Lyanna

She recognised him as soon as she saw him—he was a double of Ned, with his jaw and his hair and his eyes, his way of standing and his gruff northern voice. Sure, he may have had Rhaegar's nose and cheeks, and a face she could already tell was permanently marred by melancholy, but there was no doubt that the man she was looking at was a son of the North.

Her son, to be exact.

Her nephew followed the man as he'd been directed to, with all others from beyond the Wall following at his tail—all but herself, Ned, and Brandon, all in anticipation of a long-awaited reunion. Rhaegar, she noticed to her displeasure, had also remained behind, staring at Jon with wide eyes and his mouth agape.

Let him try to get his dirty rapist claws into my son, Lyanna thought to herself. If he even tried to look at him, he'd feel the full wrath of the North—a war was coming, and she didn't intend to sit this one out.

'Hello Jon.' Ned had walked over to Jon now, stretching his arms around his broad shoulder and pulling him into a hug. 'You have no idea how good it is to see you.'

'Father? How-how are you here?' The stern face of the lord commander morphed into of one a child, eyebrows practically reaching his hairline. This, Lyanna could see, was different from his brother's return; that had been the result of an insidious conspiracy, the breaching of the laws of gods and men, a massacre behind closed doors His father—or at least, the man he believed to be his father—had died in such a way for all the realm to see. 'Y-you died. Didn't you?'

'Aye, I did. It's a long story, one that I'll be all to glad to tell you in a moment. But first, there are some people you should meet—my brother Brandon, and my sister Lyanna.' He hadn't mentioned her being Jon's mother, and she was grateful. She was dreading the moment he found out, with the fallout of a lifetime raised as a bastard falling at her feet.

Upon his name being spoken, Brandon grabbed his nephew by the arms and appraised him, looking him up and down before giving him a wide smile.

'Gods, he's certainly a Stark. No denying that,' her brother said before walking away, shooting Lyanna a wink as he did so.

Noticing Lyanna's silence, Jon took the initiative, stepping over to her and hugging her. Realising what was happening, Lynna reciprocated fiercely, wrapping her arms around her son, for the first time in either of their lives.

'Hello, Jon.' Her voice was scarcely a whisper, fearing she'd cry if she spoke any louder. 'I'm so happy to finally meet you. More than you could possibly know.'

'We should get inside,' Ned said. 'We need to talk about what we're going to do about those creatures we saw.'

'You know what's out there? You've seen them?'

'Aye.' He looked at Lyanna and shifted uncomfortably. 'But first…we should probably talk. It…it's time you found out about your mother.'

Jon

He was still dead. That must've been it. The final hallucinations of a dying brain were the only way any of this could be explained. Being betrayed, killed, visited by a long-dead Targaryen, before being resurrected, killing a small army of corpses, and seeing his family who'd been dead for years, all happening within a few days of each other was one thing, but this? His mother, the woman stood outside the door, and his father the silver-haired man from the courtyard? It simply wasn't possible.

'Jon? Jon, did you hear me?'

He snapped out of his daze.

'Yes, fath—yes, Lord Stark.' Jon caught himself at the last moment. 'I heard you. Just…thinking.'

'I'm so sorry I lied to you all those years, more than you could ever know. I swear to you Jon, it was never out of malice. Robert had just come to the throne, and as much as I love the man, his hatred for the Targaryens was legendary. Even had that not been the case, the rest of the realm would still have been divided between those who wanted to kill you, and those who wanted to crown you, had your identity been known. Either way, thousands would have died, and many more would have suffered. Do you understand?' His father—or uncle, he supposed—looked, in spite of his newfound youth, as if he'd aged a thousand years within the last few minutes. 'I suppose you must have questions. I'll answer what I can.'

'Why did lady Stark not know? I was treated as a stain on the honour of House Stark for years, ostracised within my own home and seen as lesser, all because of a lie. Why?'

Ned sighed. 'When I first arrived I Winterfell with you in my arms, I did not know her. Not truly, anyway. If she'd known of your identity, she might have told someone. It didn't matter who, but if anyone knew, then word would inevitably reach Varys, and then Robert. And if that happened, you'd be as good as dead—even if Robert didn't kill you, Tywin Lannister would see you as a threat to his grandchildren's legacy and send someone to ensure you never saw the throne. The better I got to know Cat, the more I realised that she could have been trusted with the secret from the start, but I released it was too late. It would destroy our marriage, to know that I'd lied to her all those years, and if the Starks fell to infighting, so too would the North.'

'Just one other question, then. I heard a scullery maid at Winterfell once say that I was the spitting image of Brandon as a boy, and even I heard the whispers about him and Ashara Dayne. Why not claim I was his? Your marriage wouldn't have been as strained, and Lady Stark wouldn't have hated me. Why wouldn't you?'

'You forget, Jon, that Brandon had been betrothed to Catelyn first. Even after we married, even after he died, I think that for a while she still fancied herself in love, if not with him then with the idea of him—after all, I was the second son, and so was the second choice. To hear that he'd been with another woman and that the product of their union was to live in Winterfell? I fear it would have broken her. Anyhow, it was my secret to keep, and I could not just hide you in the shadow of Brandon—I thought it better that you had one parent, rather than live without any. Not to mention that the son of Brandon would always be a threat to Robb's inheritance, and even if Cat did not already dislike you for existing, I feel as though that would certainly seal her disdain for you.'

Jon frowned. He hadn't even considered that. He looked at Lord Stark, who seemed lighter somehow, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 'I…I think I might like to see her now, if you don't mind.'

'Of course.' Ned stood, and moved toward the door, only turning when he reached for the handle. 'You'll always be my son, Jon. You know that, don't you?'

'Aye,' Jon replied. With all secrets in the open, and despite hearing the truth of his parentage, he felt—for the first time in his life—as though he truly was a son of Eddard Stark, and not just a stain on his honour. 'Thank you.'

His uncle left and someone entered.

Not Lyanna Stark.

Rhaegar Targaryen.

His father.

He kept his distance, but still held his arms out as though expecting an embrace. 'Gods, Jaehaerys. It is so good to finally see you.' His voice was smooth as silk, a far cry from the gravelly tones of his uncle, and he had a certain slenderness to his build that reminded Jon eerily of Sansa. 'You need but give me a word, and we shall be away. I heard from that northern oaf—your cousin, I believe—that my sister yet lives, in Essos. She has dragons, my son. Dragons!' His lilac eyes seemed to almost glow against his pale skin, and Jon was remembering Maester Luwin's lessons on the dragon kings—most notably, the so-called Targaryen madness.

'Apologies,' Jon began, his voice full of cold courtesy, subtle steel underlying his polite words. 'But I must be away. We have much to discuss, and precious little time to do so.'

Rhaegar's face was impassive, but a slight movement of the jaw and a sigh that was only just avoided showed that he was close to anger. 'Come, my son. That is no way to greet your father, Jaehaerys.' He held out a hand, and a serene smile spread across his face.

'His name is Jon, you prick, and he's no son of yours.'

The voice came from behind Rhaegar, and he was barely able to begin to turn his head before falling to the ground with a dull thump, Lyanna Stark stood over him, a bottle in her hands.

'Is he…?' Jon trailed off, unsure what to ask.

'He'll be fine.' With that, she dropped the bottle and rushed over to Jon, tears beginning to stream down her face. 'My boy, my beautiful boy…' She ended the embrace momentarily, her eyes poring over his face, before pulling him back even harder than before. 'I'm sorry, I'm so, so, sorry.'

'Mother' was all he was able to get out before he was crying too. Mother and son both stood completely still, locked in embrace, all the while the father lay unconscious nearby, momentarily oblivious to the plights of the world.

Aegon

He was sure it was a touching experience for all involved, and on some level he was aware that it was necessary, but all that Aegon could think was that they simply did not have the time to be waiting around for the boy—his many-times-grandson, if he wasn't mistaken—to meet his mother before getting on with plans for how they would proceed. They were at war, he knew, and the first step to victory was always planning.

Although he supposed dragons wouldn't hurt their chances either.

The boy and his mother finally arrived, and Aegon stood, rising from his seat at the head of the long table, looking down at all those before him—all those who had returned from beyond the wall, a priestess of R'hllor, a colossal ginger man dressed in furs, and a nondescript man with stubs of fingers. Rhaegar was absent, he noted, but if they were to have productive talks then that might be a necessity—Orys' descendent looked as though he would gladly kill him without a moment's hesitation, Martell appeared to feel similarly, and Aegon had repeatedly noticed Lyanna fondling a knife while shooting glares at him when they'd been north of the wall. No, the prince's absence was a blessing as far as he was concerned.

'We,' he began, his voice cutting through the idle chatter between the others, 'are at war. I know that is not what you want to hear, but it is the truth.' He cleared his throat before continuing. 'The Long Night is upon us—I have thought about it over and over, searching for any plausible alternative theory, but it is the only one that truly makes sense.'

'The Long Night is naught but a myth,' one of the former Kingsguard shouted. 'Tales told by wet nurses to scare children! You can't truly expect us to believe this.'

Robb Stark slammed his fist into the table. 'Hold your damn tongue, Whent. You saw what was back there, same as I did. Need I remind you what happened to your Lord Commander?'

Evidently, he did not, for the knight stayed quiet, and for the first time Aegon could see the boy as a true descendant of Torrhen Stark—ready to do what he must to ensure the survival of his people, no matter what.

'We face an enemy that has remained unseen by the world for millennia—building their strength, stewing in their hatred for mankind,' Aegon continued. They are stronger than us, faster than us, and it would seem as though there are more of them—or at least, their puppets—than of us. And so, as I united the kingdoms all those years ago, I believe we must be united now.'

No-one shouted their agreement, nor did anyone protest; all remained in stony silence, which was quite honestly better than Aegon expected. He unfurled the map he'd been given by the man Jon had called Satin and slid it to the centre of the table so that all could see it.

'I've taken the liberty of drawing up a plan, and I ask that no-one questions it until I have finished telling it.' He pointed to the northernmost major castle on the map. 'Winterfell would be the ideal centre of operations for our campaign It is large, large enough to house the forces we will need, with ample resources for armament and tall, thick walls for defence. I assume, given your appearance here, that the Starks are still wardens of the north?' He looked toward Lord Eddard, Brandon, and Robb.

'I'm afraid not.' Aegon's gaze snapped toward Jon. 'After Robb died, the Boltons have control of the North. The new lord, Ramsay, sent me a letter saying that he has married Sansa, and that he will kill and flay me if I come anywhere near Winterfell.'

'What!?' Robb Stark practically jumped up, his chair falling backwards with a clatter. 'That bastard has Sansa in his greasy paws? I'll kill the snivelling rat!' His eyes blazed with fury akin to that of his namesake.

'Peace, brother.' Aegon noticed his descendant flinch slightly as he spoke, but continued nonetheless. 'I admit it is far from ideal for Sansa to be stuck there in his clutches. But we cannot be careless and charge into battle. That's what he wants, and I'll be damned if I'll give that bastard any more power than he already has.'

'For my plan to work, we must have Winterfell. It is the key to my plan. How many men can the Starks gather?' Aegon asked Jon, since he was the only one who'd been alive within the past weeks and months, and so would have the best grasp on the political situation in Westeros.

'After the Red Wedding? No more than a few thousand—they'll say that they were failed by house Stark, and they won't necessarily be lying,' Jon said, with a look of deep shame entering Robb's eyes.

'But what of the wildli- I mean, the free folk?' The nondescript man with the missing fingers now spoke, a thick crownland accent evident. 'Wouldn't they fight, if offered passage through the wall?'

'Who would they follow?' Jon asked, clearly aware of the answer already. 'The infighting and the disunity ended when they began to follow Mance, but now Mance is dead, killed by Stannis.'

'Always was a stubborn prick,' Robert muttered as he lifted his horn of ale. 'Hardly touched his wife, but it would seem that he's fucked us all.'

'Not to mention they'd die before they fought alongside those born south of the wall, I think,' Eddard said, carefully considering his words. 'And the northern lords aren't much better. Millennia of hatred and distrust won't be so easy to dispel as a few kind words and a promise of escape.'

The room fell into silence, seemingly at a stalemate.

'Give them the Dreadfort.'

The room all turned to the voice.

'It's a win-win situation,' Aegon the Unlikely continued. 'They need a means of escape, land, and shelter, the Starks need northerners loyal to them, and it's not as if the Boltons will have any use for it.'

'Aye, that could work, Eddard said pensively, scratching the day's-worth of stubble on his chin. 'Would take a lot of convincing on either side—the Northern lords won't like it one bit, the wildlings won't like adhering to our laws, and some poor bastard is going to have to be their lord. But for now, I suppose it's the best option we have.'

'Excellent,' broke in Aegon. 'We must still defeat the Boltons, however, and so that must be our priority for now. Now, regarding the enemy to the north. What do we know about them? Strengths, weaknesses, anything.'

Jon stood, clearing his throat. 'The wights are dependent on the Others—if its falls, so too will they.'

'And how do you propose we do that?'

'For the wights, fire and dismemberment seem to do the trick. For the Others, Valyrian steel works. As does dragonglass—obsidian, I believe Maester Aemon called it. Nothing else, as far as I'm aware.'

'And Dawn,' Ser Arthur said. 'Seemed to do fine this morning, at least.'

'Obsidian can be mined from Dragonstone,' Egg interjected. 'From what I've heard, it currently sits empty. I'd be happy to begin the mining efforts there.'

'A sound plan. But only once Winterfell is liberated and we have a stronghold in the North.' Aegon frowned. 'Do we know of anyone who can forge it? From what I hear it is brittle material, unsuited for weaponry.'

'I…I think I know of such a person, your-uh, your grace', the commoner who'd spoken before said hesitantly, most notably faltering on how to address Aegon. He himself hadn't been quite sure of that but figured that he'd get it sorted when it posed a serious issue. 'I'll need his grac—uh, King Robert to come with me, though.' The Baratheon king shot him a quizzical look but said nothing.

Aegon nodded. 'Acceptable. But again, after Winterfell. Now, what about Valyrian steel? I have been told that both Blackfyre and Dark Sister were lost. Is this true?'

'Aye,' said Robb. 'Thye've both been lost for decades at the very least, by my estimate.'

'No matter. What others?'

'I have Longclaw,' Jon said, gesturing to the hilt of the sword in scabbard. 'My friend Sam is from Horn Hill, where they have Heartsbane, and may have a chance of getting that, or at least bringing someone who can wield it.'

'What of Ice?'

'Melted and re-forged by the Lannisters,' Robb replied to his father's question. 'It's now two swords—Joffrey has one, the kingslayer has the other.'

'Joffrey's dead.' The prince of Dorne spoke once more. 'Poisoned at his own wedding. Made for excellent entertainment, if I do say so myself.'

'On the one hand, that's an extra sword. On the other, they are still both out of our reach. No matter. What else?' Aegon asked.

'Lyn Corbray has Lady Forlorn. He's neutral, I believe, as is the rest of the Vale.'

'Can he be swayed to our side?'

'I don't know, but-'

'Then it is of no importance. Any others?'

'None that we know the whereabouts of,' Jon replied.

'How about this?' Lyonel Baratheon, silent as of yet, threw down a small object onto the table, clattering as it landed. It was a knife—a plain hilt with a six-inch blade, simple, but with the tell-tale ripples of Valyrian steel. 'A wedding gift from my lady wife.' A sad smile crossed his face.

'In that case, we shall have to make do with that. Anyhow, to the task at hand.

'Winterfell. Strong walls, high vantage point; in other words, suicide to try and take in a direct assault. Nor can we take it through trickery—from what I have ascertained, that is how it was taken by the Boltons in the first place, and they will be especially vigilant against such attempts. As such, our only chance is engaging the Boltons in battle.'

'Battle?' Orys asked. 'Are you mad, Aegon? We do not have the numbers to take a windmill, let alone Winterfell.'

'We will meet,' Aegon carried on as if Orys hadn't spoke, 'at Torrhen's Square in a moon's turn. In the meantime, we shall each ride out to the various holdfasts and remind them of their oaths to house Stark.' He firmly planted a finger on the map.

'Lord Eddard, you and Lord Robert shall go to Last Hearth and Karhold. Lady Lyanna, you, Ser Lyonel, and Egg will go to Castle Hornwood and White Harbour. Lord Brandon and Orys will go to Moat Caillin to pick up any dregs from the soldiers stuck there, before travelling up to Castle Cerwyn. Lord Robb and I shall go to Deepwood Motte and Bear Island. Lord Commander Snow, you will need to facilitate the crossing of the wildlings across the wall. I'm sure we can find some way to free you from your vows.'

'That won't be necessary.'

'Forgive me. I've been away a long time and assumed that the laws remained the same, and that the Night's Watch serve for life.'

'They do. We do. Well, did.'

'This is no times for jokes, Lord Snow.'

'And this is no joke, your Grace. I died. My brothers stabbed me for the supposed good of the watch, and the Lady Melisandre brought me back. My watch has ended. I can do whatever you require.'

'I…I'm sorry to hear that. I trust the traitors have been dealt with?'

'Aye.'

'Good. In that case, you will deal with the wildlings and bring them to Torrhen's Square?'

'Aye.'

'What of me, Ser Arthur, and Ser Oswell?' Oberyn asked. 'Are we sit around here, doing nothing, thumbs up our arses?'

'Tell me, Prince Oberyn. Is it true that a Dornish sand steed can travel for three straight days without rest?'

The Prince seemed almost offended at the quality of Dorne's horses being questioned. 'Of course.'

'And with a regular horse, not a sand steed, how long would it take you to reach Dorne?'

Oberyn scratched his chin. 'Two-and-a-half, three weeks, give or take. Why?'

'You, Ser Arthur, and Ser Oswell will travel to Sunspear and get all the men you can. It is your father who is currently in charge?'

'My brother.'

'Well, we can only hope that your brother will be willing to listen to you. Are you adequately rested and fed?' That question was directed to the three of them.

They muttered an affirmation.

'Then you must be off within the hour. Take what resources you need from the watch. Time is of the essence. Is that acceptable?'

'And what of me?' Rhaegar staggered through the door, a patch on the back of his head slick with blood. 'What am I to do?'

They were all silent.

'By the laws of the North,' Lord Eddard suddenly said, 'you, Rhaegar Targaryen, are a rapist and a tyrant, who has put both the lords and the citizens of the Seven Kingdoms at great risk, with absolutely no remorse. I will offer you this choice: you can take the black, or I can take your head.'

Rhaegar scoffed, before noticing the serious expressions of all; all but Robert and Lyanna, who both had vindictive smiles forming on their faces. 'You can't be serious? I am needed! I was brought back, same as any of you—who are you to condemn me, Lord Stark?'

'There are four kings amongst us, each of whom outrank your position as a prince,' Egg shot back. 'Answer the question.'

'You will regret this! The Dragon must have three heads!'

'And it does,' Egg replied calmly. 'Myself, Aegon, and Young Jon here. Four, if we include your sister in Essos. Now.' His voice was tinged with iron. 'Answer the bloody question.'

Rhaegar said nothing, slowly deflating as he realised it was inevitable. 'Wall,' he muttered. 'I'll take the black.'

'Edd! Fetch us a cloak!' Jon shouted toward the door, a man appearing a mere minute later, cloak in hand.

'Lord Commander,' he started to speak before being interrupted.

'Jon, Edd. Just Jon. My watch has ended.'

'Jon, then. A group of riders—two women and a young lad—has arrived at the gate.'

'That sounds like business for the watch.'

'But, one of them…she says she's your sister.'

A/N: Another chapter done, hope you're still enjoying the story despite all the shit going on around us. Quite talk-y, I'm afraid, but hopefully there'll be some action soon. Follow and Favourite if you want, and please leave a review!

-Kinginthenorth1

asriv83-Glad you find it interesting. Fair warning though, it's not gonna be a complete fix-it, and a lot of shit is gonna eventually hit the fan.