Chapter Text
Jon of House Arryn, lord of the Vale and the Eyrie, Warden of the East, was a strong-willed, well-mannered, and smart, educated man. He’d heard rumors of the North, tales that made his heart stutter in fear and unease to line his shoulders, but he took them with a grain of salt. After all, while dragons may have been real once (he’d seen the skulls hidden beneath the Red Keep), he didn’t believe in monsters. Ice wolves, shadow men, onikumas, wisps, sirens, wendigos, none of them. He didn’t believe in half-giants either, but after having met Lord Umber, he was inclined to believe that there might be giant’s blood in that House’s lineage. It would explain the rather impressive size of the northern lord and his sons.
It wasn’t until Jon met Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell for the first time that he truly began to question whether or not the rumors about the North were true or if they were mere hearsay.
Lord Stark looked like a man, talked like a man, walked on two legs like a man, yet there was something about him that screamed not-human. It could have been his posture, the way he stood like a hunter in a room of prey. It could have been the lack of any weaponry on his person, except for the Valyrian-steel greatsword strapped upon his back, and the fact that he never reached for it whenever things got heated. It could have been his face, the way it was set in stone, a single line tattooed below his bottom lip, visible above his beard, expression carefully curated to appear indifferent when all Jon could see was a beast lying in wait. For what, Jon hadn’t the faintest idea, but he knew for certain that he didn’t want to find out.
In the end, Jon concluded that it was Lord Stark’s eyes and when he was furious that showed the lord’s true nature. Harsh, burning, silver orbs that could read anyone like a children's book, whether or not they were skilled at keeping their tells hidden. Pupils that appeared slitted at times when the man’s anger was palpable. Fangs that seemed to grow larger and more pointed when another lord was being particularly snobbish toward the northern party. How Rickard Stark’s presence felt larger every time another man said something foolish that, if taken seriously, would spell trouble for much of the North.
All-in-all, Jon Arryn began to question the truth behind the rumors of the monsters in the North, and what he found had changed him. Having been able to get a hold of records and tomes from the North that had never seen the light of the southern sun, he learned about the bloody, horrifying nature of the North.
He read about the Starks and how they were ice wolves in human skins. How they were protective in nature over those they called their own. How they ran on four legs in the light of the full moon. How they all transform for the first time when they turn five-name-days-old. How, when they turned thirteen, they would gain the ability to control ice, snow, or both. How they performed rituals that bonded them to their siblings, parents, spouses, and children, tying their souls together irreversibly. How they were still heralded as the “Kings and/or Queens of the North” despite only being Wardens in the eyes of those south of the Neck. How they once had direwolves as companions before King Torrhen Stark bent the knee in surrender to Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives all those generations ago. How each Stark had lines tattooed on their chins to indicate their birth order, and how a woman could be the Head of House Stark and Lady Paramount of the North even after she was married if she was the firstborn child. How their home, Winterfell, was also called the Wolf’s Den.
He read about the Boltons, how they were once creatures known as vampires, who had insatiable bloodlusts, during their time as the “Red Kings” of the North, counterparts to the Starks “Kings of Winter”, and how they went from vampires to shadow men sometime after King Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. He read about their graphic, bloody rituals. He learned of the tests the Bolton heads would put the Stark heads through, and how the Boltons only revolted twice against the Starks, due to the fact that the Starks in charge were Greystarks in disguise; a branch House that had been wiped from existence by the Starks. How their home, the Dreadfort, was made of dark stone that seemed to leach away most light.
He read about the Manderlys, a once-southern house that was granted a place in the North due to their nature; they were sirens. How they were born in a pool of salt water. How they were masters at sea, being able to predict the weather to keep ships safe. How their voices were so entrancing that listeners could lose all sense of time and not realize hours had passed instead of what felt like mere minutes. How they couldn’t drown in water. How they were always able to find the perfect gift or treasure. How their eyes gleamed bright as gemstones and their skin always had a pearl-like sheen. How their marble home, the city of White Harbor, sparkled like it was beneath sunlight, even in the dead of night.
He read about the Umbers and how they were half-giant, capable of lifting stones that would have taken ten men to move on their own. How they had tests of strength to see who would bear the title of Lord, not the eldest son inheriting the title. How they had cleared piles of stone the size of small hills with just their fists to make their home. How their voices could be heard from The Wall if they were loud enough. How their home, Last Hearth, stood tall and strong, representative of their nature.
He read about the House of Mormont and how they were bears in human skin like the Starks were wolves, but even then, they weren’t quite bears. He read about how they had antlers on their heads, nestled in the fur behind their ears, and how those antlers were used in many spells and rituals of the North. How territorial they were, although not as much as the Starks. Onikumas, they were called. Demon bears. How their home, Bear Island, had more truth in its name than just their House crest.
He read about the Hornwoods, and he grew ill at the depictions of their true forms; too-long-limbed, disjointed figures with sagging skin and sunken holes where their eyes should be and mouths of jagged, broken teeth. How they stopped aging at the age of 18. How they would eat their spouses after their spouse had passed, and if their spouse was their soulmate, they would too become a wendigo. They were the North’s executioners, though they hadn’t been needed for a long time. How their home, deep in the Hornwood Forest, hid their nature as easily as the trees did.
He read about the House of Reed, and how they were will-o’-the-wisps, capable of guiding travelers on their home grounds either to their deaths or to safety. How the crannogmen of the Green Fork met the first Reed and struck up a deal that benefitted both parties, safety and solitude in exchange for a place to call home. How a Reed is determined to be a Guide or a Reaper through a trial. How they were set alight by the Crannogmen in a ritual to awaken their wisp abilities. How their home, Greywater Watch, was regarded as a myth as no raven had ever been able to find it.
He had to take several breaks while reading about the North, and he gained a tension in his shoulders that never fully left him, even when he was in his own home. The next time the lords of the realm were called for another tourney in the King’s honor, Jon attended with trepidation. He arrived at King's Landing a sennight before the Northern lords, which he used to mentally prepare himself to stand side-by-side with them and not give away that he knew what they truly were. He brushed off the concerns of his men, merely claiming he was tired; they didn't seem to believe him.
When they arrived, Lord Stark at the head of the procession, the other lords behind him, Jon greeted them with a nod, as he was the one selected to escort them to the tourney grounds. A humiliating task given to him by the King, but he took it with grace, and when the arrival of the Northern lords was announced from the gates of King’s Landing, Jon steeled his nerves and went to wait for them on the steps of the Red Keep.
Lord Stark dismounted his horse first, a great, large warhorse that didn’t seem to mind the wolf-in-man’s-skin on its back, and Jon felt his shoulders involuntarily tense further. He took a deep, subtle breath, willing his tension to ease before greeting the lords, welcoming them to King’s Landing. Servants hustled from behind him to take the men’s belongings to their quarters and their horses to the stables, and Jon watched as Lord Stark took one look at him and smirked.
Jon didn’t know what he meant by doing so, but he filed it away for later as he turned to lead them to the tourney grounds.
“The King is very insistent, I’m afraid.” he said, and he just barely managed to suppress his flinch when Lord Stark joined his side.
The taller man nodded in response before he murmured low out of the corner of his mouth, “So, I heard that you got your hands on some of our texts.”
Jon would’ve stopped in his tracks had Lord Stark not thrown an arm around him like an old friend to keep him moving. The wolf looked at him, and Jon took another deep breath before replying.
“I did,” he admitted softly.
“And?” Lord Rickard prompted.
“They were very… enlightening.” Jon said. “A bit… bloody, but enlightening.”
“I see,” Lord Stark rumbled. “Do you believe them, or do you think that they’re all merely tall tales?”
Jon pondered for a moment before he replied, taking a risk, “I believe them to be true. You are incredibly skilled at hiding that you’re not just a man, but you have your tells.”
Lord Stark barked a laugh that sounded more animal than human, and Jon felt his heart stutter. But, Lord Stark just beamed at him.
“And yer not runnin’ fer the hills or rantin’ an’ ravin’ like a madman?” his northern accent grew heavy. “Good lad.”
He clapped Jon’s shoulder, “Knew I liked ye fer a reason.”
Jon could only smile nervously, but he felt relieved. He was still wary of the northern lords, but if Lord Stark liked him, then he had to be okay, right? He wasn’t sure, and he tried not to ponder on it for too long. He just led the lords to the tourney grounds, pushing any unease down and burying it beneath the calm he forced to the surface.
Later, when Lord Stark offered to allow his second son, Eddard, to foster under Jon, due to the quick friendship that blossomed between Eddard and Robert Baratheon, Jon just nodded, acknowledging the hidden threat in Lord Stark’s eyes. I’m trusting you with my son, a piece of the North. Don’t let it be a mistake on my part.
Eddard joined Robert and him on the way back to the Eyrie after the tourney was over.
The Eyrie was a strange place. It was cold, like Winterfell, but the air was thin and it made breathing a more arduous task for young Ned Stark, who was only ten name-days old. The mountain keep rested above the clouds, on the peak, and Ned was in awe at being able to see the sun without cloud coverage. The mountain oozed with magyk, but not any magyk he knew. It was light, airy, yet also oily compared to the heavy, freezing, comforting magyk of the North. It made his teeth ache, coating his skin with a layer of sweat, and it put him on edge. He didn’t feel unwelcome by any means, but he didn’t feel welcomed either.
His father had allowed him to foster under Lord Arryn with Robert, telling him that Lord Arryn knew their secret, that the southern lord could be trusted. He was not allowed to tell Robert, though, and he huffed at that before his father gave him a stern look, quelling his childish tantrum. He promised to not tell Robert, and his father nodded, ruffling his hair before Lord Stark departed with the rest of the Northern party.
The trip was not nearly as long as the one to King’s Landing from Winterfell, but it was difficult. The mountain path was steep, and they had to use a lift to reach the doors of the keep. Being suspended above the ground in nothing but a decorated wooden lift was terrifying, and he had to clench his hands to hide his claws. Lord Arryn noticed, however, and laid a steady hand on Ned’s shoulder after Robert rocked the lift a little too much for Ned’s comfort. Ned just nodded to the lord gratefully and kept his eyes forward, taking in the incredible view.
A fortnight after he arrived at the Eyrie, he felt shock and sadness from the connection he shared with his siblings. He could only assume his father arrived back home and his siblings saw that he hadn’t returned with him. His assumption was proven correct when the first ravens arrived, letters from Brandon, Lyanna, and Benjen, who all demanded different stories and asked different questions. He sent back replies as quickly as he could, and within a moon, the siblings were writing back and forth to each other almost weekly.
Before long, he was running around, attending lessons, and having fun under Lord Arryn’s gentle, yet firm, teachings. Every full moon, the lord joined him in the courtyard, shooing away guards and servants, allowing for Ned to run freely in his ice wolf form. Before he knew it, two years had passed, and when he received letters from his siblings to see him for his 13th name-day, he begged to go. Robert wanted to go with him, and while Ned hid the grimace on his face, Jon saw it and told Robert that he spends enough time with Ned by his side, Ned should be able to spend alone time with his family too.
Ned looked at him gratefully, and Jon nodded with a smile before getting everything ready for departure, and he escorted Ned down the lift, seeing him off with a couple of his most trusted guards (who only accompanied Ned to the Green Fork before making their way back home). Ned, thrilled to feel the familiar magyk of the North embrace his soul once more, urged his horse into a gallop down the King’s Road, passing the ruins of Moat Cailin a couple hours later. He spends the night in Barrowton, the smallfolk eagerly hosting him once they saw the two lines on his chin and his silver eyes. He was given warm bread and stew, and he thanked them enthusiastically before he was given a bed for the night. He departed the next morning after breaking his fast as the sun rose, and the people of Barrowton wished him safe travels.
It took him another two days to reach Cerwyn, passing through the Hornwood Forest, where he nodded in respect to the keep hidden deep within. Lord Cerwyn insisted that Ned stay for the night before heading home in the morning, preparing a feast for him, welcoming him home. Ned expressed his gratitude the way his father taught him, and Lord Cerwyn regaled him in what had happened in the North while he was away. Ned went to bed that night, unable to fall asleep despite the exhaustion that weighed his bones down, and before long, he decided to depart, eager to get home. He saddled his horse, tied everything up, and mounted his horse before he sensed Lord Cerwyn entering the stables with a knowing grin on his lips.
“That eager to leave? Was the food not up to yer standards? Maybe the bed was too firm?” Lord Cerwyn teased, and Ned felt apologies well in his throat, but at Lord Cerwyn’s guffaw, he chuckled too.
“No, m’lord,” he said. “None o’ that. Just ready to see everyone again.”
Lord Cerwyn clapped his shoulder in mirth, “Well, just make sure ye get home safely. Can’t have Rickard taking my head fer letting his son depart in the middle o’ the night if ye didn’t make it in one piece.”
“Yes, m’lord,” Ned replied before Lord Cerwyn led his horse out of the stable and to the gate. They bid each other farewell before Ned took off, the moon being his only light, though it was all he needed. He arrived at Winterfell’s gates as the sun rose, and he urged his horse to go faster, excitement washing over him. He felt Brandon’s reciprocated excitement and the shock and glee from Benjen and Lyanna as he drew closer to the gates that opened for his arrival. He slowed his horse to a trot as soon as he was in Winterfell’s courtyard, and his siblings rushed to meet him. As soon as he dismounted his horse and took a few steps away, Brandon barrelled into him with a laugh. He hugged his older brother back just as tightly.
Lyanna jumped onto their backs, laughter spilling from her lips and Benjen burrowed his way in between Ned and Brandon to cling to Ned. From a distance, Rickard and Lyarra laughed and smiled at the antics of their children. Soon, they were all ushered back inside to break their fast and bombard Ned with questions that he answered enthusiastically, asking his own as well. Soon enough, he fell back into Winterfell’s routine, running with his father and siblings during the next full moon as Lady Stark watched with a fond look, attending lessons with Brandon in the morning, and training with all of his siblings after the midday meal, and praying at the heart tree when he felt he needed to.
A sennight after his return home, he was awoken at midnight by his siblings, who were eager to see what his new ability would be, seeing as it was now his 13th name-day. They all snuck out of the keep and into the godswood, and there, Brandon showed Ned his gift to manipulate ice before coaching Ned on how to tap into his own gift. Ned closed his eyes and dug down, deep into his soul, feeling for his dormant gift to encourage it out of its slumber. His gift responded to his touch with ease, and a feeling of rightness filled his veins. He heard Lyanna and Benjen gasp, and he opened his eyes to see a small flurry of snow spinning around him. His eyes lit up with joy, and Brandon sent pride through their connection, causing a grin to pull at Ned’s lips. He spun with the flurry and raised a hand, watching the snow follow.
Lyanna put her hand in the flurry, and she watched in awe as the snow parted around her hand without touching her skin. Benjen copied her and giggled in child-like wonder. Brandon ruffled Ned’s hair and the younger sent a handful of snow into the older’s face. Brandon spluttered, making his younger siblings all cackle before he smirked to himself. With a tap of his foot, he encased their feet in ice, and Lyanna gasped at him in offense while Benjen just huffed and Ned sighed before he revealed his fangs with a grin and shifted into his wolf form, breaking the ice, and darting at Brandon who yelped, shifted, and took off through the trees. Lyanna and Benjen were quick to follow Ned’s lead, and soon, Brandon was being chased by his younger siblings around the godswood.
They ran and tousled and played until the sun began to rise. Benjen was the first to shift back, rubbing at his eyes. Lyanna shifted back a moment later and a yawn cracked her jaw. Ned shifted back from his spot on the ground and he turned onto his back to look up at the brightening sky. Brandon was the last to shift back, and he scooped Benjen onto his back, kicking at Ned’s foot to get him up, and headed back toward the keep. Lyanna finished Brandon’s job for him, grabbing Ned’s wrist and hauling him to his feet before linking her arm with his and marching back to the keep behind Brandon and Benjen.
“Happy name-day, Brother,” she murmured to him, a smile on her face.
He smiled back, “Thank you.”
Their mother scolded them all for not being in bed, but the look in their father’s eyes let the siblings know that they weren’t in any real trouble. Lyarra ushered them in after a few moments, and they all quickly washed up to break their fast. Afterward, Rickard took Ned out on a hunt for his name-day while the staff of Winterfell prepared the night’s feast in celebration.
“How is the Vale, son?” Rickard asked after they were traveling for a while.
“It’s alright. Lord Arryn joins me in the courtyard during the full moons so that no one sees me. Robert’s growing larger and larger everyday, it feels like. He’s become quite proficient with a war hammer. Our spars more often than not end in draws,” Ned replied, absentmindedly swirling the fallen snow on the ground next to him.
“Good,” Rickard said. “And your other studies?”
“Getting full marks, although the Eyrie’s magyk does help on occasion.”
Rickard quirked a brow up at that, “The Eyrie has magyk?”
Ned nodded, “It’s light, like air, but it also feels like oil. It’s cold, but not like how the North’s magyk is. It wasn’t welcoming at first, but after a while, it stopped trying to smother mine.”
He brought a hand up, his fingers encased in shifting snow, frowning at it. Rickard eyed him for a moment before looking forward again, his brow furrowed.
“As long as you’re doing well there,” he finally said. Ned nodded once more, and silence fell over them. With a single gesture, they both dismounted and shifted, beginning their hunt.
When they returned about an hour before supper, fresh kills in pouches tied to their saddles, Ned was dragged away by his siblings to Brandon’s room, where name-day gifts awaited Ned. He opened them, one-by-one, marveling at the new knife Brandon gifted him, the new pair of riding gloves that were a tad too large for his hands from Lyanna, and the new leather journal from Benjen. He thanked them all with hugs and hair ruffles before taking them back to his room, strapping the knife to his belt.
The feast that night was enormous, and lords from all over the North wished him a happy name-day. Lord Cerwyn raised his mug of ale to Ned with a wink and a grin before turning back to his conversation. After supper and the presentation of gifts from the other lords, the dishes were promptly swept up and replaced with desserts and snacks and pitchers of ale and water before the tables were slid up against the wall to clear the floor. A band began a northern jig, and moments later, people were linking arms and creating circles, spinning, jumping, stomping their feet, and clapping their hands to the music. Ned and his siblings were in a circle with Lord Rickard and Lady Lyarra, matching grins on their faces.
They danced and danced until their feet were sore, only taking breaks to drink and eat before going back out onto the floor to dance some more. The moon had started its descent by the time the festivities died down, and Ned collapsed on his bed, barely awake enough to take his boots off before he fell asleep with a smile on his face.
The days flew by, and before he knew it, the summer solstice was upon them. It was Winterfell’s turn to host the Summer Solstice Festival that year, and Wintertown was awash in colorful banners and vibrant tapestries, clay pots filled with colored powder in front of every stall and on every street corner, and streamers and lanterns hanging on clothing lines overhead. Brandon and Lyanna had taken off to look at the many weapons stalls while Benjen clung to Ned’s side, eyes catching on all of the stalls filled with books or brimming with food.
It was there, at one of the stalls of books, where Ned met Roose Bolton for the first time. The shadow man was examining the book in his hand with disinterest when Benjen accidentally bumped into him. Benjen apologized, half-hiding behind Ned, who subtly squared his shoulders. Roose seemed to take notice of that, and he straightened himself, towering over Ned with a sharp eye. Ned stared back, not breaking eye contact, and the corner of Roose’s mouth quirked up minutely before he spoke.
“It’s quite alright, little wolf,” he said to Benjen. “Accidents happen. As long as no one is hurt.”
Benjen quickly shook his head, hiding further behind Ned. Roose looked at the older Stark once more.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, holding out a hand for Ned to shake. “Roose Bolton at your service.”
“Pleasure’s all mine,” he replied, shaking Roose’s hand. “Eddard Stark, but everyone calls me Ned.”
Roose nodded, “Well then, Ned, little wolf, I best be off.”
With that, he turned on his heel, tucking the book under his arm, flicking a gold dragon over his shoulder to land in the bookseller’s open palm.
“Keep the change,” he called over his shoulder before slipping through the crowd like a wraith.
The bookseller just shook his head and turned to the Starks.
“Anything catch your eye?” he asked.
Benjen picked up the book he was eying, and he looked up at Ned with pleading eyes when he patted his pockets for his coin pouch, coming up empty. Ned sighed and handed the bookseller twelve silver stags for the book before Benjen beamed at him and dragged him further into the crowd.
By midday, a ceremony was held to welcome and bask in the warmth of the sun before everyone threw a handful of colored powder in the air. Ned ended up with dark green and burnt orange in his hair, Benjen had sky blue and pale pink streaked across his face, Lyanna was covered in crimson and lilac purple, and Brandon was dusted with golden yellow and vibrant magenta. Lyanna threw a handful of grass green powder in Brandon’s face after he dumped two handfuls of bright pink over her head, prompting a color war. Children, both smallfolk and noble, were shrieking in laughter before long, teaming up together and ganging on others, powder spilling from their fingers. By the late afternoon, everyone was covered in color, and the children were herded toward the river between Winterfell and Cerwyn to wash the color off their hands and faces and out of their hair before they ate supper.
Food and drinks were bountiful, and laughter echoed through the streets of Wintertown as every man, woman, and child told stories, gossiped, and chattered about anything and everything. Ned was squished between Lyanna and Benjen, sitting across from Brandon, Roose, Jon Umber, and Dacey Mormont. He was munching on a lamb leg, watching Brandon throw an arm around Roose and Jon, already pink-cheeked from his mug of ale, laughing up a storm. Roose looked disdained at the arm around him, failing to shrug it off, and Ned snorted when the older teen sighed before abruptly dropping into the shadows, leaving Brandon to swing his arm wildly before Jon roared in laughter and pulled him closer so he didn’t tip over. Roose popped back out from the shadows, a subtle smirk on his lips and taking a sip of his own mug, and Ned couldn’t smother his laughter anymore.
He burst out in chest-heaving guffaws while Lyanna and Dacey cackled and Benjen giggled at Brandon’s expense. Their older brother pouted for a moment before falling back into laughter, starting up another hunting story that he found hilarious in his tipsy state.
When the sun began to set, most of the food had been eaten, and music started up. Drunk men, giggly women, and hyper children linked hands in lines, and began to dance. Brandon danced with a servant girl, Roose ended up hand-in-hand with Bethany Ryswell, Lyanna danced with Dacey, and Ned ended up next to Jon and Medger Cerwyn. He spun, twisted, stomped, clapped, and moved with the music, a wide grin showing off his fangs. A few songs later, he linked arms with his siblings, and they howled to the song, startling the people near them. Their father’s howl echoed a moment later, their mother’s right after, and the rest of Wintertown’s residents and Winterfell’s staff howled in response to their lord and lady’s.
When the sun was low in the sky, everyone migrated to the godswood, gathering around the heart tree to the best of their abilities. Rickard thanked everyone for attending the Summer Solstice Festival with him and his family before he knelt before them.
“As Warden of the North, my duty is to her people,” he said. “I thank each and every one of you before me and those who couldn’t make it for supporting my family and me as your Warden, your King of the North. There will be a day when we will be free from southron rule. I intend to see that day happen during my time as Warden. When it does, I will kneel before you, not as your Lord, but as your King, to swear to protect and serve and honor each of you as the North’s people. All I ask is your continued support.”
Rickard bowed his head, and one-by-one, people began to cheer, chanting “King of the North”, but Ned could only watch in muted fear. He remembered all those times before he left to foster under Lord Arryn that he accidentally eavesdropped on conversations he shouldn’t have. Hushed whispers between the northern lords and his father about declaring independence from the South, breaking out from under the Mad King’s thumb. He’d never been caught, but the looks his father had given him a few times afterward told him that he wasn’t as sneaky as he had initially thought.
With the determination he saw in his father’s shoulders, he knew that that day would come sooner than he expected. He was wary, unsure he wanted to see how the Mad King would inevitably retaliate. He had heard rumors of the Mad King’s quick temper, and he had been uncomfortable in the man’s presence during the tourney before he went to the Eyrie. King Aerys was quick to anger and incredibly paranoid. Ned only hoped that he didn’t find out about the North wishing to take their independence back. While the dragons may have vanished, Ned didn’t wish to see the North burn. He had faith in her magyk, but he wasn’t ignorant. Magyk can only do so much against a king that no one in the seven kingdoms wanted to anger.
A soothing touch brushed against his soul, and he looked up to see Brandon looking back at him, a reassuring look in his eyes. Lyanna had sidled closer until her arm was pressed against his, and Benjen was holding his hand. He minutely shook his head to clear his thoughts before looking at his father again, who had gotten to his feet by then.
He straightened his shoulders and joined everyone else in bowing to his father. He departed back for the Eyrie a couple days later with his mind spinning. Jon had asked him if he was alright once he stepped foot back in the Eyrie, but Ned just nodded his head and claimed he was tired from the journey. He was allowed to go to his chambers, and there he sat on his bed, opening the leather journal Benjen gifted him, writing down everything he remembered from his father’s conversations, hiding the book in his bag when he was finished. Then, he fell into an uneasy sleep.
In the year 281, a tourney in Harrenhal was announced across the realm, and Jon took Ned and Robert with him to attend. By then, Ned and Robert were both 18, grown men.
Ned packed his belongings up for a final time, running a hand down the leather journal that held encoded letters from his siblings and whispered conversations of long past, a furrow in his brow and a frown on his lips. He stowed the journal away, buried beneath clothes and other books and trinkets he’d been sent over the years. A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see Robert grinning from his place against the doorway.
“C’mon, Ned,” he said. “We’re not getting any younger.”
Ned huffed a laugh at his foster brother’s words before standing and grabbing the bag he was going to be taking with him for the journey to Harrenhal. He brushed past Robert, knocking against the other man’s arm with a wolfish grin on his face, and Robert guffawed before falling in step next to him. They met up with Jon at the lift, and together, they all descended to where horses and guards were waiting for them. Jon threw an arm around both young men, a smile on his face.
“I’m proud of the men you two have grown to be. Fine lords and strong warriors, both of you.”
Robert beamed and Ned preened at his words before Ned looked back at the view the lift provided, a bad feeling lingering in his gut. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was uneasy. He schooled his features, however, not cluing Jon or Robert in on his troubling thoughts. He hoped his gut feeling was wrong, but he doubted it. His magyk was restless, agitated, and he had difficulties quelling it and not giving in and letting the blizzard brewing in his lungs out. He managed to succeed, and soon they were off the lift and mounted, ready to depart for Harrenhal.
The journey was tough for Ned, the bad feeling growing stronger and stronger the closer they got to the tourney grounds. Not even seeing Brandon and Lyanna lifted it for longer than a moment. Sensing his unease, they stuck close to him, despite Lyanna’s disdain toward Robert, whom she had been betrothed to a year prior.
Then, a younger, golden-haired man was sworn into the Kingsguard, and Ned cocked his head in interest at the young man. His golden hair and bright emerald eyes declared him as a Lannister before Ned even saw the lion on his shield. The Lannister looked smug, pride twisting his fair features into an arrogant sneer. Ned just rolled his eyes, chortling at Brandon mocking the Lannister’s expression before turning his attention back to the tourney.
Then, Lyanna disappeared for a day, only to turn up in ill-fitting armor and a weirwood shield with a joyful face and exhilaration painting her soul yellow. The Knight of the Laughing Tree. Ned wanted to throttle her, but kept his mouth shut in fear of retribution, seeing the mad gleam in the King’s eyes. As much as he wished for his sister to stop her foolishness, he did not wish to expose her to the Mad King’s wrath. Brandon was oblivious to it, but Ned knew that his sister was the mysterious knight, and when she vanished once more, returning a day later with pink cheeks, he only sat closer, sending his exasperation through the connection at her. She only grinned cheekily, and he huffed a long, weary sigh, shaking his head.
In the end, Prince Rhaegar won the tourney and gifted a crown of blue roses to Lyanna, much to Brandon’s chagrin, the Dorne’s offense on behalf of their princess, and Ned’s confusion, because he had seen the subtle nod between Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia before the prince gifted his sister, crowning her as the queen of love and beauty. Princess Elia calmed her brothers down while a couple of the northern lords’ sons restrained Brandon from leaping at the prince. Ned just gripped Robert’s wrist tight when his foster brother moved to get up. Robert stopped, took a look at Ned’s stony face, and plopped back into his seat with a huff.
After the ceremonies were over, Ned pulled Lyanna aside before she could run off. She felt his confusion through the connection, and she sighed, grabbing his hand.
“Come with me,” she ordered, leading him away from the rest of the crowd. Unseen, they slip behind tents and posts before reaching an ornate tent that she swiftly drags him into. In there, he was met with Princess Elia sitting at a vanity, taking the various ornaments out of her hair. Lyanna let go of Ned’s hand and approached the princess from behind, helping her remove the ornaments faster.
Ned was left reeling at the smile the princess gave his sister and he quickly took a seat on one of the available cushions.
“Lyanna? What’s going on? How long have you and the princess known each other?” he asked before his mind grinded to a halt, one thought blaring in his ears. “Does Father know about this?”
Lyanna sighed, pressing a quick kiss to the top of the princess’ head before taking a seat on another cushion, facing her brother.
“I’ve known Elia and Rhaegar for a year now, just before my betrothal with Robert. No, Father doesn’t know, and I wish for it to stay that way. Ever since Mother passed, he’s grown cold,” she replied.
Ned couldn’t find the words to describe how dangerous everything had become in the span of three days, how much danger Lyanna and the rest of the Starks were in due to her secret relationship with the prince and princess. He wanted to cuff the back of her head however many times it took for her to realize it. But, when he opened his mouth, he felt the genuine love and joy radiating from her as she smiled at the princess who had joined her on the floor, holding up a hairbrush with a silent plea in her eyes.
Lyanna took the brush and began running it through the princess’ dark curls before parting them for what Ned quickly realized was a Northern courting braid. Lyanna, who wore her hair down or tied up in a bun, was interlocking the curls with an ease he didn’t expect. He thought back to the braid the prince had his hair in and his eyes widened. He cleared his throat, and Lyanna paused, turning to look at him.
“Are you happy with them?” was all he could ask. Lyanna smiled and nodded happily.
“Very happy,” she told him, and he leaned back. “They are my soulmates, after all.”
He was left reeling again, and Lyanna moved the back of her shirt down far enough for Ned to see the heads of a dragon and viper resting between her shoulders. It shone a brilliant violet and gold.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” she parroted, turning back to the braid.
Ned nodded, “Okay. I support you. I won’t tell Father or Brandon or Robert. Not unless you want me to. However, you will need to do your part as well. Find a way to get Robert to leave you alone. The gods know I haven’t been able to.”
Lyanna snorted, and Ned huffed a laugh before he grew serious.
“Do they know?” he asked, and Lyanna’s hands stilled.
“We do,” Princess Elia replied for Lyanna. “I found out a few months ago, during a full moon. We showed Rhaegar the following moon.”
Ned could only nod, “And, you’re alright with it? Learning that some northern rumors are true?”
“It was a little scary at first, but Lyanna is the sweetest wolf I’d ever met, so I figured that some of the rumors were just truths twisted by fear,” the princess said.
Ned frowned, “Not all of our history is like that; harmless truths twisted by fear. Our history is bloody, filled with things and creatures that only serve as ghost stories and warnings to everyone south of the Neck.”
“Dorne’s history is a bloody one, as well. We weren’t always fine silks, rich wine, and dates dipped in honey,” Princess Elia said. “We Dornish know more about your history and its truths than you think. Quite a few of our sailors have conducted business in White Harbor.”
Then, she leaned closer to Ned, Lyanna following easily, and with a fanged smile and a forked tongue slipping through her teeth and her eyes shifting to those of a snake, she spoke once more, “The northern ice has changed our lives in more ways than one.”
Ned’s eyes were wide, and Lyanna laughed at her brother’s shock as she tied off the braid with twine. She threw an arm around Princess Elia’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to the princess’ temple before looking at her brother again.
“Things’ll be alright,” his sister said, a soft smile on her face.
“For your sake, I hope so,” Ned replied. “I truly hope so.”
Ned bade them farewell roughly an hour later when he heard Jon call his name, and his sister gave him a final hug before he left. He made his way back to Robert and Jon, one more secret weighing down on his conscience.
A moon went by and Ned was still 18 and Robert was 19 when Ned choked as a sudden fire tore through him. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath as his nerves burned. He felt as steam rose from his eyes and streamed from his mouth, and he fell the rest of the way to the cold stone floor that felt like unforgiving ice under his blistering palms. His grip on his power slipped, and snow filled the corridor he collapsed in at an alarming rate. Strangled whimpers and cries spilled out with the steam, and he felt Lyanna and Benjen’s souls latch onto his own. He held them through the flames, reaching out for Brandon and his Father, gasping when Father’s soul abruptly vanished, pleading as Brandon’s soul flickered before fading.
He held Lyanna and Benjen closer, tighter, choked groans forcing their way out of his throat as he shifted. That was how Robert and Jon found him; a blast of freezing air, a blizzard battering the stones and glass windows with vicious fury, and a wolf with steam rising from its pelt in the middle of it, snow melting around it. Jon shooed Robert away, running through the stinging snow to kneel next to the wolf, lifting its head from the ground. He murmured to it, stroking the fur behind its ear.
Robert couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. He remembered all of the tall tales, the rumors, the nonsense made up about the North. How it was a home of monsters, of nightmares. Creatures that performed blood rituals, bone ceremonies, spells uttered in a harsh, guttural language under the moonlight, disjointed bodies and gaping maws and jagged claws. Of ink that provided charms and protective wards that supposedly worked. And, for the longest time, that was all he thought they were. Mere rumors conjured up from the minds of terrified men. He'd seen the tomes in Lord Arryn’s personal library, had taken peeks inside them, but he believed the stories they told to be mere fairy tales.
Yet, here one was. A creature of the North, a living story. Robert stumbled back, but he didn’t leave the corridor. Jon helped the wolf to its feet and led it away, a steady hand on its scruff. The blizzard died down before fading entirely, leaving heaps everywhere.
Ned was a wolf. An honest-to-the-gods wolf. One of the so-called ice wolves that the Starks were rumored to be. Robert couldn’t wrap his head around it, but it made so much sense. All of the times Ned could be heard growling, a vicious, animalistic sound, why Ned disappeared every night during the full moon, why Ned had fangs far sharper and a fair bit larger than the canines in his own mouth, the unassuming strength Ned possessed.
Robert fell on his ass, eyes not leaving the spot where Ned was sprawled. The smell of wet dog hit his nose, and he clambered onto his feet. He turned tail and ran out of the hallway, not emerging until supper, where Ned was seated next to Jon, eyes bloodshot and nose runny. Robert sat down next to Ned, pressing his shoulder against the northman’s in silent support. Ned didn’t look at him or say a word, but the gentle nudge was more than enough for Robert to know Ned was grateful. He looked at the spread of food before them and began filling his plate.
Later that night, they were in Robert’s room, silently staring at the fire when Ned spoke.
“Brandon and Father are gone.”
Robert jolted at his foster brother’s words, looking over at him.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Felt them leave. Their souls faded. That only happens in death,” Ned whispered. “It’s just Lyanna, Benjen, and me left. I’m the Lord of Winterfell now.”
Robert recalled another story of blood and bone rituals, and he inwardly shuddered before turning his attention back to Ned.
“What should we do now?” he asked.
Ned just shrugged, “I guess we wait and see if we find out who killed them, or how they died. The Warden of the North and his heir perishing in the same night, news is bound to be flying sooner rather than later.”
Robert nodded, determination flooding his veins.
“Then we wait, and if we find out who did it, then they better pray they never meet us,” he declared, but Ned didn’t return his enthusiasm. Robert understood though. If he had some sort of magyk connecting him to his family and he felt one of his brothers suddenly disappear, he would be inconsolable too. He just threw an arm around Ned, and they watched the fire burn late into the night.
A week later, a raven arrived at the Eyrie, and Jon silently gave it to Ned, who snarled before abruptly stopping himself, bowing to Jon in thanks, and walking away. He was going to make the Mad King pay, no matter whether he lived or died in the process. He told Robert and the Baratheon let out a roar and a declaration of war. They rallied men behind them, Jon helping rally the South while Ned rallied the North.
The rumor of Lyanna’s abduction by Prince Rhaegar was spreading like wildfire, despite Ned’s attempts to stop it, but the rumor brought more and more lords on board with the rebellion. Ned kept to himself or the other Northern lords whenever they were on the battlegrounds, tearing through the King’s Army with dripping fangs and bloodstained claws. The northmen were eager to follow in Ned’s wake, cutting down any soldiers that were left behind, making great strides in conquered territory.
They made it to Riverrun where Ned and Robert met with Hoster Tully, who offered his armies and a southern fort to fall back to if needed in exchange for Ned wedding his eldest daughter, Catelyn Tully. Ned agreed, exhausted and resigned at this point, and the ceremony was held that night in the sept. The bedding ceremony commenced, but was quickly put to a stop when Ned saw the direwolf head with a greatsword behind it on her navel. He growled, covering her with his body, and Lord Tully looked offended, but when a light began to shine through the gaps between their torsos and from Ned’s left wrist, he quickly changed his tune, allowing the newlyweds to depart before the bedding ceremony was completed.
After their consummation, they were laying in Catelyn’s bed, Ned rubbing a thumb over her bare shoulder as she laid on his chest, he broke the silence.
“Lady Catelyn, there is something I must tell you,” he murmured.
“What is it, my lord?” she replied softly.
Ned grimaced, “First, please call me Ned.”
“Call me Cat, then.”
He huffed a small laugh, “Alright, Cat. Tell me, what do you know of the North?”
She sat up to look at him, her fiery red hair falling like a curtain around her.
“What do you mean?” she asked, a furrow in her brow.
Ned sat up as well, leaning back against the headboard, “I mean what I said. What do you know of the North? Of her history? Of the rumors and stories and ghost tales that surround her people?”
Cat was quiet for a while, her mind racing as she remembered the stories she’d heard about the North growing up; about shadows with faces and wickedly curved blades, bears that weren’t quite bears with antlers behind their ears, and of wolves that howled in the night and wore a man’s skin during the day.
“You best behave now, or those shadow men will drag you from your bed while you sleep.”
“You must be willing to share with those less fortunate than you or the man with rotted skin will take yours to wear as his own.”
“Do not raise your tone in disrespect to those in higher power, or the demon bears will hear you and take your voice away and turn you into one of them.”
“They’re just rumors, aren’t they?” she asked, almost fearful of her husband’s answer. But, the look on his face told her the awful, terrifying, bloodcurdling truth.
“They’re true?” she whispered, her breath catching in her lungs. He only nodded, and she leaned away from him, looking down at the bed with wide eyes.
“They’re only true to an extent,” he said, and she looked back at him. “I’ve heard some of the stories used as warnings here in the south, and those aren’t true. An onikuma can’t hear much farther than a bear, the shadow men don’t steal children from their beds if they misbehave, and the wendigos don’t leave their forest unless invited or they are needed.”
She didn’t look like she believed him, so he sighed and went over to his bags and pulled out a worn book, bringing it back to the bed with him. He handed it to her without a word, and she read the title, her blood going cold. It was a simple title, truly, but the feeling of the book made her skin crawl. Then, she swallowed her unease. If her soulmate was a man who was part of the North, one of its monsters, then she would do her best to learn all she could to be a good, dutiful wife.
She let Ned bring her into a relaxed recline against her pillows, and she opened the book and began to read. The following morning, before they left her room to break their fast and for Ned to leave with Riverrun’s army behind him, she kissed him, pouring her determination into it. He kissed her back and vowed to protect her when the war was over and he returned to her in her new home. She smiled at him, still nervous, but willing to do her best to adapt and thrive in the North. She was nothing if not dutiful.
Ned returned to Robert, Riverrun’s men at his back, and they met the Targaryen forces at the Trident. It was a long, arduous battle, and Ned didn’t get a chance to meet up with his good-brother before the prince fell into the river after suffering a mighty blow of Robert’s warhammer that caved in his breastplate, collapsing his lungs and shattering his ribs. Blood and rubies spilled into the water, and Ned felt his sister’s anguish rage against his soul. He could only send back his own sorrow and vow to find Rhaegar and give him a proper funeral, and to protect his good-sister and his niece and nephew.
That night after the battle, Robert cheered and boasted and drank his fill, the men around him raising their voices with his. Ned didn’t participate, opting to instead leave the war camp for the night and shift into his wolf form before running down the length of the river, desperate to find the prince’s body. He did find it about an hour after he started his search, and he pulled Rhaegar out of the river by the straps of his armor before shifting back. He built a pyre and laid the prince’s corpse on top of it before lighting it, sending prayers to the North’s gods, despite the silver-haired man’s own faith in the Seven. The same Seven who had let him fall to a man fueled by false beliefs and entitled assumptions.
Ned prayed to his gods, asking for his good-brother’s safe passage into the afterlife. The flames grew impossibly hot and the flames turned ice-blue and white, and Ned felt the cold touch of the North brush past his neck and toward the pyre, picking up the embers and taking them south. He watched the wood burn to ash, placing a handful in a sealed pouch, before making his way back to the camp, sorrow and gratitude warring inside him. Robert didn’t seem to notice that he had disappeared, and his bannermen only nodded to him once he sat down beside them next to one of the roaring fires. Howland Reed gave him a knowing glance that he brushed aside, and Roose, sent in his father’s stead, gave him a look, but he only shook his head, promising to tell the man later. Roose nodded before waving a hand, crafting a dagger out of a part of Ned’s shadow. He slipped the dagger on his belt, and Ned took it for what it was; a reminder of a promise.
They marched for King’s Landing. On the way, Robert received word a few days in about the siege on Storm’s End, his younger brother Stannis, the acting lord at the time, requesting aid. Ned was curious to see what Robert would do to aid his younger brothers, but Robert just tossed the missive aside, claiming that his brothers would have to hold out a little while longer. His dismissive behaviour chafed against Ned’s nerve, but he didn’t say a word, only praying to his gods for the continued survival of the younger Baratheons and the people of Storm’s End.
They laid siege to the city’s walls, Jon assigned as the one to negotiate terms of surrender in Robert’s stead. However, the gates opened on the third day of Robert’s siege, the bells of surrender booming through the air, shaking the stone streets beneath Ned’s feet when he stormed up to the Red Keep, his rage and grief growing and threatening to drown him. Robert, who was behind him, stayed at the front gate of the great castle, halting the southern lords. The northern lords and heirs who raised their banners behind Ned halted on their own, well aware that one must never get between a wolf and its blood dues.
The Mad King had their Lord Paramount, their king, burned alive, roasted inside his armor by wildfire, and had the Stark heir tied by his neck, allowing him to strangle himself reaching for a sword that was a mere breath too far. Roose nodded to Ned, who thanked him silently before slipping into the castle like a wraith.
Finding the throne room didn’t take much effort, and Ned had a snarl on his face by the time he reached the doors. He threw them open with all of his strength, and they slammed against the wall, leaving cracks in the red stone. The scent of rotting iron hit his nose with a sharp blow and he gagged for a moment before looking around for the cause of it. And, he found it.
At the foot of the iron throne, a monstrous, ghastly thing that towered over the empty room was the Mad King, laying on his stomach, an ever-growing pool of blood beneath him. A sword stuck out of his back. On the steps before the iron throne was a slouched, trembling figure. Ned almost didn’t recognize him.
Jaime Lannister, only sixteen name-days old, had dust and grease matting his gold locks, and his white cloak was stained yellow and brown with dirt and a lack of care. He had his head buried in his knees, hands pressed tight against his ears, shaking up a storm. He hadn’t even flinched when Ned threw the doors open, and the wolf felt his anger die in a heartbeat, something close to concern taking its place. He strode closer to the throne, stopping only when he was close enough to kneel in front of the Lannister.
Now that he had gotten closer, he could smell fear and sickness rolling off of the younger man in unsteady waves, and he heard Jaime muttering under his breath, though the younger man still hadn’t looked up. Ned wasn’t sure what to do with the clearly terrified teen in front of him, hardly a man-grown, so he stood up, looking around before his eyes caught on Jaime’s sword. He pulled it free from the Mad King’s back, cleaning it off before slipping it back into the sheath at Jaime’s hip. The younger man startled, looking up and watching as Ned easily lifted the corpse without disturbing the blood too much and sliding his own sword through the wound and lowering the body onto its back, careful not to splash the blood.
“What?” the Lannister croaked, his brow furrowed in confusion. Ned just looked at him before he sighed and took a seat in front of him.
“Would you rather be branded a kingslayer?” he asked, but Jaime couldn’t respond for a moment.
“Isn’t that what I am?” he whispered.
“Do you plan on telling everyone?”
At Ned’s question, Jaime blinked, thinking about it for a moment.
“Not particularly,” he said, and Ned nodded.
“Figured as much,” he replied, like he knew Jaime, despite this being his first interaction with him. “As long as you tell me why, I don’t see any reason to stain your honor with this madman’s death.”
Jaime couldn’t breathe all of the sudden, the King’s words blaring in his mind. He shuddered and curled further in on himself, and Ned didn’t say a word, allowing Jaime to gather his thoughts.
“He was going to burn King’s Landing. He had caches of wildfire scattered through the city, underneath the streets, and he ordered his pyromancers to light them when your armies began to lay siege,” Jaime said softly, eyes going distant, and Ned couldn’t help the shock that hit him in the gut. He gaped, eyes wide in realization and surprise before he shook his head. It appeared that Jaime wasn’t done with his story.
“I killed the pyromancers first and then came back here. The King wasn’t aware that I had returned, and I killed him before he could do anything else.”
There was so much left unsaid, but Ned wasn’t going to push him to talk, not with the events still fresh in his mind, so he just helped Jaime to his feet, throwing an arm around him before he tilted his head back and howled. Jaime jolted, eyes wide in fear, but Ned paid him no mind other than tucking him further into his side. The Lannister was thin under his arm, little more than what felt like skin and bones, and his breathing harbored a faint gurgle that had Ned concerned.
A few minutes later, Robert came marching into the throne room, followed by all of the lords, heirs, and various others. He took one look at Ned, who still had his sword out and bloodied, and the Mad King dead on the floor before waving a hand, two of his men taking the body away. He walked through the pool of blood and ascended the steps of the throne until he turned around and seated himself on the melted steel. Ned felt his men gather behind him, and he watched in silence as Robert was crowned and sworn into royalty.
Then, Lord Tywin Lannister stepped forward and had three bodies wrapped in red cloth laid on the ground before Robert. Jaime choked back a whimper, and Ned looked at him briefly before the cloth was peeled back enough for everyone to see the corpses of Princess Elia and her two children. Ned almost stumbled, sorrow gripping his soul, and he felt his blood boil when the Lion Lord began to speak.
“Your reign will be unchallenged, Your Grace, for the Princess and her children have been slain.”
Jaime’s breath rattled in his chest with his suppressed sobs, and Ned almost snarled at the sight of his good-sister, niece, and nephew’s mutilated bodies. Robert merely laughed.
“I do not see children. Only dragonspawn. Well done, Lord Tywin,” he boomed.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Ned snapped.
A bone-chilling snarl ripped through the room, silencing any jeers and remarks, and Robert abruptly stilled, looking down at his foster brother. The man’s pupils were slitted, and a lip was curled back to reveal his fangs. He was glaring openly at Lord Tywin, an arm pulling the man’s son closer against his side. To Lord Tywin’s credit, the blond man suppressed the shudder that threatened to rattle his bones, stepping back to join the rest of the Westerland’s armies.
“By your leave, Your Grace,” Ned said, bowing.
Robert could only nod and watched as the northmen departed, all silently following their Lord Paramount like ghosts. He didn’t get a chance to ask Ned to be his Hand or to return with Lyanna. By the time he could open his mouth, Ned was already gone. He shuddered before waving a hand to have Princess Elia, Princess Rhaenys, and Prince Aegon’s bodies taken away.
The Mountain, an enormous brute of a man, had attempted to follow Ned and Jaime as they departed, on behalf of Lord Tywin, but the resulting growl had the man halting in his tracks. Lord Tywin sneered, but he couldn’t shake the fear that chilled his bones of the young lord.
“Savages,” he murmured, “the lot of them.”
Ned had Jaime bathed and clothed in garments that weren’t white before he sat the younger man down in his war tent.
“Come back to Winterfell with me,” he offered, and the Lannister blinked in shock.
“May I ask why you are offering for me to return to your home?” he asked after a moment of tense silence. “Not that I’m refusing outright.”
Ned wasn’t sure either, but he knew he didn’t want Jaime anywhere near the men who killed Princess Elia and her children. (Later, Ned would come to realize that his strange protectiveness over Jaime was the wolf inside him claiming the sick, younger man as pack).
“I assume you don’t want to be in King’s Landing anymore, and with your reaction toward your father, anywhere near him. Would I be correct?” Ned replied, and he watched the Lannister think about it.
“I suppose you would be,” he said. “But, why offer your home? I could just return home to Casterly Rock.”
Ned looked at him, noting the hidden grimace and hesitation when Jaime said that.
“Is that what you want?” he asked simply.
Jaime opened his mouth before closing it after a second. In the end, he merely shook his head, and Ned nodded.
“Come to Winterfell with me,” he offered once more. “It can become your new home, should you desire it.”
Jaime’s shoulders rose, and Ned heard his breath hitch.
“Why?” he whispered. “Why offer this to me? You don’t even know me.”
Ned tilted his head in contemplation, “Do you plan on setting fire to its walls?”
Jaime’s head shot up, and he gaped for a moment.
“N-no!” he sputtered.
“Do you plan on hurting any of the smallfolk of Wintertown or the staff of Winterfell itself?”
“No!” Jaime started going red with anger, but before he could act upon it, Ned asked a final question.
“Can you keep a secret?”
Jaime stopped short. He thought back to all of the secrets entrusted to him, and the one he kept buried in his heart. He looked at Ned, catching the lord’s silver eyes, and he felt his anger wash away.
“Yes, I can,” he replied, and Ned nodded like it was set in stone.
“I have plenty of time to get to know you as a person, Lannister—Jaime,” he said, noting the wince at his family name. “Other than that, I see no reason not to offer my home to you.”
Jaime took a deep breath, thoughts running rampant in his mind. He didn’t want to return to Casterly Rock’s cold walls, back to the suffocating hands of his sister. His younger brother was also there, but Tyrion spent most of his time holed up in his study or the library, putting that magnificent brain of his to use. He wouldn’t have the time to entertain Jaime’s simple whims. Besides, they could always keep up their correspondence.
King’s Landing wasn’t an option either. With the smell of piss and shit in the streets, the tall walls of the Red Keep, and the looming iron throne, all with reminders of the worst experience of his life, he couldn’t stay. Not if he wanted to keep his sanity and hide the truth of what truly happened to him in those walls. Of what Princess Elia, Princess Rhaenys, and Prince Aegon had to do to keep themselves safe from the Mad King.
“Alright,” he said, and Ned lifted a brow. “I’ll return to Winterfell with you.”
Ned nodded and gave him a small smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
“Good,” he said. “But first, we need to find my sister and bring her home with us.”
Jaime raised his eyebrows at that, “You’re not dragging her back here to marry King Robert?”
Ned’s eyes darkened for a moment, and he shook his head decisively. “She had already found her soulmates and married them. Though, they are no longer with us. I refuse to leave her alone in her grief. Her family needs her, and she needs us.”
Jaime let out a hidden sigh of relief. He knew of the Crown Prince and Princess’ secret, and it seemed Ned knew, as well. He nodded in turn, and Ned ushered him to his feet, leading him to a tent next to his own.
“We leave at first light. Be ready by then.”
Before Ned could walk away, Jaime caught him by the arm. Ned looked at him, a question in his eyes, and Jaime took a deep breath.
“She’s being kept in a tower in Dorne for her safety. Ser Arthur and a couple other Kingsguard are watching over her.”
Ned held his breath for a moment, searching for any traces of a lie in Jaime’s eyes. Finding none, he nodded, a silent thank you, and Jaime let him go. He disappeared into the offered tent and found a fresh bedroll laying there, clearly for him. He took his boots off, stripping down until he was in just his clothes and climbed into the bedroll, bringing the blanket up to his nose. It smelled of snow and dog and pine, a stark difference to the perfumes and sewage of King’s Landing. He found comfort in it, drifting into an easy slumber for the first time in over a decade.
True to Ned’s word, the northern party packed up their war camp and departed for the south as the sun was rising, led by Ned, who had Jaime by his side. It took them a week to reach the tower, Jaime, Ned, and Lord Howland Reed, leaving the rest of the northmen who remained behind to approach the knights at the base of the tower. Ser Arthur Dayne stiffened at the sight of the approaching men, but he relaxed upon seeing Jaime with them, though he raised an eyebrow at the lack of a white cloak on the younger man’s shoulders.
“Ser Jaime, what brings you here?” he called out, and Ned allowed Jaime to leave his side. Ser Arthur noticed the concern in the northman’s eyes when Jaime stepped forward.
“The King is dead,” Jaime replied. “Lord Robert Baratheon has been named as the new king. He does not know we are here. Our only wish is to bring Lady Lyanna back home to Winterfell.”
Ser Arthur’s eyes widened at the palpable grief that sank Jaime’s shoulders and lined his face with age and exhaustion.
“What are you not telling us?” he asked, and he stiffened once more when Jaime began to tremble. Lord Stark moved before he could take a step, catching the young knight before he fell, supporting him. Ser Arthur couldn’t ignore the growing dread in his heart when Jaime just shook his head, an apparent gesture for Lord Stark to answer in his stead.
Silver eyes laden with grief met his own violet irises, and the young lord opened his mouth.
“Princess Elia, Princess Rhaenys, and Prince Aegon are no longer with us,” he said. “The Mountain had slain them on Lord Tywin Lannister’s orders.”
Ser Arthur dropped to his knees, bowing his head as hot tears spilled down his cheeks, dripping from his nose onto the hot sand. The other white cloaks staggered on their feet, but stayed up right in place of their captain.
“Please,” Lord Stark said, “Let us take my sister home, where she belongs, to be with the rest of her family. She shouldn’t be left alone in her grief.”
Ser Arthur looked up at the young wolf standing before him, an arm around Jaime, and he nodded, waving a hand to tell his men to stand down. Just as he did so, a pained scream filled the air, coming from the tower, and Lord Stark’s eyes widened. He was quick to make sure Jaime could stand on his own, who urged him to go, before tearing off, racing up the steps to the tower as if demons from the seven hells were at his heels.
Ned reached the door to the tower, out of breath, but he wasted no time in ripping the door from its hinges and stepping into the room. He stopped dead in his tracks when his nose was hit with a wave of iron and another smell. The room was modest, a bed in the middle against the wall, and a dresser off to the side with a water basin on its surface and a mirror above it. But, the sight on the bed made his heart stutter and his blood run cold. His little sister, his fierce Lyanna, was lying on the bed, covered up to her hips in a blood-drenched sheet. A woman was off to the side, cradling something in her arms.
“Lyanna,” he choked, and he stumbled to the bed, kneeling by his sister’s side.
“Ned,” she gasped, tears pouring down her face, a smile on her lips “you’re here.”
He felt her soul flicker, and he couldn’t stop his own tears from starting to spill, but he gave her a weak smile in return.
“I’m here. Your big brother’s here,” he whispered, clutching her cold hand in his, desperate to warm it back up.
She tore her gaze from his, gesturing to the other woman for the bundle in her arms. The woman came around the bed and stopped at Ned’s side, and he looked up at her, taking the offered bundle into his own arms. Bringing it down to his chest, he was surprised to see a tiny face with dark hair wrapped in a swaddle. He looked up at Lyanna, who smiled.
“This is Princess Visenya Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne,” she said softly. “And, my trueborn daughter with Rhaegar.”
Ned looked down at his niece once more, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips, “She’s beautiful. Just like her mother.”
He felt Lyanna’s joy and pride at his words before her soul started to fade. His eyes widened, and he looked back at his sister, pleas falling from his tongue.
“Take care of her, please,” Lyanna begged, silencing his own. “Don’t let Robert know about her.”
“I swear it. I will raise her as my own. Robert will never know the truth of her heritage.”
She gave him one last wolf-like smile before the light left her eyes and her soul faded. Ned choked back a howl, tears falling anew, brushing a thumb over his new daughter’s soft cheek instead. The babe squirmed and opened her eyes, revealing grey irises ringed with lavender. He gasped as the babe looked up at him and then at her mother before looking up at him again. She didn’t fuss or make a sound, but Ned swore he saw sorrow in her eyes before she closed them again and shifted closer to him.
He was careful to hand the babe back to the woman, who introduced herself as Wylla, a wet nurse, before gently gathering his sister into his arms, keeping the sheet wrapped around her for her modesty and leaving the room, Wylla right behind him. With every step he took back down to where his men were waiting, his heart grew heavier and heavier. Brandon’s soul shifted closer to his, and he held onto it, doing his best to console Benjen in his grief. When they reached the sand, Ser Arthur bowed his head once more, his shoulders shaking. Jaime gasped, his eyes widening when he took in the still figure in Ned’s arms before looking at the babe in Wylla’s arms. His arms twitched up for a moment before he clenched his fists.
Wylla seemed to notice, and she looked at Ned, who nodded, before she approached Jaime, gently laying Visenya in Jaime’s arms, who took her with a shocked look. He looked down at the babe, and his face softened as he began to sway side-to-side. Ned smiled at the sight, his resolve strengthened. He turned to Ser Arthur once more.
“If you wish to say goodbye,” he said, and the older man laid a trembling hand on Lyanna’s forehead.
“Farewell, Princess,” he whispered. “May your gods take care of you.”
Ned, Jaime, and Wylla made their way to Roose and Howland, the former looking down at Lyanna with an expression akin to sorrow, and the latter gently took Lyanna from Ned’s arms, wrapping her in a silver cloth adorned with the direwolf head of the Stark sigil. He laid her in a cushioned cart and hopped up on the bench on the front of it.
“Come,” he said. “Let’s take her home.”
Ned let out a shuttered breath, tears blurring his sight, and Jaime gently nudged him forward. When Ned was mounted on his horse, he was given Visenya while Jaime mounted his own steed, looking at Ned. At Ned’s nod, a horn bellowed through the air, and the northmen were off, making their way home.
It was a quiet journey, only filled with tired men eager to see their families once more and Jaime’s questions about the North. Howland was the one to fill him in on the details, though the Greatjon Umber was rather eager to retell the history of his house with a great, booming voice that had startled Visenya awake a few times along the way.
When they reached the Neck, Howland sent his men, but he stayed, still driving the cart with Lyanna’s body. Ned offered to take over so that the other Lord could go home and see his wife, but the wisp just shook his head.
“She defended me when no one else would,” he said. “It is only right that I take her home.”
Ned let him be after that. Visenya, whom Ned had begun calling Lyarra, was quiet during the whole trip, only really fussing when she was hungry or needed to be cleaned. Wylla had been the one who primarily took care of her, and when asked who the babe was while they were in the south, she had spun a lie that Lyarra was hers and that she was taking her north for safety. Ned was shocked to hear her lie so easily and readily, but Wylla only told him that she owed it to Lyanna to make sure her child got home. Ned had thanked her softly and offered her a place in Winterfell’s staff, but she politely declined, claiming she would stay long enough to know Lyarra would be cared for by Ned’s wife before making her way back to Dorne.
As they passed their homes, bit-by-bit, Ned said farewell to his men until it was just his House’s men, Jaime, Wylla, and Howland. The Greatjon Umber said his farewells a day prior, breaking his men off from the group when they reached the fork in the path that separated Winterfell from Last Hearth. It was nearing the middle of April by the time Ned made it home. Exhaustion had long settled in his bones when they reached Winterfell’s gates in the middle of the night. Yet, he was grateful to be home. Grateful to feel Winterfell’s magyk thrum in joy, receiving its new Lord, its new King; a weight Ned was not yet ready to bear, though he didn’t know if he ever would be.
He looked at the gates, at Jaime, then down at Lyarra.
“Welcome home,” he said. “Both of you.”