I do not own nor claim to own any of GRRM's works, nor am I profiting off this story

Bit late with this one, enjoy!


Chapter 6- Revelations of a Lifetime

Jagare felt the world blur around him. A hand touched his shoulder, but he shrugged it off while grasping at the desk for support. His legs shook to the point of near collapse. He steadied himself on the desk, his hands clasping the wood till his knuckles turned white and painful. A shudder of breath left him and his eyes flickered up to his mother. She was silhouetted by the sunlight streaming through the window, her form black and foreboding.

"How…" Was the only word he could shudder out of his mouth. Lyanna placed her other hand on his shoulder in support. He was grateful inside, but his mind was clouded by many emotions. Rage, grief, confusion, and amazement.

"We were both drunk, it's true. But we didn't do anything, we just talked. Talked about his betrothal, about my brother, about the state of the North. We never…he isn't your father Jagare." She took a deep breath herself and choked on a sob; even though Jagare couldn't see her, he could tell that tears were running down her face. "When I helped him through the castle, he was in a dreadful state, much worse than I. So I took him to my own chambers to get him cleaned up. I didn't want to summon my maids; it was late, and rumours being spread of us together at that time of night wouldn't be helpful…not that it mattered in the end. After I got him cleaned up, he broke down to me. Told me how he didn't want the betrothal with the young Lady Hornwood." He felt Lyanna's hands tighten on his shoulders but ignored it.

"Go on." He spoke hoarsely.

"He didn't love her of course, not many did in betrothals did. So, I reassured him. Told him that it was for his greater good, that he would learn to love her in time. We cared for each other yes, but not in that way. He left my chambers swaying and happy, but because he had felt better about his future than he had in a long time." He heard Lyanna's voice from behind him, hazy in his ears.

"Easy for Theon Stark to misinterpret then." His mother nodded slowly and let out a sigh.

"Aye…Theon did what he did for a different reason though. It is true he wanted to stop the conflict, but it was more personal than that." She paused for a moment, and Jagare felt his breathing start to steady. "There is something that-" she stopped suddenly and gasped, before whispering swiftly. "You have to leave, now!" Jagare tilted his head up, still half in shock and looked past his mother out the window. He wiped the tears away and his vision focused. On the horizon, a column of mounted men was charging towards the gates of Barrowtown.

"Someone must have sent a rider ahead; someone must have known it was you." She spoke as she whisked around the table and towards the door. "Damn. It was probably Lord Reed…" She turned to them, and her eyes were full of worry. "Jagare…there is much more I wish to tell you, but you must leave now." She took his hands in hers, his body seemed to be moving on its own accord. "You are destined for greatness my son, regardless of who your father is. But you must not get caught. You must not." Jagare stilled his beating heart and took a deep breath inwards trying to clear his mind.

"Yes…your right…" he allowed himself to be pulled by his mother and Lyanna out the door before all of them set off on a run. Out of the great hall. Through the gates where the two guards looked half asleep. Down the wooden steps and to the stables at the bottom. Lyanna vaulted straight onto her horse and worked on untying it from the stable. Jagare stopped at the gate and turned to his mother.

"Tell me…who is my father." She shook her head, cupping his cheeks.

"I cannot my son, not until you are older. Not until you can understand."

"Not until I'm older! I'm already of age, why must I wait?" Jagare's head swam with confusion and anger. Why could she not tell him? After having his world ripped out from under his feet, she was providing little stable ground to land on.

"Jagare!" yelled Lyanna, pointing at the horses now cantering down the street towards them. Jagare looked once more at his mother, whose face was struck with tears.

"I will find you again one day…I promise"

"I know you will" she called, as he vaulted onto his horse. Drawing his knife, he severed the rope, following Lyanna's trail as she urged the horse out of the stables. He didn't look back as he galloped off down a side street. Behind him, he heard the yells and shouts of Dustin men, and horses growing steadily closer.

"Follow me, I remember the way!" came the voice from in front of him, and so he put his head down, ignoring the blood rushing in his ears and followed her. Years of riding together in the woods outside Karhold had…oh gods Karhold. All those times he spent there…

Letting out a yell of frustration he heard the sounds growing closer behind him. His eyes flickered around him and in the distance, he spotted a stack of crates piled against a wall. Not even feeling his movements, he unslung his axe and leaned away from the horse, slashing at the bottom crate with the hammer end. Pulling himself back onto his horse a dark smile filled his face as the resounding sound of crashing wood, screaming horses, and yelling men filled the air. It disappeared quickly, however, and he closed his eyes, a pain forming in between them. Feeling and seeing nothing but the wind in his face, they cantered out of Barrowtown.

Jagare had not remembered riding harder before. Both of them charging north from, their horses panting and frothing at the mouth. Eventually, that had to stop otherwise they would have killed the poor creatures. Lyanna and himself were panting as equally as hard, the strain of riding combined with the stress of the events just taking place. So much in just ten minutes...Jagare dropped off the horse and fell to the ground. His stomach turned over and he found himself emptying its contents onto the ground. He then let out a yell, screaming curses that would have stopped a Septa's heart. Lyanna was speaking to him, but he couldn't hear the words. He instead took his horse's reins, and climbed a shallow barrow to get a view from higher up. The sun was setting in the west, fast as the winter moons approached. The sun always went down faster in the North. Good for them. Jagare's eyes scouted the large plains they had been riding across. Barrowtown was out of sight, but a speck of a dust cloud in the distance confirmed that there were riders after them. Lyanna's voice spoke from behind him.

"The dogs will be of little use to them with our speed. If they tried to track our scent, we would get too far ahead of them. They'll be riding fast." Jagare nodded sharply.

"They'll be riding with steel and mail. Heavy and slow. Plus, the large group makes for more bodies to account for." He turned and scouted the plains in the other direction.

"Torrhens Square will be looking for us if we ride north, and if we go east, we will be trapped between Winterfell, Barrowtown and Moat Cailin." Jagare nodded. "If we go west and cross Blazewater river, they'll send the Ryswells after us." Jagare looked behind him. Patches of mud and dirt stretched for most of the land, but along that was grass and shrubbery as well, along with small ponds. He made up his mind and mounted the horse.

"We'll ride South through the mud, looking like we're doubling back. Then going through a pond to wipe our tracks we'll lead off into the grass, then continue north-west to Blazewater river. It's the only way we can go. Hopefully, they will think we're headed towards Moat Cailin and rely on the Crannogmen to get us. That should ease the chase on us." Lyanna looked startled at the rush of ideas. But nodded and smiled.

"Good to see you still have the same mind." His eyes flickered over her, unseeing.

"Why wouldn't I?" She looked at him nervously.

"It's just well…Jagare you just had a big shock are you sure-"

"I'm fine" he muttered, averting his gaze.

"I know you Jagare, better than anyone. You're not-"

"I said I'm fine!" he snapped back at her. He remounted the horse and set off again without another word. They were silent while riding back through the grass and ponds before circling around again. The barrows were hilly, but the ground was flat and soft, good for riding in the dark. They slowed down when true darkness fell. The moon was high in the sky, its white light illuminated both of their soft pale skin. He turned to look at Lyanna, whose gaze was on him intently. Her eyes were full of sorrow and empathy…but something else. Jagare turned his head back around, but she rode up beside him anyway.

"Jagare…I'm not going to pretend to know how you feel, but do you want to talk abo-"

"Your right you don't know how I feel." He spoke nonchalantly, his voice dull and emotionless. "Karhold may have been a difficult time for you as well, but at least you could call it home. A sense of family was always there for you, no matter what." His fists clenched around the reigns as his knuckles turned white. "Any sense of family I had has been flayed from me by a Bolton's knife. The tiny, cold bit of warmth I ever had…gone. What family have I got now?" There was silence for a moment before she spoke in deathly silence.

"Am I not your family…" He turned his head to look at her. A lump formed in his throat, and he choked back a sob. What was Lyanna to him now? She wasn't his sister, not by blood. But she still meant more to him than anyone he had ever known. There was always something about Lyanna that he had doubted about himself. Shame covered it up, and the damnation of a bastard shielded that as well. Before he could come up with a response, the sound of rushing water entered his ears.

"The river is close; we should cross tonight in case they don't fall for our plan." His voice was hoarse and emotionless. He hated himself for it. Lyanna looked saddened but nodded. They rode their horses down to the banks of the rivers. A small hut with a horse tethered outside stood sturdy, with a long skiff tied up on the bank.

"We could steal it," remarked Lyanna, an old sort of steel in her voice. Jagare frowned at her.

"That man's livelihood likely relies on that boat; we are not going to steal it." She shrugged at him.

"Then I suppose he better not be a heavy sleeper." She rode off towards the hut, and Jagare sighed as he followed her. Their relationship on the road had been strained as it was if they didn't fix it soon…who knows what might happen.

The ferrymen woke up to a knife and a bow and readily agreed to take them across. He seemed thoroughly surprised when Jagare offered him a fistful of coppers on the other bank, but hurriedly accepted and rowed back at an impressive rate. After that, it was a few days of straight riding. They rode through Ryswell lands without the slightest sign of disruption and continued into Tallhart lands. They spotted a column of mounted men in the distance, but they were slow and lazy. Not searching for them.

They hunted where they needed to and foraged when there was no game. Their conversation was short and calm. Both of them had agreed to ignore the growing tension between them and focus on surviving first. Roughly a moon after they had fled from Barrowtown, they finally reached the Wolfswood. The largest forest in Westeros and home to some of the only crops of ironwood this side of the narrow sea. The Glovers ruled the Wolfswood with an iron fist, just like the one that hung on their banner. And the Glovers were no friends of theirs. He remembered Lothar Glover's stretched features and the malice in his eyes. And especially after Jagare knocked him out in the godswood, he would not be happy to see them.

"It's ironic isn't it" Lyanna spoke absentmindedly as they crossed into the treeline. "After we left Winterfell, we have been dead stuck in the middle of our enemy's territory." She turned to face him with a quizzical look. "Why didn't we make for White Harbour? Connie wouldn't have given us open sanctuary, but he would have provided a ship for us to stow away on. A trader who owed him a favour or something. We could have been in Dorne by now." Jagare let out a deep breath, the comfort of the enclosed woods calming his slightly frayed nerves.

"I wasn't going to risk it. Not after all he had done with us. His father had built House Manderly up high, and I wouldn't have let Connie pull it down for misguided loyalty." He pulled his horse slightly closer to hers and smiled softly. "Both of us might hate our…your father, but at least he had the common sense to hate us back." She frowned slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that our abrupt departure could have been twisted into an act of treason. Gods knows how, but I'm sure Jon Stark would find a way. But with the old man equally pissed at us, that should keep him and the Starks on the same side at least for a while." She scoffed and chuckled.

"And why would we want that? Let them tear each other apart for all I care. They deserve it." He was silent for a moment.

"Aye. But Ben and Daryn don't. Neither does Sarra or Connie, hell even Rambo deserves some sort of peace." he muttered. That stilled her.

"Your right. I forget" she whispered. "They would be dragged into a war far too young." Jagare nodded.

"And if your father fell, Ben and Rambo would have a full-scale rebellion to command." He shook his head. "No, better the peace is kept, and they unite in their hate for us. And as for White Harbour, if the Manderlys were shown to be our friends, that pesky rebellion starts then as well. Best if we take the longer, dangerous and might I say far more scenic route out of the North. They won't be expecting that." Lyanna nodded.

"No, they won't." There was a moment of silence before Jagare laughed suddenly. Lyanna smiled and laughed too. "What was that for?" Jagare grinned and chuckled again.

"Just thinking about what my mother told us. With the Targaryen's, and how I saved the North from war." He laughed again and Lyanna rolled her eyes.

"Don't get it all into your head, I don't need your ego even bigger than it already is." He feigned mock shock.

"My ego! As if the ego of a bastard could ever be above the ego of a Lady of the North who dared to defy her father and escape him." She giggled and made a show of acting all ladylike. They didn't speak for a while after that, but both wore smiles. After two days of avoiding any sort of contact with people, Lyanna spied a small, abandoned village in a large clearing. Three or four little cottages, a stable, a well and a small storing barn that was full of chopped and stripped trees.

"Must have been a lumberjack group" remarked Lyanna. "Chopped trees for one of the nearby lords." Jagare raised his eyebrow at her.

"You know I was a lumberjack for a few moons. I do know what they do." She glared at him but he ignored her. Something else was bothering him.

"Why did they leave" he murmured. She shrugged.

"Called to somewhere else maybe? Lord decided they were needed elsewhere." But Jagare didn't think so. The cottages were overgrown, but there were things left behind. Sheets, bowls, clothes. Stuff they would have taken if they were asked to leave of their own accord. "Why what were you thinking."

"Raiders…" he muttered. "Bandits. Hostile Glover men. Any and all." She shifted uncomfortably on her horse.

"Should we find somewhere else then?" He shook his head.

"Too late. And it's a good spot. Wood, shelter; we can refill our skins in the well too." They decided to camp in the village for the night, some shelter from the wind would be nice. Jagare had managed to come upon a surprised muntjac deer while it was drinking. The wind had been blowing the other way, and Jagare quickly put his arrow through it. As he sliced off the skin, head, and hooves, Lyanna lit a fire with the plentiful supply of logs and kindling around them. The sun could barely be seen in the wolfswood, the tall pine, spruce and ironwood trees blocking any sunlight that could potentially hit the ground. Their horses stood nearby at a tree, gnawing at the tough grass, and drinking from a trough they had filled up with well water. The fire crackled away merrily, and the evening birds sang through the trees. They were so isolated in the forest that even their fire was sure to attract little attention from anyone. After a few hours, there was no light but that from the embers and the little moon allowed through the thick canopy above.

"I think it needs another log" a groan came from somewhere to the right of him. They knew that they could not store the venison, it would go off too easily and they had no salt to prolong it. So, what to do but eat it all that night? Jagare knew that they needed more fuel to last the fire throughout the night, so he yawned and pulled himself to his feet; stretching off before trouping towards one of the houses. Whoever had left the village had not been bothered with taking their firewood either and plentiful log piles had been left in the small husks of cottages that remained. Jagare ducked into one of the cottages and grabbed four logs in his arms. Walking back outside, he thought once more about what their next move would be. They had discussed that getting a ship from Deepwoode Motte would be best, heading south fast across the Sunset Sea. In Lannisport or Oldtown, they would easily be able to take on new identities and hopefully wipe their trail clean forever. A new life to live as they pleased.

A branch cracked behind him, and before he had a chance to turn, a cold blade was pressed to his throat, its serrated edge nicking his skin. A foul smell entered his nostrils and rough hands grabbed the back of his neck. The wielder of the knife slid it carefully down so the point of the blade poked into his back. His voice was ugly and throaty as if his throat had been burned and his thirst unquenched.

"Keep nice and still laddie, don't want to be cutting up that neck of yours do we." His heart thumping in his chest from the abrupt threat to his life, Jagare took a deep breath and stilled his movements.

"What do you want…" he growled out, his voice low and irate. He didn't feel the comfortable weight of his axe on his hip. Idiot. His knife was likely sitting by the fire, and his bow unstrung, attached to a saddlebag. He was completely defenceless. His heart dropped even further when two more men appeared out of the darkness, one with a bow and the other a broken spear. He didn't know if the man behind him carried anything as well as the knife, but he didn't want to risk checking. The dull firelight from his camp illuminated one of the men's clothing. It was dark and grimy, soot and rips coated the outfit, but a rough sigil was made out. Green and black in a vairy pattern. House Blacktyde. Ironborn. The fuck were Ironborn doing this far inland!?

"You got anyone else with you boy" the man with the broken spear spoke in a quieter and softer voice. His demeanour placed him as the leader of the group, more relaxed and intrigued. He was studying Jagare, his gaze sweeping over him. Jagare kept his face straight and simply shook his head. He didn't want to risk his voice cracking with a lie. They hadn't seen Lyanna.

"No?" spoke the man with the knife. "Then what you doing out in the middle of the woods all on your own." His tone was mocking, they thought him a mere boy.

"What are Ironborn doing so far from the shit-stained rocks they call home" he spat out. They all looked surprised.

"You know our sigil then?" spear-man spoke, almost appreciatively. Jagare nodded and continued speaking, hoping maybe stalling would be his best chance.

"House Blacktyde. I heard that there was a civil war in the Isles." The man that carried the bow scoffed; his long black beard masked most of his face.

"Ha! There has been a civil war in the Isles since the fall of House Hoare. Harlaw vs Greyjoy, for near on twenty years." He spat on the ground. "But we're done with that now. Fuck the Isles, much better to roam the Northern lands." His friend with the knife spoke next.

"Aye, lots of space to roam and pillage. No one can ever find us because we're always on the move, always somewhere else to go." He felt a heat inside his chest. The North had done little for him, but it still hurt to hear the men discredit his home like that. Admit to the reaving and pillaging

"And of course," spoke the man with the spear, with a smile. "It always helps when lone travellers wander into a nice, deserted village away from all the keeps." He sneered and raised his spear slightly. "No need to kill ya, by the time you reached a lord we'd be long gone. But your horse, your weapons, and anything else you might have. We'll take that, and you can live." Jagare heard a thud in the ground, behind the archer. He hoped for all that was good the sound was what he thought it was. Stalling for just a bit more time, he stammered out.

"Wait! Wait! I have another idea…" They looked at him expectantly. He smiled and spoke, almost all of his energy directed at making sure his voice didn't stutter. "Why would one man be travelling with two horses?" It worked on two of them exactly as expected. The man with the bow lowered his arrow for a split second, almost as if thinking and fighting were two extremely separate things his brain could not handle at the same time. The man at his throat's grip slipped slightly, but the man with the spear was smarter than the others, snarling he turned to see an arrow flying straight at his friend with the bow.

The arrow burst through his neck, and he staggered wide-eyed into a tree, dropping his bow and falling to the ground to bleed out. Jagare dropped the logs on the feet of the man behind him, hearing a yell of pain and the blade leaving his back. He slammed an elbow into the man's stomach doubling him over, then spun around and grabbed him by his tunic, spinning him around him into spearman who was moving towards him with a yell. He grasped his friend and almost instinctively pushed in front of him to take another of Lyanna's arrows in the chest. The man was fast, too fast for Jagare. As he went to pick up the knife, he saw it kicked away from him. The spear stabbed towards Jagare's chest, but he deflected the shaft with his forearm. A lucky block. He tried to get a grip on the men, to use his superior size and strength, but he darted past Jagare and pulled the spear shaft tight around his throat. His air cut off, Jagare croaked and grasped his hands over the spear, trying to wrestle it away. But the man had a good few years on Jagare and was much more experienced. He bought his eyes up to see Lyanna standing there, her hair black in the night, fluttering silently in the wind and her pale face contorted with anger. But Jagare could see it in her eyes, she was scared.

"Put the bow down girl." The man growled, pulling the spear a little bit tighter on Jagare's windpipe. He hissed and tried to struggle, but strength was slowly slipping out of his body. A faint tingling around his lips told him they were going purple. He looked Lyanna in the eye, trying to communicate a non-verbal message, but she stood fast not moving, her expression as fixed as her father's. After a feeble croak, Jagare made a last-ditch attempt at freedom. Going limp, he acted as if he had passed out. He was loosely kept hold of, but he started dragging forwards. The Ironborn was using him as a human shield to stop Lyanna from firing. Just as he had wanted. Taking the lax in the man's guard, Jagare jerked his head upwards, connecting with the man's nose. A grunt of pain was followed by a wild swipe with the spear as Jagare backed away. He jerked backwards but was off balance and the blade opened a gash on his chest. It wasn't deep but it stung. He fell to the ground and saw the man raising the spear, anger contorted on his face, only to see it slacken as fletching suddenly appeared from his belly. With a groan, he fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

Jagare grinned weakly as Lyanna appeared beside him, long hair falling into her worried face as she looked into his eyes.

"Are you ok? I saw he got you, was it deep?" He chuckled and attempted to stand.

"Don't think so, no need to-" but he was cut off by a more irritated voice.

"That's how wounds get infected Jagare." He stood shakily and started collecting the arrows, ignoring the dull throbbing from his chest. "No, let me look" Lyanna ground out. Jagare groaned, more an annoyance than pain. It wasn't that deep. But he allowed Lyanna to support him back to the fire and sat down against a tree near their cloaks. Jagare had taken his light yet tough leather armour off earlier, to his annoyance, so Lyanna simply pulled his tunic and jerkin aside. The wound stretched across his chest, around as long as a dagger, but not deep at all. A thin line of blood flowed from it. She hissed slightly at the wound and Jagare groaned.

"Stop your drama, Lyanna. I'm telling you I'm fine." She smacked him lightly on the head and wordlessly pulled herself up and went to the saddlebags.

"That wound needs cleaning and bandaging. We have no wine left, and water won't do enough…I suppose this might work." She pulled out a small flask of amber-coloured liquid and smirked at him, swirling it around. Jagare winced, and not from the pain. A blend that was new to the North that he knew of, coming straight from the breweries of Karhold. He nodded his confirmation and Lyanna knelt next to him, her long hair sweeping over her face as she uncorked the bottle and poured a few drops onto Jagare's wound. He grunted in pain. The liquid sizzled on his wound like a burning poker was being pressed into his skin. Lyanna then shoved the flask into his hand, and he took a swig. A bitter, strong taste filled his mouth. Fermented barley and wheat had been converted into sugars so strong that they caused the brain to numb after a while from the distilled grains. In other words, it got you very drunk, very fast. The brewer had called it whisky. Jagare knew it would ease his pain eventually, but it stung his nostrils and made him cough.

"And here I thought you could hold your drink." She smirked as she pulled his tunic back over, her fingers trailing slightly on his bare chest. A bizarre tingle came over him and he locked eyes with Lyanna. He had never truly appreciated her eyes before. Beautiful, more golden than brown in fact. They shimmered in the dull firelight. Unknowingly he took a moment to take all of her in. Things he had never truly noticed before. The way her hair curled into slight ringlets at the tips, how soft her hands were as she tended to him, and how shapely the riding leathers made her…Jagare blinked, stunned at himself. This was Lyanna! The girl that had been his sister from birth, whom he had grown up with.

"She's not your sister though." A small voice spoke inside his head. "Not by blood or name. And there has always been something there between you."

"Lyanna" he heard himself say, almost unconscious of his own words. "Lyanna I'm sorry. I'm sorry for dragging you into this." She looked at him quizzically.

"Don't be daft you idiot. I'm part of the reason we're here in the first place. Why are you apologising?" He barely heard her, his lips moving of their own accord.

"I've put you in danger. True danger. What if it had been you with those Ironborn earlier? What if I couldn't-" She pressed a finger to his lips, and her expression became angry.

"Don't you think I know that, that I assessed the risks of what we were to do?" He blinked and tried to speak, but she cut over him.

"Don't you think I thought about the consequences, how I would be on the run for the rest of my life?" Her voice cracked slightly, but she continued. "How that, if I was caught, I would have been chained to a man that I didn't love for the rest of my days, not permitted too ever be free again." Tears had started to fall. "That I would never be able to see my brothers, or my father again, no matter how badly he might have treated me." She was near shouting. "And do you want to know, Jagare, why I did all of this?! Why I sacrificed any chance at a normal life in exchange for the life of an outlaw from my own family!" Words wouldn't form in his mouth. "IT WAS FOR YOU DAMMIT!"

It was only then that silence fell across their little grove. Lyanna, panting from the exhaustion of shouting, and Jagare staring up at her with wide eyes, not quite understanding. "You must have known" she spoke softly. "There was always something there. Even if we were too blind to see it." Her tear-streaked eyes met his, grey on brown. He spoke softly, afraid that if his voice went too loud, the moment would dissolve.

"We were blind, but I can see it now. I can see it. I see you." The voice in his head, that screamed out dull resistance was pounded away by a louder one. Almost a whisper in the breeze, as if it was coming from the wind into his mind. She isn't your sibling. She never was. You are free to heed your heart. Fate wills it so.

Although it was unheard to Jagare's ears, another voice whispered the same message into Lyanna's ear and then the wind fell silent. He felt his heart throbbing in his chest, as started up into her eyes. His hand trailed through her hair, and he gently brought his head up to hers.

Her warm lips connected with his, and for a moment there was nothing but shock in the air between them. The kiss felt warm and sweet, moist, and delicious as his tongue melded with hers. There was no sound until Lyanna pulled away.

"I see you" she whispered. And then neither of them spoke a word as she lay her head on his chest, just above his scar, and closed her eyes, the last tears falling onto his skin. He reached for his fur cloak and pulled it over the two of them. In the dying light of the fire, they shared their warmth as the night grew darker, and until both of their eyes closed, falling into the shimmering bliss of sleep.


Lucky my GOT audience is institutionally more incest friendly, my friends and family reading this are thinking I need to be in therapy.

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