Disclaimer: I own nothing in the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' series, or the 'Game of Thrones' TV series. If I claimed any such ownership, I would have to be high. Maybe even As High as Honour. ;) I know, it's a really bad pun.

Summary: There were men renowned for their courage. Men renowned for their lust. Others were renowned for their honour. Their virtue. All men have honour, of a sort. They just have different ways of showing it. Robert's Rebellion was over, and Eddard Stark's party marched on the Tower of Joy. Could the virtue of the north and south save that of a king?

A/N: Well, here it is. A story I intend to finish - the story of what could have happened, had things been a little different; the story of what could have happened if honour didn't always result in death.

Eddard I

A tower loomed ahead of them, an unnatural shine surrounding it as the light illuminated the white stone. Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, looked over his shoulder, and grimaced. His friends were hungry and weary, well-browned and dehydrated by the Dornish sun to which they were so unaccustomed.

Would it be worth it?

Ethan was still a little emaciated from his time in the dungeons of the Red Keep, and looked weaker every minute. William dragged his huge feet by the side of his red stallion much the same as he dragged his longsword by his own. Theo sported a visible limp, and could barely ride his own horse, forced to hold on to that of Ser Mark, the soft-spoken and gentle-hearted knight.

Eddard himself was in just as bad a condition, yet the thought of rescuing his sister drove him one nonetheless.

The only two almost unaffected were Martyn and Howland, both of whom trudged silently on through the sand instead of riding like their companions.

He turned once again to face the tower. "Come. We must reach the Tower of Joy."

He would rescue Lyanna. He had to.

A white cloak billowed in the distance.

There's only one, he thought. Where are the other two?

He and his companions on horse dismounted, and joined Martyn and Howland.

He stepped forwards and closed the distance to the man in white.

"I looked for you on the Trident."

The figure stood tall, and nodded to his side. "We were not there."

He spread his arms to two piles of stones. Stones covering swords.

"Ser Arthur?"

"Lord Stark."

Ned bowed his head. "They are dead?"

Ser Arthur bowed his own.

"How?"

"Ser Gerold was bitten, by a viper. Ser Oswell tried to save him and perished from a fever."

Ned shook his head. "They were good men."

"They were good men," the Kingsguard agreed. "And now I take their place. Their duty falls upon me. And I do not shirk from my duty."

Ned sighed. "When King's Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were."

"Far way, 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 him. "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. "And neither does our duty. My duty."

"What duty, Ser Arthur? To guard my sister from her brother? To protect her?"

"Yes," Ser Arthur said simply. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.

"Then do your duty. Let me pass."

Ser Arthur shook his head. "I cannot."

"This should never have happened, Ser Arthur," said a soft voice behind Ned. "The war should never have happened. Too many good men have died."

"And yet it has, Ser Mark. There was nothing to prevent it."

"Who gave you that cloak, Ser Arthur Dayne? Who gave you their trust? King Aerys? Or Prince Rhaegar?"

Howland stepped forwards.

"What difference does it make?" asked the Kingsguard. "Both are dead, and I swore an oath."

"We need not shed more blood, Ser Arthur. You can still protect her. Still do your duty. There has been enough violence these past moons," Ser Mark said, a tear welling in his eye. "There is no need for more."

"I wish only that I could listen to you, Ser Mark. But I cannot."

Ser Arthur breathed deeply and knelt. He picked up some sand, and rubbed it into his palms, inhaling the smell of Dorne. "I swore an oath. A knight does not break oaths."

He stood once again and hefted his sword to a guard. "I'm sorry."

Eddard sighed sadly. "As am I."

He drew Ice, and his companions hoisted up their arms.

"You follow the Old Gods?" Ser Arthur asked.

"Aye," Ned said. "We do."

Ser Arthur Dayne nodded. "Pray to them, then. Pray for an end to all the suffering. Just as I will pray to my Seven."

Ned gestured around him. "There is no heart tree here - no godswood."

Ser Arthur smiled slightly. "Nor is there a sept, Lord Eddard. If our gods are as powerful as we believe them to be, then they can hear us from here."

The Sword of the Morning planted Dawn in the sand, and closed his eyes, his lips moving silently. Ned's companions threw their weapons to the ground, and followed suit.

"SER ARTHUR!"

A cry came from the tower. "SER ARTHUR!"

All eyes snapped open, and Eddard took a step towards the door, only to be blocked by the Sword of the Morning. "I cannot let you pass, Lord Eddard. I'm sorry."

A scream rent the air. "Get out of my way!"

In a rage, Eddard thrust out his hands and shoved the Kingsguard to the wall, where he broke the already cracked mortar of the tower. Ned raced in the door, and sprinted his way up the stairs with his companions in tow. "Lyanna!"

Another scream filled his ears. "Lyanna!"

He reached the top of the stairs, and came face to face with a door. An iron door. "No. LYANNA!"

He pounded on the door, his fists turning the metal red. "LYANNA!"

"NED!"

His sister's shrieks and cries split the Dornish air. "Lord Eddard," said a bloodied Sword of the Morning, slowly climbing the steps behind him. "I cannot let you pass."

"SER ARTHUR!"

A heart-wrenching wail echoed on the other side. "Let him in! It's coming!"

Ser Arthur's face blanched beneath the still trickling blood on his forehead. "I cannot, my lady! I swore an oath."

Another yelp from inside. "Do it for him! For Rhaegar!"

A tear joined the blood on the Dayne's face, and he looked to Eddard's own tear-soaked face.

"Please ..."

Ser Arthur bowed his head. "For you, Rhaegar. For you."

He pulled from his breastplate a set of keys, and unlocked the door. As soon as they heard the tell-tale click of the lock, Ned and the others barged past him and into the room.

The room smelled of blood and roses.

There, in a bed of blood, lay Lyanna Stark. Her eyes were droopy and her legs quivering, her hair messed and her dress torn, and in her arms ...

"Please, " she whimpered, her voice as faint as a whisper.

Fear filled her eyes, panic written upon her face as Ned dropped to his knees by her side, and cradled her head.

"Promise me, Ned."

He looked up into her eyes, and saw only fear. He nodded, his vision blurred by the tears rolling from his eyes.

And as he did, all fear left her eyes, and was replaced by contentment.

"No ..."

Eddard Stark looked up to the ceiling above, his grief seizing him.

And he wept.

A/N: There you go, then. First chapter - albeit quite short - done and dusted. There are definitely bits I'm not too happy with, but I think that that occurs with everyone at some point, and you have to just push on through. Whatever happens, don't expect a regular uploading schedule - just like I won't expect a huge reception to this story. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and I hope you will continue to do so as the story progresses.