"Galaerys The Mekhemes marked a beginning of the end for the Two World Akaeyren Empire. A tall, broad shouldered, and charismatic man, Galaerys was the first Akaeyren Emperor to have a Targaryen mother. Despite this, he is one of the most famous, as seen by efforts of future Targaryens to link themselves to his legacy. Galaerys' reign started the Galaerian Restoration, a period of 210 years preceding the Doom." - page 188; Secret Histories of the Valaryians
EDDARD
The tension in the Godswood was palpable.
Jon and Robb glared, both boys silent with annoyance written on their faces.
Arya stood by Jon, looking more and more like Lyanna every day.
Eddard sighed, drawing a gray cloak together so that it covered his entire body. His eyes caught Jon then, amazed by how much the boy reminded Eddard of himself at that age. Eddard had to force a straight face, force himself not to look at Jon with more approval than his trueborn son.
"Enough." Eddard said silently.
An anxious pain curled within Eddard's chest.
If only I could make them understand. Before they are men grown, I need to.
But that in itself was impossible, Eddard thought. The truth of it could destroy them both. The promise he had made.. It necessitated a cruel lie, one that looked him in the eyes each day, and affected the very hearts of his children.
Eddard's eyes closed, opening them as budding tears were forced back to the recesses of his emotions- feelings that Ned buried along with her.
Eddard felt Robb glancing at him, concern written over the boy's face.
Robb, already standing taller than Eddard, bowed his head respectfully, dropping an icy gaze from Jon.
Ned inhaled deeply.
"It is good that you have come here. Both of you." Eddard said, nodding. Eddard then walked across soft dirt, hearing Robb make way behind him.
"I have been meaning to speak to all of you privately, without the ears of those who would complicate the situation." Eddard uttered softly.
Arya cocked her head. She leaned over, allowing her direwolf out of its nest of blankets and onto the godswood's grounds.
Jon mirrored Arya's motion. He placed his pup on the forest floor as well, allowing the two wolves to play with each other as their masters, no older than pups themselves, loomed above.
"As you know, King Robert is coming along with the Lannisters. However... I feel like their motivation is associated with something the Hand of The King wanted to tell me." Eddard stated- knowing full well the trepidation in his voice was something that his children could easily detect.
"Robert... he is a good friend." Eddard added.
Ned locked eyes with each of his children then, even turning to look at Robb before he continued.
"The Lannisters, however, are dangerous. They will be cordial, but Tywin and I did not part on good terms. I fear if we are not all careful, they will find some way to act ill will upon us."
Robb's face went as hard as stone.
"They wouldn't dare harm a Stark inside the walls of Winterfell." He grumbled.
Above them, the trees of the Godswood swayed underneath the soft touch of artificial air flow, freeing orange leaves as large as Eddard's head to the ground. Arya laughed as one danced towards her, grasping at it with her small fingers.
"I do not believe they would go so far as to physically harm any of us. I am simply asking you to be careful. Something...doesn't feel right about this." Eddard's eyebrows raised at the concerned looks from his children.
"Now, I must attend to some personal duties, and speak to the others."
Jon and Arya gave expectant glances, waiting for Eddard to say more. Robb remained silent, but Ned could detect a nervous, anxious energy emanating from him.
Ned awkwardly shuffled past his children, including Robb, leaving the glass-shield of the Godswood with a flourish of his wolf-skin cloak.
Winterfell was still abuzz with activity. He looked above, his hair billowing around him as a large merchant ship lifted away from the castle and into the hazy skies.
Men moved around him quickly, yelling, gesturing vehicles forward-
Others were ordering machines and workers. In all of this excitement he was nearly invisible. Eddard saw Arya's face again, even though she was still in the Godswood. And Jon . . .
Lyanna.
He had not visited his sister in some time. There was an underground tunnel to the tombs, but Eddard decided to ride out to the main entrance, hidden underneath a hill and behind a belt of trees.
Eddard made his way to the stables.
He picked a horse, and soon after rode out of Winterfell's gates.
The gates had been left open for a day and a half now due to the increase of traffic.
Ned sighed, passively annoyed by the Andal contraptions that coughed plumes of black smoke into crisp air.
The Lord of Winterfell made way quickly, weaving between large hovercraft transports and personal grav-lifts, all tugging hastily ordered goods and cargo.
Andal Men gave him quizzical looks, smug inside their vehicles, protected from the cold.
Eddard whipped his reigns harder.
His chosen steed charged into the open world, trees closing in around Eddard as he rode. The wind was in his hair again, and he smiled, the premature age on his face seemingly vanishing.
He remembered a simpler time, when he was no older than Jon, Lyanna helping him ride a horse. He had been a timid child, and the creatures frightened him. Brandon would always laugh at him whenever he flinched as a horse drew near, and even their Father grew exasperated.
"Damn it Edd, you're a Stark, not a craven." Rickard had said.
But they were all dead now, and all that remained of them were the ghosts of memories, nothing more.
The thought sobered Eddard as he rode through the rough lands of the North.
He strayed away from towns that straddled Winterfell, away from the sound of the Andal machines as they invaded.
Stark.
The blood of the First Men ran through his veins, to the very core of his bone, to the marrow. He was Lord Stark now, Warden of The North.
Eddard saw the familiar trees, the great oaks that straddled the doors of the tomb, drilled into the foot of a large stone hill.
He could see the door now, dark gray metal covered by frost. The door had not been touched since the last time Eddard had come to visit. He rode his horse close, trees closing over him as the lip of the hill darkened his view, obscuring the sky. He dismounted, and walked to the door.
He placed a cool hand on the metal, unflinching as cold settled in on his barren palms. The door creaked open, slowly as ancient pistons were activated, shaking off ice and rust as they rattled and lifted the heavy door. Eddard drew in his breath, entering the tomb as the heavy door slid shut behind him. It was dark for a few moments, until a long hallway was illuminated by dim lights. He walked forward, and to his left, behind a wall of glass, stood the ghosts of his youth. Lyanna, perfectly reconstructed, her artificial face so real it seemed as if it was really her. Eddard placed a hand on the glass, drawing it with him as he walked.
Brandon was next, strong and robust. He had lighter hair than Eddard, and was always clean-shaven. A handsome man, he was meant to inherit Winterfell, and he looked the part of Lord more than Eddard ever could.
Rickard came after.
Eddard smiled sadly at the face of the man, wrinkled and creased but kind. The facial reconstructors had done well. All of them looked as if they were locked in some comatose state, and that they would soon waken.
Further down, the Stark line continued until gradually technology faded away, and the appearances of Starks were cast in stone, not replicated with skin-like mesh. Eddard turned around.
He went back to Lyanna, her face sad. The war was fought for her, only for her to die in Eddard's arms. So much death. He could see his reflection in the glass now, his face looming above Lyanna's. He then saw himself, younger, his sword in hand, as he stood at the foot of the Tower Of Joy.
"You abandoned Rhaegar to the Trident." Eddard said softly as his companions advanced. Three members of the Kingsguard stood vigil at the door, guarding Lyanna by order of Rhaegar Targaryen, who Eddard knew died by Robert's hand.
Across from Eddard the sun began to set, basking the three opposing Kingsguard in an almost ethereal hue.
Gerold Hightower, Oswell Whent, and Arthur Dayne wore the white armor, cloaks, and marble masks of their order.
Arthur Dayne's mask was joined by a shining half-helm, and Eddard could see the dark sun's reflection on the curving headpiece.
"Robert would have been killed had we been there." Gerold said almost conversationally.
Eddard moved forward, his sword ready. "When Lannister ships bombed King's Landing, one of yours slew Aerys with his golden sword. Again, I questioned where you three were."
"Far away." Oswell answered, his sword twisting in a flourish.
Eddard swallowed harshly, continuing.
"When I broke the siege on Storm's End, Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners. I was sure, then, you would be amongst them." Eddard said coolly.
It was Arthur who answered Eddard this time. Through the visor of Arthur's helmet, Eddard could see the man's violet eyes lurking behind a marble mask that hid his true countenance.
"The Kingsguard do not bend the knee." Arthur declared somberly.
"Ser William took his ships and fled to the moon of Dragonstone with Prince Viserys and a mewling-born sister. There were murmurs you all had accompanied boy and babe." Eddard's gauntlets rattled as he spoke.
"William is good and true," Gerold began softly, stepping towards Eddard.
"But he is not of the Kingsguard." Arthur finished, his sword ready. It was pale, like a sharpened bone that had been left out in the sun. It reflected whatever it faced, distorted it and made it contemptuous.
There was a scream from the Tower, a deep and curdling cry of pain that almost caused Eddard to drop his sword in surprise.
Lyanna.
"And so it begins." Gerold mused, Eddard hearing a slack grin on the man's obscured lips.
Eddard raised his sword high, his metal gauntlets clicking against the hilt of the weapon.
It was seven against three.
None of Eddard's group survived, save for Howland Reed and himself.
The deaths of his companions were for naught, as were the deaths of the countless hundreds of thousands taken by the war.
They arrived too late.
Lyanna was in a bed covered with petals, her face sweat covered and stricken.
"Promise me, Ned." She had begged him as he held her, his warm tears falling on bloodied sheets.
"Promise me."
Eddard gasped as he returned to the present. Fourteen and a half years had passed since then. Fourteen short years, and now so much was different. The Targaryen Dynasty was a distant memory, all of the cruel deeds of King Aerys slowly fading away with each passing day. The war was fought for Lyanna, and in the end, Robert lost.
He gained the crown, but he never had the love that his heart desired. Eddard shuddered as he left the tomb, the heavy door clicking shut as it locked behind him. His horse waited patiently, and he climbed into the saddle, running a hand through his hair.
Winter came fourteen years ago. At the Tower of Joy.
Eddard rode back to Winterfell.
