"Promise me, Ned." The words spilled past her lips along with a threadbare breath. Benjen was unable to see her face for Ned was hunched over her, but that voice, so thin, so tired, tore at his very heart. He should have done as Ned ordered and keep away from the chamber.
His brother murmured something in reply, the words too low for him to catch. His mind too much in turmoil to understand. He was too late, he realised a moment later when Ned straightened himself and his sister, lying prone on bloodied sheets, moved not an inch. He stared at her resisting the urge to enter deeper into the chamber.
Ned turned around. His eyes narrowed. But Benjen's stare fell to the bundle held protectively against his chest. He rushed over. "Is that–"
"Lyanna's." And the Prince's. Benjen stared into the babe's face. It slept. "A son." Two words, a world of trouble. For his part, Benjen held out his arms, more concerned with holding the poor little mite himself. Ned gave him over after a moment of hesitation.
"Did she give him a name?" The child did not even stir. Fine dark hair dusted the top of his head. Did he have his mother's eyes as well? Ned shook his head.
"She said," his brother's voice broke upon the last syllable and he paused, clearing his throat. "His father would not give her the name before he left. It was meant to be a surprise, I gather." Benjen hummed softly, wondering what name the Prince would have chosen to bestow upon the boy. Aught of the line of his ancestors no doubt. An option forever lost to them.
Lyanna would have picked the name of some hero of old song. She'd have had him on a horse before he could walk and would have doubtlessly shared with the boy all manners of tales Old Nan had told them.
"I need to see to our sister." The words broke his trance. Benjen gave a small nod, indicating that he would remove himself to another chamber and the babe as well. He would not have the child wake and see her as she was.
Howland Reed sat in the adjoined chamber. He looked up at their entrance. Benjen gave a small shrug and a shake of the head before sitting down as well, holding the babe as Ned had, close to his chest. The Crannogman placed a hand upon his shoulder. The weight settled into his bones.
"The village ought to have a woman willing to nurse him." He stood. "I shall return as soon as I can."
"Do you have enough coin?" Benjen questioned, keeping his voice gentle. The man inclined his head.
Once alone with the babe, Benjen did his best to ignore the insistent stinging in his eyes. The tears would not listen to his protests. The child slept on, thankfully, unknowing and secure in whatever dreams kept him from waking. One day, he would have to tell him about the pretty woman in bloodied skirts.
He ought to have foreseen the danger of bringing Jon into a home already settled with a mistress. Especially a lady of the house with a babe of her own. Alas, for some odd reason, he had thought it would simply be enough to show up and little question would be asked. If only the gods were that kind. They ever so seldom were.
"He's my blood. Of course he is," Benjen spoke before the lady of the house could jump to unsavoury conclusions. Ned had a wife and a child. And by the looks of her stony face, the woman would not take well to the idea of having her husband's bastard about.
"Benjen," Ned attempted to cut him off. But he could not leave matters in such a state. The little tyke deserved no ire. He had no fault whatsoever. And Ned would certainly bring a lifetime of such if he insisted on claiming the boy. Nay, let it be he who did so, for Benjen had made no one any manner of promise.
"She ought to know, Ned. She's one of us now." Other men fathered bastards as easy as they breathed. Why, he knew some who had scores. Many fathers younger in years than he was. "Ned promised we might remain within these walls, but I suppose it was rash of him not to consult with you as well, my lady."
Appearing chagrined, the woman brought one hand to her own reddened cheek. "My lord, I did not mean to suggest otherwise," she spoke to Ned. "I was simply," there she paused, eyeing Benjen, then the babe in his wetnurse's arms, "concerned. There was no word of it."
"Jon stays, lady wife, here with his kin. I trust that will not prove an inconvenience." Benjen wondered whether her fears had been allayed. While he did not much care for the woman and her Southron airs, he supposed there was naught for it but to attempt civility.
"Of course." Her lips flattened just for a moment before she nodded. "My lord, if you would like to see your son," she invited, "and you as well, ser. Might as well get the boy settled in the nursery while we're at it."
It was as good an outcome as he could have wished, Benjen supposed, motioning for the Dornishwoman whom they'd brought along to follow.
The nursery had been refurbished to the new lady's taste. While Ned marvelled over his own son, Benjen saw to Jon and his needs, glad to have a moment where attention was elsewhere. The Dornishwoman breathed out in obvious relief and murmured in a quiet voice.
"Mine own kin shall expect my return soon." That was true. When Reed had engaged the woman, he'd promised her she could return to her home. It was not a peculiar practice all things considered, and he would feel that much better if Jon was in the hands of Nan rather than in those of a stranger.
"And so you shall."
Jon's tiny fist had wrapped itself around a clump of grass. The babe tugged on it with all his might, his face a mask of concentration. "You'd think after so long he would have grown used to the grass." The advent of summer had been greeted with sheer opposing reactions by the two children currently residing in Winterfell. While the heir to the keep showed an unseemly amount of excitement, Jon had opted for a visible distaste. Whatever the reason for such, the boy had refused categorically to be parted from any of the objects which had been at his side during the winter nights, including a very thick woollen covering.
"So young and already stubborn as a mule," Ned chuckled. "Lyanna used to tear up mother's garden in the summer." Benjen glanced at his brother. "I can upon her once, she had this thick handful of flowers in her hand. She'd tugged so hard that they came out roots and all. Mother was furious."
"I'll mind him around flowers." Fortunately, however, the grass proved an enthralling enough enemy for Jon. "I've given your proposition some thought." Ned stiffened. "I cannot leave him."
"You doubt I'd take care of him?" A question which should not have even been posed. Benjen gave a long sigh.
"For all intent and purposes, he is my son. You would not leave Robb, would you?" Might be that had been pushing it too far.
His brother's eyes turned cold. "That is completely different."
"Not as far as I can see. You mean well, Ned, but I shan't join the Night's Watch. Not until I am satisfied Jon has all the knowledge he needs." He gave Ned an uncertain grin. "Fear not, you shan't be stuck with me forever." He returned his attention to the child.
"She asked me about Jon's mother." Naturally she would. In fact, Benjen was surprised she'd not posed the question sooner. "Sometimes I think she suspects I fathered him."
"What did you say to her?" Catelyn Tully was certainly not a woman to be trifled with and Benjen could only thank the gods he had not been put in a position to wed her.
"That it was your tale to share whenever you felt ready to do so." A far more clever response than he would have expected out of Ned. "You had best come up with something."
In the meantime Jon had managed to make it to the roots of a tree. With strength which belying his arms, the child managed to lift himself somewhat. And Benjen was off in a moment. That boy had more of Lyanna in him than anyone gave him credit for. And one day he would be just as reckless as she had been.
Fortunately, it would not be on such a day as the one they were enjoying. As Jon lost his balance, Benjen caught him, a muttered oath on his lips. If only he'd had more of his sire's caution. Alas, Jon was gurgling happily, clearly pleased with his feat.
"Laugh now, but you just wait until I am not about, young man."
The fever was still wreaking havoc upon the poor child and Benjen was quite beside himself. That dratted winter ague, he cursed inwardly, very nearly wincing as the small whimper coming from Jon. Lady Catelyn was standing behind him, for once in a mellow mood around the child. "You ought to allow the maester to do as he thinks best," she was saying, her voice suffused with sympathy. "At least he would make the boy more comfortable."
"His name is Jon." The words came out harsher than he had intended. Yet she'd been calling him by that moniker, the boy, as though he hadn't a name for so long that he had begin doubting he'd told her the child's name to begin with.
"Jon needs to be made comfortable," the woman pressed. She leaned over his shoulder, bringing a cooled pristine cloth to the boy's face. She stroked gingerly along the sweaty expanse of his skin. "And you could do with some sleep. I can sit with him for a few hours." He had little doubt that she could, but the thought of Jon waking in his absence and experiencing distress kept him rooted to the chair. "Must I bring my husband here?"
The words reverberated through the bedchamber and Jon stirred amid the furs wrapped about his small body. Dark and hazy, his eyes opened along with his lips. Blearily, he tugged his arm free from the prison of cloth and listed his hand searchingly. "Father." Benjen took hold of his hand without hesitation.
For a brief moment it was not Jon before his eyes but another entirely, the scent of blood lingering in the air. Benjen shook the memory away. "I am here." It was not oft that Jon spoke, and when he did, it nearly always varied an understated weight. "I am right beside you." Jon's eyes closed once more.
He brushed back the limp strands of hair falling into his face, trying not to mind the dampness of his fingers. If the fever did not break soon, he truly must consider what the maester had suggested. Catelyn continued to bathe the child's face every now and again, the cloth dipping further down to his throat.
"How is Robb?" Benjen finally found the courage to ask.
"His fever broke." For whatever reason, Ned's son had not been so harshly affected. "Jon will pull through as well, I am sure. I shall keep him in my prayers." Recognising the hand held out in friendship, he thanked her.
The truth of it was that Catelyn Tully had always been too much of a Southron, too little of a Stark and much to belligerent for him to enjoy the company of. But with such words, a little part of him softened to her, accepted her to a greater degree and Benjen found that he could feel true thankfulness for her gesture. He almost told her as much.
"I shall have them bring some more tea," she spoke after a brief pause, retreating towards the door.
"Are you frightened?" Benjen took the child's face between his hands, smiling down into Jon's wide-eyed gaze. "Well?" He shook his head, slight hands grabbing hold of his arm. "Are you certain?" Jon nodded. His own smile widened. "That's my boy." Lifting himself off his knee, Benjen ruffled Jon's hair, chuckling good-naturedly to his protests. "A true Northerner is a master rider. The horse is as important as his sword."
At that point, one of the hands emerged from the stables, tugging along a fat, short-legged pony. The beast shook its head, combed mane flying in all directions. The boy dragging him turned with a low curse. "That will do, boy," Benjen intervened, taking the reins from the servant and sending him off to his tasks. "Jon, come here, now."
The pressure on the back of his leg signalled the compliance. "You won't hide behind me throughout, I hope, elsewise how is poor creature to know you." Once more, Jon moved, this time managing to come stand before him. The little pony stared at Jon with the same curiosity the child exhibited. With great care, Benjen took his hand and brought it up for the pony to sniff at. "We'll pat his pet, so he knows we mean no harm."
He was somewhat surprised that Barbrey had been so willing to part with the creature. It was docile and pretty, certainly worth far more than he had offered. Once assured of his relative safety, Jon became more certain with his strokes. "Does he have a name, father?"
"I thought you might want to give him one." Jon gazed up at him in consternation. "He is yours, after all," Benjen offered by way of explanation. "From this day on, you are responsible for him. Treat him well and you shall have a steadfast friend."
"I like his colour." Benjen had as well. It was the reason he'd chosen him to begin with; the tawny coat reminded him very much of a mare his sister had owned when she was a child. The pony nuzzled his snout against Jon's hand. "Copper, I shall call him Copper."
"That will do very well. Now, how about taking a gander at that saddle Copper has on his back?" Certainly with more confidence than before, Jon gave a nod and moved to Copper's side, still stroking along the beast's neck. For the first time, Benjen decided he would simply lift him into it.
Copper for his part accepted the weight with general indifference. "Place you feet in the stirrups," Benjen instructed, helping Jon along, "and hold onto the reins." He hunched over, clenching the reins tightly. Amused, Benjen patted his back. "You'll frighten poor Copper like this. Easy now; straighten yourself and hold firm with your knees." The pony danced from one foot to another as Jon adjusted his position. "Don't press him yet."
It took a few moments before the matter was at an end, but at long last both boy and horse were at ease. "Let us see about a short walk now."
"What do you mean he's refusing to come out of his bedchamber?" Benjen shook off the dusting of snow clinging to the furred collar of his cloak. He knew he should have refused Howland's invitation and stayed with Jon. Dart him for thinking there would be no trouble down the road. "What's happened?"
"I can't rightly say. And Robb won't speak a word of it." Ned racked his fingers through his hair, exasperation tightening his features. "Other than Nan he will listen to no one. I'm at my wit's end with the boy." In his experience Jon did not lock himself away and refuse any manner of communication without reason. In fact, he didn't recall him doing anything similar. With one exception might be. Benjen froze midway through untying his cloak. His fingers caught in the knot of the garment and his eyes lifted to Ned's.
"What is it?" One had to wonder how blind people could be when aught did not directly involve them.
"I take it the boys have been out and about these past few days." Growing frustrated with the cloak he allowed it to remain where it was and simply made past his brother. Do you know who it is that they gave been spending their time with?"
"No one they hadn't encountered before." Just as he had suspected. Benjen took the stairs two by two, leaving Ned to make his way in a more dignified manner. For himself, he was at Jon's door just as Nan was leaving the chamber. With a quiet greeting and a murmured apology, he pushed his way in and closed the door in his wake. Hopefully Ned would understand to keep away from them for a time.
"What is this I hear about not wanting to leave your bedchamber?" he spoke, eyeing Jon who was sitting by the lancet staring without.
The boy jumped, turning guilty eyes upon him. Just as soon, they filled with grief. Softening, Benjen held his arms out. Jon rushed to him without a moment's notice, a choked sound leaving his throat. "The words of others need not leave you grieving," he spoke gently, stroking the child's head.
"Why don't I have a mother?" He expected the question was a long time coming. Burrowing deeper into him, Jon demanded yet again to know why such a central person in any child's life was missing from his.
"Everyone has a mother. A wonderful woman yours was." Gently setting him away, Benjen wiped at the tears. "I could tell you about her, if you wish." Eyes widened impossibly. "Just a little bit. If you promise to come dine with the rest of us." He didn't have to reveal everything at once, he need not even name her. When Jon was older, no doubt he would have quite the explaining to do, but until such a time, he could reveal Lyanna to him bit by bit. He somehow spoke past the lump in his throat "Be a good boy and promise you shall come down."
"I promise I shall. Tell me about mother."
"Can I help with something else?" Jon had been holding the basket up for Benjen for the past few minutes and in spite of his best attempts, he was growing visibly bored with the task. With a sigh, Benjen took it from his hands and gave him the knife he's been holding.
"Careful with that." Jon nodded. "Come stand here," he continued, placing the wicker container down. He took Jon's hands in his after he'd bent at the waist. "Look for a space with no thorns and hold it between your thumb and forefinger." Obediently, Jon followed through. "Now place the blade carefully against the branch and follow my lead."
Winter roses were tricky prey. He'd been cutting for years and still from time to time he managed to injure himself in the steely thorns. The gods proved merciful, however, and Jon suffered no injury in his attempt. A perfectly cut winter rose was added to the small pile in the basket. "What are you doing with so many flowers, father?"
"I knew someone who loved these exact sort of flowers a long time ago." He'd kept his previous forays into the glass gardens away from Jon. But he was growing. Might be it would help to slowly bring him towards the truth. "She's gone now, but I reckon she still likes flowers."
"She's dead?" Surprise tinged the words.
"Aye." Another winter rose lost its place and fell into their hands. "She is long gone."
"Then how can she know you bring her flowers?" If he knew Lyanna, she was watching them all from wherever she was. Benjen smiled at the thought. "Father?"
"Just because she is no longer here does not mean that she cannot see us." As answers went, he recognised it was might be not the wisest choice.
"Was she your friend?" Closer and closer the confession crept and Benjen was not quite certain the time was right.
"Very much more than that, but," he paused, glancing down into Jon's face, "that is a story for another time." The boy pursed his lips, yet did not press. In that he was nothing like Lyanna. In fact, the more he grew, the more Jon resembled his sister less in any manner but the outward. "Worry not, you shall hear it."
"When?" He might have spoken too soon.
A small chuckle left his throat. "When the time is right." Ostensibly disappointed by the answer, Jon pouted. "Now let us see if we have enough roses and then I shall take you to meet her. What say you to that?"
"I can come too?" Perking up at the offer, Jon very nearly took off one of his fingers in his enthusiasm.
"Easy with the blade." He grabbed hold of the child's wrist and stopped him before injuries could be produced. "One or two more should do. "
Jon saw to the task diligently, the last one an accomplishment all of his own. He beamed proudly up at him as he deposited it with the others.
"I daresay this is not the best place to be." Jon looked about, clearly uneasy about his current position. "Father, could we not have the conversation somewhere else?" He drew his cloak tighter about him.
"Nay, indeed, this is the best place to be for what I have to say." He pushed the basket of roses into Jon's hold. "In fact, I should like to tell you something about your lady mother." They'd been bringing Lyanna roses for years. "She loved winter roses."
"Like Lady Lyanna?" Benjen nodded, a small smile flaring to life on his face. "She was of the North, my lady mother?"
"Aye, of an old and proud bloodline." Lyanna's statue held a lit candle aloft, as though working to guide them. "She had quite a lot in common with my sister; a love for riding, an appreciation of song and last but not least but not least an undying love for winter roses."
"What are you saying?" At least Jon had his ears and mind open. Benjen stopped before the stone Lyanna and reached out to touch her cold hand. "Father?"
"You are my blood, Jon, and I think it is time you knew the truth about my sister and what happened before she died." He bade Jon to take a seat, which he did upon one of the slabs of stone, the shadows cast upon his face bringing to mind an image of his father rather than the sweet-natured boy he'd had with him all these years.
He recounted the story slowly, doing his best to cushion the hard truths. Jon, to his credit, kept his silence throughout the tale, the only sign that it affected him in the way he clenched and unclenched his fists around the edge of the basket. It was difficult, lying the whole of it bare. He wished he did not have to do so; he wished he might keep Jon in the dark for many more years, but Ned had promised Lyanna to protect the boy and Benjen had promised he would have the knowledge to protect himself.
"By the time we found her, 'twas much too late for her. But you see, I never truly considered her lost. A part of her has been here with us all along." A teary-eyed boy was doing his best to keep quiet, going as far as to bite his lip. "She loved you to her last breath."
Silence stretched between them. It wrapped cold fingers about their throats, as though to make certain no sound would come. Benjen did not have the strength to break it. He looked at Jon, hoping against hope he had made the right decision.
"Why?" Jon choked out. "Why did she have to die?"
"Who can tell why the gods do what they do?" He placed a hand upon Jon's shoulder, giving him a moment, before he pulled him in a hug. It was unfair to the utmost. But then Benjen reckoned his words still held true in spite of that.
"We need not fear him for at the moment Robert has no knowledge of what passed at the tower." Benjen nodded his head. "But I daresay it would be wise to keep out of his way, the both of you. We do not need the manner of trouble recognition would bring." Jon gave a soft sigh from his seat near the lancet.
"Why can we not simply go now?" he questioned, eyes going from one of them to the other. "Black Brothers are not concerned with matters of the realm and thus it should not matter whether we are here to greet him or nay." The poor boy, he was doing his best but Benjen could tell he did not understand the reasoning.
"Jon, we are in no hurry in truth. Would that you saw what it is you are prepared to give up before you follow my path." Ned did not intervene. It seemed he had learned long ago his input was best given by the end as opposed to in the middle. Good on him; no one could accuse him of being obtuse. "There is more to life than you have experienced."
"Might be for true born children." It all came back to that. Unfortunately Benjen had never learned whether his sister had given any manner of vows to her lover, or if she'd been hoping to do so at a later date. That point aside, it was also true that in the eyes of the realm he would forever be a bastard. "Besides, father," Jon continued, "I would not be parted from you." In spite of the revelation, they had agreed it was best to continue as they ever had. "Uncle, surely you can see the wisdom in my words." The boy was much too eager to catch sight of Aemon Targaryen. Might be Benjen had been hasty in speaking of the man.
"Benjen, the lad has the right of it. The Night's Watch could do with new members and Robert, whatever my dealings with him, remains a danger as long as there is some chance of him learning the truth. I would not have such an occurrence in my house if I can help it. Be reasonable about this, brother."
"Easy for you to say," Benjen muttered. Ned had decided long ago that the Night's Watch would be the safest place for them to be and was apparently more than willing to press them into it. "You wash your hands of us and get to live the rest of your life comfortably. Is that it?"
"Do not be absurd, brother. This is for the best. And Jon wished to be on his way in any event. What need is there for lingering?" He could have debated the matter further, he could have insisted, but after all, Jon was very much decided and he did not wish to be in the way.
"Very well. Be it as you say then." From behind him Jon gave a sound of agreement. "When would you have us leave?"