The North, it seemed agreed with him. Perhaps it was the blood of the old Kings of Winter that pulsed through his veins that staved off the cold. His red leather doublet with the golden crest of House Lannister upon his left breast seemed enough to keep him warm when accompanied by a fur cloak. His mother, however, she seemed to never stop complaining of the cold. Since Moat Cailin it was all she spoke of, that and how dull the passing country appeared. They had just crossed the White Knife when his uncle, King Robert, had summoned him to ride with him.
King Robert had been great friends with his father in their younger days. They both had fostered under Lord Arryn at The Eyrie, as boys. When the rebellion started they rode and fought at each other's side and brought down a dynasty that had reigned for more than 300 years. With all of the North, the Stormlands, the Vale, and the Riverlands coming down on them, the Targaryens had little chance of winning. Now, Lord Arryn was dead and King Robert needs a new Hand of the King, and as such they had been riding for a month on the Kingsroad bound for Winterfell. They were just a few hours from their destination when he reached the King's side. He had been riding with his uncle Jaime when he received the summons, just behind the wheel house carrying his mother and siblings.
"Your Grace," he said, dipping his head to King.
The Fat King, as he had been called throughout Flea Bottom of late, turned to look at the boy. The boy was coming close to his fifteenth name day. When the King looked at the boy he could see his father in his face. His father's jaw and eye color, but he had his mother's nose, cheekbones and hair. He was an attractive boy, and loathe as Robert was to admit it, he favored the boy more than his own heir.
"Took you long enough boy," the King slurred. "I sent that rider an hour ago. We'll be in Winterfell soon and I wanted to be sure you had time to compose yourself. I know you haven't seen him in a while."
The King was speaking of his father, Lord Stark. He had met his father only once, during the Greyjoy rebellion. He was six at the time and his father had accompanied the King back to King's Landing. His mother had tried to keep them apart but when the King sent for him there was little she could do to stop their meeting. The stoic Lord looked at him for just a few moments, taking in his features before telling the King he needed to return to Winterfell. That night was the last time he cried for his father.
"Aye," he said. "Not since the Greyjoy rebellion. Between you, uncle Jaime, and Ser Barristan I have all the father I need."
He hated to think about his father. He hated the feelings it stirred in his chest. The insecurities those thoughts dredged up.
"I know what you think of him," the King started. "It's hard being a father, you know. You do the best you can, but it's never enough. You just have to hope you teach them what they need to know and let them learn the rest on their own."
The King always defended his father. Even from his mother who loved to joke of the 'honorable Lord Stark' that had fathered two bastards within months of each other. She often joked about how many other bastards he had that no one knew about. 'If Robert is any measure then you've a whole litter of bastard siblings in the world' she would say. As far as anyone knows there are only two, himself and Jon Snow. Jon Snow who was raised in Winterfell by Lord Stark as if he were trueborn, while he himself was dismissed with not but a glance.
"Oh?" he said. "I hadn't realized that he'd tried at all. Pycelle must have misplaced all of my name day gifts and letters over the years. Ser Barristan has been more a father to me than Lord Stark."
Ser Barristan had taken to training him not long after he first met his father. At age ten with the King's blessing he had taken him as his squire. Over the next four years he had trained in various weapons and though he was no match for Ser Barristan or his uncle Jaime, he bested most knights in the tourney's that he'd fought. He'd made a name for himself as a strong young man and had earned the respect of many Lords, even his grandfather Tywin.
"King's Landing is a long way from Winterfell," the King said. "It's not like he could ride over anytime he liked. He has a kingdom all his own, three times the size of the Westerlands, to look after for me."
He knew what the King said was true but it would have taken very little effort to write a letter to his son for his name day. The absence of such letters told him all he needed to know, his father wanted nothing more than to ignore his existence.
"He took one bastard home with him," he said. "Would it have been much worse to bring two?"
If he could raise one bastard, then it stands to reason that he could raise two. No, there had to be a reason his father was so disinterested in him.
"From what I've heard," the King replied. "Lady Catelyn is not very pleasant to the boy. That she treats him more like a servant than a Stark. Go on then, back to your mother. Tell her that we'll arrive soon so she can pretty herself up for the Northmen."
He turned his horse and began the ride back to the carriage.
"And tell that good for nothing son of mine to get a horse and get up here. No son of mine at his age will ride a carriage through the gates of Winterfell." He heard the King yell back to him.
Pulling up beside the carriage that currently housed his mother, Tommen, Myrcella, and Joffrey, he handed the reins of his horse to the man leading the carriage. Standing up in the saddle, he leaped onto the side of the carriage. Tommen had stood to greet him as he rode by, and was standing at the door when he appeared. He had to catch Tommen as he opened the door. The boy had lost his balance in the moving carriage.
"Careful, little brother," he said. "I wouldn't want to be cleaning you up off the ground now would I?"
His youngest brother laughed as he picked him up and sat him back in his seat by Myrcella.
"Hello Myra," he said, greeting her with a kiss to each cheek. "How's my favorite sister, hmm?"
Myrcella smiled at him as only an admiring little sister could.
"Hello Brother," she said. "I take it we'll be arriving soon?"
He nodded and turned to greet his mother and oldest brother.
"Joffrey, your father would like for you to ride the rest of the way with him," he said. "Take my horse, I'll ride with mother."
From the look of Joffrey he could tell the boy was about to have one of his fits. His lips pursed, his eyes narrowed, and his face was quickly turning purple.
"No!" Joffrey yelled. "I will not ride a smelly horse like some common peasant, I am the Prince!"
Seeing the prince was not going to do as he was told without some persuading, he never raised his voice, and he never broke eye contact.
"You will do as you're told Joffrey," he said, quietly. "Your father has demanded your presence, and while you may be the Prince, your wishes do not outweigh those of the King. Go."
The prince looked to his mother, to see her looking at him with a looked that told him that she agreed with her eldest son. The Prince stuttered a bit before climbing out of the carriage. His eyes followed Joffrey until the door of the carriage closed. Once the Prince was gone he became the loving son and brother he was moments before, as if nothing had happened at all.
"Hello Mother," he said taking a seat, and greeting her with a smile and a kiss.
She looked at him as he sat down. Her firstborn, with her hair and his father's eyes, he was a very attractive young man.
"Hello, my love," she said. "Thank you for dealing with your brother. I'd rather not have to listen to Robert railing me later about how I coddle him too much."
She had raised her children all the same, if one were coddled too much than they all were. Yet Joffrey was the only one who acted out this way. Her other three children were all so well behaved it was hard to believe that Joffrey was even related to them.
"His actions are not the result of your own," he said. "You've coddled him no more than you coddled me, and judging by the way people treat myself I think you should be proud of how you raised me."
He could see the love hidden in her tear-filled eyes as she gazed at him. She pulled him into a fierce embrace.
"What have I done to deserve such a sweet boy?" she mumbled into his hair.
She heard him mumble something in reply but was unable to understand him. She released him from her hold, allowing him to lean back, and asked him to repeat himself.
"I said," he started. "You kept me. You could have sent me to Lannisport to live with all of the other Lannister bastards. You could have sent me to Winterfell where I wasn't wanted, but you didn't. You kept me at your side and raised me to be a man you could be proud of. I owe you a debt Mother, and I am a Lannister."
She embraced him again and he could feel that she didn't intend to let him go any time soon. After a while he fell asleep and the next thing he knew he was looking up into his mother's eyes with his head in her lap.
"Wake up, my love," his mother said softly. "The gates of Winterfell are in sight."
Looking through the window of the carriage, he could see the keep off in the distance. He heard his mother commenting on how dull it looked and he couldn't help but agree. The walls were made of stone and looked as if they had never been cleaned. As they got closer though, the details of the wall became more defined and the stone's charm started to shine through. It was still dull but it had character. The gates opened as they approached and it seemed that all of Winterfell's court had come to greet the King.
As the carriage pulled in he saw his father, and who he assumed to be his brothers and sisters, standing before the King. He knew their names but not their faces. They were easy enough to match though, given that their ages differ well enough. However, he only counted five. Where was Snow, he wondered. Given what King Robert had told him earlier, Lady Stark probably didn't want him present to greet the King.
As his mother departed the carriage, he took a moment to prepare himself. He wasn't nervous but he wasn't sure what to say to his father after all these years. What would he say to his brothers and sisters that had never met him? By the time Tommen's feet hit the ground he had composed himself. When he stepped out of the carriage he was not just Lynil Lannister, he was Ser Lynil of House Lannister, Heir to Casterly Rock and he carried himself accordingly.
Instead of following his mother to the Starks he chose to stand with his uncle Jaime. He watched as the Queen made Lord Stark kiss her hand while Lady Stark was forced to watch helpless to stop her husband from touching his former lover. However, he noticed that Lady Stark seemed to be unaffected by the Queens presence. She smiled and curtsied as befitting a proper southron lady. Not a hint of jealousy or anger in her visage. Either she was terrific at hiding her emotions or she didn't care that the Queen carried and birthed her Lord Husband's child.
"Not interested in meeting your family?" his uncle asked.
He turned to look at his uncle and could see genuine curiosity in his eyes.
"Of course I am," he said. "But I can't just-"
He was interrupted by the King's yelling.
"Lynil get over here and meet the Starks!" the King bellowed.
He kept his eyes focused on his mother as he approached the King. He didn't know if he was ready for this conversation but its time was upon him whether he was ready for it or not.
"I tell ya, Ned," the King said. "Seein' that boy makes me feel twenty years younger."
Hearing what was said, he was a little confused as to what the King meant. He didn't really resemble his father so how could seeing him make the King feel younger. That was until he was close enough to see the boy standing just behind his father. Black hair and grey eyes and that long Stark face, to resemble Lord Stark this much there was only one person this could be.
"Lord Stark," Lynil said, tipping his head. "Lady Stark, a pleasure to meet you my lady."
His father looked him up and down measuring his worth.
"Ser Lynil," his father said, tipping his head in turn.
So he knew that he had been knighted. Apparently he read Lynil's letters, he just didn't see the need to reply. When he was younger he wrote to his father every week, even though he knew he wouldn't get a reply. After a while he only wrote to him at important times in his life, like the day he became a squire. He hadn't written to his father for more than a year before he'd been knighted, which had been just a week before they left for Winterfell.
"Allow me to introduce my children," his father said, as if he himself were excluded from that group. "This is my eldest and heir-"
"Robb," Lynil interrupted, walking down the line. "and Sansa, Arya, Brandon, little Rickon."
He returned to stand before his father.
"Did you think I wouldn't know their names?" he asked, leveling his gaze at his father. "I see that they don't know my own."
Lynil's gaze never left his father, though he did notice a slight change in his father's expression.
"Come my love," his mother said, gently taking his arm. "Now is neither the time nor the place for such discussion."
He turned his eyes to his mother, and softened his gaze.
"Sorry, Mother," he said, hearing a gasp from a few who were close enough to hear. "Your Grace, Lord and Lady Stark, I must ask you to excuse me. I am tired from the journey."
With that he turned to walk back to his uncle.
"He's a good lad, Ned," the King said. "He's got his mother's temper but he rarely loses control of it. We'll speak of him later though, for now take me to your crypts, I want to pay my respects."
His mother while not jealous of the King for wanting to visit his former lover's grave, she was slighted by his public showing of his affection for a dead girl. After the King and Lord Stark had departed the servants began to show everyone to their chambers.
He wasn't surprised to hear that he would be sharing his chambers with Tommen. The boy had been having night terrors since they had left King's Landing and sleeping with someone else helped him sleep through the night. It was only midday and he was tired from the ride and excitement of the day, so he decided he would take a nap before the feast that night.
As he lay on the feather bed, which was surprisingly warm, he couldn't help but think of how stupid he'd been. Nearly calling out his father's honor like that in front of all of Winterfell. That was not the way his grandfather had taught him to act in the presence of lords. As his eyes drifted shut he heard the howling of a wolf in the distance.
End
The inspiration for this was a story about Cercei being Jon's mother. I thought it was interesting to see, not only how King Robert would react to such a situation, but how Ned would react
Many of you are probably wondering why Ned acts so cold to Lynil, when in the books/show he is portrayed as such a good father to Jon. Well, in the books/show Ned has no qualms about raising Jon as his bastard because he isn't actually his son. He doesn't care that everyone believes he dishonored Catelyn because he knows that he didn't actually dishonor her. However in this instance he did dishonor her by lying with Cercei, and siring Lynil. He feels the guilt associated with actually breaking his vows to Catelyn and thus having to acknowledge his dishonor is difficult for him to do.
I don't know if I am going to continue with this or not. I have a few other stories that I never kept up with so I'm not making any promises for future updates. Leave me a review with any comments you have about the idea and maybe we can discuss how you think Ned would have reacted.