Chapter Text
The wind came down off the mountains dry and sharp, carrying dust that clung to the sweat on their faces. Six riders moved through the pale Dornish foothills; grey cloaks faded to the color of bone, horses thin from too many miles. Ned Stark rode at their head, his eyes fixed on the line of red rock ahead where the Tower rose like a finger pointing accusation at the sky.
He had not spoken for most of the day. There was nothing left worth saying. King’s Landing was behind him, its stench, its screams, its lies, and the memory of Robert’s laughter still followed him like a shadow. Robert had stood in the throne room with a flagon in his hand and blood on his boots, shouting that the dragonspawn were dead. The boy’s head crushed to the point it was barely recognizable, the young princess stabbed over half a hundred times, the look of fear cemented within her eyes. Princess Elia’s naked body covered in blood laying there for all to see. Robert had called it justice. Ned had called it horror, but Robert didn’t care. He praised Tywin Lannister for sending his army into King’s Landing. He praised Jaime Lannister for putting his sword through the back of his King. It wasn’t even the death of Aerys that bothered Ned. It was the fact that Jaime did it from behind. He did it so his father and his army could take over King’s Landing and kill the Princess and her children. That was what made him a Kingslayer, an oathbreaker.
He left the city before dawn the next day, needing distance between himself and the crown he’d helped win. Each mile south toward Dorne had stripped another layer of illusion from him. He had thought they’d fought for love and honor, to avenge a sister stolen. Now all he could see was ruin bought with good men’s bones.
Howland Reed rode beside him, quiet as the reeds he came from. Behind them rode Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, and Harwin, men who had followed him from the North and had seen enough death to last ten lifetimes. The sun hammered at their backs. No one complained. When they spoke, it was of water, or of ghosts.
The Tower came into view near sunset, a pale shape against the red ridge. No banners flew. At its base, three riders waited, their armor silver even in the dying light. Ned slowed his horse.
“Kingsguard.” Harwin murmured.
Ned said nothing. He studied the three figures, the way they stood still as carved stone. Arthur Dayne. Gerold Hightower. Oswell Whent. The last of them. They should have been at the Trident beside Rhaegar, not hiding at the edge of the world.
“How many?” Howland asked softly.
“Three.” Ned said. “And three too many.” Especially with Ser Arthur Dayne standing in the middle.
He drew a long breath, feeling the air burn his throat. His thoughts strayed, unbidden, to Robert again; Robert drunk, Robert boasting of the women he’d had, Robert sleeping with every maid and woman he came across the whole war campaign, while still screaming his love for Lyanna. A king made of hunger and rage. Ned had loved him once. He wasn’t sure what name that feeling deserved now.
The horses stamped and blew, impatient. The tower watched in silence. Ned straightened in the saddle and set his jaw.
“We finish this.” He said, and touched his heels to his horse.
The six of them rode on towards the Tower. They could only go so far, before they had to disembark their horses and walk the short distance.
The three knights waited where the sand gave way to stone, the setting sun flashing against their armor. Behind them, the Tower threw a long shadow down the slope, cutting the ground between them like a blade.
Ned reined in first, his men fanning out behind him. For a moment there was only the sound of wind and the slow creak of leather.
“Ser Arthur Dayne.” Ned said. “Ser Gerold Hightower. Ser Oswell Whent.” His voice was flat. The names tasted like ghosts.
Arthur inclined his head. “Lord Stark.”
Ned’s gaze swept over the three. “I looked for you on the Trident.”
“We were not there.” Ser Gerold answered.
“Woe to the Usurper if we had been.” Said Ser Oswell.
“When King's Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were.” Ned continued.
“Far away.” Ser Gerold said. “Or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells.”
“I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege.” Ned told them. “And the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them.”
“Our knees do not bend easily.” Said Ser Arthur Dayne.
“Ser Willem Darry has fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him.” Ned continued.
“Ser Willem is a good man and true.” Said Ser Oswell.
“But not of the Kingsguard.” Ser Gerold pointed out. “The Kingsguard does not flee.”
“How many times must they bend before you remember what you swore?” Ned asked. “Aerys is dead. Rhaegar is dead. The war is done.”
Whent’s voice rasped through his helm. “Our vows are not to men who sit on thrones, but to the blood that built them.”
Ned’s grip tightened on the reins. “Then let me pass. I have come for my sister. I’ll not see her harmed anymore than she already has been.”
Hightower’s white cloak stirred faintly in the wind. “None have passed this way, and none will.”
Ned’s men shifted behind him; Harwin’s hand went to his sword. Ned raised a hand for stillness. “I came to bring her home.” He said. “Not to fight another war.”
Arthur spoke, his voice calm, almost gentle. “And what would you do, if I let you go to her?” Arthur knew it wasn’t technically his decision, but the Lord Commander’s. Still, he was Rhaegar’s best friend and he made a promise to Lyanna not to kill her brother. He would like to keep that if he could.
Ned looked up at the Tower, the pale stones turning gold in the dying light. “I’d take her north. She has suffered enough.”
“You would give me your word on that?” Arthur asked.
Ned’s brow furrowed. “You think I’d harm her?”
“I think you are a man who has lost too much.” Arthur said. “Men like that sometimes mistake vengeance for mercy. And you are far too close to the usurper. ”
“Robert can burn in the Seven Hells for what he has allowed to happen to those innocent babes and their mother. A man claiming to love my sister, who whores around while she is in danger. Robert is no friend of mine.”
For a heartbeat, the air went still. Ned unbuckled his sword belt. He laid the blade in the dirt between them.
“You have my word.” He said. “And my steel, if that’s what it takes.”
Arthur studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded once. “You go alone. No others. You will find her above.”
Ned inclined his head in silent agreement. He turned to his men. “Stay here. No matter what happens.”
Howland caught his arm briefly. “Be careful, Ned.”
Ned gave a small, tired smile. “It’s only my sister.”
He left them there and began to climb. The stairs were cut from the rock itself, narrow and steep. Halfway up he felt the weight of Arthur’s gaze on his back, steady as a drawn bow. The Tower loomed above, and somewhere inside, he could hear the faint echo of a woman’s cry and the thin wail of a newborn child.
The stairs turned sharply at the top, stone worn smooth by time. The air grew heavy as Ned climbed, warm, still, thick with the metallic smell of blood. He reached a narrow corridor lit by a single torch. Somewhere above, a woman moaned softly, the sound too weak to carry fear anymore.
He took the last steps two at a time.
The chamber was small, its window a slit that let in more dust than light. A woman knelt by the bed, hands red to the wrist, whispering a prayer he didn’t know. On the mattress lay Lyanna.
For a moment, Ned couldn’t move.
Her hair was spread across the pillow, dark with sweat. Her skin looked thin as parchment. The sheets beneath her were stained a deep, terrible red. Beside her, wrapped in linen, a small bundle shifted and gave a thin, reedy cry.
“Lyanna.” He breathed.
Her eyes fluttered open. For a heartbeat he thought she was gone, then her gaze found him and softened. “Ned.” She whispered, a cracked smile ghosting her lips. “You came.”
He crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees beside the bed. “Of course I did. What have they done to you?” His voice came rougher than he meant. “Did he—did Rhaegar—”
Her fingers caught his sleeve, trembling. “No.” She coughed, the sound wet. “He didn’t hurt me, Ned. We love each other.”
The words didn’t make sense. He looked from her face to the child and back again. “The blood…”
“It’s the birthing.” She said, eyes closing briefly. “He’s only just come.”
Ned stared at the bundle. The child was small, his skin almost translucent, but he lived. When he opened his eyes, they were the clear, pale grey of their mother’s.
Lyanna reached for him again. “Please.” She whispered. “Listen.”
He leaned closer until he could feel the heat coming off her skin. Fever already had its claws in her.
“I married him.” She said. “In Dorne. A septon, witnesses. It was real.” She gave a weak, breathless laugh. “It was beautiful.”
Ned felt the world tilt. “Married…?”
“His name.” She murmured, nodding toward the child. “Daemon. Daemon Targaryen.” Her voice cracked on the name, but her eyes shone with pride and terror all at once. “Promise me, Ned. Promise me you’ll keep him safe.”
Ned shook his head as if to clear it. “Robert will…”
“I know.” Her fingers clutched his hand, strength born of panic. “He’ll kill him. You know he will. Promise me.”
He swallowed hard. Everything he’d fought for, every oath, every drop of blood shed under the banners of a false cause, turned to ash in his mouth. He thought of his father and Brandon, of the fire and the rope. Of Robert’s laughter in the throne room.
He felt something in him go cold. “He won’t find him.” Ned said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Promise me.” She pressed. “Swear it on the gods.”
“I swear it.” He said. “On the Old Gods and the new. He will never get your son.”
Her hand slipped to his cheek, leaving a faint trace of blood. “Keep him safe. Teach him who he is… but not yet. Not until it’s safe.” She tried to take another breath and failed halfway through. “Tell him I loved him. Tell him he was loved and wanted by his mother and father. My little Dragonwolf.” Lyanna managed to get out as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Lyanna…” He felt her body seize, then still. Her eyes found him one last time, unfocused. “Promise me.” She whispered again, a breath, a plea, a ghost.
“I promise.” The words broke from him raw.
Her fingers went slack. The room went very quiet except for the child’s thin cry.
For a long moment Ned didn’t move. He sat beside her, staring at the place where her hand rested on the sheet. The candle beside the bed guttered and went out, smoke twisting in the dim air.
The movement to his left caused him to look and see a wetnurse, she placed the bundle into his arms, before silently moving out of the room. Ned looked down at his nephew, as he opened his eyes and Stark grey looked back at him. He had soft features like his mother
“You’ve taken enough from us.” He said softly to no one, to the gods, to the ghosts. “You’ll take no more.”
He brushed a thumb across the infant’s cheek. “You’ll live. I swear it.”
He carried the child to the window. Outside, the desert stretched red and endless. Somewhere beyond the horizon lay home; ice, wind, and truth. He looked down at the boy, then out at the darkening sky.
“The realm doesn’t deserve you.” He murmured. “But the North will.”
Behind him, Lyanna lay still. The Tower of Joy held its silence, keeping its secret.
The sun was lower when Ned stepped from the tower. The air outside felt colder, thinner, as if the world itself had drawn back from what waited within.
He carried the child wrapped in a torn sheet, small weight pressed to his chest. The bundle was warm, alive, breathing. Lyanna’s blood had dried dark on his sleeves.
The Kingsguard looked up as he descended the last steps. Arthur’s hand was on the hilt of Dawn, but he didn’t draw it. Hightower and Whent rose to their feet, the light catching on their white armor.
No one spoke, but the grief was pulsating off of Ned. No words needed to be spoken for them to know that Lady Lyanna, Princess Lyanna to the Kingsguard, was gone from this world. All that was left to decide was what would happen to her son.