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Chapter Four: Leviathan

If there was just one place in Winterfell that remained unmolested by the passing of time, Lyanna knew it would be the godswood. It was a dark and primal place, where the old gods watched through the carved face of the ancient heart tree, standing tall and proud among the others species. Beside it, the cold spring pool formed a black mirror of the canopy overhead, it's depths treacherous to those beguiled by its placid surface. Glittering crystals and dancing light may look pretty in a sept, but the light of the seven never once penetrated this most sacred of Northern spaces.

It was dawn already, with the sky beyond turning a hazy pink and Lyanna was still half-drugged with sleep as she met Eddard in the common hall. They made their way to the godswood together, careful not to make too much noise in a castle packed with sleepers – people probably much more sensible than themselves. True to her memories of a distant childhood, the woods remained unchanged. The surface of the spring still calm and black.

Once, when she was a little girl, her father tried to circumvent the possibility of her drowning by telling her there was a huge Leviathan dwelling just below the surface of the spring. Lord Rickard's reasoning was that she would be too afraid to get too close to the edge. On the contrary, she came here every day hoping to catch sight of the monster in the lake. She brought food, she brought fishnets on one particularly memorable occasion, she knelt by the water's edge until her knees sank in the mud. Neither scale nor beady eye of any water monster was ever seen, to her eternal dismay. However, she quickly got used to being too close to the edge. Sometimes, she felt like she'd been too close to the edge her whole life.

"I spoke privately with Jon, last night," she said, once they were deep in the godswood. "It wasn't just too much wine, he really was upset by what Benjen said. Although, more because it was said in front of his friends."

Eddard drew a deep breath. "I thought as much. But it may be worse than that. It was said in front of Theon. They're not exactly friends, sister."

She had agreed with Robert when he sent the Greyjoy boy to Winterfell, despite some misgivings. Now she felt a little guilty about it, too. "Ah, I see. Now Theon will tease him. All the same, Jon seems terribly keen on joining the Night's Watch. What are your true thoughts on that?"

"He would be an asset to the Watch, I've no doubts on that front," he answered. "But if he's to join the Watch then it must be for the right reasons. Getting away from Catelyn and the likes of Theon Greyjoy are not the right reasons."

They reached the edge of the spring, just before the heart tree. Still in the full bloom of summer, it's ruby boughs stooped and tickled the surface of the water. Eddard spread out an old cloak on the ground, somewhere dry for them to sit a while.

"How bad are things between Jon and Catelyn?" she asked. "I read between the lines of your letters, of course, and realised it wasn't exactly peace and harmony. But tell me true, what has been happening."

Even Jon's occasional letters were guarded and absurdly polite. He always asked more about her than he told of himself. He certainly didn't write about Catelyn Tully. Meanwhile, Ned was struggling to form a reply.

"She … she just doesn't very much like him," he replied, at length. "I've asked her a hundred times, why she must be so damnably cruel to him. It's not his fault. None of it is his fault. I would that she took it out on me, but she never does. And I know she's not a cruel woman, Lya. You've seen her with the children, you know her. The way she is with Jon, that's not the real Catelyn."

A curious conflict of frustration, anger and guilt fought amongst themselves in Lyanna's heart. Catelyn was put in a terrible predicament; Catelyn was a terrible predicament for them. Neither of them knew Cat when Ned married her, so she couldn't be trusted with the truth – it was too risky. By the time they did get to know her, she had come to hate Jon so much that she still couldn't be trusted with the truth. So, they were locked in perpetual enmity.

"I wish we had known her better when you married," she said. "I wish we had made more of an effort with her when she was betrothed to our Bran. If we had known what kind of a woman she was, we would have known to trust her."

Anger flicked at Eddard's expression. "But could we have trusted her, Lya? I love Catelyn, I really do. But the way she is with Jon, right from when he was a helpless babe, I'm not sure she would have understood the situation. Right now, she thinks he's going to steal Robb's inheritance and that's bad enough. How would she react if she finds out the truth and realises we've been harbouring a hunted Targaryen all these years?"

What was done was done. But Lyanna was gaining a much clearer picture of why Jon was chomping at the bit to escape Winterfell. Now, if Eddard agreed to become Hand of the King, the poor boy would be as good as alone with her. It was already decided that Sansa, Arya and Bran would be coming south with them, should Eddard take the position, leaving Jon even more cut adrift.

"Have you made a decision about Robert's offer?" she asked. "And if you agree, where will that leave Jon?"

He didn't reply immediately, but after a long pause he nodded. "If I agree, and I want to agree Lya, Jon simply cannot stay here. Catelyn will not have him."

"Have you discussed it with her?" she asked.

"We certainly argued about it," he replied. "Last night, after the feast. She won't have him here without me. If I force her to accept him, I won't be there to defend him. Robb will. Robb would look after him, they're as close as brothers. They are brothers."

"But Jon doesn't want to be reliant on Robb for protection," she said, guessing rightly. "So, this is the situation: if you stay, Jon can remain here at Winterfell. If you go, Jon will be forced out. The way I see it, Ned, it's now imperative that we have that talk with him. He's welcome to come south with us, but I feel it ought to be his decision made with full knowledge of the truth."

Eddard met her gaze, the look on his face grave. They both knew, without needing to say anything, that this was part of the reason she came home. She needed to be with her son. The time had come. The truth. That was the real Leviathan lurking beneath the surface of Winterfell.

"I quite agree," he replied. "But, is bringing him south a good idea? He would be under Robert's nose."

"Robert seems to think he's Wylla's son," she said. "Wylla or Ashara Dayne. He's never once questioned his father. But then, Robert's never really mentioned Jon at all and neither has anyone else. Anyway, Jon might decide to join the Watch after all. I mean what I say, I intend to give him all the facts and let him make the decision himself."

"But the Watch, Lya? There's nothing so honourable, but it is for life. The rest of his life," Ned repeated. "I suggest that if he insists, we agree on condition that he waits a year. He will be fifteen by then, a man grown although still half a boy by my reckoning. That year can be spent either with us in the south, or I will find a suitable guardian from among my sworn lords."

That was a compromise she could live with and she agreed with a nod. "When will be a good time to tell him?"

"Robert and his court are riding out to hunt this afternoon, most of my household will no doubt join him," explained Eddard. "Catelyn won't go, but the rest will be gone for at least a day or two. I'm certain you won't mind missing out on a hunt if it's for this."

"Absolutely not, this evening it is," she retorted. "And, Ned, thank you again for all you've done."

A sad smile played at his lips, his eyes downcast as he turned away from her. "For all that I tried to remind myself that this day would come, that he was only my nephew, I still love him as a son, Lya. I shouldn't have let it happen, but it did anyway."

"You wouldn't be human if you didn't," she assured him. "And Ned, he loves you as a father and that's not something either he or I will forget in a hurry. Even with the truth, he will still need you."

But it wouldn't ever be the same. She could see it in his eyes. The truth would sever a bond between a father and son and neither of them could second guess how Jon would react. He could end up hating them both. Her own nerves chewed at her insides, but she couldn't let it show for Jon's sake.

"You took Rhaegar's sword, yesterday. Are you going to give it to him?" asked Eddard. A pointed change of subject.

"Mikken is cleaning it up for me," she said. "As for what will happen to it … Jon strikes me as the type of boy who doesn't like to be given things for no reason. Besides, if all he says about his own swordsmanship is anything to go by, he'll earn it in no time."

Eddard laughed. "He's not just bragging, sister. He's a gifted swordsman. Before you leave, you should come and watch him in the sparring yard."

"I look forward to it," she replied. "But first, we must break our fast. Come, brother. The others will be missing us by now."

A hangover was there to greet Jon when he woke up that morning. A throbbing pain just behind his eyes and a cold clammy feeling that things can only get worse. A feeling made real when, moments later, he stood up and his head began to spin as if he'd suddenly found himself at the top of very tall tower without a harness. Worse, his excesses of the night before hadn't been in the least bit enjoyable. All that readily accessible wine had seemed like a perk of being a bastard at first. But it hadn't been long before he was picking a fight with his own uncle, embarrassing himself in front of Theon Greyjoy and knocking the Queen off her feet as he tried to beat a dignified retreat. The fact that the Queen had been so understanding of it all made it worse, somehow. She was making allowances for the stupid drunk boy.

He unshuttered his window, fumbled with the latch, and then winced against the bright light of day. Despite the visual assault on his senses, he threw the window wide open and let the cold air smack him in the face. It felt so good after the cloying heat of the wall pipes and furs that had stifled him during the night. After a minute cooling down, he turned his attention to dressing. Something he usually did without thinking but now seemed to require a moment's careful consideration before putting into action.

It was just as he was finishing lacing his boots up that a knock sounded on his door. His father's voice quickly followed: "May I come in?"

Fully expecting a stern lecture after last night's carry on, Jon groaned inwardly as he reached for the door and unlatched it. But when Lord Stark stepped through to the inner chamber, Jon noted there was more than a glimmer of amusement undercutting his normally solemn countenance.

"First time's always the worst," he said. He sat on the bed and gestured for Jon to join him. "Well, not that it gets better. But at least next time you'll know what to expect come the morning."

"There won't be a next time," replied Jon, firmly. When he spoke, he could still taste the residue of the wine at the back of his throat. "I'm never drinking that much again."

Lord Stark wore a look on his face that suggested if he'd had a gold dragon for every time he'd heard that the North would be richer than all the other kingdoms combined, as well as just larger. If he was thinking it, he didn't rub it in by saying it.

"The King has asked me to be his new Hand," he said. "My decision isn't final, but I'm erring towards accepting."

Unsure of what to do with that information, Jon hesitated as he tried to think of the right reply. He had no doubt his father would be perfect for the role, but he also knew leaving Winterfell and his children behind would be a wrench.

"But that's good," he finally stated. "There's no one better."

Lord Stark's smile was a pained affair and brief. "That's very kind of you, Jon."

Jon swallowed, finding his throat constricted at the thought of his father leaving. Surely now he would have no choice but to consent to his joining the Night's Watch. He couldn't stay in Winterfell with Lady Stark in charge. But now was not the time to press that suite.

"I'll miss you," Jon added. "We all will."

"That's just it. If I go, your sisters and Bran will be coming too," his father answered. "Rickon is too young, but he might join us in a few years."

Jon nodded, trying to summon a little enthusiasm. "Winterfell will be very empty. Well, I ought to get ready for the hunt. Robb's betting that I don't snare so much as a rabbit-"

"You're not going on the hunt, Jon," Lord Stark cut in. "You're to stay here."

"Right, I see," he replied, colour rising in his face. He should have known there would be no place for bastards among the royal retinue, but he had no wish to embarrass his father by saying anything. "Well, good luck."

His father easily second guessed what was on his mind. "Jon, it's not what you think. There's something the Queen and I need to talk to you about, that's all. And don't be worrying, you're not in any trouble."

Even with that assurance, Lord Stark's innate solemnity made it sound ominous. Then Jon remembered asking the Queen to speak with Lord Stark about his joining the Night's Watch. It seemed she had been as good as her word, which he appreciated.

"Come to my solar after supper this evening, Lyanna and I will be waiting for you," his father added. He still looked grave, almost pained as he drew out the pause. "And, Jon, it would be best if you kept this to yourself."

The ominous feeling was back. "Father, what's this about?"

That pained look was back in his father's face, as if he didn't want to say anymore but felt compelled to. "Your mother. We need to talk about your mother. And when I say tell no one, no one includes Robb and Arya."

Never mind after supper, Jon wanted to know now. He didn't care about the stupid hunt any more, either. But he calmed himself, gave himself a minute or two for the shock to wear off. After years of wondering and hankering after her name, this sudden decision to come out with the truth had left him reeling.

"I'll not breathe a word, I promise," he assured. "And I'll be there."

Before he left again, Eddard Stark hesitated and mussed up Jon's hair like he did when he was a child. A small act of stilted intimacy that seemed odd to him.

"Don't spend today worrying about this. Go outside, enjoy the day. And all this talk of the Night's Watch… I know how badly you wish to join. But don't make your mind up before we've talked. All right?"

Jon nodded. "Very well."

His promise proved hard to keep. After hastily breaking his fast, he saw Robb out in the yard helping Hodor saddle up for the hunters. Arya was mounted on a new palfrey the Queen had gifted her and even Bran would be going along for the ride. Theon Greyjoy had been appointed as Robert's temporary squire and even he would be going, to Jon's relief. Relief that proved short lived as the eternally smirking face of the Ironborn shone upon his own.

"Staying behind with the girls, bastard? Hardly a surprise after last night's carry on," he said. "You will be missed."

"Which is more than can be said for you, Greyjoy." Lyanna had come breezing past just at that moment, her reply cutting off the rather more vulgar riposte that had been on Jon's lips. "Although, you might end up missing something if you keep the King waiting any longer."

She winked at Jon as she passed, but didn't stop to talk. King Robert was mounting up and it was to him she was greeting with a kiss. He watched as they chatted quietly to each other and found himself wondering why she wanted to sit on tonight's discussion about his mother.

"Are you even listening, Snow?"

Jon whirled around to face a disgruntled looking Robb. "Yes, of course."

"Then what did I just say?"

He had the decency to blush. "I wasn't listening, brother. I didn't even know you were there."

Robb grinned, laughing so loud people turned to look. Once he composed himself, he threw an arm around Jon's shoulders and guided him away from the hunting party. "Look, I don't know what happened at the feast, last night. Arya was acting up and I had to take her up to bed. By the time I got back, you weren't there anymore. But if you're being held back from the hunt because of that, or because of my mother, just say so. I'll talk to father and he'll listen to me."

"No, it's nothing like that," he answered. "Don't worry, it's a good thing. I'm really happy about it, actually."

He was bursting to say something, but his father's dire warnings about secrecy kept repeating on him. All the while, Robb was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, he was rewarded with a good-natured dig in the ribs.

"And?" Robb nodded for him to go on.

"And I promised father I wouldn't breathe a word to anyone," he said. "I'm sorry, Robb. But it's nothing bad, I promise."

"In that case, you better not say anything to anyone," Robb replied. "Luckily for you, I'm not anyone. I'm your brother."

"Father did specify that 'anyone' includes you and Arya," he stated. He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, checking the coast was clear before whispering in Robb's ear. "He wants to tell me who my mother is."

The smile was back on Robb's face. "Then I really am happy for you and I hope she's still around somewhere. Gods, we'll not be back for a day or two. But you can't bring me this far and leave me hanging. You must tell me who is she as soon as I get back."

Jon nodded. "Yes, but Robb, not a word to anyone. Not a soul."

The hunting horns blared, rushing their chat to a hasty end. But Robb swore by the old gods and the new not to tell a soul, before he dashed off to get mounted up.

To watch the vast hunting party ride out through the gates, he decided to run up to the battlements for a good view. It was always stirring to see the silk banners and coloured streamers fluttering in the wind as they went. But, once they were gone, the castle seemed empty and void of life. At a loss for what to do, he wandered across the empty grounds, avoided Lady Stark who rounded a corner he was about to pass down and ended up in the common hall.

Ghost was in there already, stretched out by the fire with his brothers and sisters. They had all been left behind so as not to frighten the horses. The only human inhabitants of the common hall were Sansa, her silly friend Jeyne, Septa Mordane and the Queen. Grouped around a trestle table in the middle, they were passing around samples of needlework for Lyanna's royal inspection.

"Oh, that's lovely," Lyanna was saying, approvingly. Taking another, she said the exact same thing. "Oh, that's lovely."

"And this is Arya's work," Sansa said, passing the sample over gingerly between thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, that's lovely," replied Lyanna.

Oblivious to the funny looks the others were now giving her, Lyanna turned in her seat and greeted Jon with a bright smile. "And look who's come to join us. I'm sure Jon doesn't want to listen to us girls going on about our needlework."

She seemed grateful for the change of subject and Jon suspected she was like Arya in more than just looks. Sliding into the seat beside her, he couldn't resist picking up Sansa's expert work. "Actually no, I'd love to hear all about how you got these stitches in such neat little rows."

However, his attempts at teasing the Queen went horribly wrong as Lord Stark showed up and called Lyanna away, leaving him alone with the girls and their needles. But their chatter washed over his head as his mind raced ahead to this evenfall.

"We're all going to live at court now, have you heard?" asked Sansa, jolting him out of his musings. "I don't suppose you have."

"Aren't you coming with us, Jon?" Jeyne immediately cut in.

"Of course he isn't," Sansa retorted, sharply.

Septa Mordane gave her a warning look. "Now, Sansa. There has been no final decision. However, if your father agrees, I am sure your half-brother will be more than welcome to join us."

From needlework to being talked about as if he wasn't in the room, Jon had already had enough. "Somehow, I don't think I will coming to court any time soon. Now, if I may be excused?"

He was polite enough to ask, but not enough to wait for an answer.

Killing time was turning into a nightmare and time passed with agonising slowness. But there was one thing he was set on doing. Now that he knew how painfully boring needlework was, he decided Arya needed a helping hand out of her hellish tedium. He made his way to Mikken's forge ready to order up that little sword he had in mind for her. If she was going to live in King's Landing, he wanted to gift her something she would remember him by.

It was cold outside, with a light summer snow falling to form a frosting on the cobbles. But in the forge, the warmth enveloped him like a warm blanket. As always, the armourer himself was busy at his tongs and bellows, hammering away at red-hot blades that glowed ember red in the dimness. They flashed through the air before hissing loudly as they were plunged into deep vats of cool water.

While he waited for Mikken to finish what he was doing, Jon took a look around. Ice had been left there, which struck him as odd. His father always carried it on his back, or tended to the blade himself. All the same, there it was. Next to it was another sword that, although it had seen better days, was a beautiful blade. Although dull, the steel rippled beautifully beneath a fine layer of dirt and dust. Patterns and swirls where it had been hammered and folded numerous times. It wasn't Valyrian, but it was still among the finest he had seen.

He picked it up, soft and worn leather belt included, and held it to the light. The pommel was decorated with a tarnished ruby that had once been pretty, the rest of it chipped. The sigil of the three-headed dragon was embossed on the leather sword belt, an even smaller sigil in the pommel, fashioned in the shape of a dragon. He almost dropped it in shock. The Targaryens were long gone, beaten into the dirt by King Robert after Rhaegar had abducted Lyanna.

His father never talked about it, but that was what everyone else had told him. As such, he hadn't known what to expect of Lyanna. He thought she would be fragile and delicate. But she didn't seem that way.

"It's a beauty, isn't it?"

Jon hadn't even realised that Mikken had stopped his hammering.

"The Queen found it in the armoury of the Red Keep and decided to see if I could clean it up," he added. "She said she'd only trust my good self with such a task."

"She should have it melted down and added to the iron throne," Jon retorted, putting the sword back down.

"I think she wants it done up so she can use it on your father," Mikken laughed. "Have you seen them in the sparring yard? They're knocking seven bells out of each other and having the time of their lives."

So much for delicate. "Er, no. I think I'll leave them to it." All the same, he grinned at the thought of it. "Anyway, I have an order to place too. A sword for a female beginner, live steel. What would you recommend?"

Mikken was thoughtfully rubbing his chin, leaving a greasy smear in the singed stubble of his beard as he did so. "I know just the very thing. And if this is for Arya Underfoot and your father finds out, I had no knowledge of it."

Jon grinned again. "Of course not."

After that, he had a bath and dressed himself in clean clothes for his meeting with the Queen and his father. Once that was done, it was almost time. Not in the least bit hungry, he forced a little venison into himself before heading up to his father's solar. True to his word, Lord Stark and the Queen were already there. They may have been having fun in the sparring yard that day, but they were both as sombre as a funeral procession now. The Queen had even swapped her blues and silvers for a sober black and grey gown.

Meanwhile, his father gestured for him to sit at a table in the middle of the solar. There was more food on offer, but he declined politely. His nerves were at him. While killing time in the afternoon, he had settled eventually and calmed himself. But now the time had come, he had butterflies. Whole swarms of them and they felt like they had steel tipped wings. Nervously, he glanced from his father to the Queen and back again, as if waiting to see who would break first.

"Your Grace, would you like to say anything?" asked Eddard.

The Queen drew her seat closer to Jon's. "There's really no gentle way to say it, so I'll just say it. It's me, Jon. I am your mother."

Thanks again for reading, reviews would be lovely if you have a minute.

Next Update: Sunday, 23rd July

Well, here's the first of the big changes here. I hope fans of the original don't mind me bringing the big talk forward, but it went on far too long last time. There's no need to string it out, so I thought I'd just get on with it. Hope it's okay, and would love to know what you think.