Chapter Text
i.
She was his wife now. From the moment he fastened the grey cloak of the Starks upon her shoulders; from the moment the septon raised his voice and declared them legally wed in the eyes of all the Gods, both old and the new; she was his wife, and he, her husband.
But to his mind ( and perhaps his heart ) she was not his wife. No, she was a stranger whom he had just met that morning. He knew nothing about her, save her name, the family from whence she came and the fact that he had to marry her in his brother's place. He wondered what she thought of that. If she had loved Brandon and if she grieved for him.
More importantly, did she think of him as a bad substitute for Brandon? Was she disappointed?
A small sacrifice, Jon had said. A small sacrifice for a greater purpose.
He knew that, of course. He knew why he had to marry her- why they both had to marry the daughters of Hoster Tully. For him, it was to preserve his family's honour and uphold the promise that his father and brother had made.
For them, however, it was to secure the alliance and the allegiance of the Riverlands for Robert, for his rebellion, and for their cause.
Throughout the entirety of the feast, he only looked up from his plate and goblet half a dozen times. Thrice, although briefly, at her, his wife. He reminded himself- once at Jon and his bride, once at Lord Tully when he spoke, and once more when someone called for the bedding.
He tensed and froze then, and he could feel her do the same beside him. The chorus of voices and shouts rose and filled the hall, rumbling through the stone walls. He caught several bawdy jests as well as a few wild suggestions from amongst the chanting and his jaws ground against each other as he tried to stop himself from turning red. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than the ability to disappear; to sink into the floor and to be forgotten. But, hesitantly, he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and ushered off the dais, out the hall and up to the bedchamber as he tried his best to ignore the drunken calls and jokes.
Turning to his wife once more, he saw that she was bearing with the situation far better than he was. Even as they pulled and tugged at her dress, even when Jory tore it, she kept her head high and smiled politely, the blush that coloured her cheeks being the only sign of her being as nervous and anxious as he was.
The bedding itself was awkward; where neither of them wanted to be the one to make the first move. As though dancing to the wrong song, to the wrong beat and rhythm. Like facing a new foe in battle, most of the time was spent on exploring and testing the other, trying to understand each other. They kissed and they whispered. Hesitant kisses and feather light touches drifting over cool naked skin beneath the blankets and furs.
She was beautiful, he thought. Beautiful and afraid.
He asked her why, to which her only reply was "Please, my lord, be gentle."
Nodding then, he promised her that he will treat her with respect and care, and that he will not take her if she did not wish him to, if she was not ready. She fell silent at that, but only for a moment before shaking her head and telling him that she was ready and that it was her duty- their duty.
That night he took her maidenhood; out of duty, not passion; out of obligation, not love. If there were tears on her face, he didn't see them, the candle light too dim and the moon was hidden behind clouds. She had blue eyes, he realised, although he knew that she did. But they were dark then; this being the first time that he properly looked at them, and what he found... made his throat tighten and his heart skip in his chest.
When they finished and finally settled against their pillows, laying on opposite sides of their wedding bed, he apologised.
At dawn the next morning, Ned wondered if either of them had slept.
--
The war had been long, exhausting, draining. He felt old and worn but he must go on. That was what he told himself, what he keeps telling himself. It was a vow he made to himself every morning when he woke, until it became a kind of mantra he repeated again and again in his head when he and his blade was covered in blood and when he stepped over bodies and corpses and everything else that remained of a battle fought.
Men looked to him as their leader and he wished that they didn't. It was a burden, a heavy weight to bear, one that his shoulders were not accustomed to. That was Brandon. He would have lead as easily as he would breathe, he would have loved the singer's songs, he would have basked in the praises of lords and he would have grinned whenever he hears his men cheering his name. But not he.
Despite that, after every battle, after each passing day, he found more and more men falling silent to listen to him whenever he speaks, he found more men agreeing with him and obeying him, nodding their heads as he passed, smiling and saluting whenever they saw him. He wished that they didn't do that, but it was too late. They had placed their trust and their lives in his hands and they were like water, like sand, and he feared that if he made a mistake, if he gave the wrong command or made an ill timed decision, he would be betraying that trust and those lives will be lost, slipped through his fingers, uncaught, falling to the blood drenched earth.
There were days where ravens would arrive and a page will deliver him a letter from Benjen, from Robert and sometimes, from her. Her words were polite, proper and on her first letter, she wrote that her moonblood had not come in two months and that she was sure she was with child. She then ended the letter with a hope that he will return to meet his child.
It had been almost a year now since he last saw her, since they stood at the courtyard of Riverrun, bidding each other good bye and as he lead his host to Kings Landing, racing down the Kingsroad, he wondered if she had given birth, if so, does she still live? And what of their babe? Ravens found him less often now, and if there was any news written to him, it had not reached him. In some ways, he was glad to be kept in ignorance. He didn't know what he would feel if he found that he was a father to a son, or a daughter. Would he be more careful? Would he be more cautious? Fear filled him then, when he realised, not for the first time, that if he failed, if this rebellion failed, his wife and child would be murdered and that fear quickly turned into determination, the urge to protect them even though they were both strangers to him. Was that love? Or obligation?
When he arrived at the Kings Gate, he found it open. Lannisters had arrived before him and they have sacked the city in the name of Robert, or so it seemed. Wary and guarded, he made his way down the streets and up to the Red Keep, to end this war, to put an end to the slaughtering of innocents. It was enough. Enough killing. Enough.
Hoof-falls rang and echoed dully across the throne room. It was too quiet here. Too still. From here, you can almost believe that there was never a war to begin with. His father, his brother were both murdered here. Here. He saw how his father might have been cooked in his own armour. He saw how Brandon might have been strangled to death trying to save him. He heard them. He saw their faces, faces constructed from memory and imagination, twist in agony, in torment. His father. His brother. Here.
As he neared the iron throne, he saw that it was not Aerys who sat on Aegon's seat, no, the Mad King was on the floor, lying on a pool of his own blood. Sitting on the throne, was Jaime Lannister, dressed and armed in golden armour and blade, a white cloak fastened at his shoulders, the bottom of which was crusted in brown-red.
Lannister grinned at him and stood, quipped that he was simply keeping the throne warm before leaving the hall. He was surprised that the boy did not claim the crown as his or his father's. The Lannisters were in a position where they could have every man woman and child swearing fealty to them, but they decided to let that opportunity pass. Why?
It was not long until Robert arrived, it had been just past moonrise. Tywin Lannister entered the hall as well, though by a different door. Robert smiled at Ned, clapped his shoulder before stepping over Aerys's corpse and taking his seat on the Iron Throne. That ws when Tywin came forward and laid two bundles of Lannister red cloaks at his feet. Ned frowned, but Robert raised a brow, reaching down to pull at the cloth.
The Lord of Casterly Rock then lowered himself onto one knee and Ned found himself cursing through his teeth. Children. A girl and a babe. The princess and the prince. She can't have been more than five years old, yet she was wrapped in a cloak drenched so heavily in blood that not even Lannister crimson can conceal, whilst her brother- her brother was perhaps only a month short of a year old, his head smashed in, bits of skull and brain and blood hid what remained of his face. Murdered. Along with their mother. What if that had been his children? If it had been Catelyn? Ned closed his eyes and turned away.
Robert spoke, and Ned looked up and he saw that his friend was not smiling, but was not seem upset either. It was a strange look that he made, a grim sort of approval and one of cruel satisfaction. Then he asked of the Prince Viserys and the Queen, who, Ned had heard was big with child, a Targaryen Robert said he had to make sure never lives, "This was murder," Ned told him, before he could continue, "They are babes, for Godssakes!"
" This was war," Robert snapped in reply, "And I see no babes, only dragonspawn," They argued at length that night, neither one willing to back down, even as Jon came and tried to calm them. How could he stand for the murder of children and babes? Wasn't that what they went to war for? To stop the murder of innocents? Robert sent his assassins and knights after Queen Rhaella and her son to murder them, them and that unborn child that the queen carried in her belly. That was all Ned could stand to bear and stormed out of the hall before finding his horse and leading his men south to the Stormlands.
When the Tyrells and the Redwyns dipped their banners and swore their allegiance to Robert. What he saw when he entered Storm's End was gruesome and made his stomach turn. All who remained there were starved to their bones, gaunt and haunted. Robert's brothers, Stannis who had lead and defended the castle, and Renly, a child of three, met them at the gates. It was there that he received a raven from Varys the Spider which said that Lyanna was brought by Rhaegar to a place in the Dornish mountains, the Tower of Joy, it was called.
Ned rode out immediately, leaving his men and supplies in Storm's End, taking only six other men with him, Howland Reed, a crannogman he met in Harrenhall, Willam Dustin, who was Brandon's closest friend, Martyn Cassel, Ethan GLover, Theo Wull and Mart Ryswell, all who fought by his side in every battle since the start of the war and whom he trusted his life with. He swore never to forget their names.
There, in the crumbling tower, stood three of Aerys's Kingsguards, Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, Ser Oswald Whent and Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. They regarded them coolly, with eyes that were somber and solemn. Good men, Ned thought, great men. Why did it have to come to this?
He looked up when heard Lyanna scream his name.
Then, the three drew their blades and Ned drew his.
---
The stairs seemed endless and his legs felt so weak. He was bleeding somewhere, his clothes were damp and warm with blood, but he was not dying, at least, he did not think that he was. Just tired. Exhausted, but he kept going. Up and up. Lyanna had stopped calling for him. It was quiet now. Everything was quiet now. Still and calm and unmoving, all but him.
There was a door. Half open. He forced himself up the last three steps and pushed through.
The first thing that met him was the sweet scent of roses, mixed strangely with the sour smell of blood. She was on the bed, her skin pale, her eyes closed, and for a moment, he thought she had passed, until her chest raised ever so slightly to take a breath. Then, in her arms, he saw was a bundle of white and grey cloth. He hurried to her, managing only to croak out her name as he sat at the edge of the mattress. Her eyes flickered open and she smiled faintly at him. He told her that she was safe now, that she will be all right and that he will take her home. Her smile grew, but not happier, no, it was sadder now. Wistful and longing.
The bundle moved and there was a soft cry. A babe.
" Promise me," She whispered and she moved the bundle towards him, " Promise me," She repeated, weaker this time as he pushed it into his hands. The babe had his eyes squeezed shut and gave a cough. This child.. This child was Rhaegar's. This babe was a Targaryen. Robert will... Robert... " Promise me,"
He looked to her once again. His eyes stung. She was fading. His stubborn and willful little sister. Why? Why..? He reached for her hand and squeezed it. It was cold. He told her not to speak like that. He told her that she will live through this, but all she said was, " Promise me, Ned," The babe squirmed in his arms and he turned to him. No- This child was Lyanna's. He was a Stark.
He nodded and she smiled, now happy, truly happy, closed her eyes and died.
---
Howland was the one who pulled him away, but he knew that only because he told him that he did. He couldn't remember... He only remembered the blood and the roses and waking to watch the sun rise over the horizon. Lya... Beside him was the babe- his nephew, bundled and wrapped in white and grey wool. He was asleep, he saw, and was glad for it. Carefully, he pulled the blanket tighter around the babe and stood. Howland was already awake, and he was lifting stones into a pile and Ned quickly realised that he was planning to build cairns for the dead. He hurried to help him though he found little strength in his arms. Howland asked him what he planned to do with the babe, to which Ned only shook his head tiredly.
He could not abandon the child. He promised Lya. Even if she did not ask it of him, he would have still taken care of the boy, protected him... but... How can he hide this from Robert? If Robert found out that the child was from Rhaegar and Lyanna, he will not waste a moment's thought to kill him, and what of the rest of the Kingdoms? If they hated the Targaryens, they would hunt him. If they remained loyal to the Dragons, they would hail him as King.. no that was not the worst of it. If people found out the truth of the boy's blood, they would use him.
He cannot have his nephew to suffer that fate.
But what can he do?
He helped Howland carry the bodies from the tower, first, their own comrades, Theo, Martyn and Willam, and after, they burried Ethan and Mark. Then, they laid to rest Arthur, Gerold and Oswald, cleaning their armour as best they could from the blood before lowering the stones above them. All swords remained with their masters, save Dawn, who's light seemed to dim since Arthur's death. Ned vowed that he will return it to Starfall, to Ashara and her family. They would not want their family sword to rust beneath the ground. Finally, he and Howland put their shields into the ground as headstones and markers for the ones who carried them into battle. Then, Ned climbed up to the room at the top of the tower and as gently as he could, carried his little sister down. But he did not place her to be buried beneath loose stones- no- He unfastened his own cloak from his shoulders and covered her with it.
He told Howland that she will be buried amongst their brother and father and their ancestors beneath Winterfell. The crannogman? was quiet for a while and nodded. Ned knew why he hesitated. It would take months for them to ride back to Winterfell and by then Lya... They agreed that they would go to the Sept of the nearest town, and have the Silent Sisters care and treat her body for the journey.
They spent the rest of their morning desperately trying to calm the babe who was screaming and squalling in his swaddling clothes and as soon as he was quiet, Ned helped Howland tie Lyanna's body to Theo's palfrey. She deserved better than that, Ned thought, but he knew that he did not have the skill nor the wood to make a cart or a sled they can pull across the desert and the babe was hungry.
They found a village just before sun down. It had a small Sept and a trio of silent sisters whom they gave Lyanna to. There was also a wet nurse there, a woman named Wylla whom they gave the babe to. The boy did not look like a Targaryen at all. He had the dark hair and the steel grey eyes of the Starks. Even his face showed no trace of any bloodline save the Starks. That was it. He could care for the babe as his son, that way Robert wo- No, if he did, then the child will have the name Snow. A bastard. He would have to live with the shame of being a bastard... but there was no way he could make him a true born... and everyone in the Seven Kingdoms will think that he had fathered a bastard. Then, he remembered his wife, and the child that she bore. Their child. What will she think of him and the babe? No, he would bear the shame and dishonour if it meant saving his nephew's life. He will raise him in Winterfell, amongst his own true born children and he will protect him from the shame of being a bastard as best as he can.
When Wylla returned and placed the babe in his arms, she asked that if he was his son, to which Ned replied, yes.
The lie tasted queer on his tongue, but he forced himself to swallow it and told himself that he would grow used to it soon enough. He told Howland the next day and asked him to keep this secret and he said that he would take it to his grave and help the boy for as long as he is able to, for Lyanna, the maiden who helped him that morning in Harrenhall, for her memory. Ned gave his friend a smile and thanked him.
They stayed in that village for a week until Lyanna's body was nothing more than bone and ash before travelling east, to Starfall. Wylla went with them, caring for the babe who Howland has been suggesting names for, most of them were in jest and in good nature however, and Ned paid little mind to it. It also felt it wrong of him to name a child that was not his.
Starfall was a beautiful place, at least, that was what he deemed. The sea was close here. He smelt the salt in the water and heard the wind against rock and stone. He was allowed through the gates and showed inside to Lady Ashara's chambers as she did not wish to leave her room. She was every bit as fair as he remembered but she was thinner now and when she turned to him, he saw that her once haunting violet eyes were dull and empty.
She managed a smile and asked if he was well. He told her that he was exhausted and he hated war. She nodded and said nothing else in reply. After a long silence, she spoke, " I lost her," She said and when Ned asked who it was, Ashara shut her eyes and shook her head, gripping at her silk dress at her waist. That was when the maester placed his hand on Ned's shoulder and murmured that it was time for them to leave her.
That night after supper, he returned Dawn to the Ashara's elder brother but not before telling him what had happened in that Tower of Joy. He told him that he was the one who killed Arthur, and he apologised for it. The man was courteous enough to not run him through as soon as Dawn was in his hands, but Ned knew that he should not stay longer than he had to and by sunrise the next morning, they had put Starfall three miles behind them. They rode Northwards, avoiding the main roads. The war may be over, but bandits were still as rampant as ever, former soldiers now preying on those displaced by the fighting.
At Highgarden, he received a raven from Catelyn, dated and written by a few months prior to his reading. She wrote that she had given birth to their son and she asked what he wished to name him. He had stared at the question for a long while before finally dipping his quill into the ink pot and wrote that Robb was a good name. He then wrote that Lyanna had died and that he is taking her bones to be buried in Winterfell. He did not tell her of the babe. He did not know if he could trust her with that information. Not yet. She was his wife and the mother to his child, but she was still a stranger. He added that he will return to her soon and asked her to travel to Winterfell ahead of him.
He sealed the scroll and sent it up to the rookery and watched the bird fly, then, he went downstairs and checked on Wylla and his nephew. Jon, he decided when he held the babe in his arms. Jon.
Then Wylla told him that she has heard that Lady Ashara, out of grief and sadness, had thrown herself into the sea.
---
He followed the Roseroad to Kings Landing, feeling it safe enough to travel on now that law was returning to the land. Robert met them at the gate, a golden crown of antlers rested atop his brow. Ned showed him Lyanna and they quarreled for a while of where she should be buried. He then told him that she wished to be buried in Winterfell and Robert relented, too grieved to argue. He then went on to rant that the Prince and the Queen had escaped to the Free Cities and vowed to hunt and kill every Targaryen that still lived on this earth.
There was a feast that night, prior to which Ned was careful to have Wylla and Jon hidden away, though he doubted that they were a secret. He knew that word had preceded him and spread that he had fathered a bastard. They never spoke of it in his presence of course, but as he sat there beside his friend and king, he saw the eyes and the judgement, the accusation in them, but he forced himself to remain in his seat and take every single disapproving look that was thrown at him. It was good that the lie had set, he told himself. He wondered if Catelyn had heard of this. She probably has. Will she hate him for it?
He found himself thinking more and more of his wife and son as he rode up the Kingsroad. He feared what she would think of him? What she would feel about him, and what of his son, and his future children? Will they hate Jon? Will they push him away? Think him unworthy of even their scorn? If he could suffer the contempt of strangers, why did he dread the judgement of Catelyn and Robb?
He bid Howland farewell at the Neck and thanked him for everything. Ned had grown close to the little crannogman throughout their journey and he promised himself that he would not forget the man.
The remainder of the journey was harder but he gladly received the Northern snow. It was a sign that he was truly home. Wylla grew uncomfortable in the cold, but Jon slept more soundly in the chill. Ned smiled at that. The babe was definitely more Stark than Targaryen.
Winterfell greeted him with a strange warmness. The sight of white blanketing and piling over its great stone roofs and towers made his heart sweet in his chest and a smile came to his face, unbidden but welcome. Then, he realised that he was not coming home as Ned Stark, but as the Lord of Winterfell.
No, that wasn't right. It can't be. He was Rickard Stark's second son. He cannot be the Lord of Winterfell. That was Brandon. It had always been Brandon. He was always meant to be Lord, not he, never he. He was a soldier, all he was meant to do was to follow... but... Brandon was dead now and so was their father and their sister. Only Benjen remained, but as he paused atop a hill to look upon his home, an emptiness grew within him and his throat tightened.
Benjen and Ser Rodrik Cassel rode out to meet them, followed by a dozen more riders whose helms hid their faces from view and recognition. Ben had grown in the last year, once and three now, already, he had the look of a man twice his age, or that was how it seemed by the way he sat straight in his saddle. He showed control and grace and a type of agility not common for a boy his age. Ned wondered if Ben would be a better Lord than he.
But all his thoughts were quickly forgotten when his little brother came closer and he saw the same cheer in his smile, unchanged from the days of their childhood together, unchanged from when they were together in Harrenhall, as if untouched by war, and for that, Ned was relieved.
His household lowered themselves onto their knees as he came through the gates and he was at a loss of what to do or say to them. So he made himself smile and nod and helped his castellan to his feet. That was when he saw her.
Her auburn hair tied in an intricate braid behind her and she looked just as she did at their wedding.
She looked beautiful.
He went to her and she bowed her head and said, " My Lord,"
" My Lady," he replied and kissed her hand.
She then turned and a nurse placed a babe wrapped tight in swaddling clothes in her arms. Robb. She gave him a small, faint smile and showed their son to him. The boy had the Tully's red-brown hair and when he opened his eyes to coo at him, Ned saw that he had Catelyn's sky blue eyes. He took his son into his hands and held him for a while. His son. He was happy. He was afraid. Will he be a good father to him? Will be able to teach him to become a good man? To guard him against any harm? Robb squirmed and gurgled at him and Ned laughed and told his wife, " He is amazing. Thank you," She blushed then, and he kissed Robb's brow before carefully, slowly, moving him back into her arms.
--
The feast was dizzying and his found his appetite dry though he thought he would be grateful for properly roasted and seasoned meat after such a long journey, after such a draining war. He forced himself to take a small piece of each course though, simply to not seem rude. As for drink, he only took a single cup and shared it with his wife, who did not seem to eager on the eating either.
He was told by Maester Luwin that Catelyn had organised this feast, and that she had been a great help around the castle since she arrived almost a month ago and it would seem that she is adapting quite well into her new home.
It was well into the night when the raucous laughing and booming cheer faded and dulled and he and his wife finally deemed it polite to retreat from the hall. Once they were alone, in the corridor half way to her chambers, he took a breath and stopped her. He then asked her to follow him to his father's solar- His solar. She did, with no more than a raised brow and a nod.
Ned had told Wylla to keep herself and Jon out of sight and as far as he could tell, she had not been noticed by anyone. That was the only single advantage of the feast; Wylla lost herself easily within the crowd.
First, he introduced her to Catelyn and told her what she was, a wet nurse. His wife then told him that neither she nor Robb needed a wet nurse and Ned forced himself to steady when he told her that Wylla was here not to nurse Robb. He then nodded at the dornishwoman and she turned to bring Jon in. The babe was asleep as he usually is and a part of him hoped that Catelyn would take to him easier like this than if he was wailing. He willed his jaws to loosen and said, " This... is my son. This is Jon,"
He could not read her face, nor the emotion that showed in her eyes. It was a sort of blankness, perhaps shock, perhaps disinterest, he did not know. Then, with a voice a still and cool voice, she asked, " Who?" and Ned knew what she had meant by that one word.
" It doesn't matter," He answered as evenly as he could, though it came out cold. Another lie. One after the next. One atop the other. Piling and piling. Will it ever end?
" Did you love her?"
Yes, " No,"
" Is she still alive?"
I wish she was, " No,"
" What will you do with him?"
" Raise him," He said, " With Robb,"
Anger flashed in those blue eyes, " No,"
" Jon will be raised here in Winterfell," He made himself sound final. He did not want to drag this any longer than he had to.
" So be it," Her lips pursed into a thin line, almost a smile, but those eyes pierced through him as she said, " You will raise your son and I will raise mine,"