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Duncan was the second youngest from the Stark family and too far away from the line of succession. It never really bothered him, it gave room for more freedom, a chance to be who he wanted without expectations or judging eyes watching his every move. He got to squire for a hedge knight, travel the Seven Kingdoms and managed to gain favor from the crown prince himself at his very first tournament in Ashford Meadow.
But then the rebellion took place and it unchained an endless number of tragedies across the realm. Duncan suddenly found himself Lord of Winterfell and obliged to marry the same woman his older brother was meant to wed.
Her gown had been beautiful, everything she ever dreamed of, but the wedding was rushed, surrounded with an off-putting feeling of inadequateness; like a garment that fit incorrectly and constricted all the wrong places. Duncan had to go and fight along the newly crowned king. "Honor commanded it", he said, and it went unspoken but she knew it was also a mean to avenge his father and siblings after they perished at the hands of Blackfyre pretenders.
"I will do my best to be a good husband to you." He said after the ceremony by the Godswood. And she vowed to be a good wife to him, even if the man left before hearing it.
The battle takes entirely too long.
She struggled every day to run the castle, even when she was raised to be a proper and capable lady. The servants are not hostile or openly wretched to her, is mostly their lack of trust what stings her. Northerners are religiously weary of outsiders, of southerners and she was promptly thrown into responsibilities without Duncan there to ease the change or someone else to guide her. She tries, incredibly hard, to be understanding, to not sound spoiled and insensitive, because there is truly no one else to teach her, no former Lady of the castle to pass the knowledge. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, they say, but Duncan is at war and the only other Stark is but a child, just as lost as she is.
Regardless, they all are incredibly loyal to the remaining Starks and when her pregnancy is discovered, about two moons after the wedding, things get a little easier.
She had not been in love with Duncan's brother. Fond, perhaps, but not in love. They had only met a few times, the man was handsome and chivalrous, honorable like all the Starks and charming, as well. It was a good match and, at the time, she had been looking for it, in all honesty. Then, the Blackfyre rebellion took place and she was suddenly without a betrothed, Winterfell was lordless and Duncan orphaned.
Their match had been done out convenience, it was no secret. An amendment so no alliance was broken and no honor stained. A Stark brother for another and jut like them, she would do her duty too.
She'd heard histories about Duncan, long before the first arrangement with the Lord of Winterfell had been made. A few songs about him had already been written and scattered. A giant wolf in the south, young and free, running through the realm and gaining the favor of the dragons. It sounded enticing to her young mind.
The Stark brood, as the rest of the North, tended to stay away from the Targaryens, and the crown seemed to respect them enough to not push the matter and break the relationships. But words traveled from the South, quickly despite de distance, that Duncan the Tall had made a name out of himself at his first tournament. Endorsed by Baelor Targaryen, the crown prince, no less.
People spoke about his greatness and kindness alike. His honor and the purest blue of his eyes. A true knight like the songs promised. She had to admit, if only in the privacy of her own mind, that she was excited to meet him, even more so than she had been with his brother, despite the tragic misfortune that made it possible.
She was raised diligently and from a young age she already new her duties and how to achieve them with ease. She had good parents and a well-off life on all sides and she expected to marry into a house to continue to do so. Duncan was closer in age to her than his brother had been, she had mostly been pragmatic her whole life but, was it naivety or her pampered livelihood, but she dared to dream about being loved by him. About having timeless marriage that would inspire the bards to write songs about in spite of the tragedy it was born on.
Such a gullible way of thinking.
After the midwife and the maester confirmed her pregnancy, a letter had been sent to his lord husband. Her foolish mind could not help but picture the man, muddied and covered in enemy blood, receiving the parchment and rejoice at the news, making him fight more ardently and purposeful just so he could return faster to her and their child.
She gives birth to a small boy. And while on the birthing bed, she prayed the babe would resemble her husband; his delightfully kind blue eyes, the menacing stature and his sandy hair. It would make it easier, both for her and the child. There is a scream and after the feverish mess and bloody pain, the newborn is finally laid in her arms. Her prayers hadn't been answered but she cries in happiness regardless, kissing the auburn crown on her son's head. She names him Arlan, to honor his husband's second fatherly figure. And deep down, to appeal to his sensibilities too, make him look at his son fondly even if he mirrors his mother rather than his father.
Her sweet Arlan was a quiet babe, much like herself, and she loved him earnestly. The boy was easygoing, rarely cried or fussed and was always delighted to be in his mother's arms. She couldn't help but remember her old septa's words about how children were always a blessings. Because that's what having her son felt like, a blessing among her loneliness.
About a year later after their wedding, Duncan returns at last.
The caravan is seen, and heard, before they reach Winterfell, followed by cries of triumph the rest of the way. She awaits for him at the gates of the castle, nervously excited and with their son on her arms. Thrilled by all the possibilities ahead of them, at the prospect of a blooming love after so much calamity. Duncan looks older, she notices when he gets closer. Her father always said that war could change a man beyond recognition. It could be vanity, but she believes the ruggedness suits his lord husband, makes him look more handsome and virile.
Duncan dismounts his horse and begins to approach her. The beating of her heart rumbling into her ears. He stands in front of her, in all his glory, and takes one of her hands to bring it to his mouth. "My lady." He rasps and It makes her stomach flutter.
"Welcome back…Duncan", she breaths back an he gives her a little smile. She'd been reciting the name on her head for more than a year but somehow, it still sounds too personal to mutter out loud.
Duncan turns to their son, the boy looking curiously at his father. He extends a had to touch the babe's cheek, softly and with a dashing smile despite the exhaustion in his eyes. "Aren't you precious", he coos and she cannot help to feel the warmth expand through her heart. But the spell is broken when a wail echoes across the courtyard, making everyone turn to find its source. She looks down at Arlan, confused by the unfamiliar cries, yet the boy is placid. Then a child, a bald one at that, approaches them from the sidelines with a big bundle of pelts in his arms.
"I think he wants to go with you", he says a tad unsure after looking at her for an instant, extending the bundle towards her husband, who takes it with practiced ease. The cries cease the second Duncan embraces the pelts and begins whispering comforts.
The confusion turns to dread when she notices that there is a baby against his husband's chest.
"This is Maegor", he says finally. Unreadable expression on his face. "my son."
It feels like the world crumbles all around her, the tightness on her chest expanding through her body until it it reaches her throat, leaving her still and speechless while her husband cradles and intruder and she holds her life between her arms.
She turns around without a word, walking inside the walls of the castle sparing no looks back. She fumes with rage and hurt, but refuses to cause a scene. She will not embarrass herself more than his husband had already done. Duncan follows close behind. Once in the nursery, she lays Arlan on his cradle and turns around to face Winterfell's lord. The man no longer holds his son but she manages to catch a glimpse of the bald child leaving the hallway and holding the babe again.
She slaps him then, so harshly that her own hand stings afterwards. Duncan takes it without complain.
"How dare you to do this to me?! To your true born!" She yells, tears already pouring. "Do you enjoy humiliating us?! I cannot-"
"No! of course not!" Duncan tries to touch her and she batters his hands away. "I would never-" He winces, trying to find the words.
"I have done my duty!" She keeps screaming, the words slipping from her mouth in the throes of her anger and betrayal. "I gave you a son! Managed your castle in this forsaken land while you were whoring around, while you broke your vows!"
"I never wished to bring shame to your name. Or my son's." He says then. "But Maegor is my blood, as much as Arlan is. I couldn't- I will not abandon him"
"Where is the bastard's mother, then?" she asks coldly, tears still soaking her cheeks. "Did you bring your whore too?"
Duncan closes his eyes, tightens his jaw. "His mother is not here", he says through clenched teeth.
"Then sent him to her", she insists. "A babe should not part from their mother. Even a bastard. I do not want him here."
Duncan's face changes to something darker abruptly. "That is not an option", she opens her mouth to refute but her husbands stops her. "Maegor is my son. He will stay with his blood, where he belongs. That is not up for discussion."
There is a stern look on his husband, no trace of the kindness that usually reigns him. The tension is broken by Arlan's cry.
"As you wish, husband", she spats and turns to tend to her son, no more words to spare. A moment later there is another wail from the hallway and only then, is when Duncan takes his leave.
She learns later that the boy has been legitimized by the new king, of course. As a reward towards Duncan and his upstanding role at the war, they said. How ironically sour it feels to vindicate the fruit of broken vows, she thinks. The anger grows but curiously enough, does not linger, at least not as much as the gnawing hurt of betrayal and humiliation.
Stupidly, she hopes that there has been a horrible mistake and the baby is not truly his husband's but the old maids coo at him, delighted that the wretched babe is the spiting image of his father, all plump and strong, ready to overmaster the winter, they say.The comment irks her, lands uncomfortably and unwelcome on a the pile of worries that threaten to consume her, not only concern for her but fear for his son's future. The bastard boy was a Stark on name, what if Duncan rides her son from his rights to favor his bastard?
Her husband does nothing of the sort, not yet at least.
Eventually, she begins to hear the rumors from the maids. Theories and gossip about who could be child's mother, who could ever be so beautiful to make Duncan the Tall break his honor. The most crude speak about cheap whores and the stress of battle, others about lyssene foreigners and even some nonsense about a siren from the Narrow Sea.
But the one that makes her sick to the stomach, the most is the persistent one, is the relentless whisper about a Targaryen prince.
She could not tell with certainty where the rumors originated or how, perhaps from some brother in arms or the maesters that visited the battlefields. But there is some truth in it. Some rumors tell that it was at Ashford, when Duncan won his first tournament and crowned Aerion Targaryen as his queen of love and beauty. Captivated by the dragon prince and his ethereal beauty.
It is said that Duncan and the prince were in love and meant to marry but then tragedy arose and duty demanded its price. She knows for certain that Aerion Brightflame is dead, he was a royal and news like that flew faster across the realm. He was a skilled warrior as well, he could have perished in battle, but the details about his demise were never specified. Some even say he died of a broken heart after Duncan was promised to wed another.
She is forced to hear every whisper and senseless comment about the origin of her humiliation. Which is driving her mental, because regardless of it all, Duncan is not a bad father. He treats and loves both sons equally and does keep her son's birthrights even if she suspects that Maegor is the eldest of the two. He just does not love her. And she doesn’t love him either, not really, it was but a fairy tale idealization, but the situation is still dire and painful to live on.
She vows to ignore the babe's existence. Duncan takes complete care of his son; only him, the wetnurse and his bald headed squire cross the threshold of the bastard's nursery. The man looks so tragically sad, she even feels bad for him at times.
One instance, when the boy was dangerously sick, Duncan spent all night in his chambers coddling the bastard. When she ventured through the castle in search of the man, she found her lord husband holding the babe like he was something precious, small cheek flushed against Duncan’s, his expression exhausted and anguished.
"I know you're tired sweetling. I'm sorry." He shushed, "But please don't leave me. Please.", his voice was husky and it made her feel like the intruder.
The maester said it was the springfever, she recalled. And in such short age, the odds were not promising.
"I won't bear it if you go, I couldn't-" There is a trembling breath and then silence. "What if we both go, hmm? Go to see mama? I will not stay behind if you both leave. I couldn't"
Duncan had been put through so much sorrow and war, and despite it not exonerating the breaking of his vows and the betrayal, a gnawing guilt filled her after hearing her husband's voice breaking, for even wishing the fever would take an innocent life.
She understood then, that the child's sire could not be in this plane any more. Yet, it did not make her feel better.
She hadn’t meet Duncan before tragedy stroked him but couldn't help but think that the man was but a ghost of his old self. The servants that knew him as a child said as much; he used to be mirthful, a curious young man that longed for adventure and strived to become a skillful knight, no thoughts of lordship or ambitious schemes, favoring the simple life and spending his time traveling and engaging with villagers. Perhaps that was why the common folk loved him so much. Is not that her husband was unkind now, or a whole new person all together, he just seemed to be drown in a constant and inescapable melancholy.
The bastard does survive the fever, against all odds and ill wishes. And everyone adores him.
The old crones also tell, vexing her to no end, that Maegor is such a glad child and all made in his father’s image, from the physical appearance to the delightful moods, before the war, of course. She has no complains about her darling Arlan, the boy is perfection made human, but she cannot deny that he takes after her rather than his lord father. Is no issue, she repeats to herself, but there is a constant voice gloating in her self-doubt, saying that the lack of resemblance makes him less northern, lesser kin in his father's eyes and in those loyal to house Stark, as well.
The servants favor him already. They do not mistreat Arlan, they wouldn't dare but they do approach them differently. Maegor is revered with warmth and familiarity, like he wasn't a bastard and winter itself had birthed him rather than a whore mother that made married lords break their vows. The tot is all smiles and giggles, delighting, almost, every person he crosses. Arlan, however, is regarded like the little lord he is, not badly, just dealt with a professional indifference despite complying to his every whim. She can't tell if it's because the difference in ranks, Arlan being their future lord or if it was based on personality, her boy was shyer than her bastard brother, after all. Perhaps they just liked the other boy better. She consoled herself saying that the opinions of her lowers did not matter.
Duncan, however, treats his sons equally. As much as he's able. Arlan holds the titles and Winterfell is meant to be his, so her husband makes sure to prepare him for the role, beyond that, both children are raised together and fairly.
Despite her chagrin, the boys become inseparable. They play and grow together, learn to walk at the same time, hand in hand, and then follow their father everywhere. Arlan was a coy child, too intimidated at times to speak his mind and Maegor becomes incredibly protective of him; voicing the words his half-brother was too shy to utter and shielding him with his overgrown body every time they were scolded for getting in trouble. She would find it wholesome if the bastard was hers.
Regardless of his past faults, Duncan is a devoted father. She twists the knife with her own hands by picturing him under another circumstances, living a life where misfortune had no place to be and her husband is free from its torments; it is a pretty picture but it shatters quickly when she realizes that under better instances, happier ones, she wouldn't be the one by Duncan's side. Heedless, she cannot help but grow fond of the man again.
The boys are five when the king and his family visit Winterfell. Is the first time, outside his time with his sons, that she witness her husband smile so brightly. The dragons embrace Duncan with familiarity and affection, the interaction flows so swiftly that even the folk seems to forget they despise southerns, but king Baelor seemed to have that effect on people. Duncan introduces them and everyone is pleasant enough, they even bring gifts to her boy, who turned five summers mere days ago. But as usual, is Maegor the one who steals the attention.
The boy is to Duncan's left instead of the right, next to Arlan and her; she couldn't allow it. Maegor is outspoken, sharp and kind, the septas say. He retorts something that makes the king laugh and his hand, prince Maekar, twists his face in half a smile and a wince. She makes a grandious effort to not show her displeasure.
The courtyard begins to empty and she urges Arlan to run to the kitchens and let the servants now the feast is about to start. Duncan and his bastard linger outside with the royal family, she does not mean to eavesdrop, but lurks from the threshold still.
"I heard your name day just passed", says the king.
"Yes, your majesty", the boy curts and Duncan puts an arm over his shoulder.
The man smiles and then prince Maekar brings out a wooden box, kneels to set it by the bastards feet. Duncan widens his eyes, like he already knows what's inside.
"Your grace, I-" The prince stops him with a dismissive gesture of his hand.
"This our gift to you", he says quietly. She didn't believe the man was capable of speaking with such softness. "I heard you already have one but this belongs to you too." The box opens and the boy is stunned, big blue eyes shining in delight. It takes a while but Maegor finally takes the gift out of the box, she couldn't place what it was at first but then she realizes with unexpected shock. A dragon's egg. The royal house just gifted their fossilized symbol to a bastard. And did they say he already had one?
Dragons have been extinct for centuries but it is still the crown's emblem. The dragon eggs are rare, in appearance, nothing more that pretty rocks but still a novelty that only the Targaryen kin seemed to have access to, a symbol, or perhaps a reminder of their origins. It made no sense give one to a child, no matter how fond they were of his father.
Unless those wretched rumors were true.
She knows. Part of her thinks she always did and only ignored it to try and keep a semblance of sanity among all the betrayal and hurt.
The whispers come from the servants again and the men that that fought alongside her husband. There are opposing opinions about Aerion Targaryen, or at least she thinks they are always in contrast. People say the man was mad and cruel, a nightmare both in the battlefields and in court. But they also describe him as comely and ethereal, a beauty that could only be holy.
She never met the prince and despite herself, she has recurrent curiosity about if the bastard looks like his mother too. She mostly sees Duncan, but at times, the boys expression turns cold and sharper, and he no longer resembles his sire. She wonders if the Targaryens looked at him and saw their kin, their ghost.
The dragons leave but Aerion Targaryen's wraith still lingers. Still haunts her.
When the boys are ten and two, Duncan suggest to send her son away, to be a squire for some strange knight or to be hosted by a noble house.
"He is in age. It would do him some good", he says, "it is how my brothers and I did it"
Fear dances in her heart. What if Duncan wants to get rid of her son to give his bastard her Arlan's birthright?
"Only if you send your son away as well." She says sharply instead. "He is in age, too"
Duncan quietens, then. Clenching his jaw. She knows the matter is settled, at least for now. Her lord husband would rather cut all his limbs than send his son somewhere he cannot follow. She tries not to ponder if he would do the same for Arlan, but buries the thought before it buries her in bitterness and doubt.
At four and ten, Maegor finally leaves. She learns that the bald headed squire his husband adores is a Targaryen prince, can't help but feel invaded and stupid; for how long had she lived with dragons without realizing? So when duty calls, Egg leaves with Maegor as his squire and along with them, the rest of Duncan’s heart.
Arlan misses his brother dearly and she can tell her precious boy struggles to adapt to the new normal but she also hopes that now with Maegor out of the way, Arlan and Duncan can become closer, like it was always meant to be. Father and son do spent time together but her lord husband is more distant every day. She fears one day she will rise with an empty bed an Duncan already riding south, on his way to reunite with his bastard.
The years pass and each of them brings them news about the boy, flourishing wherever he goes and already making a name of himself. She sees Duncan's proud smile and wonders if that’s how his own parents felt while he was away, only learning about their son through letters and songs but proud no matter the distance.
When news about another rebellion reach the North, Duncan does not doubt to take his leave and ride South. She doesn’t know if it's worry for Maegor or his loyalty to the crown, both perhaps, given that is almost the same, she thinks bitterly.
The wait is as arduous as the last one and this time, her husband does not come back at all.
She was in her solar when the raven arrived. The war was over and her husband was dead. There had been an attack at Summerhall, a surprise onslaught that took place in the middle of the night causing a huge explosion that left the castle in ruins. The letter renders Duncan as a hero; who saved plenty of people and his own son. The most surprising report, however, is written at the bottom of the parchment. The dragons are back, it read.
At the time it sounded like nonsense but then Maegor himself wrote to his brother. The bastard's eggs had hatched during the explosion and so the dragons returned, Duncan was avenged and the war won again and with indisputable advantage this time around. She felt hysterical.
◇
Maegor returns to the North many moons later, to visit his brother and to bring his father’s remains back to Winterfell's crypts. He wears a dragon like armor with claw like fingers and spikes all over the plates. He's flanked by two dog-sized dragons flying over his shoulders. The bigger one is tinted in sandy gold with curious cerulean eyes, menacing horns over the head and its wings seem to shield the young man's width. The other dragon is smaller, sleek and elegant, so white that it almost meshes with the falling snow. The creature is watching them from above, with disgust or as if they are prey, she is not sure. But its eyes are a captivating violet.
In truth, the casket had been empty, she learns later and by accident. Duncan was the first Stark to not be buried in the crypts, for her late husband had been burned at the pyre and his ashes mingled with those of his dragon prince. Now he would rest in Dragonstone, a wolf among dragons, tangled with his love for eternity.