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Chapter Fourteen: A Problem Shared

Since the day she left Winterfell as a child, Sansa had absorbed a lot of shocks. The downfall and murder of her father; Joffrey being an absolute shit and her forced marriage to Tyrion Lannister. Her brother and mother had been murdered, her home had been stolen and she had unwittingly played a role in the murder of a king. She had been a traitor's daughter and a rebel's sister, then she was a wanted fugitive masquerading as Petyr Baelish's bastard daughter. Then she married Ramsay Bolton before being rescued by the same man she thought had murdered her other two brothers. She reached a safe haven, only to find her protector had been stabbed by his own brethren. She was used to shocks. She almost expected them. And even when she expected them, the shocks still lived up to their name and shocked the sense right out of her.

By the time she reached Bran's tree and sat there ladling a bitter tasting red paste into her mouth, she thought she might be beyond shocks. Then Bran sat beside her and told her what had happened to Jon after he was stabbed and Lady Melisandre's attempts to bring him back. By the time he finished talking and Sansa knew as much as he did, all she could do was put down her bowl and say:

"I thought nothing could shock me anymore, but I think you've proved me wrong."

Bran urged her to finish the paste, which she did while sat cross-legged on a shelf of roots inside the vast weirwood. While she ate, she was able to think. There was one other thing all life's shocks had taught her, it was how to adapt and survive. This was no different, only now she had to make sure Jon and Bran survived too. This was their new reality and she had to learn to work with it.

"Lady Melisandre knows what she is doing," she pointed out, spotting the red woman talking to Uncle Benjen by the escape tunnel. "I've seen her do amazing things with fire. She lit a fire out of nothing and used it to kill Others and they fled before her. Even if she did not intend to send Jon back in time, her magic did and there's a reason for it. It won't be an accident. Anyway, uncle Benjen is over there. Asking him is a lot faster than travelling back in time."

Bran's face flushed and she realised he hadn't even thought to ask their uncle since he arrived. It occurred to her he might have worked himself up into a state to the point where he wasn't thinking straight.

"Bran," she said, not unkindly. "That uncle Benjen over there is the same uncle Benjen who was at Harrenhal. But, I still want to see it for myself though, if we can. I want to see our father when he was a boy and Lyanna and Uncle Brandon. And Benjen too, of course."

Over-hearing his name, the man himself called over: "Is it just me, or my ears starting to burn?"

"Forgive me, Uncle, we were just discussing Jon's predicament," she replied. "But you can tell us yourself what happened there and what it is Jon might need to do."

At that, both Benjen and Melisandre came over to join them. Meera had been stewing a hot drink for them all and she reappeared as well, with Hodor helping her carry the cups of honey mead. Sansa welcomed it, now that she had finished the bitter and foul-tasting paste. Only the thought of seeing Jon again had compelled her to eat the lot.

"Thank you, Meera, come and sit beside me," she said, making room for the Crannog girl.

Meanwhile, Benjen had reached for one of the lanterns hanging from a branch and placed it on the floor in the middle of their circle. Above them, the Three-Eyed Raven slept on, slumped over in his tangle of roots. Or so it seemed to Sansa, he looked half-dead. The others, Brienne, Pod and Tormund, were all out hunting that night's supper.

"Uncle Ben," said Sansa. "If the ink is dry and we're not doing anything that hasn't already been done before, then surely you would remember Jon being at Harrenhal? Even father would have remembered."

But the man shrugged, shaking his head. "There was someone Lyanna met, but thinking on it I'd swear it was my lady Reed's father, Lord Howland."

"Father said Lady Lyanna saved his life," Meera confirmed. "He talked about her all the time."

Benjen smiled, swirling the contents of his cup. "Did Lord Howland ever tell you who the Knight of the Laughing Tree was?"

"No!" Meera retorted. "He told us everything, except that. And it puzzles me. Aerys was dead by then, the same as Lyanna and Rhaegar, so what was the big secret?"

"Was it out of respect for King Robert?" Sansa asked, looking to Meera.

Meera laughed. "Hardly. He thought Robert overbearing and arrogant."

Even as Sansa had speculated, it made no sense to her. It wasn't as if Robert would be passing through the Neck to even hear Howland Reed talking of Lyanna and her exploits. But one thing that did occur to her was that Lyanna was at the centre of everything. And Rhaegar. So far, all Bran's discoveries had been about them. Jon was with them, in person, seemingly out of the blue. It was their story Bran and Jon had unearthed the most discrepancies in. And it was those two that Sansa could not help but home in on now. Then, as she mulled it over, she remembered something else. Something that, at the time, she thought passing strange and then forgot soon after as her life delivered its next dose of shockingly awful events.

"When Baelish brought me to Winterfell to marry Ramsay, we went down to the crypts and I told him who Lyanna was and what happened to her," she recalled. "When I told him she was abducted and raped he gave me this look. A sly look he gives everyone when he knows they're talking horse shit. I remember it because he made me feel like a liar."

"Because it was a lie," Benjen confessed, meeting her gaze through the light of the lantern. Silence fell as everyone else waited for him to continue, which he did after drawing a deep breath. "It was not a lie you consciously told, niece. It was a lie you were all raised on. But now all those at the centre of the lie are cold in their graves, myself and Lord Reed not-withstanding. And I beg your father's pardon, Lady Meera, for betraying his trust now."

Meera was quick to assure him. "He would understand, Lord Stark. Especially now, with so much at stake."

"Well then, here's the short version," said Benjen. "Rhaegar loved Lyanna and Lyanna loved him back. Everyone knew it. Even your father. Personally, I think Robert could not deal with the rejection and just took it into his head that she had been abducted and raped."

Sansa was aghast. "King Robert went to war because his pride was wounded?"

"Robert didn't start the war," Benjen corrected her. "Aerys did. When he lynched my brother and burned my father … shame about Rhaegar, though. From what I saw of him he was perfectly decent sort."

Stunned, Sansa found herself staring vacantly into the middle distance. People knew. Her father knew. Everyone knew, except them. The ones left picking up the pieces.

"Even Petyr Baelish knew," she murmured, to herself more than anyone else.

"His name is familiar," said Benjen. "Sansa, who is he?"

Jolted out of her thoughts, she met his gaze across the small space dividing them. "He was Master of Coin for King Robert. He grew up at Riverrun with my mother and loved her."

Benjen sighed heavily, one hand slapped against his forehead. "Of course! Brandon duelled with him for Cat's hand in marriage. Cut him up pretty bad, too. Brandon was bragging about it when we all met at Harrenhal, I remember now."

Sansa felt her hackles rising but kept her suspicions to herself, for now. None of them knew Baelish as she did and it would take too long to explain. Before she could say anything, she heard a voice calling Bran's name. She looked around to see who it was, but none of the others seemed to have heard it. Except Bran.

"Sansa, did you hear that?" he asked.

She nodded.

Bran smiled. "Good. The paste worked. That was Jon calling. We need to go now."

Her belly squirmed with apprehension and excitement as she reached for her brother's hand. Remembering his earlier instructions, she shuffled over to the tree root and took one in her free hand and felt her eyes rolling to the back of her head as the world turned black.

Jon stood back from the tree and waited, breath held until he heard the sound of scrambling feet. Only one, he thought. Until Bran spoke, and not to him.

"You're all right Sansa," he said. "You've done it."

Jon swung around the trunk of the tree, stopping dead when he saw his sister brushing down the front of her cloak. It took a split second for her to notice him too, then her gaze locked into his. Without hesitation, he caught her in a tight hug and held her close for longer than he cared to keep track of.

"Jon, oh dear gods Jon it's really you," she said, voice muffled by his shoulder.

Bran took himself off into the godswood, affording them some privacy. Meanwhile, Jon lowered her carefully to the ground, where they lay in each other's arms beneath the boughs of the weirwood tree. When they looked to one another again, neither felt inclined to pretend they hadn't been crying.

"Thank the gods you're safe," he said, kissing her tenderly. "I swear, no one will ever hurt you again."

How he intended to keep that promise while stranded in the past he didn't know. He just knew he would. Somehow. When they finally separated and composed themselves, they burst out laughing with relief. Such was the erratic nature of human emotion. Then Jon stood up first and held out his hand to help her up.

"Come on, let's walk," he suggested. "And tell me everything that happened."

Now that the tourney was over, Harrenhal was empty but for Lyanna and Rhaegar. Even Rhaegar was leaving soon. So, Jon had no worries about walking around and seemingly talking to himself. Only the state of the grounds betrayed what had just happened here. Refuse and discarded food wrappings fluttered on the soft breeze like so many autumn leaves. Bits of horse bridle and scraps of silk favours cut from maiden's hankies were caught on the splintered stands. That was all that remained of the pomp and chivalry. Scraps of silk and a bad smell. Over it all, the broken towers of Harrenhal itself loured ominously, their shadows long and disjointed.

As they walked, Sansa recounted what had happened to her from the moment she escaped King's Landing until she reached Bran's tree. It didn't take long for his mood to reflect his desolate surroundings.

Rhaegar frowned as he let himself into Lyanna's apartments. "I swear I just saw Jon walking around the Flowstone Yard talking to himself."

Lyanna turned from the flowers she was fussing over and frowned at him. "Everyone does that … don't they?" As an afterthought, she added: "I know I do."

The Prince laughed as he removed the sack from his shoulder and placed it carefully on the table in the presence chamber. Inside was the box with his dragon egg inside.

"Take good care of her for me, won't you?" he asked. "Once what needs to be done is done, I will come back for her."

She approached the box and flipped open the lid, running a finger over the smooth shell. He knew how much she loved the colouring of the egg. It was all silver and blue swirls, the colours diffusing into each other seamlessly. "How do you know it's a girl?"

Rhaegar shrugged. "Strictly speaking, dragons are inter-sex. So, she's both male and female. But to me she's a girl. A particularly lovely girl, I might add."

The last thing he wanted was for Aerys to get his hands on it. All he asked was that the egg was well hidden and safe from whatever battles lay ahead. Once he was king and the third head of the dragon had been born, then it would be ready for the hatching. Closing the lid again, he nudged it closer to Lyanna and kissed her lips.

"I'll miss you," he said, embracing her. "When I return, we will be married."

She sighed deeply. "I'll miss you too. Please hurry back."

The moment of separation came, and Rhaegar wasn't one to draw it out. He kissed her one more time, ran his hands through her hair and turned sharply toward the door. It was time to begin.

That evening, Jon sat at the table and used his fork to push some food around a plate. He was dimly aware of Lyanna watching him, worry etched in her face. But he couldn't bring himself to talk to her. After that, he found himself in a large stone bath and sat stock still until he realised that the water had grown cold. He hadn't even noticed the temperature steadily decreasing. Done with his cold bath, he returned to his chambers and made ready for bed. Sleep eluded him as he stared up at the canopy of his four-poster. He didn't even notice that he'd been crying, but the tears slipped down his face anyway. It was dark and there was no one to see, so he didn't care even when he did notice.

Footsteps padded up to his bedroom door, but he rolled over at the sound of the knock on his door. When it opened, and soft candlelight sent the darkness into relief, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

But Lyanna was not fooled. "I know you're awake."

He heard her placing the candle on his bedside table, followed soon after by the mattress dipping where she sat beside him. She lay reclined leisurely, placing one hand on his bare shoulder.

"Talk to me," she said, quietly. "All evening you've been moping around with a face like a slapped arse. I'm worried."

There was no point ignoring her. It wasn't worth the effort. "There's things I must not tell you. But if I start, I won't be able to stop myself."

"Is it about the future?" she asked,

She hit the spot and it hurt. He wished he could tell her everything, about Robert being king and Cersei his queen and all the storms that union brought to the Stark's halls. But he didn't see how he could and he didn't see how it could help. Not with her being eighteen years dead.

"You didn't fool me, Jon," she continued. "Whatever the future holds, I know I'm not part of it."

His heart sank again as he turned onto his back, forcing her to shift over a little. When he got her in his line of vision, he could see she was calm. Even half smiling at him in the semi-darkness.

"You are part of it," he stated. "In one form or another."

Lyanna made no reply, drew a deep breath and carried on watching him with that half-smile on her face. Her hair and eyes were dark as night in the poor light. Half a ghost already.

"I still can't get my head around where you've come from," she eventually continued. "From the little you've told me, and what little you've said of your sisters, things don't seem so good at your end. Am I right in thinking it's something to do with that?"

"It's not my sisters," he said. "Well, it is, but it isn't."

Lyanna laughed. "It is, but it isn't? And to think you men are always complaining us women can never get to the point."

She was only teasing him good naturedly, trying to get a rise form him. But it wasn't working. Realising the fact, she changed tack. "Tell me then, how many children does Ned have?"

"Five and me," Jon replied. "Robb's the eldest, then Sansa. Arya came next, then Bran and Rickon. I'm a little younger than Robb. Apart from us, there was Theon. Balon Greyjoy's youngest son and father's ward."

"There must always be a Bran in House Stark," she laughed, toying with a loose thread in his blankets. She was sitting with her legs curled under her now, but he couldn't begin to fathom what she was thinking. Whether she was envisioning a future she already knew had nothing to do with her or trying to second guess how these things came to be. "So, it's not Sansa or Arya keeping you awake, which of your brothers is it?"

"Robb," he admitted. "He wasn't just my brother. He was my closest friend and I loved him so much I'd have followed him to hell and back, had he asked. But he did something unforgivable and now innocent people are suffering for it."

"'Unforgivable' is a very big word, Jon," she said. "What could possibly be that bad?"

"He rebelled against the crown after his lords declared him King in the North," he explained. "At first it went well, but he was betrayed and he ended up losing Winterfell, the North and his life. Thousands of Stark bannermen were slaughtered at the Twins, the Boltons were given Wardship of the North, Sansa was forced to marry Roose Bolton's son."

Lyanna was silent as she tried to make sense of it. "Are you telling me that, in twenty years from now, the Boltons will have the North and Winterfell? Where is Ned?"

"Dead," he stated, bluntly. "He was Hand of the King, but Cersei Lannister conspired his downfall and execution. That was why Robb rebelled."

She was wide-eyed and silent, motionless as if the future had turned her to stone.

"Lya, it's bad. We really have lost everything," he continued. "Father married Catelyn Tully in Brandon's place, so the Riverlands supported him. He was meant to marry a daughter of Walder Frey in return for use of that damn bridge of his and a few thousand extra fighting men. But he broke his oath and married a girl from the Westerlands. Robb executed one of his own lords, and lost several thousand men overnight. He trusted an Ironborn, which led to the loss of Winterfell. Instead of riding back north to defend his own home, he trusted the Boltons to do it. He put his gains in the Riverlands first, instead of prioritising his own people. Greed and stupidity led us to hell."

"And my niece, Sansa, is married to Domeric Bolton?" she asked. "Roose is an utter cunt, but Domeric's a nice enough boy. I do not think he would be cruel-"

"Domeric's dead," Jon cut in. "Roose's legitimised bastard killed him, or so they say. Now they have Winterfell and Ramsay Bolton is holding it in his father's name. Our servants have been flayed, our people live in fear and my sister was raped and beaten every night until she escaped. Now I'm stuck here, unable to help anyone."

Lyanna fell silent again as she slowly rose from the bed and began pacing the floorboards. Too despondent to get up himself, Jon contented himself with tracking her movements as she passed to and fro, chewing nervously at the tip of her index finger. After what seemed an age she stopped abruptly, fixing him in a calculating look. He heard a breath hitching in her throat, but if she was going to speak, she suffered a last minute change of heart. Then fled the room.

Thinking to go after her, he rolled off the bed and began pulling on his breeches. But before long, he heard her hurrying back inside. When she reached the bedside, she dropped a large wooden box on the bed and opened the clasp. Inside the box, the dragon egg caught the candlelight and shimmered sweetly.

"You say it's alive," she said, breathlessly.

Confused, Jon frowned at her. "Yes, but-"

"Pick it up!" she snapped.

He did so and, once more, he could feel the heat inside, pulsing like a heartbeat. Beneath the thin shell, small wings and a long sinuous tail brushed the membrane under his fingers. It was alive in there, he could feel it. He was half-tempted to split the damn thing open and pull the dragon out himself. But why could she not feel it? He didn't have time to wonder.

"Rhaegar needs it well hidden until after the war against his father," she said. "I was already considering the crypts of Winterfell anyway. What with this war against the dead coming, we needed it in the north, no matter who holds Winterfell. Even Rhaegar said so."

Jon's mind cleared and it felt like a beautiful dawn had broken through the dark clouds of his own introspection. His hands were trembling so much that he had to put the egg down before he dropped it.

"I-if," he stammered, then paused to compose himself. "If we can hatch this, then take it to Winterfell and hide it deep in the crypts. Then-"

Lyanna grinned as she finished the plan for him. "Give it twenty years and there's a fire breathing surprise in store for the Boltons."

"We both heard the stories," he said, softly. "What if there's rumours of a dragon in Winterfell because we put it there?"

"But we were told the stories too," Lyanna pointed out. "Which means it must have been there when we were children."

"Did your father hear the stories when he was a boy?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Said he'd never heard such nonsense in his life. But I think he would have said that anyway, just to put us off."

As the complications to their fledgling plan opened up to him, his hopes began to fade. He remembered the rose he gave to Bran, that shrivelled up and aged and died within seconds of passing through the time barrier. Without nourishment and food to help it grow, the dragon would just shrivel up and die like that rose did. How could he keep a dragon secretly living below Winterfell for so long? What would it eat? How would they get it down there and sustained for over twenty years? Who had the freedom to break the time barriers at will….

"Bran," Jon whispered, in reply to his own question.

"No, he knows absolutely nothing about dragons," Lyanna replied, thinking he meant her brother. Jon didn't bother to correct her.

Giving himself a shake, he continued dressing himself. "First things first, we need to hatch it. Does Rhaegar know how?"

To his dismay, she shook her head. "He's trying to find out."

Bran would know what to do, he thought to himself. Sansa might even have heard about Daenerys Targaryen while she was at court. There were bound to be rumours of how she went about hatching three dragons. It would be complicated, it was fraught with problems, but it was the only plan he had. A half-alive dragon was the only weapon he had.

"There's someone I need to speak to," he said. "Someone I think might be able to help."

To his relief, she didn't ask who. She just nodded. "I'll check the library here. There's bound to be old books lying around."

Given that they were in Harrenhal, he suspected the only dragon books in this library would be ones about flame proofing your turret towers. Never mind nurturing dragons for use in combat. Still, there had to be way. If there was a way, he inwardly resolved, he would take back all Robb had lost. The rape and ruin of Sansa Stark would be answered with fire and blood.

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

Hi guys, I fully understand you're all keen to get to the big reveal about Jon's parents. We're getting there. I promise. I just don't think it's in the least bit logically feasible they'd guess Jon's parentage just because he can feel heat coming from a dragon egg. Lyanna isn't even pregnant yet so they're not even thinking along those lines. Be patient. We're getting there. And when we do, it will make sense.