It felt like his whole world was spinning. Jon stared at the floor, attacked with emotions. First confusion struck him in the gut; shock next and finally anger. He was furious against his 'father', the king, the long-dead Rhaegar Targaryen…

"It must have come as a shock to you Jon," said Lord Stark gently.

A shock?

A shock?

A SHOCK?

"I am not your son," Jon said, finding his voice. "Not your bastard." Lord Stark flinched. "A bastard still," Jon continued, fury slowly bubbling up from his gut. "I am Rhaegar Targaryen's bastard."

"You are my sister Lyanna's son," Lord Stark corrected slightly. "You aren't my son, but you are still of mine blood. Jon, can't you see it was for the best? You are angry, I know, but try and think! Claiming you as my illegitimate son was the best way to ensure your survival, just as declaring Daenerys Lord Dayne's illegitimate daughter. Deceit…I never approved of it, but what choice did we have?"

Jon's mind flittered with a swarm of thoughts. Everyone knew how the dragon prince abducted Lyanna Stark and Robert Baratheon started a war in an attempt to rescue her. At the end both Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark died, former in battle and the latter in Dorne. Which child didn't know that? Every northerner remembered; every southroner heard the song.

By the gods…I am the product of rape?

Jon felt ill. "You said your sister died at Dorne," he heard himself say. "Did she die giving birth to me?"

Lord Stark nodded. "She made me promise to keep you safe. She knew Robert Baratheon's fury and his desire to kill all those with Targaryen blood. When she was dying, her last thoughts were about you."

A lump formed in Jon's throat. "Was my…my mother…raped?" Both Daenerys, his paternal aunt, and Robb, his cousin, turned and looked at Lord Stark. The king often said that Lyanna Stark was raped, but some believed she and Rhaegar were in love and eloped.

"That I do not know," answered Lord Stark, his eyes dark with sadness. "Mine father and brother would have believed it to be rape if they were alive. I too had initially believed it to be rape. Now…I do not know. Jon, do not hate yourself over this. If Lyanna was raped, she loved you when you were born. Her first and final thoughts were of you, Jon."

Slowly, the anger died down and mourning nudged Jon. "I have always viewed you as mine own," Lord Stark went on. "Both you and Daenerys. Theon, Domeric, Waymar too. I hope you know that."

"Will Westeros ever know?" choked Daenerys, wiping away tears.

Lord and Lady Stark exchanged looks. "If the time's ever ripe," said Lady Stark finally. "If we tell the world now, you and Jon will be killed on sight and all of us will be at King's Landing with our heads on spikes. If the time comes for dragons to return, all of Westeros will know the truth. If that day does not come, so be it. I for one do not want more bloodshed."

Lord Stark nodded. "No one is to know," he warned.

"What of Lyarra, Arya and Bran?" asked Robb. "Surely they are old enough to know about it too!"

"Lyarra certainly," agreed Lord Stark, "and she will be told when she's here. As for Arya…she might not take it too well." He looked directly at Jon again. "Jon and Arya have always been close and if I tell her he is not her brother…I do not think she will be very understanding of the matter. As for Bran, he is at King's Landing, in the very heart of intrigue and plotting. Do you think it wise for me to send him a raven about this?"

Robb blushed. "No Father."

"Why did you decide to tell us this now?" said Jon flatly. "You could have kept it a secret till your dying day, Uncle."

Lord Stark gestured to Robb and Daenerys. "The two of you forced my hand," he said wearily, shaking his head. "I had hoped to tell you about it later, perhaps when the Targaryen name is no longer so hated upon, but after what I was told, it could not wait. Now do you understand why I hope it was a lie? Why a betrothal cannot happen? Daenerys, if you were a normal bastard, it'd be seen as a slight – as you are in truth the last Targaryen princess…"

Jon stared at the ground with sudden interest. What a mess…

"What is it?" Jon looked up. Lord Stark was frowning at Daenerys who swayed from side to side, her face as pale as Ghost's white fur. Robb too had whitened. "I will call for Maester Luwin," said Lord Stark, heading to the door. "Daenerys, you must go to your chambers and lie down. You are unwell. I will ask Maester Luwin to give you a um, calming potion of sorts." He glanced at Jon. "What of you, Jon? I will have the maester prescribe you something too."

"No, there is no need," said Jon hastily. "I feel fine. Only…shocked."

"Wait Father!" said Robb suddenly. "There is something we must tell you." He looked at Jon. Jon nodded. Better to confess now than at the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing in front of thousands of lords and ladies.

"What is it?" said Lady Stark, concerned.

"We…we did not know," stammered Daenerys. "A-about the Targaryen blood and all that. If w-we did, we would not have done it."

"Done what?" said Lord and Lady Stark together. Jon could see fear and worry dancing in their eyes.

"We are no longer betrothed," explained Robb. "We were, but then…then…" He faltered for a moment. "We could not wait. We knew there will be protests for us to break it quickly and then we will be separated – me to King's Landing and well, Dany to anyone who is willing to marry a bastard girl. We went to the godswood and…and…" He choked. "We are already married."


The sun was half-hidden behind the northern mountains when Robb revealed the truth. All Jon could do was listen with a heavy heart. What they had done…no doubt it would be seen as treason and punishable by death. Lord Stark's long and close friendship with the king would not even save them now.

"…and I know my duty's to marry for the good of Winterfell," Robb was saying miserably, "and Princess Lyanna is lovely and kind, but I could not help it. I fell in love. If I did wed the princess and she comes to live here, how can I learn to love her when Dany is here too? I was a coward for not informing you, but I thought if I told you, all you would do is send Dany away. I could not have that, Father."

"We were betrothed and married before I was sent to a sewing session," Dany said, her hands shaking with fear, "and Robb to the courtyard. Better a swift and quick marriage than a long and secret betrothal. Secret betrothals never end well for lovers. I swear Lord Stark, if I knew I was a…a Targaryen, I would never have endangered your family by wedding Robb. I love him as much as he loves me, my lord. Honest! I did not marry him to be the next Lady of Winterfell."

Lady Stark nodded. "I believe you," she said gently. She still looked trouble. "I know you love Robb, but do you know what mess the two of you have caused? If it was just the betrothal…" She shook her head. "Was this marriage witnessed by anyone?" She sounded hopeful.

Lord Stark frowned. "Ashara? Robb and Daenerys are now married in the eyes of the gods. There is nothing we can do. We have no annulments here."

"I witnessed it," spoke Jon. "Robb and Dany sought me out and asked me to be the witness to their quick wedding. I also asked them…" His voice trailed off. He'd married them as well as witnessing the wedding.

"Will the king have me killed?" inquired Daenerys nervously.

"Robert does not have the best of memories," said Lord Stark heavily. "I hope by now he'd forgotten about the agreement we had made. If he had forgotten, it'd be better for all of us. No executions that is. Robert will hate me and Houses Stark and Baratheon will lose their longstanding alliance." He glanced sadly at Robb. "It is not just the king who will be furious. All the northern lords will be too. Many of them have unmarried daughters around your age and for you to have chosen in their eyes a bastard over their own…be prepared to be challenged or the icy, cold reception you will receive."

"You will not force us apart?" said Robb, his eyes widening.

"Unless Daenerys is willing to join a motherhouse…? Robb, what you did was a foolish move. A reckless one too. What if you never told me and the king instructs us to go south for your wedding to Princess Lyanna? You would've disgraced not only yourself, but our House. I could force you to discard Daenerys and marry the princess as planned, but I sense it will not end well. Besides, you are already now a husband in the eyes of the old gods."

"What will you tell the king?"

Lord Stark was silent.

"We can say Robb did the honourable act," spoke Jon tentatively. "Perhaps one night he had a little too much to drink and accidently slept with Daenerys. On the next morning he discovered it and honourably married her to avoid sullying her reputation. Mayhap you should write to the king immediately, informing him of it. Better to tell him now than later. From what you said about the king, um Uncle, it will not be long before he forgives you. He himself has slept with many women – I think he can understand Robb's actions."

Robb gave him a grateful smile. Jon grinned back. Though thinking of him as a cousin was still strange, he could adjust to it given time. Jon looked back at Lord and Lady Stark, the latter nodding slowly. Lord Stark still seemed uncertain. "It is the best reason we have," Jon pointed out.

"Jon is right," said Lady Stark, nodding more vigorously now. "Ned?"

"I'm sorry Father," said Robb in a small voice. "It is my fault. I should have told you about my feelings towards Dany. You do not have to lie for me. I will journey to King's Landing and apologise to the king myself."

"No!" exclaimed Lady Stark. "All the king will do is wed you to the princess! He would not think a secret wedding in the godswood is binding! No, better you stay here. Daenerys too."

"It is my fault," Robb argued more strongly. "If the king wishes to imprison me in the black cells for a day or two, so be it!"

Lord Stark stared at him expressionlessly. "What if the king has you executed, Robb?" he said quietly. "I rather another lie than your head on a spike."


Supper was more or less a silent affair. For one, only Jon went to the Great Hall for dinner. Well, Arya, Arthur and little Rickon were already there, but Lord and Lady Stark, Robb and Daenerys were not. Even Uncle Benjen wasn't there. Theon too, had probably decided to sup in the tavern today followed by a night with his favourite prostitutes. As for the two Reeds…Jon had no idea where they could be, though the godswood was the probable place.

"Where is everyone?" demanded Arya, looking around.

Jon shrugged. "In their chambers I suppose."

"Why? Father and Mother never miss supper. I heard Uncle Benjen is here. I'd hoped he would be here for supper so I can tell him about catching cats and how useful water dancing techniques are."

"Maybe he will dine with us tomorrow." Jon poked his slice of potato, beef and onion pie with his fork. He had no appetite. The depressing thought of being half-Targaryen had returned and hovered in his mind like a gloomy grey cloud. He no longer bore anger towards Lord Stark for keeping his true parentage a secret; he was depressed because he never met his mother and his uncle did not like to talk much about her. It was easier to accept Robb as a cousin – cousins could see each other as brothers could they not? – but Lord Stark as his uncle? It still made Jon's head swim with confusion.

"Do you think Gage will cook the frogs I caught?"

"Frogs for supper?" squealed Arthur, making a face. "Disgusting!"

Three year old Rickon pulled a face too. "Disgusting frogs," he agreed, giggling as he played with his bowl of stew.

"Stop playing with your food Rickon," said Jon flatly. Rickon giggled again and promptly ignored him. Arya raised an eyebrow. "I'm certain you played with your food when you were three," she said, loading peas onto her spoon. Oh no. Before she could propel the spoonful of peas at him, Jon stood up, surprising her. "I will retire early," he announced.

"Not you too!" groaned Arya. "What am I supposed to do with these two?" She gestured at Arthur and a laughing Rickon. "Sing them to sleep?"

Well, you have a nice singing voice. "Keep them busy I guess," Jon muttered. He hurried out of the Great Hall before Arya could say anything else. The moment he stepped foot outside, guilt struck him. Apart from Robb, he loved Arya best. He'd never been so…so discourteous to her before. I should apologise, Jon thought. She did nothing to provoke me. Arya didn't deserve my rudeness. He would apologise to Arya tomorrow morning.

On a whim, Jon walked slowly to the First Keep, an unused drum tower squat and round in shape. The First Keep was the oldest surviving part of the castle, he remembered from his lessons with Maester Luwin. Atop the First Keep perched a few stone gargoyles, coated with sprinkles of dirt and dust. Around the keep was a lichyard where the Kings of Winter would lay their loyal servants. Jon could not help but wonder where he would be buried. Upon death, every Stark would be in a tomb in the Stark crypts – would a bastard too?

I am not Lord Stark's bastard, Jon reminded himself the third time that day. I'm Lady Lyanna's. It was easier to believe that Lady Lyanna was raped by the dragon prince. The wind gently nipped Jon on the cheek as he stood near the First Keep, isolated from the other inhabitants of Winterfell. The crypts, a voice whispered in his head. Go to the crypts. Visit your mother. As if in a trance, Jon obeyed, heading to the crypts despite the cold, icy breeze. He stopped at the door of the crypts; he picked up the lantern and pushed open the ironwood door.

There'd always been a lantern sitting on a spot near the door, the yellow light inside it flickering brightly. We can visit the crypts at anytime, whether the night, dawn, evening or day. Jon had went inside once in the daytime with Robb, Lyarra, Dany, Lord Stark's wards and the maester to learn more about the history of the old rulers of Winterfell. That was during the summer and the crypt was still very dark that it required a torch or lantern to see the statues.

Jon carefully descended the narrow and winding stone steps. The last thing he wanted was to die of a broken neck in the crypts of Winterfell. He made his way to the statue of Lord Rickard Stark, his grandfather. Lord Rickard sat with quiet dignity, stone fingers holding tight to the sword across his lap. On his left was the small sepulchre of his heir, Brandon. On his right was Lady Lyanna.

My mother.

It felt strange, thinking those words while staring at a stone statue. Was she a beautiful woman? She must have been. What did she look like? Apparently Lady Lyanna looked quite like Arya. Jon tried to imagine an older Arya and laughed to himself softly. To him, Arya would always be the same wild little girl running all over the castle, swinging Needle.

"Jon, I thought I would find you here."

Jon turned. "Uncle Benjen?"

His uncle's face emerged from the darkness. "I thought I would find you here," he said again, patting Jon on the shoulder. "Ned told you the truth didn't he?"

"How do you know?"

"He told me too. When I first saw you as a babe, I thought you were Brandon's son. Brandon was more the type to go around bedding women than Ned was, but war changes people."

Jon snorted. "Either way I am still a bastard," he said bitterly.

"Lord Stark loves you," Uncle Benjen said earnestly, "as does Lady Stark. You should embrace their love, not push it away. Not all bastards are fortunate to be raised in a happy environment. Does knowing the bloody truth change the bond you have with Robb? It shouldn't. Everything that was done was to protect you. I hope you understand that."

"I do, Uncle." Jon paused. "Uncle Benjen…can you tell me something about my mother? Anything at all?"

Uncle Benjen placed a single blue winter rose onto Lady Lyanna's lap. "Lyanna always loved the scent of blue winter roses," he said reminiscently. "She was like Arya in so many ways. Both have wolf blood in their veins and learnt to fight." He smiled a little. "My father would not give Lyanna water dancing lessons though. I would spar with her every day…until her abduction. Even now a man grown and a member of the Night's Watch, I still remember and mourn Lyanna."

"What did she look like?"

"Beautiful in a wild way." Uncle Benjen's eyes glazed with sadness. "She didn't have southron beauty, but she was the rose of the North and looked every inch a Stark. She had the Stark grey eyes and brown hair. She hated wearing gowns but wore them to please our father. When she was obliged to play the part of a noble lady, she did so quite well." He chuckled. "You should have seen Donnor Cerwyn. He would follow her around like a lovesick pup when he visited Winterfell. Some of Brandon's friends would too, hoping to marry her." He sighed gloomily. "Most of them were executed when they accompanied Brandon to King's Landing."

"I heard she was a fine rider."

"The best of riders, Jon. The best. Did you know she attacked three squires in the tourney at Harrenhal?"

"Really?" Jon could not help but look surprised.

Uncle Benjen smiled. "Howland Reed was being bullied by three squires near the beginning of the tourney. Lyanna had roared 'that is my father's man you are kicking' and attacked them with a tourney sword. She then took Howland back to the tent, cleaned his wounds and introduced him to us."

"Do you think she loved Rhaegar?"

"The king believes he abducted her. I…do not know. Lyanna was certainly able to ride away from Rhaegar if she felt threatened and she wouldn't be afraid at all of hurting him if he was blocking her way. I do not know how Lyanna acted when she was in love though. She knew she would be married off eventually and would have no choice in the matter. Imagining her head-over-heels in love…something I still cannot imagine today." Uncle Benjen looked at Jon. "There are so many tales I can tell you about Lyanna Jon, but she is dead. She has been dead for years. I do not see how telling you about Lyanna will help you…adjust."

"I never thought my mother would be Lyanna Stark," Jon mumbled. "I thought my mother was special, very different to other women. I never expected that she was Lyanna Stark and my father Rhaegar Targaryen."

"You do not have to stay here if this is too much," comforted Uncle Benjen. "It is quite a lot to take in. I still see Lyanna's spirit everywhere I go at Winterfell. Do not worry, Jon. You once wanted to join the Night's Watch did you not? You were younger back then. Now you are older and a knight too! If you ever want to leave Winterfell, you will always be welcome at the Wall."

Jon was silent. He had not considered joining the Night's Watch in a while. As a knight he had options both in the north and south. He could remain at Winterfell and be future master-at-arms perhaps. He could go south and participate in a few small tourneys and tournaments, maybe earn enough to settle down, marry and have children. Children who'll bear the name Snow. No, that dream was well over. Besides, with the woman he loved married to another. Jon almost shuddered. In a way, he was relieved. If he did marry his aunt Daenerys…

Incest is in your blood, a voice reminded him. Targaryens often married sister and brother or even uncle and niece…or nephew and aunt? What if it was fate for you to wed Daenerys, only for Robb to steal her away from you like a wilding?

"Thank you Uncle," Jon said, breaking the silence. "I will think about it. There's no rush. The Wall will still be there waiting if I choose to join as an old man." His uncle smiled a little – it looked rather strained.


I apologise for not uploading earlier. As for Jon being Rhaegar's bastard or trueborn son, I'm leaving it either way for now. It makes sense with knights of the Kingsguard guarding Lyanna at the Tower of Joy and all that, but I'm still considering. If any of you know a way I can write about the Others and wildlings without making it into a huge arc, please let me know! I never really enjoyed reading or watching scenes about the Others and the Wall, but I feel it is somewhat a part of this story. I apologise in advance if I do not upload soon as for the last few weeks, I've been experimenting with writing in different POVs as well as reorganising the list of POVs and a lot of replanning and chapter shuffling.