Chapter Text
Prologue.
His hands trembled as he sought to offer some semblance of solace, yet Ned knew the endeavor was futile. Lyanna lay before him, bleeding out, her strength and life ebbing away with each passing moment, and he was powerless to stop the relentless march of death.
She is just a child.
Ned felt naught but a child himself, so young to see his family fall apart like this. First, his father and brother, now his little sister. Tears welled unbidden.
"Do something! Get a Maester, don't just fucking stand there and stare!" Robert's voice broke through the suffocating confinement of the Tower, making Lyanna shiver even more.
Ned ground his teeth together.
"Shut your bloody mouth!" he roared at him.
Robert recoiled, aghast. The only thing holding him back from a true act of madness was the bond of brotherly love that united them.
But Ned knew it wouldn't be enough.
"Ned, Ned, please. Promise me. Promise me," Lyanna pleaded again, barely in between heavy sighs, the last ones she could find the strength to let escape her parched lips, "Promise me you'll protect him."
Ned didn't understand until a cooing sound was heard and a trembling midwife brought with her a small bundle containing a blood-washed baby. His sister's blood.
"Promise me, Ned. Promise me."
Lyanna Stark died with those last words slipping past her lips as Ned held in his arms a tiny, cooing baby who has come into the world unbidden, mired in war and discord.
Prince Rhaegar — this child's father — lay slain upon the Trident, King's Landing smoldered in ruin, and with it, the forces of House Lannister.
Everything was lost.
Robert stared, horror-stricken, realization dawning upon him that the woman he envisioned sharing his life with had never harbored any affection for him — that she had willingly forsaken such a fate. Now, she was lost to him forever. The life he had dreamed of lay shattered, irretrievable. And in her passing, she had borne forth the very threat to his claim to the Iron Throne.
"Hand me the babe, Ned," demanded Robert, as his men-at-arms bristled, readying their swords.
Ned shot him a cutting glance over his shoulder. He no longer recognized his brother in the raging beast before him. The war, the death, the pain, had passed through them like a storm, and they were drenched in it. Loyalties wage war in his heart but honor demanded he follow a clear course.
He clutched the child to his chest.