The Many Heads Of The Dragon

by AShadowThingy

For generations the Targaryen family would lay a dragon egg in the cradle of their children. This tradition was not one that Rhaegar forgot, and it would be one that he would honor with his children. All of his children. Image not mine.

1. Chapter 1

Recently became a fan of A Song Of Ice And Fire. Thought I'd give this a stab. Please let me know how I do.

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283 AC
The Tower Of Joy.

No matter the end of the day, no matter who was fight, no matter who was to emerge the victor, and no matter who was to die, Eddard Stark would always know a single truth taken from today: He hated the heat of the south. Hot an unrelenting, he felt like he was cooking alive inside his steel, the baking heat of the sand that rose through his boots didn't help.

Their progress was slow as they made their way up the incline. Ned could see their goal up ahead; the ruined, round stone monument of The Tower Of Joy, reaching up high into the sky. He marched up the slope with his most trusted; the proud Martyn Cassel, faithful Theo Wull, Ethan Glover, who had been the squire of Brandon, Eddard's older brother; the soft of speech and heart Ser Mark Ryswell, the crannogman and close friend of Eddard, Howland Reed and lastly, the great bear of a man Lord William Dustin, his great battle axe in hand,

Eddard took in a great gulp of air as they breached the top of the small hill the tower stood atop of, the seven men of the north staunch and tall with steel in hand and on their back, yet even they were weary of the sight that greeted them. Three men awaited; The White Bull and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower stood tall and true, sword in hand and shoulders kept wide in pride. Sitting on nearby rocks with his pearl white greatsword resting on his shoulder, Ser Arthur Dayne peered at them with his quick violet eyes; the last of the three, Ser Oswell Whent, was on one knee as he sharpened his blade with an old whetstone.

Their white cloaks floated regally in the almost nonexistent breeze, and their pale armor shone just short of divinity under the merciless sun, their faces like stone as the stared the northerners down. Eddard and his men stopped not ten paces from the kingsguard, keeping his keen eyes dancing from one to the other.

"I looked for you on the Trident." Eddard spoke, his thick, brogue northern accent breaking the silence.

"We were not there." Ser Gerold answered gruffly.

"Woe to the Usurper if we had been." Ser Oswell glowered.

Eddard nodded slowly as Ser Oswell and Ser Arthur rose to stand by their Commanders side. "When Kings Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew you king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were." The norther Lord spoke again.

"Far away." Said Ser Gerold, his voice firm and unyielding, yet there was a rage behind his eyes, a fury the likes of which would sent any Baratheon running. "Or Aerys would yet sit upon the throne and our false brother would burn in seven hells."

"I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege." Ned bit out tersely. "Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us loyalty. I was certain you would be among them."

"Our knees do not bend easily." Ser Arthur Dayne spoke.

"Ser Willem Darry has fled to Dragonstone, your Queen and Prince in his care." Ned said as Ethan Glover slowly stepped to the right of the two opposing sides, Ser Oswell's piercing gaze watching him all the while. "I thought you might have sailed with him."

"Ser Willem is a true and good man." Ser Oswell said under his breath, eyes not leaving Ethan.

"But he is not of the kingsguard." Ser Gerold pointed out. "The kingsguard do not flee." He said resolutely.

"Not then, not now." Ser Arthur agreed as he gripped the top of his helm and donned the steel.

"We swore a vow." Old Ser Gerold Said wearily. "Our vows remain true."

Steel spoke as it rustled together, feet shifting and grips tightening. "And now it begins." Ser Arthur said ominously as his greatsword swung down from his shoulder and was caught by his free hand. He flicked it in testing, the large blade moving swift and true as though it was but a blade of air.

"No." Eddard spoke grimly. "Now it ends."

It was sudden, it was quick. Too quick for Eddard to keep up and before he could move, the battle begun. Taking in a short breath, Ned grit his teeth as he leaped into the fray. Steel screeched against steel and swords crossed in a flurry of action. Ned had hoped this would be a short battle, but his hopes were dashed and his expectations realized as before he had even moved his sword, Ethan Glover, one of Ned's oldest of friends, had been cut down by Oswell Whent in a quick flurry of blade work.

With a roar of fury, Ned lashed out, the sunlight glinting off the steel of his greatsword, Ice, to bat away Oswell's sword effortlessly. With a twist of his body, Ned ignored his screaming arms as he carried the momentum of the swing to lift Ice high above his head and brought it down with a mighty crash, the Valyrian steel caving in the white steelplate armor of the Kingsguard. Blood gushed out onto the sand as Oswell cried out in pain before Ned yanked his blade free from the wound that had nearly shorn off the mans shoulder.

The clang of steel rung out as Eddard gave the fight a brief look over. Martyn Cassel, heir to one of the Starks smaller vassal houses, lay motionless in the reddening sand. Growling at the death of two of his friends, Ned charged to the closest of the Kingsguard, Ice raised to impale the man as he fought both Howland Reed and Ser Mark Ryswell. The blow was blocked with a flurry of movement as Ser Arthur Dayne spun about to redirect all the blades coming for him.

With his breif reprieve, Arthur gave two steps worth of ground to the Northmen, his own family's greatsword, Dawn, ready in hand and he faced his three opponents. Eddard lead the other two to inch forward, slowly creeping closer to the knight. Behind them, a roar of pain and anger was followed by the swift sound of a blade slicing though air and flesh. Silence fell eerily quickly. A heavy weight dropped to the ground. Steel continued to meet steel behind him.

Knowing that another of his friends had fallen, Eddard ground his teeth together and rushed forward, Howland and Ser Mark right behind him. Dawn, a milky pale blade forged from the heart of a fallen star and said to be feather light, flashed in and out of sight as Arthur's scowl of concentration adorned his noble features. The crunch of steel folding upon itself and the thudding of a body absently registered in Ned's mind. Feet dancing and blade a blur, Ned's eyes widened as he soon found himself and two companions being pushed back, the kingsguard's swordplay making children of them.

"Down!" Came the booming voice of William Dustin, and all three Northmen ducked their heads as a bloodied great battle axe hummed through the space their heads had been not half a second before. William was a large man and had the size and strength to rival Robert Baratheon, and Ned'd be damned if William didn't know how to put that size and strength to bloody good use. Yet still, Arthur only seemed to touch Dawn to the axe to deftly dodge a blow that would have cut him in twine.

With William there, Eddard reasoned that the Ser Gerold Hightower had been bested, leaving Ser Arthur Dayne the last of the loyalists. A feeling of reassurance flooded Eddard as Arthur yielded two meters to the four men of the North. With four to one odds, Eddard felt as though they could win this. Ser Arthur Dayne's reputation had been well earned, Ned knew, but against four battle hardened Northmen? He felt the knight stood little chance.

His optimism was short lived.

Dawn lived up to the rumors of being feather light, it seemed, as with a flick of his foot, Arthur had launched the blade of the fallen Oswell high enough for his left hand to grasp it. Eddard looked upon The Sword Of The Morning, the greatsword Dawn in one hand and a longsword in the other. Clad in the blindingly white scale-shaped mail and steel plate armor with the white cloak of the Kingsguard draped over his shoulders, Ser Arthur Dayne was a truly intimidating sight.

Taking a deep breath, Eddard inched closer, Ice held firmly in his grasp. Ned released his breath and jumped forward, Howland at his side as they rained steel upon Arthur's swords. Parry's and jabs flowed like water, and Arthur's blocks and lunges seemed to seamlessly fit into the quick paced sway of the battle. Each blow expertly blocked or deflected before the Kingsguard dashed forward, feet spinning about one another to knock the two of them aside to slide past them to meet William and Martyn, who had just prepared to lunge from the top to cut down the last of the loyalists. Unprepared for the quick feet and flashing blades of Arthur Dayne, William only just managed to dash to the side to avoid having his leg removed, instead receiving a large gash just above his left knee in a small gap in the armor.

Martyn, however, was not so lucky, Dawn shattering his own sword and Arthur's offhand blade gutting him in a dance of deathly metal before he twirled about, Dawn lashing out to relieve Martyn of his head. A sullen silence fell upon the remaining four as Martyn's body collapsed, his head rolling away to paint a macabre trail away from the pool already gathering at the stump of Martyn's neck.

William growled in fury and charged as Ned and Howland jolted forward, Ned's blade coming from above as Howland swung from below. Arthur swung his blades to block the swords with an elegant, yet effective block. Ned locked Ice against Dawn and Howland stamped his foot forward, bringing his heel upon Arthur's foot, staying him only briefly, but briefly enough for an enraged William to bellow with all his strength and bring his war axe down upon Arthur's head. At least he would have, had a young woman not thrown herself in between them.

"Stop this!" She cried out as William, fearful of slaying an innocent, buried the blade of his axe into the sands of Dorne instead of flesh.

"Are you mad, woman?!" Arthur bit out, clearly furious that their fight had been interrupted, as were all the men. "What are you doing? You should be in the tower!" He shouted nodding his head to The Tower of Joy that stood behind Eddard and his men.

"The Lady Lyanna orders you to stop fighting!" The young woman, a handmaiden if her clothes were anything to go by, snapped back just as, if not, more fiercely. Eddard felt a swelling of respect for the woman as well as an itching irritation. Anyone bold enough to jump in front of and four armed men who had just been about to kill one another and then snap at them as though they were but children in the yard earned such respect in his book, yet at the same time, that was possibly the stupidest thing he'd ever seen.

But he paused and considered her words. Lyanna ordered them to stop fighting? But his sister had been kidnapped. That's why he was there, searching for her. Such words would imply a semblance of control, not captivity. Ned frowned at the woman, unsure what to think of her words. He was here to rescue his sister from her captivity at the hands of the former crown Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen. If this were true, then the Prince would have ordered his Kingsguard to keep her there. So why would she be giving the Kingsguard orders? And why would they listen?

The woman's features, which had looked something ferocious not moments ago, softened into worry and stress as she looked upon Arthur with pleading eyes. "Please, we... We need help with the second one. She's having trouble." At this, Ser Arthur paled and took a step back. Immediately, Eddard and Howland, who had been putting all their weight upon Arthur's blades, stumbled forwards before catching themselves under their own feet.

Without so much as a word, Arthur pushed between them and made for the tower, seeming to have forgotten all about the Northmen. William seemed to take offense to this, growling as he pulled his axe from sands and looked about to raise it when the handmaiden, who had been about to follow the knight, whirled on him with a pointed look of fury. His paused, clearly hesitating, only to lower his steel again. With that, she turned about and jogged to keep up with the quick paced Ser Arthur.

Eddard straightened himself, brow damp with sweat and breath ragged and heavy as he glowered at the back of Arthur as he stopped at the foot of the stairs to the tower. Ice still in hand, Eddard offered a shoulder to William, the blood of his wound seeping down his leg and armor to stain the yellow sands as he kept his weight off the injured leg. Howland walked in front of the two other Northmen, sword at the ready as they stopped but a few paces short of Arthur.

"I need your words." Arthur said as, from the tower, a cry of anguish rang out. A cry Ned recognized as he tensed. He had heard only a few times before; the time as a child Lyanna had fallen from her climb up the tallest tree of Winterfell and broken her leg being the worst instance to come to mind, as Eddard had been there to see it happen. His gut wrenched in familial pain at the sound. Lyanna was in horrendous pain.

Ned tried to lurch forward, William nearly collapsing under the sudden movement, but his friend held him true as he was stopped by a blade pointed at his throat, hovering not inches from his skin as Arthur glowered at him. "Your words that no harm will come to anyone in that tower." He managed through gritted teeth. "Here and now, or I'll cut you all down, brother and friends of my lady or not."

"That's my sister in there." Ned snarled as he glared up at Arthur. "I came here with my men to take her home. To safety." The blade inched closer to his throat as Eddard swallowed. "I would raze all the world if it meant she was safe. On my word and honor, I shan't harm a hair on her head, or anyone else within those walls." Ned swore, Howland and William swearing the same.

"Good." Arthur sighed, dropping the longsword in his offhand as he sheathed Dawn. "Come then. They need help." With that, he turned about, his feet quick and lite as he took the steps two at a time and vanished into the open doorway.

"Just gimme the fucking word." William growled out as Howland cautiously followed The Sword Of The Morning up the stairs of the tower, Eddard taking the time to help his friend hobble up the staircase. "Gimme the fucking word and I'll cut the cunt in half." In spite of himself and the situation at hand, Ned smiled at his friend.

"Come on. I want to know what in the seven hells is going on here." Eddard muttered as he took more of Williams impressive bulk upon his shoulders. The staircase was tedious, settling Ned's anxiety ablaze with each step they took, but they soon reached a room that smelt of blood and roses, and odd combination if Ned had ever known one. But when he looked about the room, he found it was smaller than the tower would suggest, a doorway and more stairs opposite himself suggesting more. The rooms stone walls were rather bland, with sparse furniture save for the cradle, the small table and the bed that lay beside it. But his veins became ice and the color drained from his face. "Lyanna!" He cried out.

William hobbled off the the side to slide down the wall and rest, leaving Eddard free to bolt across the room to his sisters side. She lay on a bed of what used to be white sheets, now stained in blood and sweat. He took her in as she howled in pain; her normally pale skin now sickly white and clammy, her eyes wondering about the room, unfocused and almost delirious as the sheets stuck to her skin. Her legs were splayed wide as a wetnurse and the handmaiden sat at the bloody end of the bed, the large swelling of Lyanna's belly striking fear into his heart.

Lyanna had been snatched away and had been missing for nigh of eight and ten moons, more than enough time for a child to grow within her. But within that time, he would suspect only one man who would have put one in her. The former crown Prince himself: Rhaegar Targaryen.

Blood boiling, Eddard clench his hands clenched as Lyanna wailing in pain again, words of encouragement from the two woman urging her on. Urged her on to birth the spawn of the coward who stole his sister away, the so called dragon that had defiled her in such a way. Eddard fumed in silence at his sisters side. He would have done more than fume, he feared, if the snappy voice of the wetnurse hadn't brought him to heel.

"Are you just going to stand there or are you going to do something?" She nearly shouted in something akin to both annoyance and desperation. Startled, Eddard took his sisters hand, something he almost regret as soon as he did so, Lyanna's grip almost crushed his bones as leaned in close to her ear.

"Lyanna, it's alright. You're going to be alright." He said, whispering sweet words of soothing to her as her head slowly turned to look up at him.

"Ned..." She whimpered, and Eddard felt pain lance through his heart at the words. He was vaguely away of Arthur being ordered to help the wetnurse birth the child as Howland fetched clean water for the handmaiden as she fussed about, cleaning Lyanna with wet cloths so as to help the wetnurse see what was happening. "Ned... Please. Take care of them." Lyanna wheezed, and Eddard felt his veins running cold once more.

"What? No! No, you're not dying!" His grip tightened on her hand. "You're going to be fine, sister. You're going to be fine, and you're going to be able to see your child grow up strong and brilliant, just like you." He said, his voice falling to a desperate whisper as he cupped her cheek as though she were something fragile as, for the first time in her life since she was a babe, she truly was. He could see it in her shallow, tired breathes and her watering eyes. He could feel it in her touch, her grip weakening by the second. His sister, his fierce little sister who would stand tall and shout defiantly at the world until it crumbled to her will, was dying.

"Push! You're nearly there!" The wetnurse urged on. Lyanna let loose a horrifying wail as she pushed, her once failing grip on Eddard's hand once more threatening to shatter each and every bone before falling limp, the bulge in her belly shrinking greatly as silence hung in the air. A complete silence that sent shivers down Ned's spine. Looking down to the end of the bed, Eddard found the wetnurse and handmaiden cleaning off a quite bloody infant as it was held, wrapped in thick cloths, in Arthur Dayne's arms. The wetnurse sighed in relief. "Another beautiful boy." She whispered, and Eddard paused.

Another? His mind reeling, he found the words of the handmaiden oddly loud in his head. 'We need help with the second one.' Lyanna seemed to be lapsing in and out of consciousness as Eddard straightened and looked about the room, only for his eyes to lock onto the wetnurse as she set the babe in the cloth down in a cradle pushed against the wall, the baby boy resting next to another, almost identical bundle of cloth. He was about to open his mouth and demand answers when he felt a gentle tug on his hand. Looking back down, he found the unfocused eyes of Lyanna staring back up at him.

"Ned..." Her hoarse voice managed. "Jaehaerys... His name is Jaehaerys." She smiled weakly, a smile that soon fell. "Ned, please. Protect them..." Ned felt his heart shatter as he knelt closer.

"No no no, you can't die here. Not now, not after everything." He begged, gently cupping her hand close to his lips. "Please no. I don't want you to die. Please Lyanna, please live." Slowly, tears stung at his eyes.

"Robert... He'll kill them, Ned." Lyanna weakly whispered. "Promise me... Promise me..." A lone tear slowly fell from the corner of her eye and onto the pillow beneath her, Ned watching as the light of her eyes faded in and out.

"I promise." He said quickly, hanging onto the words as though they would keep her here, as though his promise would keep her alive. "I'll look after them as though they are my own. I swear it! Please, just please don't..." But even as he said the words, he watched as Lyanna smiled softly, her body growing limp and her eyes losing the joyous life that he had come to know was Lyanna's and Lyanna's alone. Not once had he seen such vibrancy of life in the eyes of another, even as it slipped away from the plane of the living, not even as her grip on his hand lessened, her fingers slipping from his grasp.

---

William was finishing dressing his own wound, his leg naked to the world as he sat on the floor with bloodied rages keeping him from bleeding out, when he heard the first strangled sob from Ned's hunched shoulders. William had just fought in a brutal, bloody, if not short civil war. He had seen many men grieving, many men mourning, and even more men cry. But never Lord Eddard Stark. Eddard had lost brother and father to the Mad King, yet he hadn't shed a tear, the Quite Wolf remaining staunch as a marble pillar against the maelstrom of emotion that had to have been whirling about inside.

It was the day that his brother and father died that Eddard had earned his respect, and ever since his respect for his brother in arms had spurred on the become undying loyalty. But now, the man he held in the highest of regard, the most honorable man known to the seven kingdoms, wept at his sisters body, and William, having stood beside his liege lord since the first battle and had been there since, didn't know what to do.

Gritting this teeth as he pushed himself up, he ignored the pain in his legs as he limped over the Eddard's side and rested a great big hand on his shoulder. He knew Eddard might hate him for this, but he'd seen good men turned mad with grief and denial before. He didn't want the same to before his lord now. "Is she..." William asked, his deep voice like the movement of the earth as his words hung in the air. Eddard needed to say it. To admit it.

"Aye." Eddard choked out, his back straightening as he reeled his emotions in. "She's dead." A somber mood fell upon those in the tower as confirmation rung out. "Lyanna Stark is dead." Nodding, William bent down next to his lord, Howland standing at their backs with his hand on the hilt of his sword as guard while the two prayed to The Old Gods for Lyanna, her spirit in their hands now.

The southerners in the room allowed both William and Eddard a moment at Lyanna's side in silence before the northerners rose. "My lord." The handmaiden curtsied to Eddard. "The Lady Lyanna had several possessions in the room above, if you'd like them to return with you." She said, her voice quite and appeasing.

"Aye, I will." Ned nodded solemnly, about to make for the stairs that lead upwards through the door when he was stopped by the girl again.

"My lord..." She was clearly nervous, a complete contrast to the woman whose glare had put pause to William's axe earlier. "What of the babes? She named the oldest twin Aegon. Did she... Did she name the youngest?"

"Aye." Eddard nodded again, his face a stony mask of calm. "She named him Jaehaerys. And she made me promise to take them with me. To protect them." He said, a resolute steel in his voice. "I will. And no one outside this room will know about it." William frowned.

"My lord, you are already wed. How would you explain this to Caytlyn if none not here will know?" He asked, his bushy eyebrows creasing into a frown. Slowly, Eddard turned to look William in the eye, and for the first time since he was a boy, William felt small under the sight of his pure, untainted resolve.

"They are my bastard sons." Ned whispered, but in the silence of the tower, it was heard well enough by all. "The twins Snow. My sons."

"I'll not have it." Snapped an angered voice, and all heads turned to see Ser Arthur. He had removed his helm to reveal his noble features and weathered, sun-browned skin and mousy hair. He stood over the cradle, looking down at the youngest babe with something fierce in his eye as the wetnurse fed the older babe. "These are the sons of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. They are his heirs. The Iron throne is their's by right of blood." Turning about, William's eyes narrowed as he saw Arthur's hand on the hilt of Dawn. "I'll not have the Princes raised and scorned as bastards."

Eddard's eyes turned dark, his own hand resting on the pommel of Ice. "I made a promise, Ser Arthur. I intend to keep it. I will keep them safe, but King Robert will not let them live with Targaryen blood in their veins. He cannot know." He said, a chill in his voice as William bit back a curse. His leg was stiff from his wound and the cloth holding the blood in would further hinder his movement. He'd be a liability if a fight broke out.

"I know." Arthur acknowledged. "I am kingsguard. I live to serve the king and all those of his line. Including Aegon and Jaehaerys Targaryen. I will fulfill the oath I took." Ned's hand fell to to grasp the hilt of his family blade, but Arthur's hand stayed rested on the pommel, not drawing Dawn yet. "But if their name must be sacrificed for their survival..." William blinked, startled as he realized just how defeated Ser Arthur Dayne sounded. "Then their survival comes first." He relented, hand sliding off Dawn's hilt.

The tension that he been steadily building in the room thankfully vanished, everyone relaxing as Ned followed Arthur's example. "I'll see to burying the dead." Howland muttered as he slowly made his way out the door to see to the bloody corpses outside. William was thankful for that, seeing as he felt Eddard would want his sister to look more presentable before being buried.

Sighing, Eddard Stark made his way up to the second floor of the tower, no doubt to investigate Lyanna's possessions for anything precious to her as a possible keepsake. William nodded and looked about, unsure what to do, until he decided to seek out the babes out of curiosity. He noted that the oldest, the one suckling the wetnurse's teat, looked just like a Stark baby ought to, with the small tuft of silken black locks and stormy grey eyes. William smiled. There'd be no doubt within the seven kingdoms that he was Eddard's boy alright.

But the younger twin gave him pause. The same hair, curled black locks of the darkest shade, but he had startlingly purple eyes that stared up at William, the silence of the child unnerving as they stared at one another. "Purple eyes..." William muttered into his great big beard. "By the fucking gods, those are gonna be hard to explain." He cursed, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

"The Targaryen's aren't the only house with purple eyes." Came the smooth voice of Arthur Dayne, startling the bigger man as William hadn't known he was by his side. The Dustin lord gave the Dornish man a weary, sidelong look. Not twenty minutes ago, they were trying to kill one another. Now, the woman William and those he rode with to rescue was dead and he was discussing the future of her bastard babes with the enemy. "We'll just have to try an convince everyone that their mother was of those one of them."

"Aye, we will..." William trailed off, not breaking his stare at The Sword Of The Morning. In the cradle, Jaehaerys reached up with his tiny baby hands, his large and curious eyes and toothless mouth wide in wonder, and Arthur smiled. Removing his glove from his right hand, Arthur reached down with a smile on his face. As soon as they were within reach, Jaehaerys latched onto Arthur's finger with both hands, letting out a halfhearted coo. William couldn't help but smile at the sight.

The wetnurse was just setting Aegon down, the fed babe looking tired already, and she was reaching for his younger brother when the heavy footsteps of Eddard came down the stone steps. Turning about, William and Arthur found him holding a small chest between his hands with its lid open, the Warden of the North staring intently down at its contents, his skin paler than normal which, considering the loss of his sister, wasn't all that surprising to William. The look of fear in his eyes, however, was most definitely wrong.

"Lord Eddard?" William spoke, unsure as to what could possible frighten his liege lord like this.

"Where did these come from?" The lord of Winterfell asked in a harsh whisper. Arthur shifted next to William, leaning on one leg.

"When the Prince discovered that his wife, Elia, was with child, he sent men to scour Dragonstone and Essos, even the ruins of Old Valyria for one." Arthur began. "One was found on Dragonstone, deep in the caves. Five men died of the fumes when they went retrieve it. Later, when Elia was pregnant with Aegon, Prince Rhaegar sent out his men once more. This time he found on near the shores of Old Valyria." William gave pause, an suspicion slowly creeping up his back. "I do not know what became of those two, but last I heard they were in the Red Keep. I pray that they Usurper destroyed them, rather than defile them with his touch." Arthur breathed out, as though the very thought caused him anguish.

A low growl from Eddard seemed to draw the knights eye, but little else. A smirk was all the northern lords threatening glare received. Arthur knew he could best both William and Eddard at the same time, and he knew that they knew as well. It left him with, what William considered anyway, a cocky arrogance born from fact.

"And then." Arthur spoke on. "After he found out Lyanna was pregnant with twins, he sent his men out again, but this time for two. One for each child. The word I heard was that the white one was found near the Shadowlands, while the other was in the hold of a lord in the Crownlands." The Sword of the Morning pressed his lips into a thin line, his voice grim and haunted. "It took months, but they were found. Unfortunately time has turned them to stone. They are nothing more than a pretty decoration. Nonetheless, they are the Prince's inheritance." The knight finished. Eddard frowned as he looked at Arthur.

"He sent his men to look for them during the rebellion?" He asked incredulously. "When? How many?"

"Around ten thousand, four months before the Battle of the Trident." Arthur replied easily, and both William and Eddard paled as the words sunk in. "There was much ground to cover, so he made sure they covered as much as they could. The orders were their top priority, even more so than the battle that cost the Prince his life." Arthur sighed and looked Eddard in the eye. "Had he not sent them away to look for something they might not even find for his children, they would have been at his side during the battle, and the outcome would have been very different, I assure you." William swallowed. What in the name of the Old Gods and New could have been so damn important?

Eddard must have seen the question on his face, because he turned and tilted the chest towards him to reveal the treasures that lay within, and Williams breath hitched.

Jewels. Two shapes decorated in richly colored jewels in the shape of scales. They were large, as large as the babes they were to be gifted to, and as he lifted one from the box, he was surprised by the weight. He had expected them to be decorated porcelain, or fragile enamel, but they weighed as much as a stone the same size.

And the cold. William felt as though he were touching ice, as if the scaled jewels drank in his heat like a thirsty mare, leaving him with a chill running up his arms. Gingerly, he raised the one in his hands up to the light to admire the craftsmanship. The colors were vibrant and beautiful. One looked to be of the palest, purest shade of white he had ever seen and looked as fragile as the morning frost. The other one, the one still in the chest, looked to have gotten its color from a well of blood, so deep and dark was the crimson of its scales, the points of the scales capped in warm, glowing gold, all the while black whorls danced across its shape.

"No matter what time has done to them, even as stone, dragon eggs are one of the most beautiful things to behold." Ser Arthur whispered and he lifted the red egg from the chest, and William nearly dropped the white egg in his hands as the knights words stuck him like a bolt of lightning.

"Dragon eggs?!" He hissed in both fear and awe.

"Indeed." Arthur confirmed with an infuriatingly smug grin as William continued to gawk at the twin dragon eggs. Slowly, the great bearded man placed the white egg back, as though it would hatch at any sudden movement, and peered at the beautiful scales that adorned them as Eddard gently placed the chest next to Lyanna's body.

"You mean to tell me." William began in disbelief. "That Rhaegar fucking Targaryen is dead because he wanted his bastard twins to have something pretty to sit above their hearth?"

"Prince Rhaegar Targaryen." Arthur bit out tersely. "Would have legitimized them. He wanted them, and their half siblings, to know the history of their family, to have a strong feeling of connection to the dragon riders of old." Arthur slowly quieted, until he barely whispered. "He wanted the best for his children."

"His bastard sons that my sister died to give birth to after he raped her." The accusation hung in the air, brittle and full of steel and wrath. Both William and Ser Arthur stiffened at Eddard's words, but for vastly different reasons.

"You just gave your word to your dying sister, Stark." Arthur warned, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. It was then that Howland Reed returned, his entrance making no difference as Eddard glared at the Sword of the Morning, William glancing at his battle axe leaning against the wall were he had sat before looking back wearily at Arthur, silently cursing himself for being weaponless in front of the enemy.

"Aye, I did." Eddard spat. "I won't break my word. I'll take them as my own, raise them as my own. I'll keep them safe from Robert." Arthur nodded, but his posture did not lax, his eyes darting about the room to study every detail. "But I never swore anything pertaining you, Ser Arthur." Arthur's eyes stopped, slowly moving to stare Eddard down, matching glare for glare. William could swear he felt the room grow colder. "You are still loyal to the Targaryen's. I ought to see you dead."

"Ought to? Perhaps." Arthur conceded. "But the twins are both Targaryen, and next in line. My honor and oaths bind me to protect them from harm, no matter where it would come from." Arthur stood straighter, his fingers wrapping around Dawn's hilt. "In the interest of protecting the young Princes Lord Stark, I offer you my help." William cocked an eyebrow and, as he peered past Eddard and Ser Arthur, he spied Howland's queer look of confusion. He'd have to explain everything to him later.

"Help?" Eddard frowned. "What help of yours would I need?" Despite the obvious distrust in the Starks icy voice, Arthur managed a small smile.

"Jaehaerys has purple eyes, lord Stark. As does my sister. You have named them your bastard sons, yet your story would remain unconvincing with only one parent." The room seemed to hold its breath as the words washed over the men, the only sound to be heard was the youngest Prince suckling on the wetnurse's tit as the nurse and handmaiden did their best to be invisible.

"I've married, Ser Arthur." Eddard ground out. "I have a newborn son waiting for me at Riverrun. I will bear the dishonor of calling them my own, but I will do no such thing to your sister."

"You won't." Arthur smiled easily, relaxing and turning his back on the northmen and taking a seat on a chair near the bed where Lyanna's body lay, sheets hiding her still form from the world. "I have kept in writing to my sweet sister. I know of what happened between you two during the tourney." Eddard stiffened, his eyes guarded, yet his hand moved to Ice's hilt, only stopping when Arthur held up a hand in truce. "Relax, Lord Stark." His smile vanished. "As per some of her ealier messages, I have grave news, I'm afraid. She fell pregnant."

Eddard Stark paled, mouth opening and closing like that of a fish on land, shame and guilt smitten on his face. "I-I ne-"

"Spare me." Arthur sighed. "She birthed months ago, but the worst of the news is that your daughter was stillborn." William's heart went out to his Liege lord at the sight of heartbreak on the man's face. He had felt terrible for impregnating the maiden, but to hear that child never had a chance... "My sister has been wracked with grief, as you can imagine." Arthur Dayne's voice was quite, pained. "I hate to suggest this, but my sister kept news of her stillborn daughter close to her chest. Only those that helped her birth know..."

William's eyes widened and, from what he could see, so did Howland's as they realized what was being implied. Eddard, however, looked as though he was caught in the middle of unfathomable rage and terrible hope. "You'd dare..." He seethed, settling on the fury that coursed through his blood.

"Yes, I dare." Arthur nodded. "I dare because the Princes need to live. Ashara need only know what is happening and why, and I'm sure she'd love them like her o-"

"No!" Ned roared, making the women in the corner flinch and waking Aegon, the small babe letting out a tired cry. The handmaiden rushed to the crib, lifting the babe to her bosom and began gently rocking him from side to side.

"I-I'm sorry my lords." The poor girl stammered, doing her best to curtsy with both hands on the babe. "We'll be in the room above should you have need of us." The men were silent as her and the wetnurse made themselves scarce, scampering up the stairs as quickly as possible whilst trying to keep the babes from moving too much.

"No." Eddard whispered this time. "I promised to keep them safe, to love them like my own. I will see those vows through. That is final." Words of valyrian steel, will of unyielding time. The head of House Stark would not emerge anything less than victorious or dead from this. Arthur nodded shallowly.

"Then a compromise." He began anew. "We say that the babes are from Ashara's womb, but they will live in Winterfell. It will strengthen our story if she is in the know. No one will question it if she claims them as her own, and you as their father."

"Tis a wise plan, my lord." William offered, nodding in agreement with Ser Arthur, but William knew he had over stepped his bounds when he caught sight of the glare that Eddard shot him. As though struck by an arrow, William winced and backed out of the conversation. Ned held his glare for several tense seconds, thoughts churning in his head, before he sighed.

"No..." He muttered, nodding as he looked to the stairs the woman had left through, thinking of the babes no doubt, before his eyes fell upon his sister. "No, it is a good plan. You are right." Eddard ran his hands down his face, his eyes watery as he took looked down at the bloody sheets that rested over Lyanna's still shape. "Alright. We'll go through with your plan." He said tiredly, eyes not leaving the still form. "But it is as you said, she birthed some time ago. The tourney was nearly two years ago. How would we explain their age?"

"Only the serfs knew she was ever pregnant." Arthur shrugged. "And as servants, they are bound not to speak out against their Lord or Lady." He continued. "Now, I don't know about you northerners, but here in Dorne, we keep out words, for those who don't tend to lose their tongues."

Eddard looked as though he was having to choose between being insulted at the implication against the north or the reassurance of Arthur's words. "If you speak truly." He began slowly. "Then you had best be the one to explain it to your sister." He conceded.

"We should leave as soon as we can then." Arthur nodded, standing as he said so. "We should bury the dead, collect what we need and be on our way." He was brisk as he set about collecting what he needed, calling the women down from the room above. William sighed heavily as he walked to his lieges side, resting a large hand on his shoulder.

Eddard Stark was solemn, silent and torn as he stood like stone. Howland gave his lord a weary sigh before stepping outside to ready the horses, and William began preparing the dead for burial. Yet all that filled his head was the treason they had agreed to commit. If Robert Baratheon found out that there yet remained two who had Targaryen blood in their veins...

---

"It'll take two weeks to reach Starfall, I think." Ser Arthur announced, riding at the front of their small procession of six. He had discarded his Kingsguard armor, replacing it with simple riding leathers as he rode atop the horse that had once been the mount of Ser Mark Ryswell, a destrier like William' mount, while Eddard, Howland and the two women rode atop rounceys, each woman carrying a babe. Behind them, dust was kicked into the air by the galloping warhorses, the sand of the rolling hills of the desert plains betraying their position as they rode.

"You think?" William grunted, unimpressed and slightly disheartened. He had a wound that would need seeing to, and soon. He couldn't afford two weeks of riding.

"It depends on which route we take, Lord Dustin." Arthur sighed, looking south, south west and then west, as though contemplating something. "We could take the Prince's Pass, going by Kingsgrave and Skyreach before going directly west from there directly to Starfall." The knight explained. "Or, we could cut through the Red Mountains, head for Blackmont and then we follow the river down to Starfall."

Howland grunted. "Which way would be best?" He asked.

Arthur frowned as the party came to a slow stop, Arthur looking over his shoulder to look to Eddard. "I'd say we should ride the Prince's Pass. Smooth terrain, easy to cover ground, but there's more land to cover. It's well traveled so finding someplace to stay the night won't be difficult and I'd imagine it'd be easier on the Princes." He reasoned.

Eddard, for his part, looked lost in thoughts, peering off into the distance. Behind him, the body of his sister lay across the back of his mount, bound in cloth until they returned to Winterfell, where the Warden of the North would see her given a proper burial in the crypts of their house.

"Lord Stark?" William spoke up, rousing his mare beside his lords and resting a hand on Eddard's shoulder. The touch seemed to startle the young lord from whatever reverie ailed him, as he quickly turned to see William watching him uneasily under his great bushy eyebrows. "What way would you have us go?" Lord Dustin pressed. Eddard nodded, looking to Arthur before flickering his eyes to the Red Mountains, the daunting silhouettes sitting on the horizon, presenting themselves like an imposing dare.

"We take the Prince's Pass." He muttered under his breath, turning his destrier south from the mountains. "The babes would not do well on the mountain pass, I suspect, and it would be best for them if we were to find inns as often as possible. We need supplies, and William needs a Maester, or at least someone who can stitch a wound." The party agreed with his reasoning. "Let us be going." With that, Lord Eddard Stark spurred his horse into a gentle trot, heading for the Prince's Pass.

Hours passed in silence, the party arranging themselves around the handmaiden and the wetnurse as though they were guards protecting their employers. Eddard rode on the women's right, William on the left and Howland trailing behind. All the while, Ser Arthur played the role of guide through Dorne and forward guard. Wind ruled supreme here in the dry plains of Dorne, screaming across the ground to brush their ears, splash their skin and running through their hair as it tugged any loose cloth it could find.

As the time wore on, the sun begining to set and the horses tiring, Arthur spotted a small outcropping of buildings in the distance. A small town that he knew would be for travelers and merchants to stop in during their journey, likely sparsely populated if not for those passing through. Seeing it ahead, The Sword of the Morning slowed his horse until he was astride Ned, the northman having been silent in his mourning ever since they had left the tower.

"There's a town ahead." Arthur informed him. "Not large, just a travelers stop. We ought to find lodgings there for the night and any supplies we need for the journey to come. We'd likely find someone who knows how to stitch a cut as well." Eddard merely nodded solemnly. Nodding, the knight was about to announce it to the small party when a soft voice from the lord stopped him.

"I'm not sure I can do it." The lord Stark muttered as his brow knitted in shame.

"Do what?"

"I gave my word, and I'll do my best to fulfill it, but I'm just not sure I can love them as I should." Ned admitted, his eyes looking watery as Arthur studied his face and, for the first time, he saw just how young Eddard Stark really was, barely a young man, probably around his twentieth name day, and yet his eyes were that of a man who had seen enough bloodshed and death for several lifetimes. Those were the eyes of a man who had seen the true heart of war and decided that he loathed it.

"Why not?" Arthur asked. "They are your sisters babes, your nephews. What stops you from loving them as you should?" The knight found himself genuinely curious for the answer as the rest of the party leaned their ears closer.

"Aye." Ned agreed. "But she died giving birth to two products of rape." Arthur straightened at that, a simmering anger at the slight on Prince Rhaegar, the slight on Arthur's best friend, was unwittingly made.

"I see." He bit out, quitely and tersely, reigning in his emotions as he thought back to the time he had spent with the gentle prince, the happy memories of his friend bringing a smile to his lips. "Would it help if I told you that there was no rape?" He queried.

Eddard grunted, eyes still on the road at his mounts hooves. "Though the gesture is appreciated, your honeyed lies would be no comfort, Ser Arthur." He said gravely, the Quite Wolf seemingly only wishing to returning to his brooding and mourning. Yet Arthur was affronted by the belief that his best friend would commit such an act as rape.

"They're no lies, lord Stark." The Dayne knight persisted. "It's the truth. On my honor." He watched Eddard give him an unbelieving stare, something that Arthur almost found amusing. "What? You truly thought that the She-Wolf was kidnapped?" He asked almost humorously. "I was there when she climbed out of her room window. I was there when Prince Rhaegar caught her. I was there when they laughed as they ran away together." Eddard glowered at his something vicious, and William and Howland tensed, William reaching for his axe.

"Lies..." He growled, yet the knight persisted, leaning forward on his mount in a lax manor.

"I was there when they promised to marry." He continued, meeting Eddard's own glare with his own, all humor lost. "I was there when they learned what their love did the the kingdoms. I was there when their hearts broke while the war erupted. I was there when Lyanna was inconsolable with grief over the death of her father and brother, and I was there when Rhaegar brought her comfort and assurances." Arthur eyes were bitingly cold as he watched Eddard shy away from his words, too stubborn to believe them.

"In the time I knew her, Lyanna showed herself to be strong willed, and the iron underneath the beauty was enough that she and I sparred twice. She rode often, and from watching the way she rode I can say with confidence that it was her under the helm of the Knight of the Laughing Tree that day in Harrenhal. So, knowing this as I would assume her brother would, do you honestly think that Lyanna Stark would allow herself to be kidnapped?" Arthur leaned across the small gap between himself and Eddard, gripping the northern lords shoulder tightly as they continued to glare at one another. "Those babes are the product of the love of both mother and father. Remember that Lord Stark." Arthur growled out. "Remember that they are all you have left of Lady Lyanna's love."

With his piece said, the knight released Eddard's shoulder and spurred his horse on, the town now bearing down on them. "We'll rest here for the night." Arthur announced over his shoulder while Eddard stewed, heartbreak and scandal in his eyes as the realization of what Arthur's words had meant. It meant that Robert had lied. The war was all because of a lie. Roberts's Rebellion, a rebellion that cost the lives of thousands, was built on a lie.

---

The inn was better than most inns found on the roads of Westeros. Yes, there was some unsavory faces in the crowd who had perked up at the sight of all the armor the northmen and Arthur wore, and the handmaiden, Ryah, turned several heads. But they were turned away by the sight of Dawn, The Sword Of The Morning being well known in his home country. The food was decent as well, better than the northern men had eaten during campaign, but not quite like eating at the hold of a noble house.

The inn had only three rooms spare, leaving the traveling party to share two to a room. Arthur shared with Howland, the lord of House Reed wishing to keep an eye on their enemy-turned-friend, while William shared lodgings with Ryah the handmaiden, the two of them taking a young maiden of the inn who knew how to stitch flesh to tend to William. This left Eddard, after his insistence, with the nursemaid, Wylla, and the twins. It seemed that he refused to let them out of his sight.

The door to the room creaked open slowly, Eddard and Wylla staring within, Wylla carrying the babes while Ned lugged their packs into the room. As he placed the packs at the foot of the bed, Ned cast his gaze about the room with narrowed eyes. The bed was small, just large enough for a lone person, pressed against the wall. To the right, there was a small desk with twin candles and a chair, while the rooms window sat low in the wall facing the door, a squat, empty chest resting underneath it.

He grunted. It'd do.

"I'll take the chair." He rumbled, pulling the wooden chair from under the desk and placing it next to a wall for him to lean on. Wylla nodded, staying silent as she took a seat on the bed and began rocking the two twins to sleep in her arms. Eddard watched them intently, eyeing them thoughtfully as he struggled to grasp the right words he would tell Catlyn when he returned to her in a few months time.

He knew he had a son already, he'd received ravens from his wife, the woman he barely knew, about their son. He had been born not even a moon before today, two and a half weeks old. Catlyn hadn't known what to name their son with Eddard absent, so she had chosen something she had hoped he would be pleased with, naming him Robb, in honor of Eddard's brother in all but blood, Robert Baratheon.

Eddard smiled to himself. His son, Robb Stark. Apparently he favored his mothers side of the family, with brown-red hair and blue eyes, but he didn't care. He had a son. Robert had been delighted to hear that Eddard's son had been named after him. Yes, the two had drunk themselves silly that night. It was the first time Eddard had ever gotten truly drunk, and whilst he found the experience quite novel, he didn't wish to repeat it.

But now, looking at Lyanna's children, he felt a sense of suffocating anxiety. Would they get along with Robb? How would Catlyn treat them? Had either of them inherited the madness of their fathers family? The questions set him on edge. Ned watched as the Wylla fed the tired babes, gently smiling down at them as she did so.

It was with a frown as he took in their coloring once more. They took after Lyanna in many ways. They were just as pale as she had been, his younger sister never seeming to darken no matter how much time she spent in the sun, and they had her hair too. It wasn't too long, but he could see the curl in that Onyx hair. But then there were the eyes. The older one had the Stark family eyes, a dark grey that seemed to stare off into the distance, solemn and brooding, just like his own. That brought a smile to Ned's face.

But the younger twin sparked worry. His eyes were a deep, royal purple with flecks of black. The weren't distant seeing like his brothers, but quick as they darted about, drinking in every detail they saw. They set him on edge, especially when they locked onto him. It felt like the babe was studying him deeply, those purple eyes screaming Targaryen, yet those black flecks left him thinking of Lyanna. Those eyes set him on edge and brought him memories of his sister all at once. It unnerved him.

Wylla smiled as she caught the younger twin and Eddard staring at one another. "He seems to like watching things, this one does." She said quietly before shifting her eyes to the older babe. "But his big brother seems to be more of a thinker. Don't you, little Aegon?" She giggled in that strange voice women used when talking to babes.

"Don't call him that." Eddard muttered, but with his ill-used voice and quite tone, it sounded like baritone scolding. Wylla's eyes widened, lips bitten together as she nodded.

"Apologies m'lord." She quickly uttered.

Eddard sighed as he realized that he'd frightened the poor woman. He was young, merely twenty namedays, yet he was already a lord, and he had a quieter, more hardened demeanor than either his father or older brother ever had. He sometimes forgot that. He forgot that the quite man's voice could be a weapon on those unaccustomed to hearing him speak. Most importantly, he forgot to use the softer voice his father had often used when merely speaking to someone.

"No, there's no need to apologies." He sighed. "It's just I think it best to forsake the names their mother gave them. It would not be within the best of interests to return to Winterfell with two sons with Targaryen names." He reasoned. Wylla nodded quitely in understanding.

"Do you have any names in mind then, m'lord?" She asked in a more subdued manner than Eddard would have preferred, yet the question struck him unprepared.

"It's not something I have thought on, unfortunately." He admitted, and so put the matter int thought. Perhaps naming the boys after persons close to him would endear the babes to them? It was a simple line of thought, and one that immediately bore fruit. Jon Arryn, a man who had become like a second father to Ned, fostering him in the Vale. That was simple, he'd name the oldest one Jon, after the man he greatly admired and respected.

The second was difficult. He wanted to reserve the names of his father and brother, Rickard and Brandon, for his own sons. But if he named the younger twin after either of them, it might cement them as his own children. No, the names would go to his blood sons first. Perhaps he could name him after someone in Catlyn's family? No, his wife would be insulted that he'd named babes he would claim as his blood after her family without her blood in them.

He sighed. Never before had Ned figured naming a babe would be so difficult. Perhaps, if not his generation of Starks, what of those who came before? Yes, yes that could work. Eddard watched as Wylla put the young babes to rest in the bed before climbing in herself, nestling the day old babes closely to her. Slowly, he was going through the list of names that his family had carried. Brandon, Alaric, Edric, Edwyle, Beron, Torrhen, Cregan... Eddard frowned, looking at the purple eyed babe as he drifted off to sleep.

Torrhen Stark was known as the King Who Knelt, as he submitted to Aegon the Conqueror without a fight. As a boy, Eddard had though him foolish and cowardly, but as a man who had seen war, he could see the sense. He had no quarrel with Aegon, he feared him for sure, but he knelt. He saved the lives of his men from death by dragon fire when he knelt. Many didn't agree with him, but Torrhen was smart in what he did. Smart, just like the eyes of that babe sleeping in the arms of his nursemaid. Torrhen...

"I have your names then..." He whispered under his breath, a small smile on his lips.

"What have you decided on, m'lord?" Wylla asked, startling Eddard somewhat. Her eyes were closed and breathes steady. He had assumed her to be asleep, but it seemed he assumed wrong.

"The oldest will be Jon, after a man who had been like a father to me, Jon Arryn of the Vale. And the younger, he shall be named Torrhen, after my ancestor Torrhen Stark, the first Warden in the North." Eddard's voice was soft, barley a whisper as not to wake the babes.

"After the King who Knelt?" Wylla asked, cracking an eye open to peer up at the young lord.

"Nay." Eddard said solemnly. "After the last King in the North, who accepted the dishonor of kneeling to a foreign invader to save his people from a horrible fate." In spite of the darkness and the thinck blinds covering the window, Ned could see the faintest of smiles on her lips.

"A man who accepted dishonor to save lives?" She asked, almost playfully. "A man like yourself, m'lord." Eddard's eyes widened, surprised by the woman's words. He found it hard to say anything back, however, as he found them to be oddly true. To save to lives of these two babes from a man he had long considered a brother, he would be dishonoring himself by naming them his bastards. "Goodnight, Lord Stark." Wylla whispered, closing her eye once more, yet her almost smug smile stayed.

"Goodnight, Wylla." Eddard heard himself whisper back as he leaned backwards until he rested against the wall, head tilted up to see the ceiling. "Goodnight, Jon and Torrhen. Goodnight, my sons."

It was the next day, long after they had saddled their horses and rode out of the small travelers stop that Eddard informed the rest of his companions of his decision on the boys names. His bannermen approved, as he had thought they would have, but it was Arthur who had taken him by surprise. As while he had initially seemed to dislike the idea of naming Aegon after a man who had been something akin to a father to Eddard, a man who had betrayed the crown, Ned had caught the slight smile at hearing that the younger twin would be named Torrhen, and while he wasn't sure if his ears had been deceiving him or not, he could have sworn he had heard Arthur's voice on the wind.

"The name has a rich history, at least."

---

Ashara worried at her bottom lip. She was seated in the solar of her father, stiff backed and still. She had been confined to her quarters in recent times by her father, the now late Lord Galrod Dayne, ever since she had returned from The Tourney with a child in her belly. He had shouted and screeched at her, ranting and raving about her being dishonored by some drunkard sellsword, something that Ashara had taken great offense to. He had demanded to know the name or even the face of her defiler, yet she had remained steadfast in her stony silence. She would not betray the man who had stolen her heart.

Of course, that was a heart that he been wrung out and crushed. The babe she had carried, the babe she had cherished as the seal of the love she had shared, had not lived to breath her first breath. Her grief had nearly killed her. She had stood atop the tallest tower of Starfall as tears freely flowed from her eyes. Her toes had hovered over the edge of the stone beneath her feet, the wind whipping as her hair and dress, yet it was a single voice, a warm muttering in her ear that had stopped her from stepping forward. A memory of such tender warmth that she couldn't help the smile that bloomed under the memory she recalled.

The wolves of the Tourney. How handsome and beautiful they were. The oldest, the Wild Wolf they had called him, was the forefront of attention of course. He was bold and never shied away from taking what he wanted. The She-Wolf, so pretty was she, yet she too had the Wolfs-Blood of her older brother. She did as she pleased, took what she pleased and damned the consequences. Then there was the youngest, the Young-Pup. Thin and full of laughter, he was the Wild Wolf's shadow, seemingly in awe of his brother.

But it was the middle brother that had snared Ashara's attention. The Quite Wolf. Silent and watching, it had taken her by surprise when the Wild Wolf approached her on behalf of a brother too shy to leave his bench. She had found such shyness to be rather attractive, his adorable reservations leading to her being the outgoing of the two as they danced the night away.

Such fondness had spared her the decision to take one step forward, an now here she sat, waiting in patience. A raven had arrived from Skyreach not two days ago, announcing the arrival of her brother and the man she had given her virtue to, Lord Eddard Stark. Such an announcement alone had her nervous. She knew that her brother was of the Kingsguard, and that Ned had fought for the Usurper. As much as she was loath to admit it, she had thought that they would have fought, rather than rode to her together.

Yes, she had revealed the relationship that had blossomed between herself and the Quite Wolf during The Tourney during her correspondence with her brother, yet she knew such knowledge would dissuade two warriors on opposing sides. Though the worries ended not there. They had requested to meet in private, with as few people as possible knowing of their visit. It worried her to know that her brother wished for secrecy. Discussions meant for few ears were seldom of good happenings, especially when he was supposed to be guarding the pregnant Lyanna Stark.

Smoothing our her royal purple dress, Ashara took a deep breath. It was not long afterward when the sound of rushing footsteps clambering up the staircase of the tower of the study that heralded the coming of a servant. There was a brisk knock on the door, one that the Lady Ashara welcomed inside. A young maiden hurried into the study, her dress clutched in her hands and her face flushed from her flight up the stairs. She offered Ashara a quick curtsy, her head bowed as she spoke. "My Lady, your Lord brother has arrived, along with the Lord Eddard Stark, Lord Howland Reed and Lord William Dustin." She quickly breathed out, taking Ashara by surprise.

"M-My Lady." The maiden began again. "They are in the company of two handmaiden a-and..." She trailed off, her head raising to show her confliction.

"Out with it, my dear." Ashara encouraged gently, both fearing what was to be said and anxious to hear it.

"The handmaidens carry a babe each, my Lady." The servant quickly answered, and Ashara felt herself lean back in surprise. Of all the possibilities that she had thought of, that was not one of them.

"Babes..?" She whispered to herself, turning to look out the small window. It offered no view of the courtyard that her brother and lover would have rode into, merely a piece of the endless blue sky of Dorne, yet she felt it a comfort to gaze out of. "See them to my study, please." She whispered, yet her voice carried enough. With another curtsy and a hush 'My Lady' before rushing out the door, making sure to close it softly behind her before soaring down the steps of the tower.

Ashara let out a long breath as she heard the door click closed, the tension her body had stiffened with seemed to lax a small bit, yet she still sat rigid and uneasily. Her brother had journeyed with three northern lords, two servants and two babes. Surely this was the build up to a ill conceived joke? But there was little she could do but wait.

It was during this time of waiting that she was reminded of how alone she was in her home. Her father, lord Galrod, dead in the war, her younger sister, Allyria, having been sent to Sunspear to be kept safe by the Martells until the war had ended, her oldest brother and now lord of Starfall, Alistair, having been taken captive by the Usurper after the Battle of the Trident. Yet now her brother Arthur was coming home to her. She could almost weep from the joy.

It was then that another knock came at the door, Ashara having been too caught up in her thoughts to pay attention to the sound of footsteps rising up the stairs. "My Lady." Came the voice of a different serving girl.

"Come in." Ashara welcomed, cutting the serving maiden off before she listed the guests Arthur had brought with him. Turning to face the door, Ashara was greeted by the sight of the handmaiden, this one younger, shorter and thinner than the last, opening the door and curtsying before the lords who entered. "Arthur!" Ashara breathed out, rushing out of her seat to wrap her arms around her brother. The the hells with propriety and image, she hadn't seen her brother in nigh on a year and had feared of his death in the war. She damn well missed him and she didn't care if the world knew about it, ignoring all to do just that, even if his riding leather smelt of sweat and dirt. "It's so good to see you again." She whispered into his ear.

"And you as well, sweet sister." Arthur smiled a he returned her hug, yet did his best not to hurt her and he embraced her. He knew better than anyone how uncomfortable unwashed riding leather could be. The leather stiffened in odd and annoying points, poking into not only himself but those close enough too. "But." He began somberly, ending the warm greeting much too quick for his liking. "I bring ill tidings." He sighed.

Turning about, he raised his arm in introduction to his companions, catching the last of the handmaiden as she ducked out the door, shutting it behind her as she went. Good. He wanted as few people as possible to know of what would be said in this room.

"May I introduce Lord William Dustin." He began, gesturing to the large, hulking brute of a man with a beard and large and bushy as any shrub Ashara had seen. William gave her a slight bow, uttering his greeting softly into his beard, yet he retained his saddened look. "The Lord Howland Reed." Arthur continued, the short, thin man in green wrapping and a short, unkempt beard.

"My Lady." He muttered with a polite bow, his thick northern accent unhidden.

"And finally." Arthur said, the hint of an amused smile as he pointed to the last lord in the room. "I believe you are well antiquated with Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North." To his credit, the Quite Wolf shifted uncomfortably, coughing lightly before bowing to Ashara.

"My Lady." He nearly whispered, and Ashara wanted to smile. It brought her no end of joy to know that the so called rough, savage barbarian of the North could be made so shy just by her mere presence, yet she couldn't manage to find happiness. A small, cold it welled up within her as she looked into Eddard's eyes, only to find her breathless daughters eyes staring back at her, and she was forced to look away as pain ached in her heart.

"My lords." Arthur continued, the hint of a smile on his lips. "May I present my dear sister, the Lady Ashara Dayne."

"My lords." Ashara forced a smile onto her face, curtsying to lords William and Howland in return before turning to Eddard. "It is good to see you again, Ned." She said quitely, referring to the name that only those who know him best. The others shifted uncertainly, clearly unsure of what was going to happen between the two, and it was then that Ashara realized that Arthur had spilled the truth of Eddard and Ashara to those gathered. Her fingers curled into a tight fists at the thought. She would have words with her brother about how one would go about keeping secrets, because apparently he could not.

"Now, with the pleasantries out of the way." Arthur sighed as he turned to his little sister. "Shara, we need your help." He said gravely, and suddenly Ashara felt her anger at her brother ebb away. He only refereed to her as Shara in his darkest times. Such times were few and far in between, but they did happen. When his heart was broken by the daughter of one of their vassal houses, when he first killed a man, when he was offered a position in the Kingsguard away from his home and when she had been forced to consul him through letters after his best friend, the Crown Prince Rhaegar, had been killed by the Usurper.

"Arthur, what is this about?" She asked, resting what she hoped to be a comforting hand on his arm.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur looked directly into her eyes. "Lady Lyanna Stark is dead." His voice was barely above a whisper, yet they felt a hammer blow to her, and she felt an unbearable pain for her brother. If there was one thing she knew about her brother, it was that his will was unyielding, his resolve unmoving. He would work tirelessly to make sure what he wants done is done. It had been a trait that distinguished him from any the knight in the seven kingdoms, leading to her father naming him The Sword of the Morning.

Ashara also knew that he, along with Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent had been tasked by Rhaegar himself to guard the life of his love, Lyanna Stark. For him to have failed his best friend, for Lyanna to have died on his watch... Her heart broke for her brother. But that also sparked a series of questions. Eddard, nor his bannermen, would ever think of hurting Lyanna, let alone kill her. Yet, neither Arthur, Oswell or Gerold would betray their prince like that. Everyone who would have been present would have been there to help Lyanna. So just how could they all fail when there was no one who would hurt her?"

"How?" She managed.

Arthur took a deep breath and turned to the three lords. "Come." He ordered, raising his arm to beckon someone closer. It was then that Ashara finally noticed the two handmaidens that had stood, sheltered behind the three north men. She frowned as she watched them come forward, each carrying a bundle of cloth that she knew to carry a babe. It then clicked into place.

"On her birthing bed?" She whispered, her hands moving to cover her mouth, and she felt weak in the knees. It had to be some cruel irony, the Seven playing their twisted, disgusting games with mankind, for she could see it as little else. Ashara's child had been cursed to never breath, never to grow old and beautiful. Yet here were Lyanna's children, brought into this world but never to see the smile of their true mother, never to hear her voice. Oh how sick fate could be.

"Twin sons." Arthur said quitely.

"Do you..." She gulped nervously, her hands wringing themselves at the prospect. She would do it. Oh gods she would do it in a heart beat, but it felt wrong to ask, but she wanted to. "Do you wish for me to care for them?" She asked pensively, yet reluctantly. She immediately regretted asking, however, as she saw the shift in Eddard. His eyes darkening, darting over to the babe closer to him.

"No." He muttered, and Ashara felt her heart drop. "That is not why we are here." Reaching out, Eddard brushed the bundled cloth from the babes head, letting Ashara see the tuft of ebony locks on his small head. "This is the younger. I have named him Torrhen." Eddard began, gazing down at the babe with a different love than Ashara had seen in him. When he had looked at her at Harrenhal, it was a smoldering, silent love that would shake the earth. But what she saw now, it was a deep adoration that would shatter the world if this child was hurt.

"I plan on naming them as my bastards and raising them in Winterfell with me. Jon and Torrhen Snow. It should be easy enough, they have Lyanna's coloring, the pale skin and dark hair, but Torrhen has his fathers eyes." Eddard looked up from the resting babe, looking directly into Ashara's eyes. "They are a deep purple, just like Rhaegar." It was then that Ashara knew what was being asked of her, and it hurt. It hurt deeply.

She had lost her child, her daughter. She had been ready to be a mother, eager for the chance, but the choice had been ripped from her to cruelly by the Stranger. Now here, she had been shown that she could have that chance again. True, they would not be from her own womb, yet what should that matter? A babe was a babe and needed the love of a mother. Yet now, after seeing one of the beautiful children herself, she was being told that she could not raise it her own, merely put her name to it to better a fable for their cover. She had been given hope, only to have it pulled so callously away.

Eddard shifted uncomfortably. He, like everyone else in the room, could see how Ashara had taken his words. He had hurt her by asking such, and that made him angry. It wasn't his idea, why should he be the one to present it to her like it was! He glared at Arthur, the knight nodding.

"Shara..." Arthur began, pulling her into another embrace and turning the two of them away from the uncomfortable northerners and handmaidens. "Please, the children's lives are at stake here. We need your help." He whispered into her ear. "If the Usurper found out about them, he would declare war upon whoever sheltered them. The Spider has eyes and ears everywhere." Slowly, he began rocking himself and Ashara from side to side, and Eddard's eyes fixed on the sight. That was the same sway he had done when he had held her so at The Tourney. "It would be safer for the babes and for yourself if they were raised in Winterfell."

Arthur turned his head to look over his shoulder, catching Eddard's eye as he kept holding Ashara held close. Eddard settled into his usual stoic expression, lips pressed into a grim line and his eyes holding a deep seeded brooding. Robert had told him that he looked all too much like a mourning man when he looked as such, and that it unsettled him, yet Eddard had seen the look on his own father all his life, that jaded look of acceptance. It felt natural to him, and it helped him feel closer to his father to adopt even just some of his mannerisms.

Although nestled into her brothers embrace, Eddard could still see Ashara nodding. He felt rotten on the inside, like a vile hand had gripped him. He had known of Ashara's pain, it was one her wore the shadow of himself. It was his child that had never breathed as much as it was hers, yet he never looked upon the babe like she did, he never saw the child limp and still. He new the pain of knowing he had lost something that would have changed him deeply, yet here he was, parading two babes just two weeks old in front of her, asking her to bury her pain for their benefit and not giving her anything in return. A rotten feeling indeed.

"You speak true, Arthur." She said softly, and Eddard could have sworn he saw the glimmer of tears as she stood on her own, but the sight vanished as she turned away, looking out through the window and up to the blue sky. "I will support you claims. I will call them my own." She announced, the sliver of bitterness going unnoticed by the men in the room.

"Thank you, sweet sister." Arthur breathed out.

"You should stay here for the night, however." Ashara continued. "It would be wise to let the babes be seen with me. The more people who believe the children are mine the better." She reasoned, turning back to face the her brother and the lords. "It would do good for people to see me giving our children for you to raise in Winterfell at the feast. I would ask that you..." She faltered briefly. "That you leave my children with me until then. To give the best impression."

Eddard looked to Arthur, the breif look turning to agreement before Ned nodded. "Agreed." Ned said, nodding. Silently, he watched as the lords parted as Ashara made her way to her adopted sons. Taking Jon first, she cooed happily, swaying him slowly as Wylla brought Torrhen closer.

"Hello Jon, Tor." She smiled, and Ned caught sight of the unbound love he saw her watch the children with, and his heart yearned for the night he had spent with her in Harrenhal. Ashara Dayne, the woman he would crown queen of the world if her could, the woman he wanted to love for the kingdoms to see. Yet he couldn't bound by honor and a loveless marriage to a woman he didn't know.

Yes, he had sired a son with her on their wedding night, but he didn't love her. In time, he might. In time, they could grow to love each other boundlessly. But now was not that time. Now he stood there, the last of the men to leave, as the woman he loved so greatly smiled so beautifully down at babes that looked so much like himself. Eddard Stark's heart ached, and he left the study, unknowing of the smiling purple eyes watching his back all the while.

---

Eddard sighed as he stripped of his clothes as sunk into the soft bed in his room, a smile as the warmth from the feast had yet to die down.

The feast had been an awkward event at first, with Ashara walking in carrying one of two babes and announcing her children to her household, many of whom hadn't even known her to be pregnant, and naming Eddard the father. It had taken a breif explanation from her, but the staff and guards had readily accepted her word as fact, and Eddard had breathed easily. Now, here he lay in a guest room of Starfall, head swimming with noisy thoughts and rich, overly sweet and spiced Dornish wine. He much preferred northern ale, but he couldn't say no to such a fine drop.

But it seemed that Ashara had quite the liking for the wines of her home. Throughout the feast, the steadily rising din of the households talk grew louder and louder, wine flowed like rivers and the feast grew more rowdy. It seemed, as Eddard watched on from the high table, that although the loyalists of Dorne had lost the war, they still held true their love of celebration, which grew the more wine they drank. It seemed their worried didn't exist in this room, they simply drank and sung and danced away.

Ned had felt rather out of place, and he'd imagine his bannermen felt the same as they sat stiff backed and weary at his side. Yet that Dornish cheer wasn't limited to the small folk. Slowly, Ned had worked his way through his cups until, in his admittedly wine fueled haze, Eddard found himself smiling, laughing even, at the festivities.

So he drank more, as did his men, and they laughed more, and suddenly Eddard was enjoying himself more than he could ever recall in his memory. He looked to Howland and William and roared with laughter as he watched William, red faced and slurring his words, trying to speak to a giggling serving girl as he braced himself against the table in an effort not to fall from his chair. He was unsuccessful, much to the amusement of the southern men.

The first victim of the nights wine, Ned noted with a grin.

It was not long after that, his cup freshly filled, that he became keenly aware of the feeling of something brushing up against his leg. A quick glance told him that Ashara seemed to ahead of him by a few cups, and the devious smirk on her lips spoke volumes of how the feast had washed her earlier grievances away, her legs creeping further up his underneath the tablecloth.

However it was the look in her eye that had him stay his tongue and simply enjoy her attention. It was that same, smoldering burn in her eyes that he had surrendered to that night in the Tourney. It might have been the wine, it might have been the infectious southern celebrations, but sitting beside her at the high table, even the table of Starfall as opposed to that of Winterfell, he felt a sudden pang in his chest and an odd moment of clarity.

He wanted this moment to last forever. He wanted to stay here, with Ashara. He dreaded returning to the stranger he had wed, but most importantly, he wanted to grasp that fluttering feeling that Ashara seemed to awaken in him with but a glance, and he wanted to hold onto it until his deathbed.

But it was as he now lay there and closed his eyes that he felt himself grow restless. He saw images, memories, across the inside of his eyelids. Memories of Harrenhal and the moment he had laid eyes upon the most beautiful woman in the world. Ashara had been Princess Elia's lady in waiting, yet the princess looked like a mere serving girl in royal dress next to Ashara, who outshone all with the batting of her eyelashes.

Then came the dancing. Oh the smile she wore! Her laughing lavender eyes pulled at his very being, yet he could not help but doubt himself in the face of someone so magnificent. Eventually, his reluctance to even speak to the girl who had so thoroughly snared his watch had caught the attention of his older brother Brandon, the Wild Wolf of the North. It had been with a smug, teasing grin as he strode up to the radiant lady and whispered something sweet into her ear, for Ned blinked and suddenly she in front of him, laughing and leading Eddard by the hand to the center of the dance.

He had felt numb, as though all his inhibitions had melted away in the wake of her presence, and thus they had become so carried away in one another that when the music stopped, they had refused to leave one another be and had taken to aimlessly wandering about the grounds. They talked much that night, topics ranging from big to small until they had nothing left to talk of, yet they refused to stop listening to one another's voices.

Eddard sighed in his bed. He could quite easily admit that it had been the best night of his life.

They had made love that night, passionate love born from the promises of those not tied by oaths or bound by allegiance. A love born of times of peace. A love he wished so greatly for once again. Eddard tossed over in his bed and took a deep breath, but it helped little as a warm breeze fluttered into his room. He could swear that he could still smell her, that sweet smell of lavender and spring meadows. The feel of her skin on his, her warm olive complexion small and soft under his fingertips. The way her breath tickled his neck and ears as she whispered her promises to him, and the taste of her lips and tongue after he swore himself to her.

Sighing, Ned curse the folly of his memories as that damned warm breeze swept through the door once more, and his eyes snapped open. Eddard bolted upright in his bed and his eyes were met by the sight of an angel. She stood in the door way, the silver light of the moon her halo and the glow of the stars casting the silhouette of the deepest desires of any man. She wore a sinfully thin robe that hide nothing from the light behind her, allowing him to bask in her shape as she daintily stepped into the room and the door gently swung closed behind her.

Ned's breath hitched as she crept onto his bed, the thin fabric falling from her shoulders and onto his blankets as he did. He caught that distinctive scent again; Lavender and spring meadows, yet her breath brought the sweet smell of the finest southern wines. He shuddered as she placed a warm hand on the center of his chest.

"Ashara..." His voice a whisper that he barely managed before she put her hands on either side of his face, and the room fell away. He had never been lost in a kiss like this before, the space between them exploding. His heart kept missing beats, his hands couldn't bring her close enough. They threw caution to the wind and their kiss deepened. Eddard felt her tremble as he tasted her and found himself starving.

They had loved one another before, but it didn't feel like this. They had kissed before, but it didn't burn them so. Maybe it lasted minutes, maybe it lasted an hour, but Eddard didn't care. All that he knew was that kiss, all he wanted was the sting as she etched red art across his back, all that mattered was how soft her skin was as they pressed themselves together, and it wouldn't be until later that either of them realized that fear spawned within them that night. Fear that they would never be able to love like this again.

---

The Dornish morning was far colder than Eddard would have expected. The sky was cloudless, the morning light only just breaking over the horizon and the air had a chill that left a soft bit on the tip of his nose, the promise of a frost. It didn't bother the northern men, though. If anything, Eddard thought, This dawn chill was a pleasant reminder of home. He could almost close his eyes and see the small, soft tufts of a summer snow falling from the colorless sky.

The whinnying of a horse distracted his thoughts. He looked to see William atop his large red stallion, a gift from his wife, the Lady Barbrey Dustin. It was a fitting steed, Eddard noted, as William, the large man that he was, would have looked foolishly disproportionate on any other horse. Howland, the ever loyal Crannogman, was saddled beside the large northern lord.

They were both of the same mind as Eddard; They wanted to leave early and return to the North. Return home. While Ned would admit that their excessive drinking and eating last night ma have hindered their early rise, it didn't stop them, and just as the first silver-grey streaks of sunlight touched the sky, the northern men were up and fixing their saddlebags, Eddard in particular not trusting anyone but himself with his cargo. His leg subconsciously twitched at the thought, his calf brushing against the wooden corner to the small chest carrying his nephe- his sons inheritance. Plans for what he would do with them yet eluded him.

"Are all northerners such early risers?" Eddard frowned as he slowly looked over his left shoulder. Sure enough, his thin lips pressed into an amused smirk as he trotted up to his side on his own mount with Dawn at his hip, was Ser Arthur Dayne.

"I would think that the famed Sword of the Morning would be accustomed to early mornings. Or is that just a title?" Ned challenged, though Arthur merely chuckled.

"I must admit, my lord, I had hoped for more of a rest this morning after last night festivities." The knight reasoned as he leaned forward, now side by side with the Warden of the North. "Might I inquire as to what distance we plan on covering today?" Eddard paused.

"We?" He asked.

"Yes, lord Stark." Arthur grinned. "We."

"You would come with us?" Ned pressed, and Arthur's jovial mood seemed to vanish.

"You have your duty, Stark." He muttered, looking about the yard slowly as to make sure that none heard him. "I have mine. My oaths still stand, even if you would take their birth right from them." The slight did not go unnoticed as Ned glowered at him.

"And what would you say to those who ask why The Sword of the Morning is accompanying someone who would rightly be his enemy? Do you think this would not raise suspicion?"

"Oh it would." Arthur smiled, briefly looking over his shoulder to the two babes who were currently wrapped up in so much cloth that they could be mistaken for bundles of linen in the arms of their nursemaids. "But I was bested in single combat and spared." The knight lied smoothly. "I am bound by a life debt, and by the blood of my nephews. I will make for the North with you, lord Stark."

Eddard didn't like how thought out Arthur's plan seemed to be. He must had concocted this on their journey from the tower to Starfall, and scheming like that never sat well with the Quite Wolf. "And what, pray tell, would you see yourself doing in the North?" He finally asked.

"I thought that would be obvious." Arthur chuckled. "I would train my nephews as soon as they can pick up a stick and, should you wish it, your own children as well. You train their minds, I will train their bodies. A fair deal, if I do say so myself."

Ned grit his teeth together. He didn't want to take Arthur with him. The knight was reputed to be the best swordsman in the seven kingdoms, yet just as famous as his skill was his friendship with the late Crown Prince. It was too suspicious for him to suddenly leave for Winterfell with the lord of the northern kingdom, especially when that lord was one of the three figureheads of the rebellion that he killed his best friend. Nonetheless, not many knew the Sword of the Morning personally. No one would know what he would do in the wake of his friends death, and to dedicate himself to the well being of his nephews seemed a honorable and noble deed, the stuff the knights of tales would do; Set aside their personal grievances for the sake of the innocent. Perhaps this would work?

Eddard sighed as he looked backed to his new sons in the arms of the two nursemaids who had agreed to accompany the northerners. This was all for their sake. Their and Lyanna's, his sweet sister who would never get to see her babes smile and cry as they stumbled through life. His chest rung hollow at the thought, and he forced his hand still as he thought to her body laying across the back of his very horse.

"They're names..." Arthur muttered to himself. "The plump one is Leia, and the thin girl is Jose, yes?" Eddard's eyes briefly flickered to the two women holding his sons.

"Aye."

"Well." The knight started as he sat straighter in his saddle and urged his steed forward. "If Ashara trusts them, then I shall. I assume you are of the same mind?" He called over his shoulder as he, Howland and William made of the gate. Eddard frowned at the comment as Arthur twisted in his saddle to shoot the lord a sly, knowing smile. "Though next time, I would recommend kissing her. That way the rest of us could at least get some sleep!"

Eddard glared at the retreating back of the Dornish knight, the jostling of William's shoulders not going unnoticed, not matter how much he stifled his laughter. He would have feigned ignorance, however, if he didn't see the smiles on the faces of the guards at the gate and the nursemaids as they made their way past him. By The Old Gods and New, if Arthur was always like this, then this would be a long journey indeed.

---

Chapter 1 done.
Please let me know you thoughts.
Updates will be sporadic as I will be writing whenever the mood strikes, so there will be no consistency to the chapters updates.
Till next time.
Cheers.