyn did not understand where the problem was.

Maege huffed.  “That could make it worse.  Oftimes he spoke of your goodsister, painting her as a whore who seduced the prince.  If he knew the truth about Jon, it’s likely to make him angrier.”

Cat still did not understand but took her words under advisement.  “It would be nice if he could be of help. Ser Alliser may have an idea as to where they could be.”  She reconsidered her options. “The most important reason for us to be here is so I may speak with Maester Aemon.  He has the right to know he has family alive and in Westeros. He may also know how it is best we proceed.”

The plan in place, the three urged their mounts to the gates of the fortress.  When they were close enough, a watchman called out, “Who goes there?”

“I am Maege, of House Mormont, Lady of Bear Island and sister to your lord commander.  I bring with me Lady Catelyn Stark, mother of Robb Stark, Prince of the North and Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch.  We wish entry to call upon Maester Aemon.”

The watch looked to be signaling to someone, who arrived shortly.  When Maege saw him, she told Catelyn under her breath, “That is Ser Alliser.”

Ser Alliser peered over the battlement of the castle, squinting at them.  “Prince Robb Stark? Has the North broken away from the Seven Kingdoms?” he asked maliciously.

Catelyn decided to tell the truth.  “Shortly, my son will be sending word to the Royal Court that he is invoking an honor bestowed upon House Stark by Aegon the Conqueror himself after the last King of Winter bent the knee.  It is a decision not taken lightly, but taken nonetheless.”

“I see Ned Stark was not the only traitor from House Stark,” he shouted back.

“Will you allow us entry?  If I am not mistaken, one of your vows is to take no part in the conflicts of the Seven Kingdoms.  Therefore, you should have no quarrel with us regarding the North’s intentions,” Howland called up.

A moment later, the gates of Castle Black opened and allowed them in.  Coming into the courtyard, their party was met by a few stablehands, Ser Alliser and a few others who looked to be officers.  Catelyn and Maege were helped off their horses and approached them, with Catelyn holding her hand to Ser Alliser. He took it and kissed it, but his eyes were cold.  

“Thank you for offering hospitality, Ser Alliser,” Catelyn said, not even hiding the sarcasm in her voice.  Then, looking at him more closely, she took a hitched breath.

She had seen this man before, though they had never met.  He was in the dream she had a few weeks back, the one where she stood on top of the Wall, looking down on a hoard of people approaching, led by Jon.  He was the one who coldly ordered the gate to be opened, as if it was the last thing he wanted to do.

She was startled back into the present when she heard him say, “We count the bastard son of a traitor among our ranks, and now the traitor’s widow comes here, to see our maester.  I ask you again, why?”

“Hold your tongue, Ser Alliser,” Maege threatened.  “I doubt my brother would care for the way you speak to Lady Stark.”

“Your brother,” Alliser noted, “is not here.  What is it that brings you here, Lady Mormont?”

“I, too, wish to speak with Maester Aemon about my brother.  He can surely let me know how he fairs.”

“And about what do you wish to speak to our maester about?” he returned to Catelyn.

“He is the last remaining Targaryen, well versed in his family’s history.  I wish to ask him questions about the gift Aegon offered to Torrhen Stark,” she replied smoothly doing her best to hide both her fear and contempt.

“And you, Lord Reed?”

“I swore to see the women here.  We wished to travel lightly, as we are conducting urgent business on behalf of our prince,” Howland informed them.  Then she heard a timbre in his voice she would not think possible in him. “And the next time you refer to my friend in such a tone, I will show you, there are misconceptions about my people.  I traveled with him from the Trident to Dorne and saw him bear unspeakable burdens with honor the entire time.”

Alliser eyes shifted to Catelyn as if to bait her.  “Except for one night, eh? And speaking of the bastard, he has gone with Lord Commander Mormont.  Not that you wish to see him, I am sure, my lady?”

Catelyn bristled at his words.  She wished to be able to reveal the truth in their visit if only to shut him up.  But she continued playing the role she had mastered in the last few years. “Why would I want to see Jon Snow when I only ever wished for him to be away from my family, even to such a place as this?”  She was more forthright in her request. “Now, can I please speak with Maester Aemon?”

Another Black brother stepped forward.  “Maester Aemon took to his bed a few days ago with a chill.  HIs acolyte says he is much recovered, but still needs his rest.  He should be able to talk to you tomorrow.”

A smirk formed on Catelyn’s face.  Though she could tell he was loathed to, she said, “Then I guess we shall need quarters for the next night.  Even, I daresay, the next few nights, should my business with the maester take as long as I think.”

“And how long do you think it will take?” the master-at-arms queried her.

“Who’s to say?” she questioned back.  “I have questions on events that happened three hundred years ago.  I’d think there was much research your maester would have here that I will need to review.”

His lips formed a thin, grim line.  She could see him holding his tongue as best he was able but was beginning to lose it.  Still, he maintained his composure. “Then I offer you whatever you need during your stay at Castle Black.”  He turned to a subordinate. “Please show Lady Stark, Lady Mormont and Lord Reed to the Guest Tower and in the morn, tell Maester Aemon he has visitors.”

“Thank you,” Cat said coldly, devoid of any sincerity.

He began to walk away when he appeared to remember something.  “And Lady Stark, be warned,” he said with a vile look, “this is dangerous country up here.  We have had attacks by the Wildings in recent months, we have brothers who are criminals, and there are evil spirits that lurk behind the Wall.”  He turned his back and left them.

They were shown to their quarters, her and Maege sharing a room.  Catelyn was thankful, as it afforded her some privacy to talk. “I see what you said about Ser Alliser.”

“Aye, and don’t dismiss his warnings.  My brother has often said, the Watch is not the Watch it used to be.  Castle Black has become more penal colony than sworn brotherhood,” she replied.  “But you should fear not. We shall succeed, I know it in my heart.”

Catelyn smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.  I pray you are correct, my friend. I pray to all Seven.”

Chapter Text

It was a game he enjoyed playing with Lord Varys. They spoke conciliatory words to one another, waiting for the other to slip, reveal too much. In the early days of the game, Petyr Baelish would lose more often than not, but as the years went on he got better at it. Sadly for him, so had his opponent.

The man they called Littlefinger knew the Master of Whisperers had been away from the Red Keep, but he was unable to learn exactly where. It caused him much frustration. Oh, he had his spies, just as Varys did, but the Spiders always seemed more clever with his resources.

Baelish had been informed of the late night sojourn Varys had, but his contact lost sight of him after some time. By the time Baelish had been informed of this, he’d already seen the rotund man ambling along the corridors of the keep.

It was a few mornings later that Varys was able to be cornered for any length of time. He saw Varys outside the doors of the throne room, about to enter. “Lord Varys, it is good to see you,” he said, knowing the other man was aware that he had just spoken a blatant lie.

Varys, though, was not one to acknowledge it as such. “And a good morning to you. I see you are still amongst us in the Small Council.”

Baelish smiled slyly, remembering the trap laid oh so carefully by Tyrion Lannister. “I must say, I was shocked to learn the depths Grand Maester Pycelle would sink to curry favor with the Queen.”

“A disappointment, truly, to have a man of such stature spying on the workings of our body,” Varys replied blithely. “Though not a surprise.”

“You were not surprised?” Littlefinger asked.

“Not in the least. I have suspected he was working for the Lannisters for years. He was the one who advised Aerys to open the gates to Lord Tywin and his host,” Varys informed him.

Yes, Littlefinger remembered something akin to that. “And he still seems to be. Or, at least, a faction of the Lannisters.”

“Yes. I must say, I am quite impressed by how deftly Lord Tyrion dealt with the spy. He has a cunning to him that I have not seen since, well, his father,” Varys said.

“Are you likening father to son?” Baelish asked. “Careful, my friend. I doubt either man would appreciate the comparison.”

“Quite correct, my lord. Still, I have a feeling Lord Tyrion’s net did not ensnare the fish he was trying to catch.”

“You think he was hoping for another spy?” Baelish asked, but, turning to Varys, he was only answered with a smile.

“Is there anything I may do for you, my lord? While I do have fun with these little dances of ours, I often suspect your intentions lack a purity,” Varys questioned, his eyebrow quirked up.

“As a matter of fact, I have had a devil of a time looking for Ser Barristan Selmy. There are funds that should be released to him for his keep, but if I do not know where he is, I cannot release them.” For once, Baelish decided to try a little more direct approach.

“And since I was the one who set him up, you’d think I would know where he is?”

“Since you know all the secrets of the realm, I would think you would know where he is,” Littlefinger corrected.

“Quite right,” he answered. “Alas, my little birds have been unable to locate him since he left the throne room. I had heard reports he was still in the city, but that was around the time of the execution of Lord Stark. The city has been somewhat chaotic since then, but I still search for him. It is best to know the location of such a man, wouldn’t you say?”

Baelish figured it would come of nothing, but he thought it should be attempted. “He managed to slip into Duskendale in disguise, so I can see it being a problem still.” Then, he smiled as he added, “Even at his age.”

Varys was about to walk away when Baelish remembered one more piece of business he needed to address. “My Lord, have you heard what has become of Lady Catelyn Stark? Lord Tyrion has asked me to return the bones of Lord Eddard to his family and I was hoping to bring them directly to her. She is with her son, correct?”

“So say my little birds. However, there has been little new to report to me about the Northerners, so things may have changed. And Catelyn Stark still has two young sons at Winterfell, one a cripple,” Varys replied noncommittally. With that, the eunuch bowed and went on his way.

Baelish returned to his office, planning his next move. He wanted to take the chance that Cat was with her son’s army in the Riverlands. But, Varys had a point; she still had two children at the Stark’s keep and, if there was one thing Petyr Baelish knew about Catelyn Tully, it was that she was ever devoted to her family.

It was that devotion to her family that he loved about her, and hated. He would have pledged his life to her every need, but she always pushed him aside, ready to fall into the arms of men not worthy of her. Brandon Stark surely was not; always with the wandering eye, though usually more of the highborn variety than any woman he would have in his employ. And Ned Stark was dour, brooding. He was supposed to be the epitome of honor, but even he succumbed to the charms of the gentler sex.

Littlefinger had hoped that, with Ned now departed this life, he would have the opportunity to express his true feelings to the lady, but that would not be as easy as he had hoped.

In the end, he decided the best course of action was to deliver the remains of Lord Stark to his son, at least, and hope Cat was still with Robb Stark and his army. He just needed to see her, tell her how he felt.

After all, he gave Ned Stark to the Lannisters, and hoped to receive his widow in the deal.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Aemon was awakened the next morning to be informed he had a visitor. That was something unusual. He rarely had visitors, even when there were still those alive who cared about him enough to make the trek to the Wall. Then he remembered whom it may be.

He had taken ill a few days ago and, due to his advanced age, the acolyte wasn’t sure if he would recover. But, even with all his years, he was still a dragon and it took much to kill one. At least, he had always believed that, until Rhaegar had fallen, until Aerys had been killed, until the children...the poor little children.

After finishing the warm porridge he had been brought, he asked the steward to show his guest in. A few minutes later, the boy returned. “Milord? Your guest,” he announced before scurrying away, the door banging shut behind him.

Two delicate footsteps told of the approach of another person, a woman, but they remained silent. Making out a silhouette of a woman’s curtsy, he asked. “To whom do I have the pleasure of being in the company of?”

Still not rising from her pose, she said, “My lord, I am Catelyn Tully Stark, daughter of Hoster Tully of Riverrun and the widow of---”

“Of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Yes, I know who you are, my lady. And I am no lord, just a humble brother of the Night’s Watch. Please, rise and have a seat.” He let out a breath, the picture coming to his mind. “I know who you are and I know who your husband’s son is. I sent you a message. The boy is not here.”

“I know that and I would have wished differently, but it is you who I also needed to see,” Catelyn said.

“Me? While I am honored, why would you need to speak with me?”

“Because,” she replied, her voice stronger than when she first entered. “I need the guidance of the only other dragon remaining in Westeros.”

Aemon’s breath caught on her words. He became very cautious, aware of who her husband had been, what he had led. “I think you are mistaken, my lady. I am the only dragon left alive. All others are dead.”

She grasped his hand, covering it with both of hers. “I know that there were two, at the end of the rebellion. They escaped to Essos.” Then, she paused, as if to gather the courage for her next words. “And for the last six years, I have known that one other dragon still roams the moors of the North, called a bastard. But one who, I believe, is much more important than anyone could imagine.”

What Lady Stark was saying was...remarkable. His heart pounded in his chest, the implication of her words almost unreal. “If we speak of the same…” He did not want to say anything outright, lest the wrong ears hear them.

“We do, Maester, I assure you. I have known since he took ill as a child, since I shamed myself with a terrible prayer,” she admitted. “My husband confessed the truth then and implored me to not say a word, not change my attitude. Ned was...frightened by what Tywin Lannister did to Rhaenys and Aegon and he did not wish to see it happen to his blood. He hid him in plain sight, never intending to let the truth come out.”

“But now you wish it to come out?” he asked. “Why? Why now?”

“Because it is what is right, and we have stood around for too long doing what we must to protect ourselves. Because everything that has befallen your family, and my husband’s, was based on a lie,” she insisted, but he sensed there was more.

“If that was true, men of honor would have sought to correct it long ago,” Aemon rebuked gently. “Yet not one person did so. Including your husband, I might add.”

“Ned feared it could never be spoken as long as Robert or his heirs lived. Now, Robert is dead and he has no living heirs. The ‘Baratheon’ princes and princess are products of incest between the queen and her brother and the throne is controlled by the Lannisters,” she raged as quietly as possible. “And they killed my husband. They killed him to get control, just as they did to your family all those years ago.”

“You want this for revenge?” he asked gently, not a hint of reproach. “And you believe I wish it as well.”

She was crying now, softly, as she must be feeling shame for her thoughts. “Maybe, partly,” she acknowledged, “but also for a little boy left an orphan, profaned as a bastard, forced to the shadows. When I learned the truth, I wanted to take him in my arms and soothe him as I would any of my other children. It was fear that held me back, fear I shared with my husband for my family, fear for the boy, fear of the lions that would surely be at our gates if it was known.”

“There is a war out there, Maester, one that I do not think has been seen since the Dance of Dragons. It is already pitting brother against brother and I fear it will only grow. My son and I, we have thought of a way to contain it, but Jon Snow is the key.”

“He is a son of the North, and the prince who was hidden,” Aemon said. “I knew there was something about him from the first time I met him. There is a power to him, a power in his blood. He may be even more important than you even know.”

He thought on that. His curiosity was getting the better of him, but he agreed it would be a good idea to hear what she had learned. “My Lady, I think that we should meet in the library in a short time. I have been abed for a few days and am certain there are scrolls for me to attend to, but I believe there are materials there that may aid you and bolster the proof you speak of. Would that be agreeable to you?” He sensed her hesitation and figured that there was something of a time constraint to her visit. “I feel your distress, child.”

“It is just that time, I fear, is becoming shorter and shorter,” Catelyn said. “And without him, I have concerns that my son’s banners will grow more and more restless, making this war bloodier.”

“I share your fear, my lady but there are many things you think you know but do not. I will help you and tell you all I know that you will need. This will not be an easy task to complete, but if I am to help you, I must know you will see it through. Will you swear that to me?”

She took his hand again and kissed it as if he were a king and she was a supplicant. “By the Old Gods and the New, I swear it.”

When she left, she sent his steward in to assist him. He put on his maester’s robes, his chain and allowed the boy to lead him down to the library. There, he went to the stacks, handing book after book, scroll after scroll, until he heard a loud thud on the table. He could picture the boy’s face. He was probably amazed how a blind man knew the correct books that were needed.

After some time of being read scrolls and documents that needed his attention, he heard those soft footsteps at his door. “Come in, Lady Stark, come in,” Aemon said with joy. The boy left, and the woman entered, but before she sat, he said, “Please, close the door. We will be left to our privacy, but best not tempt fate.”

She closed the door and joined him at the table. “First, we must speak about the boy. You said there was proof of what you know? Proof that the boy is trueborn.”

“Yes,” Lady Stark said. Then she placed a scroll in his hand. “I returned to Winterfell shortly after my husband’s...death. I was directed to the grave of my good-sister, Lyanna Stark, by a compatriot of Ned’s who returned with him and the lady’s bones from Dorne. Lord Howland Reed, who accompanied me here, was with him when he found Lyanna dying. The girl begged Ned to protect her son, going so far as to tell my husband the boy’s true name. She knew what happened to Prince Rhaegar’s other children and the story the world knows him by was spun for that purpose. Then when Lyanna’s bones were laid to rest, with her was a box that contained what seems to be the remains of her life with the Prince.”

“They were married,” Aemon stated definitively as he saw a shadow of a head nodding that he was correct. “My nephew wrote to me of stories he had learned from her, stories he felt foretold a grave future, one where he would play a key role. He came to believe she played a part in the prophecies as well, prophecies he had been reading since he was a child.”

“I cannot speak to prophecies, Maester, but I can tell you we did find two histories, written by men who came before you. One was a hidden fact of history that revealed to us about the rank Aegon wished to grant to the last King of Winter.” Tapping the scroll he held, she added, “But the second described aspects of the Pact of Ice and Fire that were not well known. I believe this to be critical.”

“Aegon you say?” He chuckled a bit. “I was told many stories of Targaryen history in my youth, so many even my maester was unsure of what was true and what was false.”

“Well this is true, it has even been confirmed by the Citadel. The pact held a clause about a joining of the houses of Stark and Targaryen. What it also stated is that...what is not widely known is when a Stark married a Targaryen, from then on the living members of House Stark, and their descendant, would be called ‘prince’ or princess’.”

“And why was that?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Because of an offering made by Aegon the Conqueror to the last King of Winter, Torrhen Stark. Because Torrhen chose not to fight Aegon and his dragon at the Trident, Torrhen was to be raised to the rank of prince.”

It sounded like something he remembered., vaguely, being taught as a child. “But he did not accept it, did he?”

“No, he did not,” she confirmed. “So Aegon made the offering for as long as the Targaryens sat on the Iron Throne. When the Dance of Dragons broke out, Cregan Stark was brought to the side of Rhaenyra Targaryen by her son, Jacaerys Velaryon, in exchange for a marriage between the Starks and the Targaryens. What was not well known was, the marriage and the rank were tied together at that point in time.”

Now he understood. “When Rhaegar married Lyanna, the pact was sealed and the rank granted, as Aegon himself had wanted nearly three hundred years before.”

“Yes,” was all Lady Stark replied, though she did not continue her remarks right away. “We did find Lyanna and Rhaegar’s marriage certificate, signed by the High Septon himself, proof of the marriage. And we found two other scrolls that are proof of the bestowing of the title of Prince on House Stark. One was written in the common tongue, the other in High Valyrian.”

At once, Aemon knew the meaning of her words. “High Valyrian is a difficult language to learn. Words are not as specific as they are in the common tongue.”

He knew she was smiling back at him. “In the first copy, the one I was able to read and understand, the wording says that upon the marriage of a Targaryen Princess and a Stark Lord, the Starks would be raised to the title of Prince.”

“But there are no distinct words for ‘prince’ or ‘princess’ or ‘lord’ or ‘lady’ in High Valyrian,” he concluded. “Which would mean that it would be so if Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaegar, son of Aerys, Second of his Name, married Lyanna, daughter of Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell. Not only would she be called princess, her father and brothers, were raised from mere lords as well.”

“By the time they were married, I believe that Rickard and Brandon were dead,” she admitted with a hint of melancholy, “but Ned and Benjen were still alive, and now my sons Robb, Bran and Rickon, and my daughter Sansa and Arya, are princes and princesses.”

Her own children’s status had little meaning to everything. “What is it that you need from me, my lady? I was an old man when the events surrounding Lyanna and Rhaegar occurred, so I fail to see what use I am to you.” When she did not come up with a response, he went on. “I am a man of the Night’s Watch. I have vowed to take no side in the conflicts of the realm. I grieve for my family, here and in Essos, but I have nothing to offer you by way of a solution to your dilemma.”

“Is there no way to have Jon return from across the Wall? As I said, time grows shorter and shorter,” she said beseechingly.

“Alas, no. We must wait, as all men must do, for the gods to play their acts out upon us,” Aemon replied. He sensed her dread at his words. However, he needed the determination she showed him in even taking the first step on this path. “My lady, we may have to wait for the return of the king, but we are able to prepare the way for him to be the king he was meant to be.”

He felt around her face, patting her cheek to comfort her. “You see, Lady Stark, there is so much more to Jon Snow than even you know. I believe he has a destiny laid out before him, one his parents foresaw. And you will be the one to bring it to him.”

Chapter Text

“As I said, there is more to Jon Snow. He is not just a prince hidden by his uncle as a babe to protect him from his father’s enemies,” Maester Aemon opened with. “My nephew was well read, from a young age. I gifted him with many books, tales from history and myth. One such book spoke of the prophecy of the ‘Prince that was Promised’. Rhaegar believed that he may be that prince, for it was said that the prince would be born ‘amid salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star.” The old man seemed to be caught up in his memories, though she had no idea what it had to do with overthrowing the Lannisters. “Rhaegar was born under such signs, the smoke of Summerhall, and the salt of all those who cried over the tragedy. But he was not born under a burning star. Do you know when the last bleeding star was seen in the sky, Catelyn Stark?” he asked.

“There was one above the night we were informed of Ned’s death, the night I told Robb about Jon,” she said. However, she did not understand where he was going with this. He was speaking of prophecy, she was dealing with hard fact. How were the two related?

“And before that?” When no response was forthcoming, he said, “It was nearly eighteen years ago that I saw a star such as that cross the sky.”

Eighteen years ago, Catelyn remembered, she was sitting at a window in Riverrun, holding her infant son. “Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell,” she said to him. “You will be a great lord, this I know.”

It was when he was a no more than two moons old, staring up at her with those wide blue eyes. But at that time, where was Lyanna? Where was Ned? Could he have reached the tower he had found his sister in by then?

“Eighteen years ago...that would be about right,” she said in awe. “Maybe not his birth, but the time of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s marriage.” But then the other part of the prophecy came to mind. “And you believe this prophecy speaks of Jon?”

“Prophecies are tricky things, my lady. If we think of Jon in such terms, born of salt and smoke, maybe instead of a palace on fire, it was a kingdom ravaged by war, and instead of tears over the death of so many, maybe it was the death of just one,” Aemon said. “Words can be manipulated to suit the reader. But there is another prophecy that I can see lying on top of Jon Snow’s life. You mentioned the Pact of Ice and Fire before.”

Catelyn blinked, trying to remember all they had already spoken about. “Yes, the treaty between Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon.”

“What are the house words of the Stark’s?” he asked, leading her along with the question.

Catelyn knew them as well as she knew her own house’s “Winter is coming,” she repeated.

He smiled at her response. “And House Targaryen’s words are Fire and Blood, my lady.”

“The pact of Ice and Fire?” Catelyn wondered aloud. “You think it was a portent to Rhaegar and Lyanna, to Jon?”

“It is possible,” Aemon replied. “A woodwitch said to my nephew Jaehaerys that the prince who was promised would be born from his line. That was why he wed his children Aerys and Rhaella to each other, to help bring the prophecy forward.” Then he stopped, trying to remember more. “But it was also said that this prince would have a song of Ice and Fire.”

Catelyn thought she was beginning to understand but was still unsure. Was it that the two points converged on one person? She knew it was past time that Jon reclaimed his rightful place on the Iron Throne, as it would have been if Rhaegar at least had not died. But was he what this prophecy spoke of?

“Why was this prophesied prince so important, Maester?” She knew she needed more information. She was not one to believe in such things, not right away.

“He is said to be someone who will deliver us from darkness, a great darkness that comes,” Aemon explained. Then, he suddenly changed the topic. “Do you know the reason Lord Commander Mormont led the Great Ranging himself?”

She was caught in confusions for his words. “Was it not to seek out my husband’s brother, Benjen Stark?”

He shook his head. “There was another reason. The bodies of two brothers were brought back here,” he told her, “but they came back to life. Lord Mormont believes there is something else out there, besides the wildling tribes, and set out to find it and warn the Seven Kingdoms.”

Now it was Catelyn who was remembering something. When the children were young, Old Nan would tell them stories, legends of the North. The one that scared Bran the most was of what the old woman would call ‘the living dead’. Often, after hearing the story, her little boy would run to their room, needing to be comforted by both she and Ned. They would do their best, but it continued to happen.

Catelyn kept telling Old Nan to stop scaring Bran with the stories, but the woman was earnest in telling her that they were not made up. “These are stories that have been passed down here for thousands of years. All the way back from the time of Bran the Builder, my lady. It is our duty to keep them alive, lest we all be dead,” the nurse would tell her.

Perhaps because she had no immediate reaction to his words, Aemon called to her. “My lady, you are still here, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am. I was just…” She let out a breath before continuing. “The old wet-nurse at Winterfell, she was near as old as you, maester. She would tell the children stories when they were growing up, stories she said were histories. They would frighten the children, more often than not.”

“And was Lord Snow frightened of the stories?” he asked. She could tell he wanted to know as much as he could of the boy. He was family, after all.

But she grimaced as she said, “When Jon was of an age to be frightened, I am sorry to say I did not look favorably on him.” Shame overtook her as she remembered. “I must ask, my lord,” she addressed him as such, even though he had already told her he was no longer a lord, “that I was unkind, even at times cruel to the boy. I...as his few remaining family members, I wish to ask forgiveness of you for any actions I took against him.”

Sadness touched the old man’s face. “What were these actions?”

Catelyn didn’t want to remember but forced herself to. “When he began to learn to speak, he’d often mimic Robb and call me ‘mama’. Most times, I would ignore him, turn away as to reject him.” Tears sprang from her eyes. “When he was nearer to five, he had learned to stop, but he slipped and called me that. He realized just as quickly his mistake, but not before I yelled at him, told him I was not his mother and that he was some whore’s bastard.”

That said, she stood, unable to look at Aemon because of the guilt she felt. Catelyn could still remember the look on Jon’s face, the tears he was fighting to stop. He ran away from her, hid as was his way. It took them a good few hours to find him. She told him all this. “In the end, he was found, in the crypts beneath Winterfell. Ned was the one who looked there. When he emerged with the boy in his arms, his face was white. He told Maester Luwin that the boy was hiding behind Lyanna’s tomb.”

“The Targaryen’s bonded with their dragons, and their dragons knew who they belonged to. It was an instinct in their blood, they said. When I first encountered Jon, I sensed something akin to that, and now I know the truth.” Catelyn turned back to him. “I would suspect there was something in him that drew him to his mother’s grave at that moment.”

Catelyn Stark knew there was no intentional rebuke there, but felt it all the same. Wishing to banish thoughts of past misdeeds, she got Aemon back on track. “Who did you think the prince that was promised was to be?”

“I thought it Rhaegar, but now I think it could very possibly be his boy,” Aemon said. “I said bringing this to light, the truth about Jon Snow and what he could potentially be will not be easy, you remember?”

She nodded. “Yes, I do. And I will admit to you, I do not entirely believe this story of prophecy. But I am willing to continue, to see the wrongs righted.”

He accepted her response. “After Rhaegar left here, he was to return to Dragonstone. He told me he wanted what we had discovered to be safeguarded and knew of no other place that would be.”

“He didn’t know what was to come,” Catelyn understood.

“On the contrary, I think he had an inkling. He asked something of me. He asked that if he was to die, that I stay alive long enough to tell his children about him. I have come to suspect that is why the gods have not called me to their side yet.” He waved off anything further on the subject, going on instead with his assignment for her. “As I said, after his last visit to his ancient uncle, he took all the research he and I gathered and brought it to Dragonstone. Somewhere there is what will aid you in joining our missions.”

Catelyn had never been to Dragonstone but knew it was not a small island. “Where on the island? You cannot think I am to wander over the whole place without any guidance, do you?”

“I do not,” he said, “but I have faith you will know where to look.” Then he turned to his desk, taking the quill in hand. “I know that Lord Stannis Baratheon was given claim over the island after the rebellion. I have heard it said he was not all in favor of it, that there was no love lost between the two brothers.”

Catelyn knew this too. “Ned told me once when he left the capital to search for Lyanna further south, he informed Robert he would do his best to entreat with Lord Tyrell to lift the siege at Storm’s End, but Robert wanted him to find Lyanna before that.”

That was probably the first sign to her that Robert was a fool. He wanted his betrothed found, a woman who ran from him, before sending help to his own blood. What would have happened, though, if Ned had gone to Dorne first, and found his sister?

“This is a request to the maester on Dragonstone. It will not be questioned. It says I have asked you to retrieve family documents for me, for a history I am writing. Even if there are few left in this country that hold my family name in any degree of respect still, the maesters of the Citadel are one such group,” he explained.

He finished his writing and handed the parchment for her to inspect before it was sealed. “But would they question if it is I who have come to fetch it?” she wondered.

“You are traveling south on behalf of your family so that a peace can be brought between House Stark and House Baratheon of Dragonstone. I asked it of you when you came to inquire about your husband’s boy, that you were asked by his brother Robb to come and speak with him and I asked this of you as you were leaving soon,” he reasoned.

Aemon’s plans sounded reasonable, but it worried her nonetheless. And it was a perilous journey he had set her on. She knew Howland would come with her, but it would not be easy. Sealing the scroll, though, Aemon also advised, “Best for you to begin making your arrangements. Eastwatch-by-the-Sea would be an ideal place to pick up a ship sailing south, my lady.”

She took the paper and nodded as she placed it within the fold of her cloak. Then she remembered one last question. “Maester Aemon, Jon is a sworn brother of your order. Of your vows, one is to wear no crown. How will this effect Jon?”

He seemed to think on that for a moment. “My nephew believed in this prophecy and believed there was a specific name for the prince. I can assume Jon is not his true name, and you have documentation to prove it.”

She sighed, seeing a problem. “The only proof I have are the dying words of a mother to her brother. Ned told me the boy’s name. I know it from there,” she informed him. Then, thinking of Howland, she added, “and there were no others in the room to hear it as well.”

“But there is another whom Lord Eddard told?” he asked. Without waiting for a response, he went on. “There may be some leeway there. At the very least, he can be released from his vows since he was never told truthfully what he was giving up.”

It was not the best answer, but it was what she had for now. “I will begin to see to plans immediately,” she said. “And I vow, by the Old Gods and the New, I will return with whatever we need for Jon Snow to reclaim his identity, his heritage and his throne.” She took his wrinkled hand in hers once more and kissed it as she bowed.

Closing the door to his library before her, she began to make her way back to her quarters when she ran into the imposing form of Ser Alliser Thorne. She tried to let out a scream, but he clasped his hand over her mouth and dragged her away.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From the moment he first encountered Jon Snow, there was a familiarity about him that made Ser Alliser Thorne unsettled. Here was a bastard born, but he carried himself with both the dignity of a king and yet, there was a humility about him as well. He’d only found that combination in one person. It was a ridiculous thought, but one he could not shake.

Alliser knew the boy’s history. Bastard son of the honorable Ned Stark, he chose to serve in the Night’s Watch. He was arrogant, to be sure when he arrived, but his actions brought admiration from the men. So here was another strike against Lord Snow.

It was known that Lord Snow had tried to abandon his vow after learning of his father’s execution, but had been brought back by his friends and forgiven of it by Lord Commander Mormont. The Old Bear had taken the bastard as his steward, setting him up to perhaps take command of the Watch some day. A boy of seven and ten and his path was cleared!

But now that boy was beyond the Wall, out chasing Mormont’s ghosts. If the gods were kind, the boy would never come back. It was a peaceful thought, one he felt no shame in thinking. If what he thought was true, better the boy dies out there, far from any harm he could do.

But now Lady Catelyn Stark was here, looking for the boy. Oh, he did not believe for one moment she came to merely speak to Maester Aemon. If she had a question from centuries ago, better to go to Oldtown, to the Citadel, have the archmaesters answer her directly. No, she was here for the Last Dragon, and for Jon Snow.

The morning after Lady Stark’s party arrived, Ser Alliser had the boy emptying her chamber pot follow her to the old maester’s quarters. After meeting him there, Alliser was informed they would be continuing their discussion in Castle Black’s library. He came a little while later, listening in on their talk.

When he heard Aemon mention the name of the crown prince, all Alliser’s greatest fears were manifest, and everything at last made terrible sense. So, his noble prince had run off with the little northern bitch and she birthed him a son. He held out one last hope that at least he was still a bastard, but then that was dashed. Rhaegar Targaryen had married Lyanna Stark, making their ill-gotten son not only trueborn but the true heir to the Iron Throne!

In all the years he had spent on the blasted Wall, Thorne had continually cursed Lady Lyanna Stark. He felt, as did many Targaryen loyalist, that it was her relationship that had brought down the great dynasty. Rhaegar, married to a Dornish princess, put his wife aside for a girl who was his mistress. Robert Baratheon had gone to war for the ungrateful whore, to get back his betrothed, even if, as rumor had it, she didn’t want him. In the end, Rhaegar died in the waters of the Trident and Robert stood tall, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.

At that moment, the drunk, whoring oaf was better than a green boy.

He waited longer, trying to catch as many details as he could. He’d given the lad who told him of Lady Stark’s movements coin to keep watch for him, lest he be discovered. When Lady Catelyn finally emerged, he made his move.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll snap your neck,” he threatened, his voice a low growl. He found a storage room and shoved her in once the door was opened. It was only after the door was closed that she was released.

She glared at him. “I see Lady Mormont was correct about you.”

“Don’t give me a thought, just tell me it’s not fucking true!” he demanded, rage building.

She walked further away from him but did not deny it. “As you were right at the door, I can assume you heard most of the private conversation.” She nodded her head firmly, only once. “Yes, it is true that Jon Snow is the trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna of House Stark.”

He laughed at that. “Princess? I didn’t know they gave crowns to whores.” The answering slap caught him off guard, by its fact as much as its strength.

“From what I have read, Ser Alliser, by all rights, she should have been born a princess, but her marriage made her one. As such, do not dare call her by such terms again in my presence,” the little Southron lady tried ordering. “Now, stand out of my way.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he bit back, grabbing her arm and shoving her once more. “I’ll be damned if I see that bastard mount the throne! It was his existence that brought the downfall of House Targaryen. I’d rather see that psycho fucker Joffrey be king than Jon Snow.”

Now she displayed a mirthless smile. “The Night’s Watch is sworn to not interfere in the realms of men,” she said.

“Then he has no right to the throne, as he too is a sworn brother,” Alliser reminded her,

“As Jon Snow, you are right. But he took that vow ignorant of his name and his heritage. Those can be grounds for a release,” she said.

“But if no one else who knows is there to tell him…” Alliser did not even try to keep the menacing tone out of his voice. “This is a secret that can be killed in its crib very easily.”

But the lady stayed resolute. Staring straight at him, she said, “I am not the only one who knows. If I should fail, I can assure you, there are others who will continue on after me.”

“And I am one of them, good Ser,” a voice said from the doorway as he felt the tip of a sword in his back. “Allow Lady Stark to leave here, and I’ll see that it is never spoken of,” Howland Reed told him. “Else if it does, you may find yourself at the end of a rope when your Lord Commander returns. Now, lay the sword on the ground.”

Alliser was smart enough not to fight back. He did as he was ordered, and Lady Catelyn escaped around him to the exit. He turned, watching her every move, but before she was gone, he wanted a final word. “You will fail my lady. And it won’t be because you cannot get what you seek at Dragonstone, or that there is no loophole to allow Jon Snow to take the crown.”

Alliser Thorne thought of the man he had remembered earlier, one he had put his hopes in when he was younger. That man was noble to a fault, as was his son. “You will fail because Jon Snow will claim no title.”

Chapter Text

Howland pulled Catelyn by the hand into the chambers she had been given. “Are you alright, my lady?” he asked, closing the door behind him. “Did he injure you?”

He looked at Catelyn as she sat on the bed, gasping for air. After a few minutes, she seemed to calm. “I am fine, my lord, just shaken,” she informed him. Sparing a glance at the door once again, she added, “Lady Mormont was telling us quite a truth there about Ser Alliser.”

“I suspected that was he,” Howland replied. “I heard him make mention about killing a secret in the cradle. Can I guess he knows about Jon?”

Catelyn nodded. “He most likely overheard all of the conversation I had with Maester Aemon and was not pleased, as you can well see.”

Howland was about to agree with her assessment when there was a knock. “Who is it?” he called out.

“Lady Mormont,” came the reply, to which the door was opened. Maege Mormont saw the state Catelyn was in. “What has happened?” she asked.

“Ser Alliser Thorne overheard my conversation with Maester Aemon,” Cat said.

“And took exception to it,” Howland continued. “You were understating your warning about him. He threatened Lady Stark, threatened to kill her so it does not come out.”

“Fucker,” Maege mumbled. Despite the situation, he could not help but chuckle. It was a rare thing to hear a highborn woman say such a word, but then again, the Mormonts had always been different in their own way. “And with Jeor unreachable!”

“There is no chance of getting word to him?” Catelyn asked.

“I spoke to one of the brothers, he said the party was to stop at a keep before journeying on. It is a distance, but it’s been a while since the party left here, so they are probably very far away from there by now. And, knowing the...lord of the keep, Jeor would want it to be a short stop,” Maege explained.

“Perhaps we can have word sent to the keep and they can send it out to the raiding party,” Catelyn suggested hopefully. “If it can be done, perhaps we can get to Jon that way.”

But Maege shook her head. “Nay, my lady. Would be no help from Craster. He’s a nasty bugger, even by wildling standards. The things my brother has told me…” She shook her head again.

“What was it that Maester Aemon said to you,” Howland asked, trying to figure out another move.

Catelyn removed a scroll from her cloak. “Aemon believes in some prophecy that Prince Rhaegar was researching. Something about a prince that was promised, whose song is ice and fire. Whatever that may mean.”

Howland let out a gasp when he heard those words. That was the same phrase he used when he first met Lyanna Stark that day at Harrenhal. Instantly, he was taken back all those years ago, to a springlike day in the Riverlands.

He remembered the squires attacking him and then a slip of a girl beating them back, frightening them off. When they introduced themselves, she found it curious that a crannogman would travel to a tourney. “I came to hear a song, my lady. A song of ice and fire,” he had told her, earning himself a curious glare.

Now, hearing Lady Catelyn repeat that phrase, tell of a prince with such a song, Howland Reed began to understand it all. “Did Maester Aemon tell you anything else?” he asked.

She glanced his way, before continuing. “He said that Rhaegar brought much of the research to Dragonstone. This scroll gives permission for me to be there and retrieve documents from the maester for Aemon. Or so it says.”

“There is another purpose, then, for him sending you there, you think?” Howland asked.

“There must be, but what it is or even where to look for it, I have no idea,” Cat said. She took another deep breath. “Ser Alliser scares me.”

“He is a fierce bastard, aye,” Maege said.

“No,” Cat replied, a shudder passing through her. “It’s more than that.” There was a blush on her cheeks as if she had something she did not want to say aloud. “I dreamed of him.” Neither he nor Maege seemed to understand, so Catelyn clarified her statement. “Before we left Winterfell, I saw him in a dream.”

Now Howland was more intrigued. Catelyn Tully was of the Riverlands, of the Andals. They were not known to have any magics, like the First Men or the Valyrians. It would seem unlikely she would, in any way, have the abilities of a greenseer, or dragon dreams. Yet, he needed to know more. “What was Ser Alliser doing in the dream?”

Cat seemed to fall into a trance, a painful memory. “I was standing atop the Wall, he a few feet from me. Beneath us was a great number of people, perhaps as many as thousands. I knew Jon was among them even before I saw him step forward. They needed to be let in for their safety. Jon had gone to save them from...something.” She shook her head like she was trying to refocus specifically on the dream. “For a second, I did not think Ser Alliser would allow the gate to be opened, but in the end he did. He did not look happy with his decision though.”

“When did you have this dream, Lady Stark?” Howland queried further.

She took a moment before answering. “It was after we spoke to Maester Luwin, after he learned about Aegon’s gift to Torrhen and the language of the pact.” She paused now, still recalling details, it seemed. “And that Jon was unreachable. I had gone to the godswoods hoping to find some direction in which to go. Nothing came though until I tried to sleep that night.”

Now it was Maege who smiled. “The Old Gods blessed you, my lady. You asked for their help and they obliged you, sent you a message, maybe even a warning.”

Cat looked as if she did not believe it, shaking her head in denial. “I am a child of the Faith. I...In all the years I have lived here, the Old Gods have never spoken to me.”

“The Old Gods do not gift their blessings to just those who believe in them,” Maege said. “We do not have such stringent tenets to our faith. But they have every so often given them to those they feel do their work. This appears to be a path they wish for you to be on, and continue on.”

“Do you think that too, Lord Reed?” Catelyn did not seem convinced by Lady Mormont’s words

He nodded. “It is rare that the Old Gods speak to those who follow them, but rarer still that they speak to those who do not.” Now he prodded, sensing there was more. “Did you see anything else in the dream?”

For a moment, her face was blank. “I was in,” she looked around, as if suddenly realizing something, “I was in this very room. It was night and I heard a wolf howl. Jon’s direwolf, the ones found near their dead mother. When I heard Ghost, I knew something awful had happened. I ran out into the courtyard and Jon...Jon was lying in the snow.”

He could see she was shaken more by the vision and asked nothing further. Yet, he knew what needed to be done. “It is no longer safe for you here, my lady. I think it best we make the arrangements for you to be off to Dragonstone. Lady Mormont, can you begin to see to that?”

“Aye, I will, and best make haste with it,” she said as she left.

But Cat looked at him suddenly. “You will not be accompanying me to Dragonstone?”

With great reluctance, he shook his head. “No, my lady, I cannot. I can take you as far as Eastwatch, but after that, I must return here. I must stay behind, for the role I have to play is here.”

“Then who shall go with me? Surely it is too dangerous a trip to take on my own,” she cried, fear obvious on her face.

“You will not be alone, of that, I can assure you,” he replied. But when he saw she did not believe him, he knew he needed to reveal his secret. “We of the Neck, of the crannogmen, we too are very often blessed with visions. Greensight, we call it. I have a little of this magic that has allowed me to know things about the future I should not.” He smiled, repeating some of what she had said earlier. “When you made mention of a song of ice and fire, that was the same term I used when I first met Lyanna. She asked me why I was there, that it was strange for me people to travel far from our home. I told her I was here to bear witness to a song of Ice and Fire. And it was there that Ice and Fire met.”

“Rhaegar and Lyanna? You knew?”

“Not know per se. But I saw the path being laid out. It was also why I joined your husband as he made his way to Dorne. It was completing the circle I had first seen, the death of Ice and the coming…” He took a deep breath before completing the thought, “the coming of the Prince Who Was Promised.” He could see her beginning another question, but he stopped her. “It is nothing I can explain, my lady. Just know that it is.”

He could see the protest forming, but she stopped herself. “If you have foreseen such things, can you at least give me a clue about what I must find on Dragonstone. Who will I be traveling with? Please, my lord, anything!”

He could see she was desperate for answers. “The former, I honestly do not know. But the latter...” He smiled broadly now, remembering a face from the past, from Harrenhal. “You will know the man because you have seen him once before. He was at the tourney. It was his loss that led an event of great gossip, of a first crowning of a Stark.”

She looked befuddled for a moment, then recognition dawned on her. “I know who it is you speak of, Lord Reed. Thank you.”

He bowed slightly. “I will see you off, I promise. And we will see each other again. That is a vow.” He left her at last, praying to the Old Gods that she remained safe. For the future was murky, at best. Despite his gift, even he wasn’t sure of the direction.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thinking about it now, Ser Barristan Selmy had to laugh. Of all the people in the Red Keep, he was amazed the one person he had come to trust was the least trustworthy person of them all. No one knew much about Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers, least of all his allegiances. Yet, in him, the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had found the most unlikely ally.

As planned, he had met with him the following morning, introducing him to a reliable captain. Delmar Nortos was Essosi, but for some strange reason, enjoyed the travel to the North. He seemed to have known Varys for some time and actually trusted the man.

“He will see you to the coast, my Lord,” Varys informed him. “And he stands ready if you have need of him in the future.”

Nortos nodded in agreement. “We will be leaving port shortly. If you need to complete any business, my lord, best do it now.”

Selmy acknowledged the man. “I will only be a moment. There are some things I need to say with this man.” He tilted his head in Vary’s direction.

Nortos nodded once more then headed up the plank. When he was sure they were alone, Barristan asked, “What are your other plans? I think I ought to know.”

Varys smiled enigmatically. “I do still sense Daenerys Targaryen figures into the future. And, there are men in this city I trust, and those I do not. I will be keeping an eye on both sets and see if I am correct. That is all I can tell you for now.”

“I was hoping for something more concrete,” Ser Barristan muttered. “But, when with a puzzle, one shouldn’t hope for much.” He let out a sigh. “I guess, once we dock, I will head for Eastwatch. That would be a starting point in looking for Lady Stark.”

“Though there are no gods I believe in, I do have faith you will find her,” Varys said. “How does that blessing go? The rather maudlin one?”

“‘I wish you good fortune in the wars to come’,” the old knight quoted. “And you as well.”

Varys shrugged “I had hoped there would be no need for a war, but it does seem inevitable.” Without another word, the Spider turned on his heels and walked off.

That had been two weeks ago. Two weeks ship bound, and it was beginning to cloy at him. He was on his daily visit above decks when he saw the captain of the ship approach. “When do we dock?” he asked.

“It should not be much longer, my lord,” Nortos assured him. “You do not like the sea?”

“Not normally,” Barristan admitted. “But It’s more of getting on with my task.”

He was expecting the captain to inquire about what that task was, but he said nothing on the subject. Perhaps Varys had told him, perhaps that was why Varys and the Nortos seemed to trust each other. “We should be in Karhold in a few days. A powerful family, there, yes?”

Selmy didn’t know much about the North, or the noble families, and said so. “I only know they are a guarded people, and rightly so.”

“Their great lord is rebelling against the throne, is he not?”

Barristan wracked his brain, trying to remember. “Lord Robb Stark, aye. And with good reason,” he said, as he remembered that day at the Sept of Baelor. “Any son would, had their father been executed without cause.”

Nothing more was said in the conversation. The former Lord Commander left for his cabin, wanting to go over in his mind what information he had.

He knew Robb Stark had declared independence from the Seven Kingdoms. It seemed outrageous, even taking into account the fact that Ned Stark had been executed on trumped up charges when then he remembered a fact his maester told him.

“The North, lad, was never properly conquered. They chose to accept defeat with nary a drop of blood. Some though their king foolish, other a craven. But there are wise choices such as that. So, never underestimate a Northman. Their word is their bond and it is never lightly broken. But when it is, there is good reason and a wrath one should not wish to face.”

Meeting Ned Stark and knowing what he did, what he had been doing all these years, he saw the truth in them. He had wanted to say something, all those years ago. But there was too much risk, the kingdom too precarious.

He wondered, briefly, if Lord Stark knew the truth. He must have. Why else would he have passed Rhaegar’s son off as his own bastard? No one looked at the boy with such a mark. Barristan knew it had driven Robert crazy, trying to guess the identity of the boy’s mother. Best you never knew, Your Grace, he thought wickedly.

He could still remember that day on the Isle of Faces. He and Oswell had found the lady with tears in her eyes. She had wanted her father there, to give her away all right and proper. But there had been no answer to the letter she had left. Lyanna took that as an admonition. But it did not deter her.

“I started on this path. I cannot desist from it,” she told them. Yes, Rhaegar had chosen a fierce wolf.

And she had not wanted any other to give her away. She went it alone, save for Rhaegar and the High Septon. It had been strange to Barristan’s ears, hearing a man of the Faith intoning something close to a Northern ceremony of vows, and in daylight too! But they had stood there, Lyanna offering herself before the Old Gods, beseeching them for their blessing and Rhaegar, acknowledging his taking of her. Then the High Septon fell into the routine of the Faith’s vows, save for the cloaking.

“I see no need to cloak a wolf in my protection,” the prince had said. “They are as fierce as dragons.”

That was the last memory he had of a happy Rhaegar. When he rode with Barristan to the Trident, his melancholia had returned. “Newly married, and your mood does not change, does it, Your Grace?” the knight had asked him along the way.

“My Uncle Aemon said something very similar to that the last time I saw him. But don’t you think it appropriate, to be saddened, being away from your new wife and when she is with child?” his prince asked him.

“Point taken,” he had agreed. But there had been more to it, Selmy had sensed. It was confirmed when he heard Rhaegar’s last words as he lay dying in the river. His wife’s name was on his lips, her face in his memory for sure. A wife he would never see again, a child he would never meet.

It was the word of Lyanna’s death that completed the beautiful, tragic story of their love. But then Barristan had seen the small baby being held by his nurse in the back of the crowd when Ned returned to King’s Landing with his sister’s body. For an instant, he believed Lord Stark’s words, just like everyone else. But as Ned left, the Kingsguard caught sight of the child and even then, even that small, he knew the truth.

The truth of it was, it was the knowledge of who that child truly was that kept him going all these years. And it was the thought of righting such a grievous wrong that propelled him to the North, to the Wall. He would seek out Lady Catelyn Stark and help her in whatever way she needed, he swore silently to whatever gods, whatever ghosts were listening. He would see Rhaegar’s son on the throne before he joined the Stranger.

Chapter Text

The moment Lord Varys read the message his little bird delivered, he knew it would be known throughout the Red Keep very shortly. He would need to look for Lady Sansa Stark. Or rather, if the information was correct, the Princess Sansa.

He had seen her around the Red Keep, tormented time and again by King Joffrey. The boy was getting to the point that the Master of Whisperers was ready to slip a knife in his back. He was getting more and more cruel than the Mad King by the day, a feat he would have thought impossible. And his target was generally his betrothed, the daughter of the late Hand of the King, Eddard Stark.

Thinking about that man brought sadness to Varys. He, like so many others, had underestimated him. He had risked his life, the life of his family, for the son of his sister, the uncrowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. He had done everything, given his honor, his very life, to save the life of an innocent child. Varys admired that. So often, children were sacrificed for the crimes of their parents. They were killed so that they would never rise up against those who defeated their fathers. But Varys felt that, if he got the chance to come to the throne, Jon Snow, or whatever his name truly was, would break the wheel, the cycle of violence that begat violence, because he had learned at the knee of the most honorable man in Westeros.

Now, Varys would do similar, see that the man’s daughter was as safe as she could be. It might not much be much more than she was already, but he vowed to do everything in his power to ensure the girl returned to her family safely.

He was pleased to see he wasn’t the only one who had that goal. Tyrion Lannister, of all people, had appointed himself, and his personal sellsword, as the defenders of Princess Sansa. So, with that fact, Varys hoped any issues he could not cover, the acting Hand of the King would be able to. He knew it behooved him to tell Tyrion the news he had learned, but first, the lady herself should know.

The Spider arrived at Lady Stark’s chambers and knocked on the door. It was answered by her handmaiden and Tyrion’s lover, the Lorathi girl Shae. “My lady,” he said with a smile.

“Lord Varys, what brings you here? Come with a message from the Lord Hand?” she asked, the sarcasm ever-present in her voice.

“Alas, no. I am here to see Lady Sansa, though,” he replied. “Is she in?”

Shae looked behind her, most likely to the other girl. Then the door opened fully and he saw her sitting at her vanity. “Lord Varys, you honor me with your presence. Please, come in,” she welcomed in that formal, lifeless tone she had taken on since her father’s execution.

He bowed as he stepped in. About to speak, he realized there was another set of ears in the room. He shot a glance to Sansa, who picked up on it. “Shae, could you please go to the market and pick me up some oranges. You know the one we found the other day.” The other girl was about to protest but was cut off. “I am perfectly safe with Lord Varys. He knows what fate will befall him from my beloved Joffrey should anything happen.”

Shae glanced from he back to Sansa and left. Once the door was closed and he was sure to hear Shae’s footsteps down the hall, he walked in further. “I am happy to see you looking so well, my dear. And I see Lord Tyrion’s friend has been a help?”

“What is your business Lord Varys? I doubt it is to talk about the competency of my handmaiden,” Sansa questioned, getting right to the point.

He approved of her thinking. “My lady, as you know, I have many birds around the realm who sing me the sweetest, and unique, songs. Most are here in the capital, but other as far-flung as Highgarden and the Wall.” Her face brightened at the mention of the latter. “Over the past couple of weeks, there have been a few songs sung of your family.”

“My brother Robb, the traitor, you mean,” she added, looking at him guardedly.

“More likely your mother, Lady Catelyn Stark and your brother, Jon Snow,” he corrected Then he hurried on. “I know you are a wolf trapped in a den of lions, with few you even think you can trust. But I assure you, you can trust me. I spent time as a mummer and it has equipped me in creating masks for myself, that suit my audience. As the audience changes, so do the masks. I tell you this because I do not think I need them around you. Do you think you may find a way to trust me? Maybe I can share with you information I have learned?”

He could see the battle being waged within her. He hoped it would turn in his favor. And, after a moment, it did. “You have news of my mother?” she asked in the voice of a girl years younger than she actually was.

He nodded once. “I have received word that your mother has made a trek to the Wall, to return with your brother Jon.” He knew she would think it outrageous, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

“You lie. My mother has hated my bastard brother Jon from the moment she came to Winterfell,” Sansa shot back.

He smiled, knowing that would be how she answered. “Your mother has hated him because he was a stain on the honor of your Lord Father.” But he brought out the scroll he had received some weeks ago. “My dear, I am beginning to suspect that both of your parents were as good of actors as I once was,” he told her, handing it over.

Sansa read it. “Why would my mother owe anything to my Aunt Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar? She never met her and he kidnapped my aunt.”

“Oh, your mother met Lyanna but once. They were both present at the Tourney at Harrenhal. Lady Catelyn Tully was in the stands when Prince Rhaegar crowned Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty,” he informed her. Now he sat down, trying to put her at ease. “Did you know that many lords and ladies of the realm did not think Lyanna was kidnapped? That she left with him on her own accord and that it was used as an excuse to start a rebellion that intended to overthrow the Targaryens?”

She narrowed her eyes as she shook her head.

“Oh, yes, it was quite the topic of conversation, even after Robert came to the throne. Not spoken of in his presence, mind you,” the Master of Whisperers noted, “but powerful words to the right people. Many of those loyalists would lament from time to time the lack of a marriage or a child. Those people tend to put their hopes of a restoration in the Khaleesi roaming around Essos now.”

“Why are you telling me this? My father fought to free his sister and overthrow the Mad King,” the young lady reminded him.

“Your father fought because Aerys called for his head after the execution of your grandfather and uncle. Jon Arryn called the banners to protect his foster son. And Ned Stark did fight, from the Trident to King’s Landing. And when Ned Stark arrived in the Throne Room, after finding Jaime Lannister on the Iron Throne, two small bodies were brought to the victors, courtesy of Lord Tywin Lannister. The bodies of Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen, killed because of who their father was, and what they could represent in the future.” He stood and paced, remembering every gory detail. He wanted to spare her, so he just went about telling her of the aftermath. “When your father saw that, Honorable Ned Stark demanded the head of Tywin and any of his men directly responsible. Robert laughed and called the children ‘dragonspawn’, refusing his request. Lord Stark left after that, headed for Dorne and continuing the search for his sister.”

Now Sansa seemed to be remembering her own family’s lore. “He found her, but she had died of, of a fever,” the girl stuttered.

“Yes, a fever,” he repeated, unconvinced. “My lady, did your maester teach you history?”

She was caught off guard by the switch in topics. “Some.”

“Your family descends from the Kings of Winter, the King in the North, am I correct?” When she nods, he continues. “Torrhen Stark was the last king, the one who bent the knee to the Conqueror and was named Warden of the North. Aegon wished to bestow another title on Torrhen, but the former king refused. He tried many more times over the course of his reign but was rebuffed time and time again. So, at last, Aegon set in perpetuity the offer. It has taken nearly three hundred years, but finally, the Starks have claimed their gift.”

“I am not one to make vows, but I vow you this: when the time comes, I will make certain that you are safely out of the grasp of those who may mean you harm. They are plentiful here, and will only grow in numbers when the news breaks. I am not one of them, but I know who they are, where they lurk. I swear to you, princess, I will protect you from them.” He moved to the door but was stopped by her voice.

“I am no princess, my Lord. I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully, sister to Lord Robb Stark, Arya Stark, Bran Stark and Rickon Stark,” she listed for him as if he did not know.

“Yes, you are,” he replied, “but by the proclamation of his Grace, Aegon, First of His Name, and by the decree forged in ice and fire, you are also Princess Sansa Stark.” He bowed deeply to her and left her befuddled.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It took Howland Reed a day to put together what Catelyn Stark would need for the next part of her journey. In all that time, she stayed in her room or in the company of Howland or Maege Mormont. When she was ready to depart Castle Black, they were seen off by Lady Maege, but also by Ser Alliser.

The latter came up to her horse, his cold eyes almost freezing her in place. “When you fail, know that I warned you. Lord Snow will not go through with these plans. He is too honorable to break his vows,” the man said.

“They were vows taken without knowledge of what he has given up,” she reminded him. Then Catelyn whispered in his ear. “He will take his rightful place on the Iron Throne. This I know.” But even as she said that fear crept into her heart. She had not forgotten the dream out of her mind, of Jon, dead in the snow.

Halfway to the coast, Catelyn asked Howland, “You said you have had these dreams before, correct my lord?”

“Aye, my lady,” he confirmed.

“Have any of the dreams you had not come to pass? Did you see something but the exact opposite happen?”

Howland did not answer for a time until he said, “I do not have such great ability with this power, you understand?” Then he looked at her and must have seen something in her face. “You said you saw Jon lying in the snow? I fear I know what it is you meant. You want to know if that will come to pass.” She merely nodded, and he let out a sigh. Jojen came to me, one morning, not too long ago. He said he had seen Lord Eddard at the Sept of Baelor, making a public confession. He said the king had promised mercy, but after your husband admitted to the crimes he had not committed, Joffrey call for his head. I did not want to believe my son, I had the same hope you have about Jon.”

“And yet, it came to pass,” she concluded sadly. She had read the raven scroll with the news of her husband’s execution. She had not known mercy had been agreed to, but of course, knew how the event had ended. Thinking about her dream, of Jon’s death, made her laugh bitterly. “There was a time I prayed for his death. And yet, I saw myself weeping over his body, imploring any gods that would listen to undo it.”

“Gods work in ways we cannot fathom.” Howland tried to comfort her, but the guilt from all those years ago reared its head back to her.

They finally made it to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea late one night, and Lady Stark was shocked by the state of it. Even in the dark, she could tell the only thing that seemed to save this keep from complete desolation was the fact that it had a small port. There were more people here, other than the Night’s Watch.

They found a small tavern and Howland saw her inside. He spoke to the innkeeper and handed over some coin for her stay “I am sorry, but this is where we must part.” She wanted to protest but stopped herself. He smiled weakly, having probably expected it. “I wish you safe travels. And I promise you, my lady, we shall see each other again.”

“Have you seen this?” she asked.

He laughed but did not reply. He only took her hand and kissed it, before opening the door to the inn. When he was gone, she turned to look at her surroundings. The people gathered in the tavern were a motley mix of black brothers, foreign sailors, and men and women in rough clothes. But the owner was kind and showed her to her room. He told her the amount given over by Lord Reed was enough for a few days and nights, then told her when meals were served and bid her a good night.

She decided it was safer to stay in her room, even though she felt oddly more comfortable here than at Castle Black. Also, she was tired from the days of journeying from Castle Black. It wasn’t until sunlight streamed through her window that she awoke the next day. Washing and going to get something to eat was her next priorities, then she was determined to seek out who it was who would join her.

When she finished her food, she made her way to the door. “Where are you going?” the man behind the bar called out to her.

Catelyn turned to him. “I need to get some fresh air,” she told him.

“‘Tis dangerous out there for a woman and one on her own,” he replied.

“I thank you for your concern, but I will only be out for a short time,” she informed him.

He did not seem convinced. Coming over to her, he handed her a knife. “Milady, if you are bullheaded enough to go out there, I ask you to take this. The man who traveled here with you begged me to ensure your safety.”

That made her smile. Taking the knife, she thanked him and went outside. The air was crisp as winter was coming faster here than any part of Westeros. However, all those years of living at Winterfell helped her in coping with the climate. She wrapped her cloak tighter, helping her to not feel the bitterness so much.

Eastwatch didn’t look much better in the daylight, Catelyn realized as she walked around the village just outside the gates. There were a few stalls selling different kinds of fish and even a few that looked to be Essossi spice traders. She stopped at on to take in the exotic scents when she heard a commotion heading her way. Catelyn put the hood of her cloak up to try and be less noticeable, but one of the men in the group must have spotted her.

“Pretty lady in fine cloak,” he said, his words slurred and his mouth smelling of ale. “Must have imported some fancy whores up here. Give the brothel a different look.”

She moved to the side, trying to get away from the man. At the last moment, however, he grabbed her arm and yanked it so hard, she nearly stumbled. “Unhand me!” she cried out.

“Not gonna be able to afford you later, so I want to try you now,” he said. “Lookie here, boys! Free woman!” His words brought others of his party to her.

She struggled to grab the knife the barkeep gave her, but her other wrist was seized by the brigand. “A fighter, eh? I like a woman with spunk!” he cheered as he began dragging her to the back of a building. He whirled her around, ready to trap her against the wall when someone stepped in between the would-be rapist and his compatriots.

“Unhand the lady,” came a southron-accented voice, clear and strong. The drunk turned around. When he moved his head, Catelyn could see an older, wrinkled face, wisps of grey hair and a near white beard and mustache.

The attacker laughed. “You want her? You can’t even get it up for a woman! What’d you do with her?”

The other man just stood there as the others approached. She saw a sword being lifted from its scabbard. “Behind--!”

She didn’t even get the second word out when the rescuer, in one motion, lifted his sword and gracefully turned on his toes, bringing his weapon down in one motion. All she saw was blood and a hand fall to the ground before looking up and seeing the man trying to stop the blood from spitting out of his stump. Another turn and a second man was on the ground with his tunic getting soaked from the blood seeping out of his chest.

Two others in the group had the good sense to run after that, but Catelyn’s captor remained. “Think your good with that thing, eh?” He shoved Catelyn to the ground and pulled out a pair of knives. “Grandpa, I’ve killed more men with these here than any man with a sword.”

“I doubt that,” was the answer as he moved out of the way of one of the weapons. Another movement and the swordsman sliced at the brigand’s upper arm. He snarled in rage at that cut and went after his opponent with more ferocity. But for an older man, he was far from slow or sluggish. His quick feints finally found their mark as his sword went through the attacker’s heart, killing him instantly.

Catelyn watched in horror as it all transpired and even though she had been saved by this man, still she didn’t know who he was. But then he reached for her hand and pulled back his hood, revealing his identity. “Ser Barristan Selmy!” she gasped out.

“Lady Catelyn Stark?” He didn’t seem to realize who it was he had just rescued.

But Catelyn remembered Howland Reed’s words, “It was his loss that led an event of great gossip, of the first crowning of a Stark.” She nodded before telling him. “It has been many years since last I saw you. I was but a girl then, at Harrenhal.”

Recognition surely flashed in his eyes. “You and your sister looked lovesick when the Prince rode past you,” he replied. Then he looked from side to side. “My lady, I do not think this is the best place to have such a discussion. Perhaps there is somewhere else we can retire to?”

“I arrived last night and was put up in a tavern around the corner. We can speak there,” she said.

“Would that be safe?”

Catelyn smiled. “I believe my companion who brought me here paid extra for discretion, so we should be fine.”

He bowed to her. “Then lead the way, Lady Stark.”

Chapter Text

Tyrion Lannister wanted nothing more than a cask of wine and Shae in his bed. Unfortunately, as he needed to confer with the Small Council, neither of those would be available to him for quite a while. But later, well that was another story.

The reason he wanted to be anywhere than with the King’s masters was the scroll he had received by messenger. A rider had come to the Red Keep, the banner of House Stark at one side and a white flag at the other. He requested to see Tyrion only, where the dwarf was handed the scroll. After the man left, he opened it and let out a loud sigh.

Before he could even leave his quarters, Lord Varys was at his door. “My little birds told me the member of a wolf pack paid call on you, my lord,” the Master of Whisperers said with a small smile.

Tyrion gave him a cross look. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you already knew what the message that was delivered to me said,” he grumbled.

“That Robb Stark has declared for the North a measure of independence and declared himself Prince of the North, a title promised to the Lords of Winterfell by Aegon the Conqueror himself?” Varys asked unnecessarily.

Tyrion gave him a sideways look. “One of these days, I shall discover how it is you can know such things long before anyone else. Now, since you knew about this already,” Tyrion pointed the rolled parchment at him, “I think it best you tell me why you did not come forward to the council as soon as you learned of it.”

The eunuch merely shrugged his shoulders. “I heard a rumor, my lord. I sought to have it verified before I brought it to you, knowing the trouble it would cause our young ruler.” Again, another shrug of his shoulders.

Tyrion knew that was a load of bullshit, but chose to let it pass. In all honesty, Lord Varys was too good, too well connected to sacrifice to Ser Ilyn Payne’s ax. “Why not just declare himself king? It seems all the rage nowadays. And what does he mean by a title promised by Aegon? He conquered the North just as much as he did the other six kingdoms.”

Varys shook his head. “I know you to be a learned man, Lord Tyrion, but I thought you would know that Aegon did not, in fact, defeat the old Kings in the North. Torrhen Stark saw there was no chance of defeating the Targaryens in battle, not with a dragon staring across the Trident at him. So he decided to bend the knee instead,” Varys lectured. “Because of this, Aegon granted him the title of Prince, on equal footing as the Martells. However, I don’t believe Stark saw it as a gift and turned it down, well, for the rest of his and Aegon’s lives. The new Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms eventually granted to title whenever the Stark was ready to take it. It seems as though young Robb Stark has chosen this as the time to claim his...reward.”

Tyrion shook his head. “When the Targaryens as no longer around to grant it.”

“On the contrary. It was never tied to them sitting on the Iron Throne. The gift was personal, one house to another,” the Spider countered. “And so it has been written and recorded in the annals of the Citadel. All Prince Stark must do is send a raven to the archmaesters and it shall be official, which I suspect has already been done if he has informed the crown of it now.”

“And that is what you will be reporting to Joffrey and the Small Council?” Tyrion asked. “I doubt they will see it that way.”

“It is the truth, as the maesters at the Citadel know it. One cannot undo a truth they do not like,” Varys reasoned. “This was a pact signed by the Targaryens and the Starks as House Lannister lay in near ashed on the Field of Fire, my lord. Perhaps, had Loren Lannister had the sense that Torrhen Stark had shown, Aegon would have bestowed the same honor on them.”

“Loren was no Lann the Clever, that is for certain,” Tyrion sighed as he thought through Varys’ words. “In truth, by the time of the Conquest, the Lannisters had already reached the peak of their arrogance. At least, that was until my father.” He nodded, his decision made. “Call Baelish and my sister. And see if her monster of a son will dain us with his presence, or if he is still torturing his betrothed.”

The Spider grunted at the mention of Lady Sansa. “My Lord, if I could make a suggestion,” he said, waiting for Tyrion to hear him out, “Might it be best to begin to investigate a way for the King to break his betrothal to Princess Sansa? I understand that she needs to be kept here in King’s Landing as a pawn to hold in check again Prince Robb, but if I may…”

“No need to say anything further, Varys, I have been trying to work on that.” And he had. Tyrion knew from their visit to Winterfell that Joffrey would make no good husband to any wife, let alone the sister of a man who stood in opposition to him. He had rolled his eyes at the suggestion when it had first come up. The only reason Robert wanted it in the first place was that his own Stark bride had been denied to him. “Unfortunately, there are no other good candidates for the role of future queen, and the lady herself has not asked for it. And I questioned her on it personally.”

Varys lifted an eyebrow to that. “You did, my lord?”

Tyrion took a fortifying sip of his wine. “Yes, but she loves her ‘golden king’. Or rather, she is smart enough to know she is safer at his side, even as his victim than any other place in King’s Landing.”

The Spider seemed to accept that answer and went on his way. But his words peaked Tyrion’s interest. Varys was capable of seeing the same things Tyrion was, about Joffrey, about Sansa. He knew enough about the man to know there was probably something else going on regarding all they had spoken of.

It was no matter at the moment. Now, he had to deal with breaking the news he had received to the Small Council. As it was something he was not looking particularly forward to, he took his time making his way to the chamber. As expected, Lord Baelish, Lord Varys and his sister were there. “The King is not available, eh?” he asked lightly.

“I will see if what you wish to inform us of is important to the King,” Cersei said.

Not for the first time did Tyrion wonder why they had ever bothered to crown Joffrey in the first place. But he said nothing as he took his seat. “I received a scroll from the Stark encampment somewhere in the Riverlands,” he said, eyes going wide to exaggerate his statement. “It is from the head of House Stark, personally. He states that he is indeed reclaiming the independence of the North and declaring himself, ‘Prince of the North’.”

“Not king?” Cersei asked with a laugh. “As that does seem to be the style nowadays.”

Tyrion couldn’t help the smirk. “You know, sweet sister, for as much as you don’t think we have anything in common with each other, we do certainly seem to think alike,” he told her brightly. Before she could answer his jape, he went on. “No, as it seems the title of Prince was something offered to the Stark by Aegon since they chose not to engage the Targaryen forces in battle.”

“Is he a fool?” Cersei asked derisively. “The Targaryen are almost all gone. They have no one to claim the title from.”

“They apparently don’t need the family to actually sit on the Iron Throne. They don’t even need them.” He shoved the scroll at her as he explained, “The Citadel has a copy of the agreement and all Prince Robb Stark need do is send a raven there to claim his title. The gift was personal, one man to another. When that man chose not to accept it, it was to be given in perpetuity. You do know what ‘in perpetuity’ means, correct Cersei?”

Her lovely green eyes narrowed at him, but she said nothing to that. “It does not matter. Do they really believe we will take this news and see them happily off? The Lannister armies can finish them and bring them back to heel.”

“And what will happen then to our beloved brother?” He knew that would stop her in her tracks.

“If I may interject, my lord, your grace,” Lord Baelish spoke up, “Perhaps we should go at this another way.”

Tyrion disliked Petyr Baelish and it had been his dearest hope that it had been he who ran to Cersei with his marriage plans for Myrcella. But, alas, it had not come to be. The insufferable suck-up was still here. Maybe he would provide an alternate plan. “You have a suggestion, Lord Baelish?” Tyrion asked.

“Perhaps, to avoid another bloody war, it is best someone go speak to...Prince Robb and bring our side to his attention,” the Master of Coin said. The Hand of the King caught the look from the Master of Whisperers. He didn’t seem to like the idea of it any more than Tyrion did at first glance. But then Baelish added a point. “I am old friends with Lady Catelyn. Perhaps if I speak with her personally, I can make her see the foolishness of this path.”

Before Tyrion could get another word in, Cersei spoke. “Yes, I remember your fostering at Riverrun. You were quite taken by the Lady Catelyn. So much so, you challenged her betrothed to a duel...that you lost.” Baelish was going to interject, but Cersei didn’t allow him. “But, as you say, you have an advantage with the Starks we do not since my husband’s death.” She could tell he didn’t like the idea, but that was why she supported it. “You will ride to their encampment in the Riverlands and speak to the...prince and his mother at first light. Make them see reason and we will grant mercy.”

The dwarf knew that was horseshit, but there was little he could do against her. He did, however, add, “As a gesture of goodwill, perhaps you should bring with you the bones of Ned Stark. Northern tradition is that remains are interred in their crypts, is it not? I think Prince Robb will at least appreciate our gesture to their funeral rights.”

“A wise choice, my Lord Hand,” Littlefinger agreed. “I will see what has become of the remains and make the appropriate arrangements.” He quickly dashed out of the room.

“He’s still sickeningly in love with Catelyn Stark,” Cersei observed. “He thinks to win her hand, now that she is a widow.”

“And you sent him there knowing that?” he asked his sister.

“He’s a snake and I’d rather see him slither up to her than be around the Capital,” she said. “I know you have no trust in him. I bet it was your hope he was my source of the information on my daughter’s betrothal, am I right?”

Tyrion did not answer, which seemed to be enough for her. She departed the room with a victorious smile on her face.

Varys got up from his chair and moved to him. In a whisper, he said, “She is right. Littlefinger will go after the Widow in the North to gain an advantage.”

That was what did not make sense to him. “What advantage? She still has three sons, one of whom has already assumed his father’s titles. How will that benefit Littlefinger?”

“I do not know, and that is why I would fear such a plan,” Varys answered cryptically.

“Would?”

With another gentle shrug of his shoulders, the eunuch said, “If she were in the Riverlands, my lord. I have a bird who sang to me that Catelyn Stark is far away from her eldest son and therefore, safe from our Lord Baelish and his machinations.”

When he departed, Tyrion sighed once more. He eyed the carafe of wine on a side table. Getting up, he poured himself a glass and thanked the gods that he had not needed to deal with his nephew. As he tipped the glass back, however, he heard Joffrey’s screeching voice yell for him, “What is the meaning of this?! How dare he proclaims himself a PRINCE? HOW DOES HE THINK HE IS?!”

Yes, it was days like this Tyrion wished he were anywhere else than in King’s Landing, standing in for his father as Hand of the King.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“It is done, my prince,” the maester said as he handed Robb the scroll, the Northern and Riverlords looking on with pride. They stood in the Great Hall of Riverrun so that Lord Hoster Tully, though gravely ill, could be present to see his grandson raised to a Prince. Ser Brynden shook his head at that. His brother had married his daughter into House Stark a Lady when she would have been, by the time of the marriage, a Princess. Some fuckers had all the luck.

But the Blackfish would not begrudge this honor on his kin. Robb Stark was almost Ned Stark reborn. His honor was the most important thing to him and nothing would get in his way. Not a new title, not even a brother born to be king. The truth of Jon Snow’s birth was widely known by the Northern Lords, but not at all by House Tully’s banners. Though Robb had sworn that after it was official, they would tell all to his grandfather.

Robb nodded his head to the man and turned to watch all those gathered bend the knee and proclaim to him as their prince. From his side, Hoster wheezed out, “I am so proud of you, boy. Words cannot express how proud House Tully is to have a prince amongst us.”

One by one, everyone stepped forward and pledged fealty to him. Brynden, as designated by his brother, was the one to swear for their house and were the last to do so, as they were Lords Paramount of the Riverlands. “My Prince,” Brynden said, his eyes trained on the floor.

He could actually hear the smile on the lad’s face before he saw it. “Arise, Ser Brynden. You are family, you have no need to bow to me.”

Now Hoster spoke. “I cannot say I am very surprised to hear of the blessing Aegon the Conqueror bestowed on Torrhen Stark. He, of course, raised us to Lords of the Riverlands.” He let out a horrid cough that nearly choked him. After he recovered, there was one conclusion his brother came to. “It feels like destiny, two houses blessed by Aegon I to eventually be united by marriage.”

There were times his brother was an insufferable egotist, the Blackfish thought.

“I can’t see Aegon thinking of such a future when he granted either of the titles, Grandfather,” Robb commented magnanimously. “And, in fact, there is more to the story than we have let on to you.”

“Like what?” the old man asked.

Robb’s eyes flickered to Brynden, alerting him that the time had come to come forward with the whole truth. His nephew seemed to think it may soften the blow if it came from him. “There is much more to this elevation than just Aegon,” Brynden began. “Torrhen Stark turned it down all the rest of his days, and Aegon’s. The Targaryen seems to have been so frustrated by the refusal that he signed it for all time, should the Starks change there mind.”

“But from what we learned, they never did,” Robb added, making Hoster confused. “It frustrated the Valyrians so much that when Cregan Stark came to the aid of Rhaenyra during the Dance of Dragons, her son Jacaerys added the clause into the pact the two signed. So, when a Stark eventually married a Targaryen, the gift was given.”

“A Stark marrying a Targaryen? That has never happened!” he exclaimed.

“In fact, brother, it did,” the Blackfish said gently. Hoster looked at him, bewildered, as the tale unfolded. “The truth about Robert’s Rebellion, about the destruction of House Targaryen, was all based on lies.”

“Lies about what?” the Lord of Riverrun asked with fear.

“Lies about...my Aunt Lyanna,” came Robb’s answer. He took a deep breath before going on. “She was never kidnapped, never defiled by Prince Rhaegar. They were in love and ran off to marry one another. Mother has found the marriage certificate in a box my father placed in Aunt Lyanna’s tomb. It was signed by the High Septon himself.”

“But Rhaegar was already married! His marriage to another would not be lawful in the eyes of the Faith,” Hoster protested.

Brynden rolled his eyes. Sometimes, his brother’s religiosity was too much. “They had little issue when Aegon had two wives. And with Maegor, the last Targaryen with multiple wives, there were greater issues than those of the number of them he kept.”

Robb waved his hand at them. “And the prince’s marriage to Elia Martell was annulled anyway but it matters little. According to what our maester wrote to me, the license specifies that any children born of the marriage will have a place in the line of succession.”

“There was a child?” the Lord of Riverrun asked, his eyes narrowed so the blue could barely be seen.

“Aye, brother, there was,” he said.

Robb took a deep breath. Neither he nor Brynden knew how the old man would react. He had never been fond of Jon, always seeing him as a slight against his house. “Jon Snow is my brother in every way but by blood, Grandfather. He’s my cousin, Prince Aegon, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna of House Stark,” Robb stated.

“Jon...Ned’s bastard?” The old man was having a fit, his face red and his breath in short bursts. “He never disgraced…”

“He said Jon was his bastard son to protect him, it seems,” Brynden surmised for them. “Ned Stark was outraged by what had happened to Princess Elia and her children and so, when he discovered his sister had birthed Rhaegar’s child, chose to sully himself with the mark of fathering bastard rather than risk the truth getting to the wrong ears in the capital.”

“Does my daughter know of this?” he asked.

“Mother has known for years. Father...confessed the truth to her but she swore never to breathe a word of it out of fear it could be heard,” the lad informed him.

“And Jon is the heir to the Iron Throne? You intend to put him there.” That was more a statement.

“I intend to depose the usurping Lannisters for all the crimes they have committed against the Seven Kingdoms and our families,” Robb announced. “They had an innocent woman and her children murdered and they killed my father when he got too close to learning the truth about Cersei and her brother. For all we know, they may have known the truth about Lyanna and Rhaegar and never said a word. It took Tywin until after the Trident to get his ass out of the West and into the fray.”

Hoster nodded now. “Yes, yes, they have committed many crimes. The Old Lion has stewed at Casterly Rock for nearly two decades, plotting against the Targaryens because Rhaegar did not marry his daughter.” He coughed again and began to tire. “But we must be careful of Old Tywin. He’s a crafty bastard who pays back those who stand against him. The Lannister...always pay their debts.”

Now he looked at his brother. “I think it best you rest, brother. We can talk later when you are better.” With little protest, Hoster was taken away to his bed. When he was gone, Brynden turned to his great-nephew. “My brother is right about Lannister. He needs to be contained until we can get Jon back on this side of the Wall.”

“I agree,” Robb said. “That is why we need to begin to make alliances with other houses, houses that can stand against the Lannisters.” He walked to a table, bringing a map with him. As they stood over it, he asked, “Which were the houses that were the supporters of the Targaryens? We should think about rallying them.”

Brynden agreed with the suggestion, pointing to the Reach. “The Tyrells were one of the major houses that stayed with the dragons to the bitter end. Lord Mace held Storm’s End in siege for over a year. It was Ned who lifted it.”

“Then we should start with them. Renly and Stannis are fighting among themselves and even if they weren’t, I don’t see them supporting a Targaryen Restoration even one shaped by Ned Stark,” Robb replied. “I think you should go to the Reach, see if there’s anything there. Say as little about Jon to them as possible, Uncle. We don’t want our hand to be shown too early.”

“I’ll see about speaking to Lady Olenna personally. She’s the real power there,” came his remark. “Cunning old bird, even if she’ll look for a pound of flesh from us.”

“Ride today. We need to go forward even if Jon isn’t here yet,” Robb nodded, reaching for his uncle’s hand.

“Aye, my prince. I’ll see what we can start.” He left after that, readying himself for the long journey. He had a feeling Olenna Tyrell could be easy if placated correctly. He just hoped he could figure that out by the time he got there.

Chapter Text

When they returned to the tavern, Lady Stark appeared to have calmed somewhat. Ser Barristan Selmy noted the look the tavern keeper gave her, the slight nod of the head and her body stilled for the first time since he found her. But, even in the face of a degree of safety, she seemed to feel, he was more cautious. He wore the hood of his cloak on his head to disguise his identity and hurried out of the main room quickly, not even waiting for Lady Stark, who stopped for a moment, speaking with the owner. However, she soon arrived at the door to her room and let them in.

“I apologize, ser, but I thought it best to have some food brought here, so we may speak in private,” she said after the door was closed.

“A wise precaution, my lady,” he replied.

She nodded. “I think it best we begin with me thanking you. You saved me from...I don’t know what in that alley.”

“Think nothing of it. I am a knight and we do swear to protect those who cannot protect themselves,” Barristan replied.

Before she continued, a knock was heard at the door. Catelyn answered it and allowed the serving girl in with her tray of cheese, bread and ale. The girl curtsied and scurried away. Lady Stark offered him some, which he took gratefully.

She was being very guarded and he understood that but she did not seem surprised that he was in her presence, a point he made to her. “You looked as if you were expecting me, my lady,” he said.

She gave him an enigmatic smile. “If it had been a few weeks ago, I would have been. But I was traveling with someone who gave me a clue that we would meet,” she answered as she took a serving for herself and sat on the bed.

“A clue?” Barristan was intrigued by her choice of words.

“He told me that I would meet my next traveling companion ‘whose loss led to the first crowning of a Stark’.” She must have been repeating what was told to her. “That was an event that led to much gossip around the Seven Kingdoms.”

Now he understood. “The Tourney at Harrenhal,” he understood. “Rhaegar and Lyanna.” He remembered the event so clearly, even after all these years. “You know, there are times I regret not giving the fight my all, but it was suggested to me that there was a purpose for the Prince winning.”

She looked at him with surprise. “You were asked to lose on purpose?”

He chuckled. “Not lose, but not to try too hard to unseat Rhaegar. Ser Arthur made mention of something the prince wanted to do and needed to win the joust to do it.” She nodded her head as he continued, “My lady, I think you should know before you say anything further,” he let out a deep sigh willing himself to continue, “I have known something for many years. Going back to the end of the Rebellion.”

More calmly than he had ever expected, she said, “You know her name.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If you ask that question, my lady, I assume you know as well.” He looked away, remembering Varys’ visit with him in the tavern. “The Spider was right.”

Now Catelyn seemed alarmed. “Lord Varys? But how…?” She was so taken aback, she was getting flustered.

He figured his words struck fear in her. “Be at ease, Lady Stark. Spiders weave many webs in their lifetimes. The one in King’s Landing, most of all. I cannot say he is your friend, but I know he is not your enemy.”

“And how do you know that?” she demanded.

“Because,” Barristan told her, “he was the one who directed me to the North.” Her mouth hung open from the shock of his story, even more so as he went on. “I was set to sail for Essos and seek out Daenerys Targaryen before he found me and told me what he had learned. He was not sure of some facts but I...confirmed them for him.”

“Like what?”

“That his marriage to Elia was annulled and they were married on the Isle of Faces, in front of the High Septon. Seven blessings he was a man who wanted to learn about all the faiths of the realm. They nearly did not allow him to set foot there.”

“So you have known all this time?” Catelyn asked.

Now Barristan was caught in more memories, ones that shamed him if he had to admit. “When we received word from the city gates that Lord Stark had returned from his journey south, King Robert was elated. He was sure Lyanna was with her brother and at last, they could be wed.” He almost smirked, remembering the king’s reaction. “But when Ned informed his Grace that his betrothed was dead, it was as if the world had ended for him. He wailed over the coffin, embarrassingly so. Ned had a look on his face that I could not place at that moment, but a day later, I saw him talking to a woman who was obviously a servant, who held the babe in her arms.”

“And that was when you knew,” she concluded.

He nodded once. “When we headed for the Trident, Prince Rhaegar told me she was with child. Ned had a raven sent ahead to alert Lord Arryn he was on his way, but Robert was not told until they arrived. I only knew because I was the last Kingsguard standing. Lewyn and Jonothor were dead, Lord Hightower, Oswell and Arthur were in Dorne and Jaime...well, we did not know what to do with him then. Arryn told me they were on their way, but when he said it was Ned and his bannerman, Reed, I figured the Princess was dead and I guess I assumed the child too. But when I caught a glance of the babe, even though I was not that close, I knew who he was.”

“Robert genuinely mourned her then,” Catelyn asked. But he noted the sarcasm in her voice, especially when she said, “I would have thought he would have grabbed the nearest whore to him.”

“He did,” Barristan said with a roll of his eyes. “I stood watch the night after the Stark’s return, and I saw at least three women walk into his room.”

“Ser Barristan, if you knew that were was a Targaryen heir alive, why did you not confront my husband, at least come up with some alternate plan for the child?”

“The only other choice was to send him away and from what I observed between Ned and the baby was that that was never a choice.”

She accepted his answer with a confirmation of her own. “Ned swore a vow to Lyanna that he would do everything in his power to protect her son.”

His eyes caught hers. “Even shaming himself by saying he fathered a bastard?” But the lack of her answer was one to him. “I have been torn for years over which shame was greater. Knowing the true heir to the Iron Throne not only lived but lived within the borders of the Seven Kingdoms, or ignoring that fact and swearing an oath a drunken, whoring usurper.”

Not wanting to give an answer to that question, Barristan asked more questions, curious as to why she was even here. “My Lady, if I may ask you then, how did you come to learn the truth? It was well known across the Seven Kingdoms how you reacted when you arrived at Winterfell and discovered the child.”

Now she took a deep breath as she worked herself up to tell him her story. “For many years, I did not know. I believed the story Ned told me upon my arrival at Winterfell, that he slept with another woman and that, as he returned to the North he learned of the child’s existence. He was too honorable to merely provide financial support for the child, so he brought him to Winterfell. And I hated him for that,” she said, spinning her tale. “But I hated the boy more. As Jon grew, he looked more like a Stark than any of the children I bore, save for my daughter Arya. Then, Jon caught an illness. Our maester said he was very ill, but if he lived through the night, he would live. Ned stayed with the boy, but early in the morning, I saw he had stepped away. The boy was alone, so I went into the room and I whispered,” she began to cry, “I whispered about the peacefulness of death and that maybe he would even be reunited with the mother he wished to know about.”

The knight did not know what to say to that. It was almost inhuman to wish death on a child, no matter his birth. The sworn Kingsguard, protector of the royal family of the Seven Kingdoms wanted to damn her for her confession. But he could tell there was much more to her story, so he waited to hear her out.

“Ned heard me and forced me to leave Winterfell with him. I thought he was returning me to my father, but instead, he took us to a small cabin where he swore me to secrecy and told me the truth,” she ended. She must have seen the look in his face, because she pleaded, “If I had known...I couldn’t believe I had given voice to such a thing! But I did and Ned realized how far his lie had driven me. He told me all or at least all he knew. And when we returned home, Robb ran and told us his brother had woken up and would recover. I wished I could have gone to the boy, hug him and nurse him back to complete recovery, but I paid for the knowledge with a vow that I could not let on that I knew. So, since that time, I played a role of a disapproving, bigoted Lady of Winterfell. And I have hated myself for that.”

He still said nothing. As much as he understood the situation, it still turned his stomach to think of anyone, especially a woman and a mother, wishing ill on a child. He had things to say to her about that but now was not the time. Getting back to the matter at hand, he asked, “What are your plans now, in the immediate future? Have you spoken with the lad at Castle Black?”

She shook her head. “He left Castle Black a while ago on a ranging mission. Maester Aemon does not know where they were heading, not even a direction they went. He is sending me to Dragonstone, however.”

Barristan was confused. “Why Dragonstone? We should be heading beyond the Wall to search for him!”

“No, Aemon said there are important documents that Rhaegar gathered before all this happened. They should support Jon’s claim and help...battle a legend.” He was about to ask for a clarification, but she held up her hand. “Please, I have learned much in the past few moons, but there is too much to delve into tonight. The hour is late and I want to be on the way to Dragonstone as soon as possible because I want to get back to Castle Black and await Jon’s return.”

Barristan noticed the night sky darkening and at last began to feel a weariness. He figured it was from the battle earlier in the day. “I think a rest would be good. Tomorrow, I will go look for a ship to take up to Dragonstone. Stannis Baratheon holds it now, but I know of some tricks to getting there with as little notice as possible.”

“I think we will need that, Ser Barristan,” she replied, a tired smile on her face. “I think we will need all the tricks and all the blessing of all of the Seven in the task ahead of us.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When the maester delivered her the scroll, Lady Olenna Tyrell never thought to see the sigil that was pressed on it. It was not one of the houses she had ever thought to hear much from. Her curiosity only increased when she read about the visitor they were soon to have.

Like everyone else in the Seven Kingdoms, Lady Tyrell had her own network to gather information with. She mostly heard what was coming out of the capital, naturally, and the Stormlands were of interest to her, especially as her son was trying to marry her granddaughter off to the youngest of the three Baratheon brothers. But the North and the Riverlands, well those were areas that she paid little attention to.

Until a few weeks ago, that is. That was when she heard that not only was the North declaring its independence, but the Starks were taking the title of Prince! Oh, she thought it was arrogance, at first, but not so much as Renly Baratheon, who had declared himself King over his brother Stannis. He was in all likelihood the true heir to the Iron Throne, as it was that there were no legitimate children born of the union of lion and stag. It had amused her for some years that Robert Baratheon had been too stupid to see what was right in front of his eyes, three blond-haired, green-eyed children.

But Brynden Tully was traveling to Highgarden to speak with her son about a possible alliance. Of course, Lady Tyrell knew the best way to secure an alliance. She filed through her memories, trying to remember anything he had ever heard of Robb Stark. She thought him to be near in age to Margery.

Olenna smiled at the thought of her granddaughter. Beautiful, devote, the picture of a noblewoman. But she had also been taught about life at the knee of her grandmother, and it seemed Margery took to the lessons better than Mace ever would.

Olenna got up and asked her handmaiden where Margery had last been seen. She was not surprised to hear it was the library, and upon arriving there, she saw her granddaughter with the young son of a stableman. Margery must have heard the tapping of Olenna’s cane because she looked up immediately.

“Grandmother, a good day to you,” she said, a pleasant smile on her face.

“And a good morning to you, my darling. What are we doing here?”

Margery dipped her head to the boy. “Patrek has been begging me to teach him to read. He had a free moment, so I thought it a good idea to start.” She turned her attention back to Patrek. “I think we’re finished for the day.” The boy stood and bowed to both the Tyrell ladies before scurrying off.

Olenna took the seat by boy had just been in. “Your father received a raven today,” she said without preamble.

“Father?” Margery asked in an all too knowing tone. “And he sent you to tell me about it?”

“I thought I might come to find you for a cup of tea and he..suggested we talk about it,” Olenna replied innocently. She could tell the girl didn’t believe it, but let it slide so she could continue. “Ser Brynden Tully will be arriving soon to speak with your father. He comes on behalf of his great-nephew, Prince Robb Stark.”

“Prince?” Now Margery sounded confused.

“There is a great deal of tedious politics that I will get into later, but he comes seeking an alliance with us on the side of the North and the Riverlands,” the old woman explained. “I suspect he hopes to have the Reach on his side for the conflict they have gotten into with the crown and the change in seasons. ‘Winter is coming’ the Starks always remind us, and we are in a position to aid them when the time comes.”

She knew Margery had an idea of the angle the old woman was going to take. “And how fortunate it is that you stopped Father and Loras’ idea of marrying me to Renly,” he granddaughter commented.

Olenna rolled her eyes, remembering back a few weeks. Loras thought it an excellent idea to marry her off to his lover, who had proclaimed himself Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Mace, naturally, went along with it. It was only her timely intervention that stopped the whole thing before it could happen. “There are some men of that type that can fake when necessary and get a wife with child. Your brother, for one. But I have doubts that Renly Baratheon is able to perform such a duty.”

Margery smiled as she asked her next question. “And what have you heard of Prince Robb Stark? Is he a man of the type?”

Lady Tyrell gave her granddaughter a genuinely pleased look. “The Starks are the oldest and noblest family in the realm. Ned Stark’s honor was so great, it is said he never lied. I have never heard a bad word said against his heir so I think it a good idea to keep an open mind to any proposal of that nature.”

“And is he comely?”

Olenna thought about it. “From what I have heard, he takes after his mother, which has been a source of consternation for Lady Catelyn.” Margery gave her a quizzed look. “You have heard of Ned Stark’s bastard, right? Jon Snow? Well, word is that of all the late Lord Stark’s children, Jon is the one most resembling their father. Almost all the others take after the Tully side.”

Margery seemed to consider this. Of course, she knew about all the great houses, their words, their attributes. After a moment, she responded to her grandmother. “I think it will lovely to have a visit from Ser Brynden. I am sure he has many tales to tell of his adventures as a knight.”

Olenna accepted the answer without a word. She just stood and placed a kiss on Margery’s forehead. Then she went looking for her son. Mace was outside with the falconer but turned and noticed her approach. He said goodbye to the man and smiled at his mother.

“To what do I owe a visit here from you, sweet mother?” he asked.

“I know you are angered that I did not allow you to marry Margery to Renly Baratheon,” she began.

“I think it was one of Loras’ finer ideas. Margery would have been Queen once he won the Iron Throne!” her son blurted out.

She waved her hand dismissively. “He would never have won the throne. And I do not care to hear how many men in arms he possesses. He is still the youngest of the brothers and if the word about Cersei Lannister’s children is true, Stannis will be recognized as the next king.” He was about to continue the argument when she stopped him. “Besides, I believe a better, more stable offer is coming our way. Allow me to handle the negotiations. You are my son and I love you, but you are a blundering fool, and that is a fact known around all of Westeros. I will hear them out and bring you my opinion.”

Even though she had nothing else to say, he did ask a question. “Can I at least know who this offer comes from? She is still my daughter and I will be the one to grant her hand!”

It sounded fair enough to Olenna. “The offer came to us the North. Ser Brynden Tully brings it on behalf of his niece’s son, Prince Robb of House Stark.” Then she turned and left.

She did not wait for Mace’s reaction, though she very well knew what it was.

Chapter Text

When Lady Catelyn Stark and Ser Barristan Selmy heard how long a sea journey to Dragonstone would take, they both agreed it was too long and too dangerous, especially at this time before the winter set in.  And winter was coming, she was sure of it. So they were forced to decide on an alternate route. It would take at least two weeks to get to White Harbor, but she felt it was the safest port to get to. From there, they could continue along the coast, the Fingers and down to Dragonstone, but Barristan was not enthusiastic about the choice.  

“I dislike the idea of getting too close to the Fingers, my lady.  There could be...those there whom I don’t think are trustworthy,” he hedged.  There was something he knew but seemed unwilling to say, for now. She thought about it to herself, remembering her visit with Lysa.  There was some wisdom in avoiding The Vale wholly, even if it took longer.

They made their route down into the Riverlands, avoiding the Twins, and Walder Frey, continuing overland to Maidenpool.  There, they would take another ship around Crackclaw Point and into the mouth the Blackwater Bay, and Dragonstone. It would be a difficult route, but the best in the end.

They stayed in Eastwatch one more day, preparing themselves for the journey, and speaking very little to each other.  She wasn’t sure why he appeared reticent to have conversations with her until she realized what she had said when telling the knight about Jon Snow’s childhood.  

She could not blame him if he was angry with her.  He was still a knight, still proudly a Kingsguard, even if the Lannisters had stripped him of his position.  But she had admitted to him that, years ago, she had wished ill on the boy. He was a Targaryen and even if few knew that, Ser Barristan Selmy had sworn an oath to protect that royal family.

Shortly after they set sail, she decided to speak with him about that.  Finding him leaning on the ship’s railing, she approached him with caution.  “Winter is in the air,” she said, cringing at how feeble the attempt to break the ice was.  

He did not comment about that but did acknowledge her.  “Is it not the words of House Stark, ‘Winter is coming’?” he asked.

“Yes, it is.  A warning to prepare for hard times.  I always found it curious, where other houses had “hear us roar’ or ‘family, duty, honor’.  But they all seem like vague constructs in the face of a definite like the change in seasons,” she said.  He still had not turned to face her, so she came out and said it. “You have concerns about when I told you that I had...wished that Jon had not been allowed to be brought to Winterfell.”

Now he looked at her.  “I do understand the sentiment, dear lady, and where it sprang from.  But did you not think that, even if it were true, the boy cannot be chosen to be born?  That he had not demanded his father raise him?”

“All things I have told myself since I knew the truth.  All I can say is that it became like a madness to me. I feared for my own children, that this boy may turn on them, on the heir of Winterfell and demand it for himself,” she told him.

“The Blackfyres.”  He knew about the legacy that bastards could leave.  It was he that had ended the insurgency. “But did you ever see such tendencies in the boy?”

“No, not at the time, not ever, in fact.  As I said, a madness.”

He remained silent for a time, eventually asking her, “What is he like?  Jon Snow? Is he wolf or dragon?”

“All wolf, Ser, but at times, you can see the fire threatening to burst from him.”  She sat down and got caught up in memories. “After his illness, after I knew the truth, I tried so very hard to remember anything I could about Rhaegar.  I only saw him that one time, at Harrenhal. I tried to see if I could find the Targaryen traits--the eyes, the bearing. But, and I now thank the Seven for it, there is little physical trace of the prince in him.  He is a fine swordsman, better than Robb, though he tried to hide it and not show up his brother.”

“Rhaegar was a great swordsman, so I can see that.  And the Princess as well.” She was shocked by that comment even though she shouldn’t have been.  “Lyanna would try to spar with myself or Arthur, but I think we were too fearful of injuring her.  Oswell, he worked out with her, though. Even got tossed on his...well, he did land in the dirt a time or two.”

How like Arya that sounded!  Catelyn had disapproved of her younger daughter engaging in the boy’s activities, but now she prayed that it was keeping her alive.  That made her think of something. “Ser Barristan, you were in King’s Landing when Ned was arrested, weren’t you?”

Now he looked away with shame.  “I was in the throne room when he was arrested by Cersei Lannister, my lady.”  He huffed out a breath. “Lady Stark, one of the reasons why I did not want to sail around The Vale, the Fingers, was because it was Petyr Baelish who turned on your husband.”

Cat was stunned silent.  “No, Petyr...he would not betray Ned,” she denied.  “He brought Ned to me when I was in the capital when I came to show Ned the dagger that was used to try and kill Bran.  He’s...he’s been my friend for a very long time, he would not betray that friendship.”

“I was there, Lady Stark.  He held a knife to your husband’s throat.”  It was a grim confirmation that she didn’t want to hear.  Still, he continued. “I have not been able to suss it all out, but I suspect he was in league with the Queen from the very beginning.  To what end, I do not know.”

She felt the tears come, hot and fast.  She had known Petyr since they were children.  He had been fostered at Riverrun. He was the first boy she had kissed.  They had a laugh about it, her and Lysa, but she remembered the look on his face.  She also remembered how he had challenged Brandon to a duel for her hand.

She could not think about that, not now.  She sought for something else occupy her mind.  “When you were at court, did you see my daughters?  Did you see Sansa or Arya?”

He shook his head and she feared the worst.  “Arya has not been seen, at least to my knowledge, since the arrest of the Lord Stark.  But Lady Sansa, she is still in the Red Keep.”

“Oh, Blessed Mother!”  Even if she knew not of Arya, at least her other daughter’s location was known.

He tried to smile, but it never quite came.  “The last I saw her was when I was being run out of the Kingsguard.  She was there and she seemed unharmed, but that was months ago.”

“Even if that has changed, at least I have some hope,” Catelyn said.  

Then he said something that gave her more comfort.  “I do remember that Lord Stark had hired a...dancing teacher for Lady Arya.”  He had a grin on his face as if knowing a wonderful secret. She nodded her head, encouraging him to continue.  “I heard word that she had a sword with her and that when Lord Eddard discovered that she had it, hired a Braavosi swordmaster to tutor her in it, so she would not injure herself.”

“She had a sword?”  Catelyn had not known that.  Wherever would her daughter have gotten a sword from?  “And how is that dancing lessons?

“Like aunt, like niece,” he japed before explaining, “The water dance.  It is a style of fencing that is actually quite suited for ladies. Agility, grace and balance are among the principal traits of the wielder.”

She wouldn’t stop the chuckle she felt, even if she was greatly dismayed by the news.  Grace was not one of Arya’s strong suits. Still, “Ned always said that she took after Lyanna the most,” she reasoned.  That thought led to another. She could not think where or how she would have been gifted such a thing, but now she had a thought as to who.

Cat had often caught Arya in the training yard, watching her brothers practice.  And every so often, she had heard that she would beg Jon to let her have a go of it.  If he ever allowed it, Catelyn did not any confirmation. But it would seem likely he would gift his little sister with such a thing.  If that was true, and the lessons she had been receiving were true, it put her mind at a little ease. Jon may have given Arya the tool to survive in the world they were in now.

“As for your daughter Sansa, I have a feeling she is being looked after,” he said enigmatically.  “If Lord Varys knows what we know of the Starks, he will make certain she remains safe until there is a way to extricate her from King’s Landing.”

“She is too precious a piece for the Lannisters to let slip through their fingers.”  It was a morbid thought, but one she could not shake.

“They let Arya escape the net,” he reminded her.  Yes, but that was just a hope for now.

She was depressing herself thinking about the situations her daughter could be in, yet felt like a terrible mother for not worrying more.  “I shall just have to pray to the Seven to keep my family safe.”

He said nothing to that and they lapsed into a comfortable quiet for a while until dinner was being served.  As they ate, Ser Barristan resumed with his with his questions, but more now to do with the trek to Dragonstone.  “You said the night in the inn that you had discovered much these last months. What is it? I spent most of my life around the Targaryens, I may be of some help.”

She nodded her head and began.  “There is some prophecy that speaks of a great darkness coming and a prince that will lead the way out.  The...prince that was promised, I believe Maester Aemon said it was.”

“The prince’s obsession,” Barristan mumbled.  “He was incredibly bookish as a child and then well into adulthood.  I know he corresponded with his uncle, but not the exact information he sought.  Arthur and Oswell knew of it more as they were more his personal guard.” He let out a sigh.  “Yes, I think I am remembering now. The union of ice and fire.”

“The Song,” she corrected the knight.  “It was something I was also told about by Lord Howland Reed.  He seemed to have an unworldly knowledge, even back to Harrenhal.  He told me when Lyanna rescued him from the squires and asked him why he had come, he said it was to bear witness to a song of ice and fire.”

“The Starks being the Ice and the Targaryens being the fire,” he understood.  “And there is information about that at Dragonstone? How does this help in bringing the prince to his throne?”

“A question I have been asking myself since I left Castle Black,” she said.  “I cannot answer it unless saying, pray to the gods they show us the way.”

It was intolerable to Cersei, just thinking of the idea of the Starks as princes.  What in the name of the gods would make Aegon the Conqueror want to treat those Northern barbarians differently than any of the other kingdoms that fell to him?  They had bent the knee, not defeated the Valyrians in any great battle. They had not married into the Targaryens and been allowed to keep remain as they were. Thinking of that now, she remembered how she could barely stomach referring to Doran and Oberyn Martell by their titles.  With the Starks, she would outright refuse to do so the same.

She had been fuming about that for the past few days.  It was equally displeasing to hear Tyrion be so nonchalant about it.  He seemed to not want to argue it, but she would not accept this decree so meekly.

A knock at her door distracted her from her thoughts, calling the person in.  When she turned, Cersei could not help the sneer on her face. She loathed the man, but she was in need of him.  “Maester Jayson, I thank you for joining me today. I am in need of your counsel.”

“Of course, your Grace.  If I can, I would be pleased to assist you in any way,” the old man deferred to her.  He had been filling in for the Grand Maester, who was still residing in the Black Cells thanks to Tyrion’s influence.

She went to the side table in her solar and poured a glass of wine she knew she would be needing to get her through this.  The Maester looked like he was waiting to be handed a glass as well, but she had not called him to play gracious hostess with the man.  “I am sure you have been informed, as you missed the meeting, of the demand made by Starks of Winterfell. This is an outrageous lie that I am sure the archmaesters in the Citadel will laugh with, along with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jayson was a youngish man, if compared to the old letch Pycelle and probably easily manipulated if she pulled at the right strings.  But as he began to speak, she realized she was wrong. “Actually, your Grace, it was not unheard of for Aegon the Conqueror to bestow such distinctions on those he felt earned them.  The Tullys in the Riverlands and the Tyrells in the Reach were both raised to Lords Paramount for fighting with the Targaryens against the Lannisters, Gardeners and Haren the Black.”

The maester was annoying her.  “And yet the Targaryens are dead and gone from the Seven Kingdoms.  There should be no way for the Starks to take the title now.”

“It all depends on how the title was being bestowed.  I have heard that the scroll carrying the news said that the offering was not determined by the fact of who sat on the throne, though I suspect Aegon believed his house would be still rulers of this land.  I will have to consult books and scrolls to find out what I can. I know the library in the Red Keep has some works on the Targaryens old,” the maester replied.

“The library here?” she asked.

“Yes.  Well, the Red Keep’s Library has one of the finest collection in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.  And that was even before Prince Rhaegar was able to add to it.”

Rhaegar Targaryen.  The name still filled Cersei was a plethora of feelings.  He was meant to be hers, but she was denied him twice over.  She genuinely wept when the news reached Casterly Rock that he had fallen in battle to Robert.  Not even the crown she received from the victor months later eased her, and her wedding night was the first nail in the coffin that Robert’s bones laid in now.  

Whenever she thought of Lyanna Stark, all she saw was red.  The little Northern girl, ugly and uncouth, throwing aside the precious Stark honor and bewitching the married Crown Prince.  If it had been any other man, Cersei would have laughed. But the man had been the one Cersei herself had dreamed of from the day she had been told her fortune by the woodwitch.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts, focusing back on something the maester said.  “There are books here in the Red Keep that may have information to support this...this fantasy?”

“Oh, I am certain.  Benifer was one of the foremost scholars on the Targaryens, I am sure he had knowledge of any such deal, having served the sons and grandsons of Aegon,” Jayson replied.

Cersei suppressed a smile.  “Maester, I wish to read any of this literature that may support the claims of the Starks.  Could you perhaps find them for me and bring them to my solar. I feel I need to refresh my memory of the Wars of Conquest.”

The man stood.  “I will see the books be brought to you as soon as they can be found.  And if you require any further guidance on them, I would more than pleased to advise you, your Grace.”

She had no intention of being ‘advised’.  What she needed was for any information to be contained within Kings Landing and in the Citadel, if possible.  

She took her glass in hand and walked onto the balcony, surveying her domain.  It was surprising to see the little dove walking beside her brother the Imp. Cersei had, of course, heard of the incident in the throne room that Tyrion had put a stop to.  She loved her son but had no idea where is brutality came from. If he had been fathered by Robert, that could be an explanation. But he was not and she was happier for it.

Still, it was not becoming of a king that abused his betrothed as Joffrey did Sansa Stark, as little as she liked the girl.  But, she was a Stark and Robert was determined to see the Baratheons at long last united in marriage with the Starks of the North.  Another carry-over from his obsession with his precious Lyanna.

It was a warm autumn day and she decided it was best she should look to see what her brother was up to with Sansa.  Cersei spied the two of them approaching, hear their conversation.

“I wished to thank you again, my lord, for coming to my aid,” Sansa said to him.

“My lady, you are due a great deal of respect, if for no other reason than your name.  The Starks are one of the most ancient houses in all of Westeros, kings once, even. It’s a shame my nephew is not so well-versed in his histories to appreciate that fact about the lovely lady he is to marry.”

It annoyed Cersei to hear about the betrothal so much that it was after that comment that she decided to step onto the path.

Tyrion stopped short at the sight of her.  “Ah, sweet sister. Come to take in the fine weather we are having?”  Her toned told her he was japing her, but she chose to ignore him.

“I saw dear Sansa was out walking and thought I should see how she was doing,” Cersei cooed.  “I wish to apologize for my son’s behavior. The pressures of the war must be taking their toll on him  He should not have treated you in such a manner in that setting.”

Sansa tittered nervously.  “It is all my traitor brother’s fault, your Grace.  He has chosen to take up arms against his future good-brother.  He is to blame for any just punishment I have to endure.”

“My lady, no man should treat any woman, especially one so highborn as you in that manner, pressures of the conflict or not,” Tyrion attempted to assuage her.

Sansa said nothing to the little monster’s statement.  Instead, she asked, “If it pleases you, I wish to go to the godswood to pray that the war comes to an end so that I may marry my beloved Joffrey.”  She curtsied and practically ran off,

“One would wonder where such a boy learned the idea that such cruelty was allowed.  Were he of Targaryen stock, I could see it. But he is a lion...and a stag. ‘Hear us roar’ and ‘Ours is the Fury’ and all that,” her dwarf brother piped out, gaining her attention.  “Father is correct about one thing, you have no control over the boy.”

Cersei narrowed her eyes at him.  “And if Father does think that, why is it he sent you here and not come himself?”

“Because he is leading our forces in this war your son started.  If you have not been paying attention, House Lannister is the remaining house supporting the Iron Throne.  The Baratheons are warring between themselves, with one of them most likely to be augmented soon by the Tyrells and the Starks have been joined with the Tully.  That could end up being four of the Seven Kingdoms poised to crush us if they chose to stop fighting each other. Lysa Arryn seems to be staying out of the conflict for the time and Dorne?”  He snorted at that. “The earth would have to be revolving around the sun in reverse before they aid the family that butchered theirs.” He smirked up at her. “Varys has been hearing rumors that of a potential attack on King’s Landing.  He does not yet know from whom or from where, but I think it is best I start to devise a way to defend the capital and our king. Since I am little of a warrior, I think it best I start to research ways there may be to defend this city, since your son is little better than myself in battle.”

He was about to leave when she called him back with a question.  “Are you taking up an interest in Sansa Stark?”

“And by what do you mean interest?” he questioned back, his voice sounding tired.  All Cersei did was smirk. “She is a sweet girl who is trapped in one of the Seven Hells, I’m sure she believes.  It would be nice to have had someone show her compassion, wouldn’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t have thought she was your type.  Too prim and proper for your tastes. ”

He took three steps back to her.  “Do not even think to jape at that idea, sweet sister.  Sansa Stark is a lovely girl who deserves far better than an imp, a demon monkey, such as me.  And besides, she is to wed her golden boy-king. She would not think to look at me that way.”

“You came to her rescue as if you were some gallant knight.  I am sure she appreciates the gesture, more than she does marrying the man who had her father killed.  Why, some may think you to be grooming her to be your next whore you wed.”

Tyrion grinned at her like he knew something she didn’t. “Not everyone in King’s Landing is viper seeking to poison others, as much as it surprises you of all people.”

Cersei couldn’t help but return the expression. “No, I don’t think you to be a viper, dear brother. Vipers are more subtle than monkeys who murder their mothers.  But I think I should warn you of the wolf at your door. It could come back and eat you in one bite.” Before she turned her back, she caught her brother’s expression.  

It seemed he may have seen the wolf lurking under the docile maiden.