ONE : NED (I)

The babe wailed in his arms as they approached.

Ned urged his mare onward, patiently, mindful of the red dust and sand her hooves kicked up. He cradled the babe closer to his chest so as to shield him from the outside air. Ned worried for him constantly; already this boy was as good as his own son.

Starfall was a welcome sight after these long days of travel. It was far less an imposing sight than Winterfell might have been, where Lordship awaited him — thrust upon un-wanting shoulders — with its high white towers and gleaming rivers that sparkled in the slight of the sun.

Ned breathed the sweet air deeply. It was not clouded or hazy but fresh. Howland, beside him, laughed with delight at the proposed prospect and spurred his gelding, which obediently rode onward. Ned followed at a less break-neck pace, clutching the boy tightly to him so that it might hear his fast beating heart. He had much fear coming to this place, with Ser Arthur Dayne's sword, Dawn, strapped across his back. What would Ashara say to him, when she saw it? When he told her it had been him to beat Arthur down so weak Howland barely had to thrust?

They crossed the drawbridge. The babe settled down to a slight whimper that broke Ned to pieces, for he knew that already there were a thousand things going wrong for this boy. Perhaps the babe knew that, too.

In the courtyard of Starfall — which was large and grand, with the banners of House Danye standing still for there was no wind all around them — a Maester was waiting to receive them. His robes were purple and his chain was long. It rattled as he approached.

"Lord Stark," he called. Ned winced at the title, for was not meant to be a Lord; Brandon had been. Brandon had been betrothed to Catelyn. Brandon had been advised by Father and stayed in the north while Ned had been carted off to the Eyrie. Brandon, Brandon, Brandon. His wolf brother. Perhaps there was a slight bitterness, there. But along with it there was truth; Ned was young. He was mindless of the north, of its people. Perhaps it would have been better if it had been him to die, rather than his brother.

Ned pushed his thoughts away and, though he had not the whit for pleasantries, slipped from his mount and landed, babe tight in his arms and silent. "You are the Maester, here?"

"Yes, my lord," the man smiled, corners of his eyes crinkling. "Maester Justyn, if it pleases you."

"Aye," Ned nodded to him, and Howland drifted to Ned's side. "This is... Lord Reed of Greywater Watch."

It was so odd to address him as such; Howland, despite being the rightful lord of the Neck, was first and foremost in Ned's mind a friend. He was the only man in the entire realm to have stuck by Ned's side as they grieved the worst of the war — the only one to have fought by him and lived to tell the tale. For that, he had earned both Ned's trust and his loyalty.

Master Justyn bobbed his head. "A pleasure," he said. "Now, I expect your journey has been long and most difficult in these war-torn times. Chambers have been set up for you, and your companion. When you are rested, fed, and bathed, Lady Ashara wishes to speak with you."

"There is no need," Ned said, handing the babe off to Howland, who started. "I would see her now."

"My lord—"

"I thank you, Maester," Ned stripped off his gloves, "if you could show Lord Reed to the prepared chambers?"

The Maester hesitated, eyes flickering to the swaddled babe in Howland's arms, and then nodded. "Yes, my lord."

Ned hurried past him and walked far enough before he realised that he did not know the way around Starfall at all. In another life, perhaps he might have. Perhaps he should have professed his love for Ashara before everything had fallen apart. But Rhaegar had taken that from him... and Lyanna, too.

He asked a stable boy for directions to the Great Keep of the castle, where he figured the lord's chambers, solar, and lady's counterparts would be. The boy gave him startled and hesitant directions which turned out to be well-versed, for moments later Ned found himself stood before a thick oak door with a falling star etched into the wood.

His hand twitched, but Ned stayed it. What if she did not want to see him? What if she hated him, or rejected the babe? It was wrong of him to thrust such a weight upon her. Wrong to expect so much from a person whom he had given so little. But he had to have strength. He had to face the rejection with his own eyes. To hear her curses and raging with his own ears. Hold your courage in your heart, dear Ned, not your hands, his mother had warned him, just before she had died. Ned could recall the day with absolute clarity; her frail and broken form lying in a bed of furs, with sunken cheeks and an ashen face. He had held one of her bony hands and she had wiped his tears with the other.

Drawing in a deep breath to suppress his shaking, Ned knocked.

In the moment it took her to answer, Ned remembered his last words to Ashara, the woman he loved; You hold my heart. Keep it safe for me. She had smiled, delicately but sharp, and kissed him in that deep way that warmed his whole body.

Cat had never kissed him like that. Cat would never love him like that. Nor he, her. He felt like a traitor to know that, but all the same, how could he expect something of a woman who did not know him? They were strangers, he and Catelyn Tully. Strangers who had married at the behest of their fathers.

The door swung open and Ned's heart stopped. There she was, standing before him. Alive and breathing with the same face he recalled every night in his dreams; high cheekbones and pale skin that glowed like the moon. Dark hair which tumbled round her shoulders in loose tresses, and a dress of her house colours.

But there were differences, as well. Her lips were twisted into not a grin but a frown, and her stomach... Was swollen. Hips wider than he remembered them to have been. A silver-and-amethyst belt hanging under her protruding belly.

"Ashara..." He whispered, eyes filling with tears at the sight of his love.

She gasped sharply when she recognised him, which must not have been easy considering Ned was covered in such dust and dirt and blood — and a bit of baby spit-up, as well. Despite all this she drew him into her arms and pressed her lips to his own, fiercely.

Ned felt ashamed when he embraced her in return. He had a wife, and an unborn child. And yet here was this woman who knew him and loved him, willing and true. Here was Ashara Dayne — lovely and kind and strong. Her laugh was like water over stones, her eyes like a sunset sky. He was both ashamed at loving her and ashamed at having left her.

He pulled away and cupped her cheek with a grimy hand, wincing at the contrast between the two of them.

"Oh, Ned," she whispered, tears slipping from her perfect purple eyes. "I have missed you so, so deeply..."

"And I, you," Ned murmured in kind, wiping away her sadness. "But Ashara—"

It was in that moment that she slipped out of his arms, eyes wide and mouth gaping. "Why is Arthur's sword on your back?"

Dread filled him as he drew it for her to see. Gently he placed it upon the table that now stood between them. Ashara sobbed, for she knew what it meant. She ran her fingers over the rippling metal. Ned made to hold her, but she skirted away from him, rather curling up within herself. "This was forged from a fallen star," she told him, once she had cried all she could over the blade. "And now my brother has joined that which shines above us. How did he die?"

Ned could not avoid the truth any longer. "I... My sister Lyanna was being kept here, in Dorne. Did you know?"

Her eyes were unfocused. She shook her head. "N-no..."

Ned bit into his lip. "Your brother was guarding her. On the orders of the Prince, I presume. I, along with six other men, attempted to pass. Your brother remained strong in his will to drive us off. A fight started, and he fell."

"At who's hand?"

Ned swallowed. He stared at the sharp edge of Dawn.

"At who's hand, Ned?"

He looked up, to see that she was just as afraid as he was. "Mine and my companion's," he whispered into the solemn silence that had befallen them both.

Ashara slowly lowered her body into a chair across from him. She whimpered, digging her nails into her palms. "No..." She whispered. "No! Do not let it be true!" She was staring up at the ceiling, now, begging to the gods.

Gods had no mercy. How could they, after stealing his sister, brother, father and mother from him?

But no. Brandon and Father had died at the hand of Aerys the Mad King. Ned ground his teeth. Death had surrounded them all, grabbing at their throats and choking them, taking away what little life remained.

"It is true," he said to Ashara. "And it grieves me to confirm it. Ashara... I never wanted him to die. You must know that. You must know that I-I just wanted to see my sister—"

Ashara's face was buried in her satins and silks. She was shaking, fingers tangled in her hair. "It was war that killed him," she hissed sharply, eyes fire when they met his own. "War and blood and foolishness."

"He was a brave man," Ned told her. "He died as brave men do." Stabbed in the back, for brave men fight only cowards and cravens.

Ashara nodded. "And a good one, too," she said. "You cannot often find both."

"He served his King well," Ned's voice trembled.

Ashara only frowned. "But... Rhaegar was still a Prince in the end. Was it Aerys who ordered him to stay with Rhaegar?"

He had to tell her. She had every right to know, unlike so many. If there was any soul in the realms whom deserved to be told the truth, it was Ashara Dayne. Ned took a hesitant step forward and laced his hands together. "He guarded his king," he told her. "The son of Lyanna and Rhaegar."

Her mouth fell open. He could see the gooseprickles that crept their way up her arms to her neck. "You cannot be—"

"I am," Ned insisted. His heart felt heavy at the knowledge. "I swear to you, Ashara, I do not jest. Lyanna... She birthed a child and died doing it."

"And where is this babe?" Ashara demanded, rising to her feet and skirting around to face him. She grabbed his hands in her own and stared up at him with earnest eyes. "Where is this king, who killed my brother?"

"He did not kill Arthur," Ned snapped, feeling the tendrils of his heart tighten. He was being torn in two directions. "He is an innocent child, Ashara. You would fault him for being borne to such a fate, and yet you will not bestow such a reckoning upon me?"

She flushed. "Perhaps you are right," she acclaimed testily. "Even so..." but then, all of the sudden, her chin quivered. "I do not know what to think, any longer," she whispered. "Where is he, Ned?"

Ned almost smiled. He would have, if his pain had not been so great. "In your guest chambers I expect," he told her. "With my man Howland Reed."

Ashara nodded. Her face had turned serious. Gently she cupped his face in her warm hands. "I love the man who took part in slaying my brother," she whispered. Her words cut him like nothing ever had and he winced, though he knew that he deserved the pain. "Oh, Ned, what am I going to do with you?"

Ned rested his forehead against her own, and succumbed to his feelings as he held her. When his lids snapped shut he saw Cat's face, absent of even warmth as she looked upon him. Ashara had warmth even now. He rested his hands on her swollen stomach. Unless she had taken a husband — which he knew not to be for it would have been said; spread across the seven kingdoms like wildfire, and she would not be holding him now — then the child she had carried was his own.

"The babe is yours," Ashara confirmed breathlessly, breathing him in. Her arms were around us shoulders and her lips were hot against his neck. "A little girl. Alysanne."

Ned blinked. He felt the first springs of hope sprouting within him. "Can I meet her?"

Ashara led him through the halls of her home, tear-stained cheeks catching in the light of the sun whenever they passed a window. Ned's heart, which had been so hollow that morning, now was dancing and pounding with a string of nerves he so rarely felt.

A baby. His daughter. The idea was so incomprehensible, so inconceivable, that a part of him still could not believe it.

On the door of a chamber beside that of Ashara's there was a wreath of flowers — white and purple and blue — tacked up and beautiful. A gift, Ned assumed, though from who he knew not. Ashara paused, sensing his trepidation.

"She is wonderful, Ned," Ashara told him, eyes dancing when before they had been dull. It was astonishing, the untold power of children. Then her voice lowered to a whisper. "Her eyes are grey."

Ned blinked, and then pushed open the door.

In the centre of the room there was a cot made of weirwood. Ned did not know where it had come from, but he knew that it was a gesture of this baby girl's heritage and he felt recognised by it. In the wood there were carved stars and wolves.

Ned leaned over the edge of the cot.

Inside, looking up at him as though she had been waiting for his arrival, was his little daughter. Alysanne.

She did indeed have his eyes, but if one looked close enough they were almost purple in hue. Her hair was dark like Ashara's, but wild like Lyanna's had been. Like her babe's was. Ned almost gasped at the similarities between all of them.

He reached out and stroked her pale unblemished cheek. Unmarked by the world, yet. Perfect and sweet. She cooed and Ned's heart leapt with something akin to joy and love. She looked so fragile. Ned was afraid that he would break her.

"Alys," he whispered. "My baby girl."

Ashara rested a hand upon his shoulder. She looked worried. "Will you... Will you acknowledge her? As your own?"

Ned swallowed. Alys cooed in the mindless way that babies do, delighted at the prospect of something new. "Aye," he said. "Of course." Looking down at his daughter, he thought of Lyanna's babe again. Something struck him. "Do you think..."

"What, Ned?" Ashara leaned forward, beaming down at their daughter and stoking her belly lovingly.

"Lyanna's babe looks much like her," Ned whispered, terrified at his own plan. Shame and horror filled him. Before, he had only meant for Ashara to keep his sister's child safe until war inevitably broke out. But if they could avoid that altogether...

At once Ashara connected the pieces. "Alys is only a month and a half old," she whispered back, face bright with knowledge. "They could easily be passed off as twins. One accident. No one must ever know the truth."

"Only you, me, and Howland," Ned said firmly.

Ashara's lower lip quavered. "Will you take them with you?" She murmured. "To Winterfell? Will you take my baby away from me?"

Ned was torn. On one hand, he wished nothing more than to have his daughter with him for always, to be able to keep his nephew safe, but... "No," he said. "But I want to visit. As often as I can. And I might call for them both one day as my son and daughter."

"They will be legitimate," Ashara said firmly. It was already 'they'. "Do you understand me, Ned? For the pain you brought with you, leave some joy as you go? They do not deserve to be looked down upon when they visit the north."

Ned knew that Catelyn would never forgive him. She would hate that these two southron wolves lived and claimed Winterfell while their child could not. And so he could not, as well. "I... It will not be."

Ashara drew away. She circled the crib so that she was opposite him, glaring like a hawk. "Alysanne is your daughter," she hissed. "You will disgrace her with the name of a bastard? With the title of one?"

"I..." Ned's mind was reeling. "She will be raised in Starfall. The south. She will not know the north and the north will not know her. They will not trust her — nor the Targaryen babe."

Ashara shuddered. "Leave her to be a Sand, then," she growled. "Leave them both with me and go back to your cold hard north and your unloving wife. Leave us broken and alone to rejoin your family, Eddard Stark."

Ned winced. "I would not hurt my lady wife so," he whispered.

"These are your children!" Ashara yelled. The baby whimpered. At once they both leaned over Alys to shush her. Their heads knocked. Ashara backed away, clutching her forehead. "You dishonour them!"

"No," he said. "I would dishonour my wife and unborn child — who will be raised in Winterfell."

"I was to be your wife, once," Ashara said. "I was to bear your children and live with you in the north, while my brother ruled Starfall. But you have crushed both of those dreams, today. Leave my presence, Lord Stark. I would not look upon your face any longer."

Howland knocked on the door to Ned's chambers once they had both washed and rested. The little man slipped in when Ned prized open the heavy slab of wood that separated him from the hall. His friend held two horns of ale and a plate of cheese and meat. "I thought we might dine together?"

Ned nodded, tiredly. Howland sat on the trunk at the end of Ned's bed and so he matched from him. They shared the food while the Targaryen baby cooed in the corner. "Has he eaten?" Howland asked.

"Aye," Ned said. "A nursemaid came by and fed him."

The short man nodded. "Have you decided what to call him?"

Ned sighed. He cut up a bit of the chicken and chewed it, considering his answer. "Jon," he decided.

"After Jon Arryn?" Howland asked.

"Aye," Ned said. "The man raised me well. He is honourable. I do not see why I should not honour him in return for all he has done for me."

"Will he bear the surname of Snow, Sand, or Stark?"

Ned's head snapped around. "I do not know," he snapped, still sore from Ashara's accusations. "Need I have the answer to every damned question, Howland? Gods above, he is not yet a fortnight old!"

Howland winced. "Easy, friend," he amended. "I was merely curious. It is in my nature, as you well know."

Ned lowered his gaze, ashamed. He was becoming a monster. "I do not yet know," Ned said, again — this time far quieter. He was troubled greatly. "I quarrelled with Ashara over the issues of legitimisation."

"As I expected," Howland nodded. "And yet she agreed to foster the boy?"

"To raise him as her own," Ned corrected firmly, meeting the brown eyes of his travel companion. "Along with my daughter, Alysanne."

Howland nearly spit up his ale. Quickly the young lord composed himself and wiped the spittle from his chin. "Gods above," he muttered. "Two children? You have a daughter, Ned! We should be celebrating!"

He raised his horn and toasted Ned's daughter.

Ned frowned. "What is there to celebrate? She will live a hard life — one of dishonour and hatred and self-pity, and I can do nothing to stop it."

"You can take her north," Howland said.

Again, Ned found himself lashing out in anger. "No!"

Howland raised an eyebrow. Ned knew what was coming; he had spent enough time around Howland Reed to know that it was in the man's nature to be inquisitively intrusive. Howland was of the belief that to expose emotions was to make them true. Purely feeling them was not enough for him. "Are you ashamed of her?"

Ned's breath caught. He could not lie. Not after every other sin. "I am."

Howland nodded solemnly. "Well, then I will offer you some advice," he said, rising from the bed though it did little to no favours for his height. "Get over yourself, Eddard Stark. You claim that to live the life of a bastard is to be absorbed in self-pity and shame? Then I hence name you a bastard. This is unbelievable! I thought you were a man of honour." Howland shook his head, disgusted. "Grow up, Ned."

Feeling weak, Ned asked, "How?"

"The world does not know," Howland said, quieter now, though his eyes still held a deadly solemnity. "But this is not the way. You will acknowledge that girl, and one day you will take her home with you and show her the north. They are her lands, as they are your own." His friend softened. "What is she like, then?"

Ned almost rolled his eyes. "She is a small little thing," he told Howland, "though I expect she will be larger than you within the week."

Howland burst into laughter. It was a rare sight and it made Ned smile, though he still felt dour. "Gods be good, Ned, I didn't know you had a sense of humour." He chuckled to himself, eyes dancing.

Ned pushed away the plate of food, without an appetite, and stood. He walked slowly over to the cot where the baby Jon lay and picked him up, bouncing him a bit. He truly did greatly resemble Alys; their complexion was the same, and even his eyes had that haunting purple tint — no doubt given to him by Rhaegar — that could easily be explained as the son of Ashara Dayne.

"Jon..." Ned held up the little baby, still a bit pink from his bath. "Jon Sand. Jon Snow. Jon Stark. Jon Dayne."

He sighed. Howland set their plate and cups on a table by the door and made to leave. "You must decide soon, my friend," he said. "His Grace Robert Baratheon will expect us back in King's Landing."

Ned's stomach curled at the thought. He inclined his chin to Howland and the little lord slipped out.

Jon cooed again. His face was long, like Ned's, and solemn. The face of a Stark, trueborn or not. Alysanne had the same face. Ned wondered if some would tease them for it as Lyanna had been — as he had, in the Eyrie.

Quietly Ned pulled open the door and slipped outside into the hall. It was late afternoon, Ned realised with a start. Had he truly slept for that long?

Jon fussed in Ned's arms, little pink hands reaching up at nothing. Ned kissed his brow and kept walking, books echoing on the tiled floor. He passed many things on his way to Alys' nursery; mosaics of stars and dragons, and snakes in the sand. Beautiful tightly woven tapestries. Bouquets of bright flowers stood on polished wooden tables.

This place was warm and bright and homely, though it was no home to Ned.

Ned pushed open the door. The colourful wreath shook when he did so. Inside, Alysanne was giggling and gurgling. Her crib was large enough, he decided, and set Jon down beside his cousin. No — his sister.

AN: Right! Chapter One, you lot! There's been some tentative adjustments to the canon timeline. Basically, in this story, the Harrenhal Tourney happened (and Ned/Ashara did the nasty-nasty), and here we are nearing on a year later. Is that how it happened? Anyway!

I know that Ned/Ashara is a bit contradictive... But when you're smitten, un-betrothed, a second son, and you've had enough wine... Well, that's enough to sway anyone's moral code of conduct. So, yes, Brandon/Ashara is more realistic, but for the purposes of this story, it's a no. Sorry.

Anyway, much love. And if you want another chapter tomorrow, just comment!

AN 2: Updated as of 22/9/16, to add a few bits and bobs.