Warning: mentions of sexual assault & some swearing in this chapter.
Lyanna Stark was once a simple woman. She had grown up in the North, the only daughter of Lord Rickard Stark and Lady Lyarra Flint. She had expected a political marriage in her future, but always assumed it would be in the north. She studied the feminine arts, singing, dancing, embroidery, and sewing. She never loved these arts, but she could appreciate some of them. She excelled in her lessons and knew how to run a household. She was an excellent rider, a master of archy, and even learned the basics of swordsmanship.
She was a simple woman. Political mind games had no place in the north, not with wildlings or Ironborn raids, nor with the constant reminder of Winter. She knew she'd be married for an alliance, expected, planned for it even, but she always assumed it would be in the North.
When she'd turned 16 and her father announced she would be marrying Robert Baratheon, she had been furious. Robert Baratheon was a southern Lord, which meant he'd need a southern Lady for a wife. Lyanna was no Southern Lady, and she had no desire to be. Those southern Ladies were either political snakes or dainty, naive girls. Lyanna could respect the political snakes, to a point. She could understand protecting one's children or their families, but she still detested "The Game of Thrones". The dainty, naive girls who giggled behind paper fans, dressed in fancy silk dresses, and covered themselves in jewelry she couldn't stand. Girls who couldn't know which end of a knife to hold, these girls annoyed her.
This was all before she processed exactly who she'd be marrying. Robert Baratheon, Eddard's best friend. The 17-year-old lord was already known for his drunkenness and his whoring. The man already had a two-year-old daughter, Mya Stone, meaning he got the mother pregnant at 14. It did not speak toward a faithful marriage in the future. Though, he wasn't known as a violent drunk, so that was something.
Her old brother, her beloved Ned, had written to her of Robert's love for her, how he'd change for her. She knew better. Love was sweet, but it would not change a man's nature.
She'd accepted it though, the north needed alliances with other kingdoms to survive the winters. The Stormlands were known glass producers, she could get more glass for a lesser cost, meaning more glass gardens for the Winter. She would sacrifice for her home and her people, but she had conditions.
Lyanna had written a letter to her betrothed, telling him that while she would adapt to the Stormlands, she would not convert to the Seven Gods. She was a steadfast follower of the Old Gods. That was her only big condition for the marriage. An updated clause in their future marriage contract was sent to her father a month later, allowing for her to maintain her religion and even teach it to their children, so long as they still learned about the New Gods. He wrote a personal letter to her, confirming the acceptance of her condition and encouraging her to bring a Weirwood sapling to Storm's End. He knew how important this was, from knowing Ned.
She had warmed up to her betrothed, exchanging a few casual letters with him. She thought he would be a decent friend, and maybe she'd even come to love him one day when they shared children. She still didn't believe his word about staying faithful, he was still whoring despite all his pretty words about loving her. So long as he provided necessities to children, she couldn't care less what he did with his own time. The North never had time to develop a hatred for baseborn children like the south did. Legitimate children inherited, baseborn children would start their own houses, join their parents/siblings' households as loyal members, or left for the Night's Watch. She wasn't worried about the "greedy nature" of 2-year-old Mya Stone. She was content with her future, even if it meant she'd have several stepchildren to keep an occasional eye on.
But then, she'd made an impulsive decision. One that spelled doom for Westeros. The Tourney of Harrenhall, she'd donned mismatching armor and a laughing tree shield to defend Howland Reed's honor. She'd underestimated the insanity of Aerys and she'd majorly miscalculated when fleeing her pursuers. Crown Prince Rhaegar had found her, half changed from the armor. She'd thought him as good as everyone said, the future of Westeros, a kind man. She'd thought the matter settled when he took her shield and presented it to his father saying the knight had fled.
But then, he named her the Queen of Love and Beauty. And he started writing to her, speaking of prophecies and old promises. She'd attempted, repeatedly, over the next several months to end the contact. Rhaegar had been acting weird and improper on many levels. She was Lord Paramount's daughter, a Stark, and the betrothed of the Stormland's Lord Paramount.
The letters, after 7 months of nerve-racking time, had abruptly stopped. She'd journey to Riverrun for her eldest Brother's wedding preparations with a lighter heart.
It went to hell just south of the Neck. She'd been stalled at the Twins, by that God-Forsaken Frey that just wouldn't die. She thought him simply greedy, wanting a larger payment, instead, she found the Frey Guards, who outnumbered her's 10-to-1 killing the people sworn to her protection. Walder Frey had killed every member of her Stark Household by the time Rhaegar arrived, dumped their bodies in the rivers, or feed them to his hunting dogs. Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower, and Oswell Whent were all with Rhaegar.
The crown prince was acting odd, speaking about weddings and The Song of Ice and Fire. How Princess Elia could no longer have children, but that he needed three heads, how he needed another daughter. She realized what he wanted, what he would do. There would be no escaping this, not with a madman on the thrown, and an insistent crown prince. Little Prince Aegon was a wild card, but Prince Viserys had already started to show signs of madness. There was no escaping this.
Not that she didn't try. She ran, destroying her only dress and ruining her only shoes. She kept running, even as the four of them hunted her down over and over again. Even as she split her feet open and cut herself along her arms and legs. She'd kept trying to escape, as a dozen more men, all loyal to Rhaegar Targaryen, joined their party, a Septon among them.
She prayed to the Gods, over and over again to help her, but nothing came. Not for weeks, not until she was on the Isle of Faces. She would be forcibly wed to Rhaegar tomorrow, his first wife be damned, and she'd be forced to carry her child. To watch as her child possibly went mad just like his ancestors had, committed atrocities from this madness. She'd prayed one last time, for her Gods to help her when she finally got an answer. A dream where she stood before the heart tree as it cried its red sap.
"We will send a solution to your problems, the ones we can solve. Trust in his words."
It was unexpected.
He'd been tall, with shoulder-length black hair and a grey speckled beard, with scar-filled skin and stormy grey eyes. He'd been dressed in loose basic clothing, barefoot by the river near the camp. He'd introduced himself as Jupiter. An odd name for sure. She wasn't sure she'd want to be named after a planet.
He told her that her gods couldn't help. The war with the Andals and the burning of the heart trees had weakened them. They did not have the power to help her, so they asked for help, and here he was. She asked for help, but he told her that he could not free her from captivity.
Lyanna had not been pleased by this answer. "If you can't help, then why are you here?" She'd asked.
"Because I can stop you from having to carry his child." Had been his response. "If you'd be willing to carry my child instead."
She'd laughed. All of this was insane. Rhaegar's actions, and the rest of the kidnapping party's actions. The dream was supposedly from her gods and this strange man in front of her offering to get her pregnant. All of it was insane.
And yet, she'd agreed to his offer.
She'd woken up the next morning, still in her old tattered dress from the twins, and by midday was married to Rhaegar.
They continued on their journey and Lyanna honestly thought she'd dreamed of the strange man and his offer. Eventually, they made it to Dorne, avoiding the areas of conflict. She might now know what was going on, but from the little she could see of the towns they passed, there was a war going on. She wondered if everyone knew what Rhaegar had done, the levels he'd fallen to.
They finally stopped at The Tower of Joy. She was given a fresh pair of clothes and a bath before being examined by a Maester. She already knew what he was going to say. She'd missed her moon blood thrice already, and she'd been nauseated every other morning. She was pregnant.
Rhaegar was overjoyed. He left the Maester with her, along with a wet nurse/midwife. The Three kingsguard members stayed to "guard her". More like keeping her from running. Pregnant or not, she could take out a Maester and they all knew it. He'd left with the other dozen or so Targaryen guards that had been traveling with them.
Moons passed and she grew heavier with the child. She spent her days mostly staring out of the window, hoping she'd see her father or one of her brothers riding up to free her. They never came. Six and a half moons after her arrival here, the pain started.
It was nothing she'd ever experienced before. Unimaginable pain that made her feel like she was splitting in two, and it lasted for almost three days before he finally decided to greet the world. Her little Jon.
The Maester had cut the cord and attempted to give the child to the wet nurse when she saw him. Black hair and grey eyes, her hair and his eyes. He screamed, his wolf's blood showing, as he refused the women's breasts.
"Give him here." She'd said. The woman had frozen, and the Maester was still trying to finish the rest of the delivery. "Give me my son or I will strangle you with my son's cord."
The woman had gulped and given her son to her with shaky hands and practically fled the room. Mother wolves were always dangerous. Lyanna took a proper look at her child, and she knew. The strange man hadn't been a dream, it had been real. She'd given birth to a child that did not hold an ounce of Valyrian blood and no one knew but her and the Old Gods.
"He didn't give us a name if it was a boy." Lyanna looked up to see a confused Arthur Dayne. "He said to name the girl Visenya."
"Well, I'm not naming my son Visenya." Arthur didn't say or do anything else. He just left.
The maester finished up and started to clean up his tools. "I can give you his name, correct?"
"My Lad-Princ-My Queen?"
She filed the title away for later. Aerys must be dead. "I can give you his name, to file at The Citadel?"
The man smiles. He pulls out an official document. Rhaegar's signature is already present. Perfect. "Of course, what's his name?"
"Jon. Jon Targaryen." Jon Stark, really, but he couldn't take my name, not if I was to play this ruse.
The scratching of the feather pen interrupts my thoughts before the paper and quill are held out to me. "Your signature, if you don't mind."
I take the quill and sign my name with a flick of the wrist. All I had to hope for was that Rhaegar didn't realize I had named the child until the paper was filed. For all the power the Targaryens had, once that name was filed and the ravens sent out, there would be little he could do to change Jon's name.
The maester left the next morning, and soon it was just herself, her son, and the three kingsguard members. It stayed like that for a few weeks when a carriage pulled by horses comes to the tower. She, and her son, are packed in the carriage within the day and already set off for King's Landing.
Rhaegar had come to her smiling until he laid eyes on the child. He had not been pleased that the babe was a boy. The frown he wore was telling enough.
She'd smiled though, a hint of smugness in that smile, as she presented their son to the whole of Westeros, all of the major lords, as Jon Targaryen. Rhaegar might have tried to rename him Jaehaerys, but it never took. All of Westeros called him Prince Jon, and she took her small victory.
For all his desire to have a daughter, Rhaegar never tried to impregnate her again. Probably afraid he'd get another son. Elia and Rhaella had not been happy about Jon, most likely remembering their histories. The Hightower's role in the Dance had not been forgotten by the pair, though she could feel their pity. They wouldn't betray Rhaegar, for their own reasons, but Rhaegar never touched her again.
She raised her son, practically separate from the rest of the Targaryens. She oversaw his early education, his sword lessons, and made sure to teach him about Northern traditions and stories. She was proud of him and made sure her son knew it.
However, it came to an end when her son turned 9. Rhaegar had decided to send her home. Her brother, her Ned, had been asking for her and Jon for years. Rhaegar was partially relenting. She was given three days after her son's 9th nameday to pack and prepare before she'd sail to White Harbor. Jon would remain in King's Landing.
She'd gone, only because Rhaegar had threatened to her back in a box if she didn't go, but she'd feared every day for her son.
Benjen meet her in White Harbor and escorted her to Winterfell, where Ned was waiting for her. She loved being back home, back in the North, but she wanted her son more. Some part of her sorrow was tempered by Robb, Sansa, and Arya. She became the dotting Aunt who spoiled them as often as possible. Still, she'd take the heat and shit smell again if it meant she could see her son. Jon wrote to her regularly, every week a new raven with a short but precise note would arrive. Occasionally, she'd get detailed letters from her son from merchants or the Night's Watch members who traveled to King's Landing for aid and men. She treasured all of those notes.
She watched with sadness as her son's penmanship improved, his spelling became more precise, and his punctuation perfect. She read the letters that spoke of his newer educational pursuits with a sense of despondency. Her son was growing up and she was missing all of it.
Of course, when she received a simple scroll telling her communication would be much less common and sparser, she felt like her heart had stopped.
No new letter came the next week, or the week after that, or the week after that. Finally, Rhaegar sent a letter, informing her that Jon had left for Essos to explore.
The rumors started after that, how her Jon was Daemon Targaryen come again. How Jon was the next Rogue Prince.
After six months, she got a letter from Jon. It was simple, telling her that he had found a community to join and how he was happy. He spoke of new friends and of new skills. He finished the letter by saying he loved her. She got a few more sporadic letters over the next several years.
Her worry grew as the new Greco-Roma Empire took over parts of Essos. She worried every day that her son would never return. The stories she heard, of magic users and monsters, of children with unparallel intellect and battle skills, of half-goat men and talking trees, of gods having children with mortals. None of these stories calmed her. Westeros became uneasy as Slaver's Bay became The Olympian Bay. As a new player took over cities in very little time.
Still, nothing had prepared her for what she saw today. Her Jon was standing in the Godswoods of Winterfell. He was dressed in metal armor, with a lightning bolt symbol carved onto his chest plate. A bright orange, frankly ugly colored shirt was under the armor. His hair was pulled back into a low bun and was a scar over one of his eyes. Two swords were strapped to his back, and several knives on his waist and in his boots showed how armed he was.
"Jon?" She'd thought him a dream until she'd touched his face.
"Hello, mother," Jon smiles down at her. Her baby boy was several inches taller than her, probably by a foot or more.
"What-" She sees in then. The dark grey horse grazing the grass behind her son. There was nothing special about the horse if you ignored the great wings it bore. "How are you here?"
"Shadow brought me."
"Shadow?"
"The pegasus."
"What-"
"A pegasus is a winged horse."
I let out a laugh. It's practically hysterical. "And where did you get a pegasus?"
"My father."
"Rhaegar gave him to you?"
"Her, and no, he didn't."
"But you said-"
"Jupiter gave him to me."
A cold sensation washes through me. "What do you mean?"
"What I mean is I know the truth."
"Jon," tears were forming in my eyes. "I can explain."
"You don't need to explain anything to me, Mother. I already know what you want to tell me. However, there is quite a lot I need to tell you."
Another laugh escapes me. "Like what?"
"Did you know that Jupiter was a god?"
"I-"
"We call ourselves Demigods. Children of Gods and mortals. There's quite a lot of us, though I only have two other half-siblings through Jupiter. Thalia and Jason."
"Are you telling me that I had sex with a god?"
"Yes, I am."
"A god?"
"A Roman god, to be technical."
"What else do I need to know?"
Jon smiles, wide and bright, just like he did as a child. "Why don't we sit down? It's a very long story."
