Hello everyone! I've loved the ASOIAF series a lot since I first read the books years ago and recently I was inspired by FanFiction such as Dragonstone and Lord Reaper Jon to create my own "Lord Jon Snow" story. This is my first fic ever, so I please ask for you all to be patient with me as I start writing and get the muse flowing. I am currently returning to university as well, so hopefully updates will be once a week as I use this to help destress from my coursework, but I don't want to make any promises I won't keep.
As for the story content, while inspired by aforementioned FanFiction I was also inspired by the Game of Thrones mod for a game called Crusader Kings 2. I have seen others use this mod to help create their own stories, and the rebellion of the Glovers and Boltons at the start of this fic was inspired by events that happened in a recent game. While I wanted to focus on Jon first navigating how to be a lord I felt that it would take too much from the story that I was attempting to tell. Instead we'll be flashing forward to the start of A Game of Thrones. Could Jon be a tad overpowered in the beginning? Possibly, but that is no ones fault but mine. Jon will throughout the story have consequences for his actions, and once he becomes of age he will truly understand the hardships of being a lord.
All inconsistences with canon are on me, myself, and I alone. Some characters might act a tad out-of-character given the circumstances surrounding the content of this story. Little details mentioned in the books and anything that has come from George R.R. Martin's mouth about this universe is fair game and may be thrown into the story if it would enhance the story. As such, I also must state that I do not own ASOIAF or the Game of Thrones television show.
I will say that popular ships such as Jon/Daenerys or Sansa/Sandor will not happen in this story. The Others also will not make an appearance in this story either. Pairings have already been chosen and developed on paper, so please do not suggest pairings. Characters from the Telltale series as well as characters from the Crusader Kings 2 AGOT mod will be used to supplement the story, not to overpower it.
Without further ado, I hope you all enjoy the ride! Onward!
"Milord, Lord Whitefang's banners are on the horizon. Shall I gather the household?"
Vayon Poole stood at the doorway of Eddard Stark's solar, his head bowed in respect for the Warden of the North. Lord Whitefang, the name still tasted funny in his mouth, especially since it seemed like a short time ago he was calling him Snow. The steward of Winterfell watched as Stark gray eyes rose to meet his, and the nod from his lord had sent him away. Eddard Stark sighed and placed his quill down upon the desk in front of him. Word had come of Jon Arryn's death and subsequently the king's arrival in Winterfell. He had been writing to the lords of the North, but thankfully it seemed that there was one less letter that he had to write.
Perhaps he could forge Whitefang into Whitehill without having to waste parchment.
It had been almost a year and a half since the Boltons and the Glovers had rebelled, and Eddard's head hurt to think about it. Ramsay Snow, the bastard of Bolton, had been found by his father and whispered poison into his ears. Eddard would have sworn on the Old Gods and the New that if Roose Bolton were to rebel, Barbary Dustin would have been right alongside him. But no, it was the Glovers that instead turned their cloaks. Robett Glover had been the true head of the conspiracy, still angry for Ethan Glover's death all those years ago. He had been slain in battle by Eddard himself, and when the Stark army marched to Deepwood Motte? Galbart Glover stood there with tears in his eyes and Robett's only son Gawen in his arms.
Galbart had expressed remorse and threw down his sword. He offered his life in exchange for his nephew's, stating that he had been too loyal, too blind, to his family to have turned them into the Starks in the first place. Eddard had simply nodded and took Gawen in his arms before declaring that Galbart would instead be sent to the Wall. Galbart was unwed and had fathered no children, legitimate or otherwise, and now in Eddard's arms was the new Lord of Deepwood Motte. Gawen was placed in the custody of his mother and the two were sent to Winterfell until Roose Bolton could be dealt with.
But the retaliation never came.
Word must have reached the Bolton camp that the Glovers had been defeated, for when Eddard Stark and his army found their way there, all were murdered. Throats had been slit open and a giggle of heinous laughter could be heard through the camp. The Lord of Winterfell had seen many things he wished to unsee, but the sight before him was something that would remain in his nightmares forever. Ramsay Snow had flayed his father's body, and it was obvious that Roose had been dead for some time.
The mad dog was quickly brought down.
And so, Eddard Stark had rode home to Winterfell, and that was when the raven from King's Landing had come. For the first time in a long time, the King had cared to hear what had happened in the North, and after hearing about what happened to his dear friend he stripped the remaining Glovers of their titles and gave the lands to House Stark. To further extinguish the Glover name, Gawen Glover would be wed to one of Lord Manderly's kin in a matrilineal marriage and the boy and his mother would be wards of the Manderlys until the boy was of age and Sybelle Locke could marry once more. It had only been on the insistence of Jon Arryn that Domeric Bolton -whom remained in the Vale during this- not be punished for the sins of his father and baseborn brother. From what the letter had said from Jon Arryn, he tried to get Robert to see reason to let Gawen be raised as ward of House Stark until he was of age to rule - but Robert was against it. The Wolfswood was without a Lord now, and after a few days of thought, Eddard had done something extremely out of character. He named his baseborn son Jon as the new Lord of Deepwood Motte and High Lord of the Wolfswood.
Of course, an uproar from his lady wife occurred.
He could have saved the castle for Bran, or for their newest son Rickon, but instead he gave it to a bastard with no name. In Eddard's mind, it was the only thing to keep his son safe, to keep him from joining the Watch as he knew the lad had started to inquire about. He would keep Lyanna's boy safe, and what better way to do it than to give him a castle of his own. It was no Iron Throne, but the Wolfswood Throne would be enough. Jon did not wish to go at first, but after a long talk with his father he realized what a great honor had been bestowed upon him. It had been Arya who had mentioned that he should take a new name for himself instead of Snow or petition to be named a Stark, and the two had sat in the library for hours trying to find a name.
Surprisingly, it had been Sansa to suggest the name of Whitefang. She suggested the white due to his baseborn name of Snow and the fang of the direwolf sigil they had both grown up under. It was the only time the two had been close, perhaps Sansa was realizing what she was losing. She even quickly stitched him a mock banner to send to Deepwood Motte to hang above the castle. With a heavy heart, Jon Snow had left as Lord Whitefang, and Winterfell felt colder that day.
But now, Jon was coming home.
"Father, is it true?"
Arya Stark had appeared at the door of his solar, dirt smudged on her face from who knows where. All of his children had missed their brother, even small little Rickon had asked where Jon went, but none so much as Arya. She had wept for three days after Eddard had told the household at supper, begging for her to go with him, but the Lord of Winterfell could not do that. He simply couldn't. He had already angered his wife, letting Arya go with Jon would have been the end of her love for him.
And he couldn't lose her…
"Aye," the Lord of Winterfell spoke, rising from his seat, "his banners have been spotted on the horizon." Arya quickly ran to the window, trying to pear over the walls of Winterfell to see. Alas, she could not. A quick chuckle emerged from Eddard as he turned to grab his wolfskin cloak from the chair he had been sitting in. Had he been a second faster he would have started to usher his daughter out towards the courtyard, but Arya spoke first.
"Mother won't be happy about this. She never liked Jon."
It was true, and Eddard cursed himself everyday for not trusting his lady wife with his biggest secret. But how could he have? They were barely wed, he did not know her as well as he wished. A frown came on his face and he sighed, "Your mother has her reasons, however, Jon is now a Lord and will be one of your brother's fiercest bannermen. She will show her courtesies."
This seemed to please the youngest Stark girl and she simply nodded and hummed to herself as she tried to look out the window once more. Eddard stared at the girl who stood on her tiptoes and a glimpse of Lyanna flashed in his mind once more. When Lyanna was learning to walk she herself stood on her tiptoes and walked around, trying to seem taller and more important than a simple girl. He had to wonder if she was looking down on her son and smiling or frowning.
Has she intended on putting him on the throne?
The hustle and bustle of the courtyard drew Eddard's attention again and he knew that it was time for him to join his family - more like Robb and Bran - and welcome Jon into Winterfell. Although this time he wouldn't be Jon Snow, but Lord Whitefang of the Wolfswood. And he had to admit, a bit of pride soared into his heart at the thought.
"Come Arya," the Lord of Winterfell spoke, "let's go see your brother."
Excited? Nervous? Jon couldn't tell. His stomach seemed to rise and fall with the natural bounce of the horse below him. The somewhat new Lord of Deepwood Motte clenched the reigns harder than he normally did as Winterfell loomed in the distance. It had been almost a year and a half since he had been at the castle that he had once called home, the castle that he grew up in… Would it still feel like home? Leaving Deepwood Motte had been the easy part in this week's journey and every step closer to Winterfell made him feel more and more small in his saddle.
He almost wished he was back home…
The thought that Deepwood Motte was his home was strange, but Jon had slid in almost perfectly into the role as Lord. The men that had previously served the Glovers were honorable men and saw that the son of Eddard Stark was as honorable as they were; even if he was a bastard. Riding alongside Jon today was Lord Benjicot Branch and Lord Gregor Forrester, his regent and Master-of-Arms respectively. They had helped mold Jon into the Lord he was now in a short amount of time. And now the two wise men were cracking jokes behind Jon, attempting to lighten the mood that the young lord in front of them was very much bringing down.
After a third failed joke, Benjicot Branch sighed and hurried his horse to be next to his young charge. Jon was five and ten now, almost a man in the eyes of the world, and he wouldn't be needing a regent soon enough. The lord's dark brown eyes looked down at his liege lord and whispered, "Do you want some advice?" Jon nodded ever so slightly, if it wasn't for Benjicot's astute observation it would have looked like he hadn't nodded at all, just bobbled in his saddle. The regent looked forward towards Winterfell, noting that they would be there within a few minutes.
"If you worry, your worries will come true."
Jon growled slightly and cursed under his breath. A few moments of silence passed before he spoke again.
"I am… worried, Ben."
Benjicot Branch smirked softly before leaning to give Jon a pat on the back, "And what could be so bad that you, the White Wolf, would need to worry?"
The title of White Wolf had been bestowed upon Jon four months after he had arrived at Deepwood Motte. A group of Wildlings had been seen attempting to pillage a local farm. Jon had ridden out to deal with the problem and returned a man, his men singing praises of how the White Wolf had cut through the Wildlings like butter. Jon hated the name at first, he felt like he didn't deserve it, but after some coaxing from his household he grew to appreciate the honor that came with that. It did help further him from being a bastard in his mind…
"I am worried I will have disappointed my father."
The words were quiet, but Benjicot heard them all the same. He was about to speak when Gregor Forrester rode up and flanked Jon's left. His harsh voice cut through the chill in the air.
"Lord Stark has nothing to be disappointed in you, my lord. The Wolfswood had flourished under your young mind and you have shown your loyalty to the North and Winterfell."
"But that wasn't me!" Jon retorted, "None of this flourishing was me. It was you - both of you!"
Now it was Benjicot's turn to speak, "Was it not you who suggested that we trade furs and lumber with Lys? Was it not you who suggested using Asher to oversee a sellsword company that would bring the Wolfswood more coin?"
Gregor's eyes hardened at the mention of his wayward son, but it was the truth. The more the boy is being put to work the easier it will be to knock some sense into him later.
Jon tried to utter a response, but he hung his head in defeat. While it had been Gregor and Benjicot's doing in order to make these things happen, they were Jon's ideas to start. They had been simple ideas that came to him during dinner, that's when most of his meetings were held, but they still had been Jon's ideas. The sellsword company with Asher Forrester at the helm had indeed become a nice source of income for the entirety of the Wolfswood. Last that Gregor had received word, supposedly they were being hired to take on Dothraki savages. Jon wished them good health and fortune.
The gates of Winterfell fast approached and Jon's breath hitched as he saw his father and his siblings standing in the courtyard. Lady Stark was there as well as Theon Greyjoy and a few others from the Stark household. His horse came to a stop and he quickly dismounted, the smile on his face trying to arise as he saw Arya with almost tears in her eyes. Deepwood Motte might be his home, but this was his family, his pack…
Courtesies!
His brain shouted at him and quickly the boy dropped to the ground before his father.
"Lord Stark."
His voice did not shake, he could not afford to look weak. He was a lord after all.
"Rise, Lord Whitefang, and be welcome to Winterfell."
The voice of his father boomed in his ears, and for a split second it felt like he was talking to someone else. He had only been called Lord Whitefang by his father once when his father had sent out the decree to his bannermen, and even then when he left it was just… Jon. His dark eyes met his father's and the mold cracked on both of the men's faces. A proud smile filled Eddard's face as he opened his arms. "Jon!"
But before Jon could go embrace his father, Arya had broken from the line of their siblings and clutched onto her elder half-brother; much to the horror and displeasure of Lady Stark. Tears flowed down her face and Jon could feel her trembling. He dropped once more to the ground and embraced his little sister. "Shhh, shhh, it's alright Arya. I'm here, I'm here."
"I thought you'd never come back." the girl said through her tears, breaking his heart.
But Jon ushered her up and wiped the tears away, "Now, this isn't befitting of a lady. Crying over an older lord." Arya smiled and hugged her brother again tightly, but the moment would have to end soon. Jon looked up at his father with another small smile.
"I have brought gifts for everyone, from the Wolfswood."
Eddard nodded and motioned with his hand for Arya to return to his side, to which the sniffling child begrudgingly agreed to.
This next part had been calculated in his mind for the weeks that he had been planning on this visit. This was the most important gift in his mind. It would never heal the past, but it might help begin to mend the future. From the cart behind him Jon grabbed a cloak fitted with a soft silky fur that had been stitched by Lord Gregor's wife. The young lord approached Lady Stark and bowed his head.
"M-My lady," he stuttered before gaining his composure, "the finest fur cloak that the Wolfswood has to offer. I had Lady Forrester stitch the inside design of fish scales with blue and red, to honor House Tully."
Robb Stark's eyes widened at the gift, and Catelyn Stark's mouth threatened to drop. The sneer that had originally been on her face was now simply shock as her fingers took the furs from Jon. It was a generous gift, and she couldn't turn it away. Her blue eyes looked to the bastard-turned-lord and simply nodded.
"T-Thank you, Lord W-Whitefang," she paused to catch her breath, almost as if that had been too taxing for her to say, "it is a lovely gift and I shall wear it at dinner tonight." Jon still could not meet her gaze and simply nodded, turning around before the grin that was threatening to break did. It had been a moral victory and all so satisfying to see his father's wife have to be cordial with him.
The next gift he brought out was for his father, a detailed map of the Wolfswood as well as old letters that had been found at Deepwood Motte that had been written by his father. The Lord of Winterfell had been touched by the gift and promised to allow Jon to read the letters if he hadn't already.
To Robb, Jon gifted a shield made of Ironwood, stating that there was none better. For Sansa, a Northern styled dress similar in material to Lady Stark's cloak, which was spruced up to rival the beauty of a Southron dress. Arya was given an Ironwood bow with the promise that she would only train with it when she had permission to. Catelyn Stark was about to protest, but Gregor Forrester had spoken first.
"Just like the Lady Lyanna loved her bow, surely you'll love yours."
That had made any protest vanish in thin air as Arya clutched her new bow to her chest. It was a smaller bow, one that she one day might grow out of, but Jon knew she would love it all the same.
For Bran, books had been brought from Jon's solar, as these were extra copies of old legends. However, the books weren't the only thing that Bran received, for he received a wooden training sword that went straight from Jon's hands into Ser Rodrik's. Rickon was the hardest to gift for, and so Jon had a cloak made for him as well, he knew that his baby brother wouldn't care for it, but he still felt that he had to give him something as well.
Once the gifts were given, Eddard spoke once more.
"Come Jon, my solar, we have business to discuss. Lord Gregor, Lord Benjicot, you two come as well."
The young lord nodded and followed his father into the castle. He walked with an air of importance surrounding him, and he finally felt… welcomed.
Of course, he didn't miss the sneer from Theon as he walked by.
There was a reason that Theon did not receive a gift from him.
As the four lords sat in Eddard Stark's solar, four cups of wine were poured. Jon almost seemed shocked when one was handed to him, but his father smiled and simply stated, "You aren't a child anymore, you are as much a lord as any of us here." After the wine was distributed, Eddard Stark sat in his chair and placed his elbows on the desk, supporting his arms up as his chin rested on his enclasped hands. He stared at Jon for a moment before addressing the room.
"Jon Arryn is dead, the king rides for Winterfell."
Jon stiffened and quickly bowed his head, "I'm sorry for your loss, father, I know he was like a father to you."
Eddard nodded softly, "Aye, it is not only my loss but the realm's as well. I have no doubt in my mind that Robert rides here to make me Hand of the King as his replacement. There is no other reason for him to come this far."
"My lord forgive me," Gregor shouted, "but you haven't left the North since the Greyjoys rebelled. Surely the king can name some other Southron git to be Hand. You are needed in the North."
"I thank you for your concern, Gregor, but perhaps I can help the North more by going south."
Jon shuddered and shook his head. "Starks don't do well in the south, father, you told me that yourself. You won't reconsider?"
The Lord of Winterfell shook his head, "If I am or am not to accept it is my choice alone, I will ask the Gods for guidance. However, that is not the concern now. The king is coming to Winterfell, I know you are a lord now Jon, and surely I don't need to remind you to act like such, but Robert might wish to speak to you."
"Me?" Jon sputtered, "Why me?"
This was what Eddard had been trying to avoid. He hoped that Robert would stay away from Jon, but he knew it was inevitable. Robert wanted to see what happened to the boy that became a lord. He hoped that he didn't stare too hard and see Lyanna…
"I could have given the Wolfswood to anyone in the North, Jon, and I chose you. But, I had to get Robert's blessing to do so, to give you your own house name. He'll want to see what has become of you." Eddard sighed, "And from what I've been hearing, there's a lot that he'll wish to discuss. Such as your sellswords."
Was it a bad thing? Had they crossed a line? Jon was terrified for a moment that he was in trouble, but his father simply moved on to another topic. One that terrified Jon even more.
"Have any offers been made for Jon's hand?"
Marriage.
Benjicot nodded and pulled out a list. "Every lowborn girl has been offered up to Jon as well as the Whitehill girl. No doubt Ludd wants to spite the Forresters even more."
Eddard took the list and looked it over, "And have you offered up one of your daughter's, Gregor?"
The Lord of Ironrath laughed, "Apologies my lord, but my wife would have my head for being too ambitious."
Lord Stark muttered to himself and looked back to his son, "We could look south, if you'd like Jon, but I feel a Northern wife would be the most appropriate for a new lord. Blood ties will help cement your rule. If the Glovers had any female children your age they would have been your betrothed from the start, but alas…"
Jon shifted in his seat, "Must I marry so soon, father? Surely I can afford to wait a few years?"
His father leaned back in his seat, "That is the folly of a new house. I have seen many rise and fall within a generation because the lord took too long to marry. I would have you married within the year, Jon, if it were up to me. But you are your own lord, and while you are now my bannerman I cannot control you on this. The sooner you have a child to carry on the Whitefang name, the better."
A child… One of his own, a trueborn child of noble blood. The thought almost seemed too good to be true. Septa Mordane had told him from when he was a young child that bastards could only breed more bastards. Oh how he wished to see the look on her face now… Jon had never truly considered marriage, it was always a topic that was quickly avoided during any meetings that he might have. But to have a wife that could help him further cement a new legacy at Deepwood Motte? It was a burr that his father and bannermen hoped to pluck and replace with a reality.
"I understand, father." Jon spoke after a few moments of silence following his father's reasoning. "I will do my duty to the North."
"It is not just the North, but your house, Jon. Not House Stark of Winterfell, but House Whitefang of Deepwood Motte."
Jon nodded after that, and Eddard looked back at the list. A grimace crossed his face and he did not know why - Jon hadn't afforded to look at the list.
"I shall send a raven to Bear Island and Karhold as well as Last Hearth. Perhaps a personal letter will enact a good response." Eddard looked up to his son as he put down the list.
"Now, why don't you tell me more about this White Wolf that I hear stories about?"
The grin that grew on Jon's face said all that Eddard needed to know.
Dinner was… tense to say the least.
Catelyn Stark had shown her courtesies, adorning the furs that Jon had gifted her, and she was now the talk of the servants around the keep. During the dinner Robb had given a gift of his own to his half-brother; a white Direwolf pup.
"We found the mother killed a few days ago when returning from an execution. There were six pups, and we felt as if you should have this one."
And now Jon was back in his father's solar, the direwolf pup curled into his lap suckling on a cloth dipped in milk. It was just the two of them as Jon's own bannermen had retired for the night.
"Have you thought of a name for the pup?"
"No," Jon admitted, "but I'm sure one will come to me eventually."
Eddard Stark nodded and then turned to sigh once more.
"I apologize for bringing up marriage without a warning, Jon. The whole idea of marriage has been weighing on my mind heavily as of late."
Was he trying to arrange a marriage for Robb?
"Don't apologize father," Jon said, "you are my liege lord and it was a conversation that needed to be had."
A chuckle, "Hush now boy, I will not have you all proper when it is just the two of us." The lord of Winterfell arose from his chair and looked out the window at the night sky, the stars were prominent tonight.
"I fear that Robert will try to betroth his children to your siblings."
Jon's eyebrow raised in confusion, "Is that not a good thing? You are the best of friends, brothers in all but blood. Uniting your houses like what was to happen before the war?"
"Starks do not do well in the South, you said it yourself earlier today. Sansa is but a child who dreams of knights in shining armor. She does not know the cold embrace that King's Landing would have to offer."
"And what about the princess?" Jon inquired, "Surely the princess Myrcella would live in Winterfell?"
"Not to Robb," Eddard spoke in but a whisper, "it would be an insult to our banners if the Warden of the North married twice outside of the North."
"And yet you would look South for me?"
"If you asked."
"But why?" Jon was confused, "I am the blood of a Stark as well. And you said it yourself, a Northern family would be ideal."
"You are also of the South, Jon."
The words spilled from Eddard's mouth before he realized what he had said. Cursing to himself, he hoped that Jon didn't hear, but the young lord did.
"M-My mother?"
Jon was shaking in his chair now. His father had never mentioned his mother to him and he had heard the gossip for years growing up. A fishwife, a tavern whore, Ashara Dayne… Eddard remained silent.
"Please father, I wish to know who my mother was."
The lord of Winterfell sighed a deep sigh, "I have said too much already. But I will promise you this Jon. When you are of age to no longer require a regent, then I will tell you of your mother. No sooner, no later."
"Promise me," Jon demanded, "promise me you will, father."
Promise me, Ned…
Promise me.
His father had looked like he had seen a ghost, but the shakily nod of his head made Jon feel better. He would get his answers soon, there was only six months before he turned six and ten. Then he would be a man grown and would not need a regent. As much as he loved having Lord Benjicot by his side, he knew that he would soon need to return to his own keep and family.
Eddard looked almost winded as he sat back down in his chair, his head looking down at the floor, his hands shaking. Whoever Jon's mother was, it caused him great discomfort to think about…
Instead, Jon changed the subject.
"I might have a solution to your marriage problem, father."
It took Eddard a moment to regain his composure, but the lord of Winterfell's dark grey eyes met Jon's own and he motioned for him to continue.
"What of Theon?"
"What about Theon?"
"Well," Jon hesitated, as much as he didn't like Greyjoy he knew how much he meant to Robb. The two were as thick as thieves some days and this could help foster a larger alliance between the North and the Iron Isles. Possibly.
"You say that Sansa would not do well in the South, but there are little men here around her age. Why not betroth her to Theon?"
Almost a rage built up in Eddard at the thought, but Jon quickly stepped in once more.
"It would help keep the North and the Iron Isles close. If Theon is the heir to Pyke then with Sansa at his side they could cease the raids on the North's western coast."
Eddard's hands flew to his desk, the smack of flesh on wood woke the sleeping pup in Jon's lap and almost could be heard down the hall. It took all of Eddard's strength not to yell.
"Theon is seven, seven, years Sansa's senior. He is a man grown and whores too much. Sansa has not yet flowered." These were all valid arguments from his father, and Jon hung his head.
"I'm sorry father," he spoke, "I have overstepped my mark."
Eddard shushed his son as he tried to calm himself, "No, it is alright. I have overreacted." Even the mere idea of Theon and Sansa wed almost made him seethe in rage. No matter, what was said was said. And Jon knew that now that the thought was implanted in his father's mind well, it would stay there if he needed an option.
Besides, Sea Dragon Point would always be in need of a lord.
"Perhaps Cley Cerwyn then?" It was a valid suggestion, with the Cerwyn heir being only a year older than Sansa. Besides Lord Forrester's own son that was the only noble in the North that could even be considered close in age to Sansa.
"Perhaps Septa Mordane for you then, Jon?" A jest, his father jested? Eddard chuckled as best as he could as his silent rage quieted down. "Now enough talk of marriage and betrothals. It's time for you to go to bed."
A chuckle of his own. "May I remind you that I am a lord now, father?"
Eddard smiled, "I am still your father, and until you are six and ten and are in my castle, I can suggest that you retire for the night." Jon smiled and nodded, picking up his direwolf pup and cradling him in his arms. After a few goodnights were exchanged, Eddard fell back into his chair.
Lyanna… you would be so proud of him.
