He dreamt of being at the tower of joy, and all around the corpses of the men that had fought because of his birth laid sprawled out across the sands. Not only those that had actually died, but also the corpses of the surviving men. Lord Stark was on his back, a sword lodged in his chest, blood trickling out, staining the surrounding sand a dark crimson. Arthur laid face-first beside him, a dagger stuck through the back of his throat and his body partially covered by sand. The crannogman Howland Reed's face was purple, as if he had been strangled. No, it can't be true, he thought, but the dream felt so real.

He dashed into the tower, not wanting to look at the bodies any longer. A sickly-sweet smell of flowers permeated the air, drawing him further on. Jon neared a door, and the smell grew even stronger. He put a hand against the door and pushed. The smell of flowers fell away, replaced by that of blood, metallic and slightly sweet. The air grew hot and humid as the door finished swinging open, making Jon's doublet cling to him uncomfortably. A woman was lying in a bed that took up most of the room, looking up at him through tear-stained eyes.

"My boy," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Mother," he replied, a war waging within him. A part screamed at him to run, that this was all a dream, but it looked so much like her. Tears fell from his eyes as he moved to the bed, bending down, and wrapping her in a tight hug.

She rubbed his back and smiled. "I missed you."

Jon choked back a sob that threatened and managed a weak smile in return. "I wish I had gotten to know you."

"And I you." She drew back to arm's-length and looked at him steadily. "I love you, my son. Always know that."

"I do, mother, and I love you as well."

Lord Stark appeared in the doorway, the sword still jutting from his chest, and the tower fell away. Jon yelled and yelled, trying to bring his mother back, but it was in vain.

He woke with a start, throwing the sheets off and running to the chamberpot. He fell to his knees and retched up his food from the previous night. When the heaving passed, he sat down against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest. Mother, he thought, and his mind went to the box that sat waiting in his bed chamber. He hadn't the heart to open it the previous night, choosing instead to flee to his room and spend the night restlessly thinking of its contents. What could possibly be in there? He had asked Lord Stark that very question but received no helpful answer. It'd be better to just see for yourself, he had said.

Jon rose, intent to find the courage to open the box, but failed and decided to bathe. The floor seemed to shift and move beneath his feet, but he managed to remove his smallclothes and climb into the copper bath, still filled with the previous day's water. It had turned cold overnight, but it banished the last remnants of sleep from him, and he relished in that. He relaxed against the side of the tub and allowed the cool water to soothe his fevered mind. That dream wasn't real. Lord Stark and Arthur are alive, I saw them just last night, he reminded himself.

After a while, the water made the skin on his fingers wrinkle and his mind burned with curiosity. He got up from the tub and toweled dry, then retrieved his breeches and slid into them.

The box was still by his bed, just where he left it. The wood showed signs of wear, was a foot and a half long and hinged at the back. Jon looked at it for a good while before gaining the nerve to lift it from the floor and onto his bed. He unlatched the box and lifted the lid, his fingers trembling slightly. Whether it was with trepidation or excitement, he couldn't be certain.

Across the top of the interior, a cloak of black velvet lay trimmed in red. Jon lifted the cloak by its collar, revealing the three-headed dragon of his House sewn onto the fabric. A bride's cloak . . . my mother's bride's cloak, he realized. He held the cloak against his face, relishing in the softness of it as his eyes welled with tears. Father draped this around my mother's shoulders the day they wed. The thought brought a different one, unbidden, that he had been purposefully avoiding. His own marriage could not be one of love, but for an alliance and more men. Too much weighed on his shoulders to allow for anything else.

He laid the cloak out on his bed and grabbed the next item from within the box. It was a silver three-headed dragon brooch, set with small circle-cut rubies for eyes. I will wear it with pride, Jon thought. He set it aside and went to grab the next item. A sharp point cut into Jon's finger, making him curse and draw his hand back. What in seven hells was that? He wiped his hand on his breeches and peered into the box. Jon sucked in a breath as he took it in. It can't be . . . He reached in and picked it up, studying it closely. A band of red gold, with sharp black iron spikes jutting up from the band. A strange urge overtaking him, Jon lifted the crown and placed it on his head. It was heavy, yet it fit him perfectly.

He picked up the final item; a leather-bound book, the corners somewhat worn but otherwise unmarred. Jon flipped it open and read the inside cover.

Lyanna of House Stark

He snapped it shut, a bit harder than he intended. This was his mother's words and thoughts, and to say he was anything other than terrified would come up short. He had heard some stories of her, both before and after learning the truth, but this was different. This wasn't just a recollection of events or what someone thought of her . . . this was her. His hands trembled fiercely, but he managed to flip the book open to a page and began to read.

His voice is beautiful, and the song . . . oh the song, so sad and tragic, it felt as though the prince was singing of himself. I couldn't help but cry, though only a little bit . . . but then Benjen, like always, has to be stupid and ruin the moment. I hope those wine stains never come out. Those squires were there too, and they seemed far too pleased with themselves. I pointed them out to Brandon and Ned, but one seems more interested in the women, and the other is so enamored of Robert that they should be the ones betrothed and leave me out of it. The squires will get theirs, even if my elder brothers are too full of themselves to help. I have a plan, and I've enlisted Benjen to help. It is crazy and reckless, but it'll work.

Jon flipped to the next page and continued reading.

Benjen found me the armor I require, it is ill-fitting, but it will serve. I'm going to challenge those squires' knights to joust. I'm the best rider in all the north, or so Father's bannermen say, but the lance is much heavier than I expected. I can hold it well enough, but maneuvering it is difficult. Luckily, the knights are of little renown, and they seem less equipped to sit a horse than I. I'm going with a smiling weirwood as my sigil, for how I will feel as I unhorse them with ease. This should be fun.

I beat those knights with ease. Just as I thought, two of them were so drunk they could barely keep their seats. The last knight was a better rider, though no less drunk. It took three tilts before I finally struck him square in the chest. Gods, the feeling of it all. It is a wonder more ladies don't take up jousting. The knights are poor, so I returned their horse and armor for a price. The demand was quite generous, only that they teach their squires' respect. But things are bad now. Robert and Richard Lonmouth are determined to unmask me, and the king believes that my sigil was meant to mock him. The armor and shield are still in my tent. Benjen is the only one that knows what I did, and he would never tell, but I have to get rid of the armor.

Jon couldn't believe what he was reading. She was as fierce as the stories say, protecting the honor of those who could not. I hope one day I can do her proud. He flipped the page and continued reading.

Rhaegar is a better man than I thought. He's not self-centered or cruel, like the king, but kind and understanding. I was in the woods, scared and alone. At times I could hear men speaking nearby and I knew that the king had sent them after me. As I struggled to free myself from the damned armor, I heard a laugh. I turned and the crown prince was standing there with Ser Arthur Dayne, both of them smiling. They were supposed to turn me in, and I was prepared to fight them if needs be, but the strangest thing happened. They helped me out of the armor and Ser Arthur went to dispose of it. Rhaegar stayed with me, and we spoke of much and more. He was impressed by my prowess on the field, as he should be, and the reasoning why I did such a thing. Robert never would have understood why I jousted. He is obsessed with what he thinks he sees in me. Rhaegar is different. He sees me, not just the perfect lady, or the fierce she-wolf, but the mixture of the two that make me whole. He is perfect, but he can never be mine. My only future is Robert, and try as I might, there is no helping it.

Gods, I don't know what he was thinking. Crowning me the queen of love and beauty over his own wife. Damn him, the fool. The crowd thundered for their champion, their perfect dragon prince, but when he passed by his wife to lay the crown in my lap, all noise died. Never have I seen the mood of the people sour quicker than it did then. I never even got to speak with Rhaegar, to ask him why he would do such a thing. The king commanded him to return to King's Landing. Ever the dutiful son and prince, he left at once, leaving me there holding a crown of winter roses and filled with far too many questions. I had mentioned to Rhaegar that they are my favorite flower. Could that have been why he crowned me? No, it had to be more . . . it felt like more than just a simple act of kindness. The way he looked at me, holding the crown from the end of his lance, so hopeful, as if he was scared I might reject him. I should have, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Jon flipped forward several pages before he found what he was looking for.

It is crazy and reckless, I shouldn't have done it . . . we shouldn't have done it, but how could we not. Lord Rickard will never allow me to follow my heart, so I didn't tell him. Benjen would understand and Brandon might, given his infatuation for Barbrey Ryswell, but Ned would never understand. He thinks that for no particular reason, Robert would stop whoremongering once he wed me. Robert be damned for I am free at last, and with a man I truly love. We were made for each other, and I can't be apart from him. I know that now, being back in his company after what felt like ages. I thought I would never feel loved, but Rhaegar's here solely because he loves me, and damn the consequences. We're running away to Dorne together to be wed. Somehow Rhaegar has convinced some of Aerys' Kingsguard to help him, but the king has no idea what his son is doing. Arthur is a kind man, I like him, and I can tell he and Rhaegar are close. Oswell has a dark sense of humor, but I think he is a good man. I could not have hoped for better traveling companions.

Rhaegar knows I worship the old gods, so he arranged for us to be wed before them on the Isle of Faces. It was such a beautiful ceremony. Rhaegar draped me in a beautiful bride's cloak of black velvet. Oswell oversaw the ceremony, and Arthur gave me away. I wish it could have been Father or Brandon to give me away, but neither can be trusted to keep our secret, so Rhaegar's best friend had to do, and I am okay with that. Arthur is an easily likeable man, noble and chivalrous, but also funny and easy-going. I can see why he is Rhaegar's closest confidant. Rhaegar and I also spoke of the bedding and agree it would be better to wait until after we are wed before the New Gods. To say I'm disappointed is a vast understatement, but I understand. I would not want any children that came from our union to be seen as bastards in the eyes of the realm, even though I would love them just as well either way. Rhaegar said he has spoken with Elia, and she is to meet us in Dorne. He assures me everything will be okay, but I'm still nervous about meeting my husband's first wife.

Jon's eyes misted over. Even then, they were thinking of him, trying to make sure he would have the best life possible. He flipped to the pages of her wedding in Dorne.

My fear of Elia Martell was misplaced and foolish of me. She embraced me as a sister would when we first met and seemed excited that Rhaegar had found someone he loved more than life itself. Rhaegar even roped the High Septon into our schemes. He annulled Rhaegar and Elia's marriage, which she was fine with so long as her children were not displaced. That is okay with me, Elia is sacrificing a lot so Rhaegar and I can be happy, and I do not care for power. Any children of mine will be raised to feel the same, or they will learn I'm not called the she-wolf of Winterfell for nothing.

The ceremony was beautiful, though I feel it was a bit too much. The southron certainly love to make a show of everything. Elia provided the dress for me, and even helped me get ready. I can't believe how kind she is. I hope she'll stay in King's Landing with her children, even though she's not married to Rhaegar anymore. She is an absolute pleasure to have around. Each moment I spend with her, I can feel us growing closer. She is returning to Dragonstone on the morrow though. They aren't certain of their children's safety while she is away, and she wants to be there with them. Rhaegar will remain here with me though, and gods am I glad for that. The bedding was the best thing I've ever felt, even if it hurt at first. And his manhood-

Jon snapped the diary shut, feeling uncomfortable. He went to run a hand through his hair, only to bang it against the crown. Jon sighed and flipped the diary open again.

It has been a moon since I last bled. I think I might be pregnant. It's hard to describe how I feel. If I had been pregnant the day I wed, all I would've felt was happiness, but so much has changed since then. I've written it in here so many times by now I've lost count, but each entry feels no more real than the last. I knew what we were doing was foolish, but I never knew that Brandon and Father would die for my choices. Brandon rode to King's Landing three moons past . . . of all the places in the Seven Kingdoms, he thought I would be there. Then Father rode to answer for his son's crimes in a trial by combat and lost to what the king refers to as his House's champion . . . fire. He died screaming, and Brandon strangled himself trying to save him. My father and eldest brother, both gone in a day, and I just don't understand how this came to be. I sent letters to Father at Winterfell. Did he not care, or did he not get them? Did Lady Ashara destroy them? I just don't know anymore. Rhaegar spends half the day apologizing and the other half brooding by the window, muttering about some prophecy. I'm going to tell him I'm pregnant on the morrow, and I don't know how he'll take it.

It is the tower of joy once more. The news filled Rhaegar with excitement, and it has rubbed off on me as well, though I still grieve for my family. When I told him, he ran across the room to wrap me in a tight hug and kiss me half a hundred times. Every night now, whether he falls asleep like that or not, by the morn his hand is splayed out protectively across my waist. I might have thought it stupid some time ago, but now I think it is exceptionally sweet. My dragon prince will make a great father to our children. I know it is foolish, but I can feel the babe inside of me, even this early, and I know it will be a boy. Rhaegar disagrees, he thinks it will be a girl because of some prophecy nonsense. I'll show him, I am a mother, and we know these things.

Jon wiped the tears from his eyes and flipped through a few pages before coming to a stop. A single word was written out in the middle of the page, and Jon knew immediately what it meant.

Rebellion

He flipped a few more pages. He would read the entirety of her diary at a time, but for now he needed to know certain things.

Ser Gerold Hightower arrived today, and with him comes terrible news. Rhaegar has been commanded to return to King's Landing, to lead the royal army in his father's name. It is not as though Aerys could do it, no, he has to take Rhaegar from me when I am just a few more moons from giving birth. Gerold is going to stay here and help guard me, but what consolation is that when I must say goodbye to my love. He promises when the rebellion is done things will be different. There will be no more hiding, no more secrets. He will set things right and depose his mad father, then bring me to court to raise our child for all the realm to see. It is a pretty dream, but this is war. What if Rhaegar falls in battle? What am I to do then? I can't shake the feeling I said goodbye to him for the last time. The Kingsguard are no comfort. They all believe him to be invincible, it would seem. I don't know what I'll do if they are wrong.

Jon flipped to the page he had been dreading reading . . . the page he knew would be filled with the sorrow of his grieving mother.

Pain . . . I feel naught but that and anger. All joy awaits with my husband in the afterlife. I cannot join him yet though; he would not want that. First, I will see our child safely into this world, then I will have my revenge. Robert will beg for mercy before I am through with him. He dares take my one true love from this world and claim it is all for me. I can't eat, I barely sleep. I worry it isn't good for the babe, but I can't help it. This pain is too fresh and everything around me is a reminder of what I lost, but I won't fail our child, Rhaegar, I won't . . . I promise you that.

With trembling hands, Jon flipped to the final page, and something fell out onto the bed. It was a winter rose, pressed, and preserved over all these years, still blue and with a faint smell. Jon left it on his bed and turned his attention back to the page, fear almost overtaking him.

My son . . . something is wrong. I don't know if I'm going to make it, but I will see you into this world. I wish things could have been different, that you could have grown up knowing a father and mother's love, with a sister to watch over you, and a brother to cause mischief with. You won't have that, but times will not always be bleak. Arthur will watch over you, he is a good man, and I know he will do what's right. I hope I am wrong, and I will be able to raise you myself, but I don't want you to grow up thinking I didn't care for you. You are my greatest achievement and there is not a moment I regret having you. I love you more than you will ever know, as did your father. You are the one good thing to come from all this bad, and I know you will grow to do great things, just like your father. I will always be with you. You are starting to really move around, my love, I believe it is time for you to greet this world. I love you.

Jon fell to his knees and broke down in earnest. His family had deserved better than this. Mother, Father, Rhaenys, Aegon, Elia . . . They deserved to grow up in a time of peace, to live and love, but they would never get that. He would see their deaths avenged and the realm at peace, but before there could be peace, there would have to be war. The Lannisters would never stop, and Jon wasn't sure they could be stopped.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he forced himself to his feet. He wanted to send them away, but it could be important, and he needed something else to focus on. "Come in," he said, his voice sounding off.

The door swung open to reveal Rickon, holding a wooden sword in each of his hands. Arthur shut the door behind him, a warm smile the last thing Jon saw before it clicked shut.

"Hey Jon," Rickon said, looking nervous. "I know you're a king now and all, but will you play with me?"

Jon smiled, despite himself, and wrapped Rickon in a tight hug. The little boy gasped and started squirming. Jon let go of him, a bit hurt before he noticed the awe on Rickon's face.

"Where did you get that?" Rickon asked, gingerly poking the crown's band.

"My father left it for me," Jon answered, pulling the crown off to give him a better look.

"Father gave you this?"

"No . . . well yes, Lord Stark gave it to me, but it is from my father Rhaegar."

Rickon's eyes welled with fresh tears. "You're not my brother anymore, are you? Bran said you're our cousin."

Jon set the crown on the bed, then pulled him back into an embrace. "By blood, yes, but I'll always see you as my little brother. You are my family, and I care for you as much as a brother would. Do you understand?" I still have family left, and they need to be protected just as the rest of my family deserves to be avenged.

The little boy nodded, then squirmed out of his grasp once more. "Can we go play at swords, Jon? I'm old enough now."

Jon looked to the pressed winter rose lying on his bed. "There is something I must do first, but I would be glad to play with you afterwards."

"Can I come with you?"

"Aye, you can Rickon, so long as you're not scared of going down into the crypts," Jon teased.

"I'm not scared," said Rickon, drawing himself as well as a boy of six name days could.

"Alright, let's go then." Jon grabbed a clean tunic and put it on, then grabbed the winter rose and carefully placed it in his pocket. He grabbed the crown and put it back on. I'll need to get used to wearing it, he told himself. Jon left the room, Rickon keeping pace beside him.

"Your Grace," Arthur said, falling in behind his king.

"Arthur, I have a question. How did Father get this crown?"

"When Aerys' father died, the crown was placed back in the Red Keep's vault. Rhaegar took it before he went to meet with Lyanna at the God's Eye. It was to be his crown when he took the throne, but that never came to be, so it remained at the tower until Lord Stark arrived. I see it fits you quite well."

Jon felt his cheeks warm. "Yes well, as I said, I'll have need of one in the south. I look more like a stableboy than what you would expect of a Targaryen king."

Arthur chuckled. "That would certainly be a spectacle to behold. Some fat lordly type dismounts his horse and tries to pass the reins to his king."

Jon couldn't help but laugh along with Rickon and Arthur. "Aye, that would be a sight. As would his face when he realized what he'd done." A fresh wave of laughter rolled over the three of them, but then they reached the entrance of the crypts and it died away. "Stay here and guard the entry, Arthur, we won't be long." Arthur nodded and turned his back to the entrance.

He grabbed a torch from its sconce and descended the winding stone steps. Rickon followed behind, a hand firmly grasping Jon's elbow. He's scared, he knew, but he's trying to be brave for me. Jon loved him all the more for that.

They reached the bottom and emerged out among the Stark kings of old. Each had an iron longsword laid across their lap and a direwolf curled at their feet. The oldest kings' longswords had rusted away to nothing, leaving only red stain where it had once been.

Finally, they found the set of three statues that they were searching for. At the front sat Lord Rickard, Jon and Rickon's grandfather. At Lord Rickard's right sat his son Brandon. Jon felt sorry for them. They were but another two of the many casualties of Robert's Rebellion though, and he was not here for them. He was here for his mother . . .

The statue of Lyanna Stark could not have been what she looked like. The stonemason must have not known her well, Jon concluded, but it made no matter. It was only stone, and the woman that gave her life bringing him into this world laid beneath the stone, not within it. He reached out a hand and gingerly brushed the statue's cheek. It felt wrong, and he drew back his hand. "She should be alive . . . she should've been here to help me," he whispered, fighting with the tears that threatened. He felt a little warm hand grab onto his own, and he looked down to find Rickon smiling at him.

"You have us, Jon, we'll help you. Me and Bran and Arya and Robb and Father. You're not alone."

A few tears fell free, yet Jon smiled. "Aye, I'll always have you all. They've taken too much from me all ready." He ruffled Rickon's hair with his free hand, then took the winter rose from his pocket. "I'll do you proud, Mother," he said, laying the flower on the statue's pedestal.

"Are you okay now?" Rickon asked. "It's okay if you're not . . . you don't have to be, not with family."

"I'm not," Jon said, feeling better than he had in weeks, "but I will be." He smiled. "Now come on, let's go see what you've learned with that wooden sword of yours."