The next morning came far too fast by my approximation. As consciousness slowly claimed me I couldn't help but notice how sore I felt in places that until now I'd never possessed as well as a couple I'd had before.

I don't know how long I spent in bed, eyes open looking up at the canopy of the bed, but dear god. Gods. Whatever... was I terrified by the reality I'd found myself trapped in.

I was Lyanna Stark. I'd just given birth to Jon fucking Snow. So there's one theory proven, though I could have done without the abdominal pain and lingering memories of serial rape that came with the knowledge.

Which proved or at least contributed to another theory. Lyanna. Me. Hadn't been with The Motherfucker... no. I was not calling him by name. Ever. Even thinking it made my skin crawl. Calling him by the name of the psychotically moronic man-child villain from Kick Ass suited me fine.

I... Lyanna. Damn these blurry memories... had gone with him willing. At first. Gotten a bug in her ass about Mya Stone's existence and decided that if Lord Bob could have a bastard, than maybe he didn't deserve her maidenhead.

The Motherfucker had been charming, romantic, and interesting. Very much, at least from my completely neutral and and utterly unbiased point of view the shallow charisma of a functional sociopath. It was a fun three days. Then I tried to go back. And that was the point The Motherfucker started ranting about prophecy, the princess that was promised, and the Song of Ice and Fire.

And that's where things turned to hell. Especially when Bran and Father were killed.

Shit. Fucking altered perceptions. I know they're not my memories but...

"FUCK!"

"Lya, are you alright?"

I blinked and sat up. Ned was on a chair right next to me the whole damned time. Was so lost in my mind and dealing with this insanity that I hadn't even noticed.

Part of me knew him as a character. Lord Eddard Stark from A Song of Ice and fire. A honorable dumbass who got his head lopped off because he was foolish enough to trust the most awful women on the continent and her ill begotten hellspawn.

The other called him Brother.

That loss of identity. It was just another price of the endless indignities being laid upon my person and psyche.

"I just almost died of fever and blood loss after giving birth to my kidnappers rape child," I replied with sickly sweetness. "How I'm alive I don't even know. But in general, I'll have to say no, at this particular moment I'm feeling pretty fucking awful."

He frowned. I knew my behavior was somewhat uncharacteristic. Lya, the wild wolf she was, was still more demure than my generally tactless and no fucks given approach I was taking. But if I was going to be stuck in this hellhole of world. In this body not my own. In this situation from the depths of my worst fucking nightmares. Yeah. I was going to be as salty as I could get away with.

"Lya," he said after a moment's thought, "Maybe you should lie back down."

"Fuck that," I replied with a scowl. "What I need is a bath. I feel like I've been rolling around in my own filth for gods know how long and..."

My rant was interrupted by crying. And there was little Jon, screaming for his mommy. Little tyke was probably hungry. Something I could empathise with because the very thought made my stomach growl like an angry tiger.

It also made my start lactating. God fucking damn it will this shit Never... Fucking... End!

"Give me my son," I said fighting down the urge to dry heave at what I was about to have to do. "He's hungry."

"I sent Howland to fetch a midwife to examine your condition and a wet nurse for the boy."

"That's wonderful," I replied, "But he's hungry now. So please give me my son."

My son. I shudder at the thought. Though at least I knew he wouldn't inherit his father's charming personality. Jon Snow was a good kid. And he was my kid. And I'd make sure he didn't grow up with the mother of all inferiority complexes.

Eddard nodded and fetched the boy from his crib at my bedside and presented him to me.

Taking a deep breath to steel myself I opened my night shirt to expose a breast. And it was a nice breast if I say so myself. Would rather not see it on me, but still, nice tit.

Then I took a deep breath and looked up to Eddard who had my... bodies... child in hand.

I accepted him and then decided to indulge that evil little voice in my head who thought this was the perfect time to yank on his chain.

"Oi! Eddard! You a Wolf or a Dragon. Stop looking at your sister's tits!"

He flushed a deep scarlet and turned away as I brought the child up to my breast.

To say breast feeding a child was strange experience would be something of an understatement. It wasn't bad though. Rather calming to be honest. Probably because of the buckets of oxytocin and other endorphins it was dumping into my blood chemistry thanks to millions of years of mammalian evolution making sure that mommy would be happy to let a little crying poop monster suck on her funbags.

I sighed and leaned back, almost thankful for little Jon giving me a neuro-transmitter driven happy to keep me on just this side of a complete nervous breakdown.

My little titty leach keeping me sane. Oh joy...

I frowned. Great. I'd have to marry Robert Fucking Baratheon, The High Fratboy of Westeros. It's not that I wanted to. Lyanna hadn't been to big on the idea and I was a couple steps less pleased with it. But shit, I didn't want to live in a world where Cersei "Brotherfucker" Lannister was able to influence anything worth a damn.

I'd just need to figure out a way to keep his stupid out of the brothers and not blowing the royal treasury on hookers and blow.

And while I was at it maybe I could figure out a way to shoot lasers from my eyes and lighting bolts from my ass...

"Ned," I said after a long sigh. "So what's the plan," I asked. As a female in a "Hard-Core" version of medieval period I was pretty much stuck along for the ride.

Ned frowned. "I was considering ripping this tower down and having it used to build a cairn for the fallen. Willam Dustin, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Ethan Glover, and Mark Ryswell all died to see you saved."

"Then have their bones returned to their families," I replied. I knew Dustin's wife would be less than pleased if he came home only with a horse.

Ned frowned for a moment and locked eyes with me. He didn't blink. Nor did I. And then he simply nodded. "Perhaps you are right. But their is still the issue of the Kingsguard. At least Arthur Dayne I can return to his kin."

"To hell with the Kingsguard," I spart with a contempt not at all my own. It was rather shocking and a little disturbing as my mouth seemed to almost take a life of its own. "Those paragons of Southron chivalry stood by and watched as The Motherfucker raped me again and again. Forty-Seven times, Ned. I counted... For fucks sake. More than once, when I struggled too hard the oh so Great and Noble White Bull helped hold me down while he finished! Hang the bodies for the fucking crows!"

I took a deep breath, my face flushed with fury and I considered what I'd said. Holy shit I've inherited some baggage.

"I..." Ned trailed off for a moment a bit overwhelmed by my fury. Couldn't blame him. So was I. "The Motherfucker?"

"Rhaegar," I spat. "Just saying his name makes my stomach churn."

"I still must return to Starfell," He replied, "If only to return Dawn."

"Why?" I countered. "Arthur Dayne was a good killer true, but in the end, he was hardly a man so much as a knight."

Oh yeah. Not one bit bitter.

"He died following his oaths," Ned replied, "They all did."

"Their oaths? Which oaths? The one where they swore to be brave? Swore to be just? To protect the innocent? To defend women? Which oaths, Ned?"

"Their oaths to their king, Lyanna!"

"Fuck their king!" I roared. "And it disgusts me that you'd protect their honor."

I snorted. "Honor. It's just a word to these southern crettins. You could take a crap in one hand, and gather the collective honor of the southern nobility in the other, and all you'd end up with two fist fulls of shit."

At that he seemed to take some offense. "I know plenty of honorable southerns. Jon is..."

"An opportunistic lord who's been grooming the realm for this rebellion for years."

"Lya!" He gasped.

"What, do you really think it was accidental that he fostered you, helped arrange my betrothal to your wine-soaked erection of a best friend..."

At that he flustered. "Robert's a good man, Lyanna and is to be your husband."

I snorted. "Not soon. Not after all this. And don't you dare say I'm wrong. The man drinks enough wine for seven... the seven on a good night... and seems to trip and fall into every moist, lukewarm hole he stumbles across."

At this point Ned's jaw was hanging loose in shock at the sheer rawness of what I was saying. Lya always had a mouth when she was angry but my willful lack of tact seemed to drive it to the next level and beyond.

"That's why I left with The Motherfucker, you know. I wanted to spite him. He sires a bastard on a servant girl? Fine. Whatever. Then he could have sucked up and accepted he wasn't being given my maidenhead."

God that was wrong to think as much as say.

"It sure as hell wasn't in the plan for the psychotic, self-centered motherfucker to kidnap me and rape me pregnant while ranting about prophecy and saying I should be honored."

I sneered. God why did the words come out and my brain not control them! "You know, I heard the squires say a couple of times that you don't 'stick it in the cray-cray'... guess the reverse is equally as true."

Looking utterly befuddled he simply mouthed the word, "Cray-cray?"

"Crazy, Ned. Don't stick it in the crazy."

He blinked. "Oh."

"But like I said, Jon Arryn has been planning this little rebellion since we were children. My kidnapping was just the flash point. Look at the network of alliances he formed. Stark. Tully. Baratheon. He would have pulled in Lannister too if the Mad King hadn't managed to bugger it up."

"How do you know this?"

"Let's see. I've been locked in this here tower for the better part of a year and my only entertainments have been trying to figure out ways to weave my bed clothes into a rope and listening to the three stooges who now lie late and unlamented on the stones below gossip like a sewing circle, intersected by the occasional round of serial rape. I've had a lot of time to ponder my navel, Ned."

I paused. "And maybe just maybe, madness brings with it an element of clarity."

His face just fell like someone just drowned every puppy in the realm.

"I'm so sorry, Lya..."

"I save blame for the guilty," I replied. And it was true. He wasn't the reason I was in this situation. Not as Lyanna and sure as hell not as the real me. "And you're just an mummer in this play as are we all. Though I can't help but feel as if I were the butt of some grand cosmic jape."

At my breast the squirming little brat that may or may not grow up to become Jon Snow stopped sucking and released a happy little burble.

With a sigh I held out the child and pulled my shirt back up.

As Ned accepted him, I added, "Please tell me you have food, Ned. I could eat a horse."

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Of course, Lyanna."

He paused for a moment and looked back to me. "I'm... glad that you're well. You scared me for a time."

"I scare myself, and I'm far from well. But where there's life there's hope and that's really all that anyone can ask from the world now isn't it?"

A sound not unlike a purr rumbled through my throat as I lowered myself into the hot bath.

Oh yeah... that's the shit!

One thing they never really saw fit to mention in the books was that the Tower of Joy hadn't had any servants. Not a one. By the end of it, The Motherfucker in his growing paranoia had deemed that I... Lyanna... whatever... was to be kept as a prisoner to ensure that the fucking Third Head of the Dragon was protected, trusting the three stooges to handle everything.

The last months were were pretty much a prison sentence. Another reason I just fucking loved the three of them so much.

While it had taken a day. A long day of awkward silence, crying babies, and milky nipples, Howland Reed, gods bless his Swamp Ninja heart, had delivered in spades.

On the air I could smell food cooking. Real food. Little Jon's cries were blissfully absent thanks to the wet nurse. And once I was done this bath I was due to have an actual midwife give me a post-natal. I'd make sure she washed the hell out of her hands before she as much as gets a look at 'my' lady parts, but still, it was going to be good to get what passes for medical care around here.

The tub was small, and the water lukewarm rather than the scalding heat I preferred but I could invent the heated bath and the hot shower later. In fact there was a laundry list of shit I needed to come up with over the next few years.

The reason was chilling. And that was no pun. Winter was coming. Literally, and if I was to fulfill my dream of dying content and in bed at the youthful age of 95, I needed to make sure I wasn't murdered by fucking Ice Zombies.

I sighed and dunked myself under the water.

While "I" had a bath just the last night, the fucking stooges hadn't given Lya access to a tub of water for months in fear she might drowned herself out of sheer spite. It had been cold wet rags for months and even then they'd bee few and in between.

The sick irony was that at the end of it all, he wouldn't have gotten his Visenya anyways.

No, Jon... if I decided to name him that... was more an Orys.

Orys. Be the perfect name to mock the memory of The Motherfucker. He was so obsessed with naming his kids after Aegon's siblings after all. Plus it was a sideways way of honoring the man who Whack-a-Moled the Motherfucker with a warhammer... and maybe a sympathetic name might help convince Robert to leave him be.

Need to talk about it with Ned.

"God my life is fucked," I muttered as I pressed my back against the edge of the wooden tub. Part of me couldn't really care less. Another part of me held what could only be called a primal affection that went above and beyond any real conscious intent. The body, this... me... had carried him for nine months and literally died to give him life.

Fuck it. I'll admit it. I actually love the kid... and I hate kids.

"Maybe if I close my eyes and wish really hard, I'll wake up in front of my fucking computer."

I closed my eyes.

"I wish I wish I wish I..."

I cracked and eye and... same fucking stone walls.

"And Fuck."

Well, it was worth a try. There would have been worse things than being back in the modern world trapped in the body of a teenage MILF. Like being stuck in this world as pretty much anyone, male, female, high lord, beggar...

The door creaked as it opened interrupting my internal monologue and in stepped a woman in her late middle ages. From the looks of her she was pretty in her youth, but now about halfway to qualifying as a crone. But despite this she still had bright eyes and a pleasantly maternal smile.

"So, I take if you're the midwife?" I asked, steeling myself for the fact that this woman would probably be poking my new form in places I hadn't even poked it yet.

"Aye, my dear," she replied with the calming tone of an experienced caregiver. "Though most mothers summon me before the babe comes."

"Most weren't being held prisoner by three shining paragons of chivalry hypocrisy," I replied bitterly.

"Aye, m'lady. Your brother and his companion said you had a hard birth. Blood and pain. Said they thought they even lost you they claim," her eyes narrowed. "You're awfully energetic for a girl who was on her deathbed this time yesterday."

"I'd attribute it to good diet and exercise but I've been stuck in this tower for the last six months," I replied.

"Sharp tongued too," she replied as she walked about the room, her eyes moving to the sheets which still bore the signs of my sons less than easy birth."Though the sheets bare witness to your tale..."

Mental Note. If I had to spend another night in this fucking place, either they were getting changed or I was sleeping on the fucking floor.

She bent down and took a sniff. "And also speak of a sickness in your womb."

A uterine infection. Wonderful. There goes my value as a broodmare.

Yeah...

She looked over. "Those men did you great disservice, but it seems the Mother protects, for by all rights you should be dead."

"You can tell that just by looking at the sheets?" I asked.

"Been doing this since I was your age, lass."

I sighed and nodded. "Okay. So what do you need from me."

"Well, first you can just stand up."

I paused then shrugged. "Water's getting cold anyways."

I stood up and held out my hand for a moment as she moved to approach.

"One moment."

Clamping my hands behind my back I stretched my back and was rewarded with a sound that reminded me of cracking granet as my vertebrae stretched and popped for the first time in months.

"Oh this is joy..." I groaned, earning a laugh from the woman.

"For me, it was being able to touch my toes once more," she observed with a chuckle. "Now stand still.

I nodded and stood still as the woman moved over to me. Carefully she moved her hand down my belly and gently pressed in.

"Any pain my dear?"

I paused. There as a thing if discomfort but no pain. "I'd say a three?"

She paused. "A three?"

"On a scale of one being right as rain, and a ten being 'oh merciful Stranger, take my life and spare me from my torment'... it's a three."

She laughed. " Aye. A three then."

"So what now?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"I need you to lie down. This calls for a closer examination."

My face fell. Oh. Joy.

"You washed your hands, right?"

"Scrubbed them raw with hot water, just as you requested..." She replied, seemingly a little annoyed.

I took a deep breath. "Good. Alright just give me a moment..."

It was with a grimace that I pulled on my robe, feeling violated in ways that just a day ago literally were not possible.

I get dumped into a new world, in a new body, as a new gender... and my first brave step into this new existence? A trip to the fucking gynecologist.

"So how's it looking down there?" I muttered with a blush.

The woman sighed. "May I be honest, m'lady?"

I frowned. "Would I have had them bring you here if I didn't?"

"Today I've seen a miracle."

I blinked. "A miracle?"

She nodded. "Aye, child. When I examined you I but hints of injury and sickness long past..." She took a deep breath, "What almost killed you yesterday today is showing a perfect recovery," she looked up. "Flawless recovery. What your friend described, what those sheets told, I was afraid that you'd have been rendered barren at the best..."

"So I'm not sterile," I replied. "I can still have children?"

I'll admit it. The idea of having more children, this time actually having to sit through it, terrified me but in all frankness it was a reality I could not escape. To really mean half a damn in this world, I needed a good husband and my lined up husband was probably the one man whom I could direct in the ways needed.

Grab a hold of Robert Baratheon's cock the right way and you could probably pilot him about like it was a Joystick. But to do so, to ensure that the fucking world didn't end, I'd need to bare him an heir. And brave the joys of medieval childbirth. Again.

Ode to fucking joy.

"I cannot know for sure," she admitted, "But today I saw the gods mercy shown to me, and if the Mother would heal you of such a terrible malady, and restore your vigor, but not leave you with her blessing."

I nodded. It seemed whatever placed me here was watching out for their investment I guess.

Well... that or the power of two souls or whatever being squished into one body had enough magical juju healing power to no-sell whatever it was Lyanna was dying of.

"Any other advice?"

"You're still tender my dear," she replied, "And while I said you were showing a perfect recovery, I never said you were fully healed and you've yet to recover from the birth..."

I groaned. "Okay. Lets make this clear. How long before I can fuck. How long before it'll be safe for me to try for another child?"

She blinked at the frankness of my response. "Six months," she replied, "And a year at the soonest."

Om nom nom nom nom...

Delicious. Fucking delicious.

The wet nurse they'd found for little Jon... or Orys if I decided to go that way... was a pretty decent cook. Somehow she managed to cook up a wonderfully hearty and delicious stew from the crap that was lying about in the tower.

Barley grain, chunks of meat, hearty root vegetables, and in a broth so thick it was almost a gravy. After half a year of suffering through the dubious campfire cooking of three high born nitwits even this simple fair was a feast. Add in some well hammered hard tack subbing in for crackers and it was a meal I doubt even Robert would pass on.

Not that Robert would ever pass on a meal.

I was sitting in the open door if the tower, my legs stretched outside for the first time in months. If it wasn't so desolate, so tenuous an environ I'd probably be skipping and running and enjoying the intense sensation of freedom that came with not being locked up like a low rent rendition of Rapunzel.

Good fucking GOD I could appreciate Tangled now in a way that once was impossible. Too bad I'd never see it again. I'd fucking identify! We'd be like Sis-Bro-Whatevers!

How did that song go again?

Fuck... Can't remember.

To hell with it... I'll do the one from Frozen.

"The snow glows white on the mountain tonight... not a footprint to be seen... a kingdom of isolation and it looks like I'm the queen... The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside... I couldn't keep it in now matter how hard I..."

"Lya, we need to talk..."

Fuck you, Ned. I was singin' ma Disney princess song.