The White Bull lay dead at his feet, the tip of Ice coated in his crimson lifeblood. Oswell Whent and Arthur Dayne had been slain too, aswell as all Eddard's men except from the Lord of Greywater Watch. Prince Rhaegar had left his three best men at the Tower of Joy. The Lord Stark wondered why. Was his sweet sister worth this much to the prince? It mattered not. He was here; he had found his Lya. She would be safe, she would be well, she would be queen.

The halls were eerily quiet, only a breath away from darkness. Eddard Stark could almost feel his sister's presence. With Howland Reed, as silent as a ghost, following in his wake they pressed on up the corridor. Then he heard her. A whimper; a soft call on the wind. Ned turned abruptly, slamming his shoulder into the door. The latch cracked and the two northern lords stumbled into the chamber.

Eddard did not recognise his sister. She was not the she-wolf. Her skin was pallid, completely colourless. Lya was no longer slender, but raw-boned and under-nourished. And Lyanna Stark lay on a bed of blood. It was everywhere; spattered against her smallclothes, smeared on the bedding and drapes, slick in her hair.

"Ned." she croaked, reaching out a skeletal hand to him.

"Lya." Ice clattered to floor as Ned dropped to the floor beside her. A shrill bleat came from the cloth bundle and Eddard's stomach rolled horribly.

Lyanna wrenched the infant from her, eliciting a half-hearted whine from the child. Ned looked upon his nephew. The babe could almost be mistaken for a trueblood Stark; a long, solemn face, dark brown hair touched with curl. But his eyes were violet, as bright and pure as a blooming flower.

"Keep him safe, Ned, keep him safe." she breathed, forcing the Dragon Prince into her brother's arms.

"What would you have me do with him?" Ned pleaded, gripping at his nephew protectively. "His eyes, Lyanna, they'll know-"

"Keep my prince safe. Promise me, Ned. Promise me."

"I . . I promise." Lord Stark stuttered out hopelessly but he spoke to no one. Lyanna Stark's eyes were glazed in that unmistakeable way.

Eddard looked at the boy in his arms. With Rhaegar and his son Aegon dead, and Aerys soon to be, this babe was a claimant to the Iron Throne. The child reached an arm up to touch at his uncle, his incredible eyes piercing him. Cold, hard rage filled the Lord of Winterfell. Rhaegar had did this. Rhaegar had killed his sister, and for what? To produce a baseborn child of House Stark and House Targaryen, a wedge between the families.

"What will you do, Lord Stark?" a hooded figure emerged from the shadows of the room.

Eddard gave a harsh laugh.

"Yes. What will I do with Rhaegar Targaryen's bastard son?"

"The boy is no bastard, he is trueborn. Rhaegar of House Targaryen, the Second of his Name, rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

"Of course he is." Ned muttered darkly, reaching out for Ice's hilt. "If Rhaegar wanted another heir, why not give Elia Martell the honor?"

"Elia Martell is infertile, my lord. The Dragon Prince always believed that the dragon must have three heads."

"So he sires a son on my sister."

"He does, though it was not just for that need he chose my lady."

The man hesitated.

"What will you do with my king, Lord Stark?"

"Lya would want me to raise him but how can I? His eyes are Targaryen; any fool would pick it up in an instant."

The voice said something under his breath, incomprehensible to Ned's ears, but when he looked to his nephew's face again. Violet eyes no longer stared back.

"Rhaegar is not a suitable name for a Stark boy." the man said solemnly.

"He will be Jon. Jon Snow."