Ned groaned as Maester Luwin placed a basket full of letters in front of him as he settled down in his solar.

"Another stack of letters?" Ned said wearily. "Please tell me these are not all from lords wishing for a more permanent alliance with my family." Once Robb had begun babbling in baby talk, a flurry of letters and gifts had arrived, some sent via ravens and others delivered by riders, not only from the North, but some from the lords of the Riverlands, the Reach, the Vale and even two or three from Dorne (most likely letters from his good-brother, Lord Dayne).

Many of his ancestors had wedded Northerners; his mother's father married a Flint and his father's mother was a Locke, yet a few married into noble houses of the Vale and more than one Stark wedded a Blackwood maiden. Father affianced Brandon to Catelyn Tully to unite the North with the south, thought Ned. Perhaps I should follow in his footsteps; a southron bride for Robb and a Northern wife for a second son if I am blessed with one. Another thought suddenly crossed his mind. What if I have a daughter?

"Would you prefer if I read them for you my lord?" offered Maester Luwin. "I will be more than willing-" Ned interrupted him with a shook of his head. "I will read through them," he decided, reaching for letter at the top of the pile. It was stamped with the black bear sigil of Bear Island. "Please sit," said Ned, motioning for the maester to sit opposite him. "I wish to hear your thoughts about any of these marriage offers."

Luwin nodded. "As you wish, my lord."

Ned opened the letter from Bear Island, uncertain what to think. Usually the Mormonts only write letters to the Lords of Winterfell to warn them of potential Ironborn raids or an increase in wildling attacks. To his astonishment, Lord Jorah Mormont had written to him with a suggestion of a marriage alliance. "It seems Lord Mormont desires for us to unite our Houses." Ned handed the letter to the patient maester. "He proposes a betrothal between his eldest niece Dacey or any of his future daughters, and Robb."

Maester Luwin shook his head almost at once. "No my lord. A marital alliance with House Mormont will be a waste. Bear Island is lacking in valuable resources and Dacey Mormont is not ah, a suitable consort for Lord Robb." Ned frowned a little. "House Mormont is an old, proud and honourable house of the North," he pointed out, "and the Mormonts are one of the principal noble families sworn to House Stark. Dacey Mormont is highborn and niece to a sworn Northern lord. It qualifies her as a possible wife to my son."

"To the heir of Winterfell, Lord Stark? No Lord of Winterfell had wedded a Mormont of Bear Island."

"No Lord of Winterfell had married a Dayne of Starfall either."

The maester conceded with a slow nod. "Aye, my lord. The ultimate choice is yours to make. Think about it." He placed the letter on the table a short distance away from the basket. He is right, thought Ned, picking up another letter. If Robb and Dacey Mormont are to wed, we will gain nothing. The Mormonts are already loyal to us to the bone. If Jeor Mormont was still the Lord of Bear Island, I doubt he would even propose a betrothal between a Mormont and a Stark. His eyes scanned the second letter; the content was less surprising.

"Lord Rickard Karstark," Ned muttered, throwing the letter onto the table. It fluttered down beside Jorah Mormont's letter. "His lady wife died giving birth to a daughter. Can you believe this? Lord Karstark is hinting at a betrothal between Robb and his newborn daughter with his wife not yet buried!"

"A bold move on his part, my lord."

"Starks have often wedded Karstarks. My mother's uncle Artos Stark was wed to Lysara Karstark and had a set of twins. I suppose I will consider Rickard's girl as a potential wife for Robb. Both of them are still babes. I would prefer Robb to grow a little more before choosing him a bride."

"A wise idea, my lord. I am certain you are aware that many powerful lords like to match their infants to other infant children of potential allies."

"Indeed. Oh, here is a letter from…Lord Royce."

"Another betrothal, my lord?"

"No…" Ned read the letter quickly. He had been acquainted with Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone – otherwise known as Bronze Yohn due to his set of bronze armour which was said to be thousands of years old and inscribed with protection runes – during his time as a ward of Lord Arryn and recalled him to be a tall man with large, gnarled hands with a booming voice; a man similar to the Greatjon. "Lord Royce said there is a strong chance his third son will join the Night's Watch," Ned told Maester Luwin. Like Benjen, he almost added. "He asks if I can take him on as a page," he continued, placing the letter on top of Karstark's, "and even a squire if I am pleased with him."

"Lord Royce desires for you to foster his son."

"Essentially, yes. Bronze Yohn writes that his third son Waymar, is a boy of six who should familiarise himself with the Northern cold before joining the Night's Watch." He paused as he remembered his own experience of winter in the Vale. It was rather cold – not as chilly as winter in Winterfell though. "Fostering Yohn Royce's son is ideal for both Yohn and I," he admitted. "Waymar Royce will grow accustomed to the cold of the North and when Robb is no longer a babe, he may find a friend and possibly an elder brother in Waymar. What do you think of it, Maester Luwin?" He looked at the silent maester.

"An excellent proposal," Luwin acceded. "Fostering Waymar Royce will open the doors of a prospective marriage alliance with House Royce of Runestone, a very powerful and influential House in the Vale. If you foster Lord Waymar, the time will come when Lord Royce suggests uniting his House with your own. I find it very agreeable for Winterfell."

Ned nodded. "As do I. After supper, I will write back to Lord Royce and you will send a raven to him once I'm done." He groaned as he saw the seal of the two blue towers of Frey. The temerity of that man…

"Read it," Maester Luwin advised. Ned stared at him incredulously. "The Lord of Riverrun refused his son's hand in marriage to any of Lord Frey's daughters or granddaughters. Thrice. Now that old man wants my heir to wed one of his girls? Why else would he write to me?"

Maester Luwin arched an eyebrow and nodded at the letter. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes like a sullen child, Ned opened it. As he predicted, the old weasel wanted marriage between Robb and one of his many daughters, granddaughters or even great granddaughters. "Walder Frey wants marriage," Ned informed the maester. "However, he says he will pay the bride's weight in silver for her dowry and I have the choice of choosing a Frey good-daughter."

"Generous of him, my lord."

There was one resource the weaselly Lord Walder Frey of the Twins did not lack: an abundant supply of descendants. "I will have to somehow decline," Ned said uneasily. "The Northern lords will revolt against me if I agree to a betrothal between Robb and a Frey."

"Indeed, my lord."

"Enough betrothal proposals for this morning. I will look at more of them later today perhaps. Robb is still a babe. There is plenty of time."

Maester Luwin nodded and stood up. "I must tend to the ravens, my lord. They need to be fed meat and water."

Ned nodded. "I will speak to you again later." As Maester Luwin shuffled out the door, Ned stood up and stretched, gazing out the window. The solar was too warm for his comfort. Giving the basket of letters one last glance, Ned left for the godswood with his Valyrian greatsword Ice strapped to his back. The wooden door creaked as he opened it and walked in. Three acres of old packed earth and close together trees, the ancient godswood of Winterfell had stood untouched for ten thousand years. At the centre of the grove stood an ancient weirwood with a face carved into it – a heart tree – poising proudly over a pool of black water. Ned sat himself down on a moss-covered stone beneath the weirwood and struck Ice into the layers of humus and soil that blanketed across the godswood floor. He stared at Ice's steel blade. Dark and smoky; like a brooding Stark. How many men have I cut down with it? Ned wondered. How many foes had it tasted? How many times have I wiped away the blood? Too many to count.

A breeze slithered in like a snake, hissing the words of the old gods…according to the tales told by Old Nan. Ned looked around serenely, recognising the trees as if they were friends. The sentinel trees armoured in grey-green needles stood stubbornly like soldiers whilst the ironwoods played the part of war veterans; those ironwood trees were said to be as old as the realm itself. Standing beside Ned were a cluster of might oaks. He leant his back against the weirwood with bark as white as bone and leaves dark red like a thousand bloodstained hands. He closed his eyes. Even with his eyes shut, Ned could still see the thick black trunks crowded close together with its twisted branches weaving a dense canopy overhead. The godswood was a place of silence. No bird nested or sang on the branches of the grim trees.

"Ned!"

Ned's eyes snapped open as he heard Ashara call his name. One of the wooden doors opened and Ashara herself came in with a letter. Ned smiled at her. "What are you doing here? I thought you said you wanted to spend the day with Robb in the nursery? Has he fallen asleep again?"

"A letter from Benjen," she replied, sitting down beside him. Ashara was not one to be concerned with dirt on her dresses. "Maester Luwin gave it to me with the suggestion that you are here in the godswood. I have not read it yet. I thought it would be better if you read it first."

"Why not read it together?"

Ashara beamed and gave him the letter. He opened it and smiled as he read. "I am glad Ben is happy," he said, missing his little brother. "I approve of his choice to refuse Lord Commander Qorgyle's offer to swear his vows early along with the appointment of master-at-arms. It is not honourable or right." What is the Lord Commander thinking? There must be something going on at the Wall. "I hope Ben will visit soon," said Ned longingly.

"He will soon enough," Ashara said confidently. "Next time we see him, he will be all clad in black, a man of the Night's Watch. What does he mean by 'the mad and frightened little boy of Dayne features'?" She frowned. "I do not recall having a cousin joining the Night's Watch."

Ned read the letter again, a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Perhaps a Dayne of High Hermitage?" he suggested.

"Perhaps. I will write to my brother and ask him."

No! "What I tell you must remain a secret," Ned said quietly.

"Very well…"

"Swear it Ashara. By the old gods and new."

Ashara gave him a strange look and said sincerely. "I swear by the old gods and new that what you tell me will remain a secret until my dying day. As we are in the godswood, the old gods have heard my vow and will hold me by it."

Ned nodded, satisfied. "Thank you." He lowered his voice to naught louder than Lord Bolton's soft whisper. "Do you remember when we first arrived at King's Landing and Robert ordered me to kill the Targaryens? You did not want to listen to it and left. That was when Robert allowed me to keep Daenerys as a ward on the condition I tell the court she died in the black cells from a cold or something. As for the boy Viserys…he wanted to see the body before he wedded Catelyn Tully. You were there that day when I showed Robert the body. You said nothing – for that I am grateful." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I did not kill the boy, Ashara. I am not one to kill children. There is no honour in slaughtering a child. I could not sleep that night. You thought I was ill. I considered smuggling Viserys out of King's Landing, but I knew it would not work. Thankfully on the next day, the eunuch Varys sought me out.

"It was he who offered to smuggle Viserys away to a place of safety. It was he who provided the body I showed Robert. I don't know how he managed to find a body of the same build and colouring as Viserys Targaryen, but it was done. I had no idea where Varys took the Targaryen boy…up to now.

"When Ben mentioned the mad Dayne boy at the Wall, all I could think of is Viserys Targaryen. Varys had sent him to the Wall. Daenerys is protected by the bastard name we gave her as well as Winterfell's walls. Viserys is not. I have no idea what game Varys is playing, but he assured me his actions were for the good of the realm. The Wall though? I would think Braavos would be a safer haven for a Targaryen. If Robert catches even the tiniest of whims of this, I fear it would not only be Viserys Targaryen's head on a spike. Daenerys will be killed…as will I for committing treason."

Ashara was silent for a moment. "Viserys Targaryen is no infant."

Ned nodded gravely. "Aye. He is a boy who was born a prince. Being sent to be a future man of the Night's Watch…that is not kind for him. No wonder the poor boy is confused. I hope Benjen can somehow tame him."

"How?"

"I…I don't know. I hope Varys knows what he has done in sending one of the last Targaryens to the Wall."

"Do not worry about Viserys, Ned. We already have a Targaryen to protect; it is enough for us. If Benjen already guessed the boy is Viserys, he will try his best to protect him from harm."

"Of course. I hope Benjen will know what to do."

Ashara folded the letter. "When I was in the nursery earlier today, Jon toddled towards me and called me 'mama'."

Ned stared at her, astonished. "Jon called you his mother?" That was unusual. Jon had said his first word a few months ago (surprisingly it was 'Da-ny' rather than 'dada' or 'mama' or any other standard first word for a baby) but liked to remain quiet rather than talk.

"How can I tell him I am not his mother?" Ashara asked with despair. "When the day comes, I will have to tell him."

"When the day comes…" Ned echoed.

"Ned! Jon is your son! What do I tell him? He is not my son!"

Ned sighed. The time had come to reveal another secret to his wife. "Are you willing to swear another vow of secrecy?" he said resignedly.

Ashara frowned. "Another secret? Exactly how many secrets have you been keeping from me Ned?"

"This is the last one," Ned promised.

I hope.

"Very well," sighed Ashara. "I swear by the old gods and new that what you tell me will remain a secret until my dying day. As we are in the godswood, the old gods have heard my vow and will hold me by it."

"I am not Jon's father." The words tumbled from Ned's mouth as if on their own accord. He looked guiltily at Ashara as her frown deepened.

"Jon is your natural son," said Ashara flatly. "Of course you are his father. You told me that when I first saw him in his cradle."

"No. I lied. I promised Lyanna to keep Jon safe."

"You…lied?"

Ned nodded, biting his lip. "If everyone knows who Jon Snow's parents really are, he would be as dead as Elia's children. When I went to the Tower of Joy with six of my companions to fight against your brother and his sworn brothers, little did I know my sister was already dying…of childbed fever. Rhaegar Targaryen had impregnated her…"

Ashara's eyes widened. "Jon…"

Ned nodded, his eyes filled with misery and sadness. "Aye. Jon is Lyanna and Rhaegar's son. He is half-Stark and half…half-Targaryen. Robert would've killed him if he found out. To him, Jon would be the product of rape and a threat. If I did not claim Jon as mine bastard, I would have sentenced Lyanna's son to death for having Targaryen blood. Ashara, do you now understand why I allowed people to think I have sullied mine own honour and sired a bastard? Robert found it quite amusing; he laughed for days when he found out. All I could think of was Lyanna when I looked at Jon. I had hoped to mourn and spend time with Jon in Winterfell after the war, but then the king ordered us to wed. When we both arrived here and I showed you Jon, it was the first time I saw him since I sent him here from Dorne that day Lyanna died."

"You are his…his uncle."

"Aye. Only Howland Reed knew the truth. One day I will tell Benjen. He also deserves to know." He took a deep breath and looked at Ashara. "Knowing this, does your opinion about Jon change?"

Ashara squeezed his hand. "Not really." Ned's eyebrows rose. "You will always be a fatherly figure to him," she pointed out. "Let Jon grow up thinking you are his father. It will be the safest option for him. I will treat him kindly, but it will not be correct if he calls me his mother. One day when the Targaryens are no longer viewed with suspicion and hatred or hunted down like deer, you will tell him the truth. The whole truth."

"Robert will never stop hating the Targaryens."

"Who said it will be during Robert's reign?"

"When will it ever be safe for a Targaryen to return here without the fear of being killed? Robert will tell his sons to hate the Targaryens and they will give their own children reasons to despise the Targaryens too."

His wife quietened. "Jon will have to know one day." Sensing his yearning to cease the conversation about Jon, she changed the subject. "I saw a tiny spiked mace in the collection of gifts for Robb last night. Who would think that a safe, appropriate present for a child?"

Ned chuckled. "Maege Mormont. I will give the letter to you later, but in it she said something about having a collection of spiked maces as a child and decided to relinquish one to Robb."

"That is…kind of her."

"I cannot picture our son running around Winterfell with a mace in hand. With a sword, yes. A mace…"

Ashara laughed. "It will be good for him to learn how to wield other weapons apart from a sword. In Dorne, boys are encouraged to brandish spears before the sword. Arthur was always different." She grew wistful. "While our eldest brother learnt how to throw spears with the other young lords, Arthur wanted nothing more than to be the best at swordplay. He was soon considered worthy enough to be the Sword of the Morning and to wield Dawn."

"Our son will be a fine swordsman when he grows up. Why don't you go and check on the children? I will go and inform Gage that we will dine in my solar tonight…just the two of us."


Ned could not sleep that night. For hours, he tossed and turned, careful not to wake Ashara. A little past midnight, he lit a candle and slipped from his rooms and into the nursery. All three children slept peacefully in their cribs, a small fire crackling quietly in the hearth. Ned smiled at them and sat on a chair, watching them sleep silently.

Two of you have Targaryen blood, he thought. Both of you are here protected by your bastard names. One day, you will learn the truth. I hope that day will not come for many years. As he stood up to return to his own bedchamber, a stuffed animal caught his eye. It was placed on top of the pile of gifts he and Ashara had deemed 'safe' for Robb to play with. Ned examined it closely, careful not to set it aflame with his short candle. His heart thudded as he saw it.

It was a stuffed red dragon with onyx-studded eyes.


I'll be going overseas in a few days, so I'll update once more before I leave :) If there's good internet, I'll keep updating once a few days as I did for all the previous chapters, but if internet is dodgy, I'm afraid there wouldn't be another update until I return in January :( Anyway, for those who are tired of the R+L=J theory, I'm so sorry! I didn't really plan on Jon being Rhaegar and Lyanna's son, but it would make more sense in this story, so I decided to proceed with it. Originally, this chapter was meant to be from Roose Bolton's POV or Wylla's, but both didn't seem to be working well so I shelved them and wrote another Ned chapter :) Writing Ned chapters are my favourite :D