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

Back again! Over 1000 views so far, as a first time uploader thats amazing so thank you guys so much. Emotions rising in this chapter, hope you enjoy!

Chapter 5- Tender Reunions

They rode for hours, the snow falling lighter, but just enough to cover their tracks. The horses were purebred Ryswell coursers, famed for their speed, strength, and stamina. They started south from Winterfell, but Jagare immediately took them East to the White Knife to wash off their scent. The river was fast running and ice cold. Simply wading through the shallow bank would remove most of the horse's scent. No doubt the hunting parties would be out in force by now and they didn't need a pack of dogs on their location just yet. After they washed away their scent in the river, they moved back west across the Kingsroad. Hours and hours of riding, not speaking a word to each other through exhaustion and inability to focus on anything but riding.

Finally, the sun started to set upon the flat plains of the North. It had ducked below the endless grey clouds that stretched to the horizon, lighting up the land in glorious orange light. Jagare knew that riding in the dark was a bad idea, the horses could break a leg and throw them, or they could lose their way and get lost. The two of them would have gotten lost immediately if not for Lyanna. She had searched the Winterfell library for a detailed map of the North and had come away with a decent plan. Whilst Jagare let the horses drink and graze by a nearby lake, Lyanna laid the map down on the ground and studied it.

"Right….we are currently here." She pointed to a spot a few leagues southwest of Winterfell.

"Tallhart lands," Jagare grunted, in annoyance. The Tallharts were staunch supporters of the Starks, with their daughter being married to a Ryswell, who was half Stark himself. They would be delighted to return the pair of them to Winterfell.

"Aye, House Overton is the vassal for this area. The Tallharts are all at Winterfell though, I saw them there." Jagare shook his head.

"Helman Tallhart wasn't. He's the heir…must be ruling Torrhens Square." She nodded and traced her finger across the map.

"Aye, and so that is where we will go." Jagare raised an eyebrow.

"You want to go where they will be looking?" She looked up and nodded.

"The Kingsroad is too obvious. Ravens fly faster than horses run, and Barrowtown could have riders on us within days. We'd never make it to Moat Cailin."

"A double-blind. That's so risky it makes sense." She flashed him a smirk and continued.

"We go to Torrhens Square and get a ship down Blazewater river. From there we can-"

"No," Jagare spoke suddenly. "No, we…we can't." He sat down on a rock and clasped his hands together. Lyanna looked up with a scowl.

"No? Well, then what."

"They'll fortify all exits out of the North. Torrhens Square is the closest and a ship is easy to escape on. It will be too well guarded." Jagare continued looking down at the loose gravel, before speaking in the same flat tone. "And…I must go to Barrowtown. I have to meet her. I have to understand." Lyanna's expression softened, and she looked back towards the map, her finger once again trailing across the landscape.

"Well, they certainly won't expect us to do that." Jagare smiled sadly and nodded.

"I don't wish to drag you into my matters Lyanna. If you wish to leave, I'll give you all my gear and-"

"Jagare" She interrupted, her eyes narrowing. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. We'll go to Barrowtown first, and plan from there. You want closure before you leave, I understand. I got mine when we stood up to father, but you still need yours." She smiled at him as she rolled up the map and held out her hand to him. "Come, we can still ride some more before the sun truly sets." Jagare let her pull him up. He went over to the horse and stroked it before turning back to face her.

"Thank you, Lyanna. I promise that after I meet her… we need never think about the North again." She smirked at him as she mounted her own horse again.

"And I expect you to keep it." She turned away from the sun and pointed south. "There is a holdfast and village that way. It would be a good place to stay for the night. We might as well get as many warm nights as we can before the whole North knows we are out here." Jagare nodded and turned his horse south to follow her, a panging of guilt in the back of his mind.

They found the village a little after the moon rose. It was small but with lots of room between the buildings. At the centre stood a communal wierwood tree and just outside the village, a small keep with a single tower on its south wall. The house that ruled over the village was House Overton, a very minor vassal to the Tallharts. The news of what occurred at Winterfell had not likely spread over the North just yet, but Jagare would not take the risks. Both rode into the small village with their hoods up and heads down. They found the first inn, and Jagare gave over their horses to the stable boy, giving him a small nod and a copper as thanks.

They ordered food and sat in silence for the most part. The day had been long and stressful, and they were both tired and weary. Jagare had many thoughts running through his head as he ate. A cool horn of ale stemmed some of them, but most came plunging through. What had happened back in Winterfell after they left? Had his father been punished? Was Jon Stark on their tail as they ate? His thoughts were broken by an arm on his shoulder.

"I suspect yer be wantin a room will ya?" the short, grizzled barman grunted at him. His northern accent was strong, and it burned Jagare with deep excitement. Apart from the Manderlys who still spoke with a slight southern flourish, he had never even heard a voice that was not Northern. He would soon though. As soon as they escaped. He was so lost in thought that Lyanna had to answer for him.

"Aye, that's for us. I don't suppose you have one with two separate beds though?" The barman squinted at her and Jagare groaned inwards. She spoke too properly. All those years of her mother drilling etiquette into her.

"No. We don't." He scanned both their faces and before he could ask the question Jagare beat him to it.

"My sister here spent time servin the Lady Poole as a maid." He muttered to the barkeep. "She just a little unused to these parts see. I'm sure we'll make do with one bed." The barman placed his hands on the table but before he could say another word, Jagare slipped an extra silver on the table.

"For an early meal tomorrow, if ya don't mind friend." Jagare fixed him with a look and the barman's face relaxed as he swiped the silver.

"Of course, I'll have my wife show you to yer room when ya ready." He limped away and Jagare turned to face Lyanna who had a scowl on her face.

"If you give everyone, we run into some silver we will never reach Barrowtown." Jagare shook his head and eyed around the inn.

"You speak too proper, Lyanna" he muttered. Her scowl deepened.

"I speak how I speak; you wish me to change how I speak?" Jagare rolled his eyes and finished the yeasty ale.

"Just, try and put a rougher edge on your words. These folks out here get suspicious when there's a highborn who hasn't revealed themselves. You know what Northerners are like, honest and blunt and that. Just be a bit more…straight." She glared at him.

"Yer a right cunt Jagare Snow, ya know that?" He smirked slightly.

"Perfect." She rolled her eyes and they both finished their meals in silence. The room that was given to them was small but warm. There was a stone hearth that was already lit, and the bed had fresh sheets with many furs. They both looked at the bed and Lyanna glanced over at him.

"I don't mind…I mean…I just don't want you to get cold" she muttered, looking at the floor. Jagare felt himself going slightly red and stuttered his response.

"It's fine. I mean We have enough sheets, I'll just…" moving across the room he grabbed a rough sheepskin-looking rug and dragged it in front of the hearth, before dumping half the furs on top. He stood back nervously. "See…easy."

Lyanna simply nodded and flicked her head, singling him to turn. He did so and the room started to heat up around him. Or was that even the room? He took the time to strip off his steel-banded leather armour and fur cloak, laying them both on a rickety chair by the door, then proceeded to strip off his tunic, leaving only his undershirt and breeches. Jagare lay down on the rug, hearing Lyanna pad across the floor and climb into the rickety wooden bed. They both lay in silence, the only sound a crackling from the hearth. Lyanna was the first one to break the stillness. He kind of wished she hadn't. He had often thought that silence was the best conversation sometimes. And he was tired.

"Jagare…after we leave the North. What happens to us?" He turned his head slightly, looking up at the great footboard of the bed.

"We go where the wind takes us" he mumbled. Jagare heard her shift.

"I mean to us. Are we going to spend the rest of our lives together…I mean…don't you want to meet someone one day? Settle down..." They were silent for a few moments before Jagare spoke again.

"If you plan too far into the future, you miss opportunities that present themself to you, following a rigid plan can be stubborn and dan-"

"Oh, come off it Jagare" she huffed. "We needed a plan to get out of Winterfell and we need a plan now. What's different about this time?"

"...because now we don't have a goal. We're free." Neither of them said anything after that. It was a topic that they had not talked about and had become so much more real now there were truly on the run. Jagare turned back towards the hearth and let his head rest on the furs. He couldn't think that far forward. They were on the run and had to focus on getting out of the North…after he met his mother. He heard Lyanna speak once more when he was about to fall asleep.

"I never apologised…for what father sentenced you to. I mean, I know he was an arse, but to sacrifice your own son for power..." Jagare felt himself drifting towards unconsciousness and answered bluntly. Without thought.

"It's not as uncommon as you would think. People will sacrifice anything for power. It's how we are made, it's what we are." He then fell asleep, not realizing the true depth of what he had just said.

The next few days were fast and repetitive. There was a strange tension between Jagare and Lyanna that he hadn't anticipated. When he asked her, she simply called it the 'stress of freedom' and left it at that. He hadn't understood, but she refused to talk any more of that. Once or twice, they had spied riders with Tallhart sigils nearby, but both times they seemed closer to catching the rabbits bounding over the fields than they had the pair of them. It turns out Jagare was right, their father thought them far too smart to go South, and so there was precious little hunting for them out here. However, when they crossed into Dustin lands, they saw a sight that burned Jagare's eyes, and he felt his spirit drop. A full column of Dustin men-at-arms were riding down the Kingsroad. Around two score, all mounted. Behind them was the rest of the party. The baggage train with the men at arms, the cooks, servants, and maids. They were clearly returning from Winterfell in full force. Due to their large numbers and the unsureness of the horses on the rough soil, they would stick to the Kingsroad as much as possible, but if they got to Barrowtown before Jagare and Lyanna, they would never get in. So, they rode. They rode hard and fast, during the day and sometimes during the night, but only when the ground was flat, and the moon was high. Eventually, they started to see signs of an approaching town. The villages became slightly more frequent, and there were small caravans of smallfolk travelling with their wares.

Then, a full fortnight after they had left Winterfell the wooden walls of Barrowtown came into view. An odd sort of town, it was comprised almost entirely of wood, with little stone in sight. The Barrowlands had been stripped bare of its trees over the centuries, and most of it went into the construction of the town. Perched atop one of the great Barrows of the first men, the smoky wooden settlement was alive with smells and sounds. Jagare and Lyanna had snuck in with a trading caravan and navigated the streets with caution yet wonder. After all, it was the first they had ever seen of this side of the North. Twice they went past Dustin men patrolling the streets and ducked into the dark shadowed alleyways. The chances of them being looked for and spotted were very low, but chances were something they were not willing to take. How they would get into Barrow Hall, Jagare did not know. Luckily Lyanna did.

"The Dustin's are not yet back; Lady Eleanor will be most desperate for news, and we shall be the ones to supply it." Jagare simply stayed silent. He couldn't even bring himself to speak. Looking around the town, he couldn't help but think of a different life that could have been lived. A life bought up with a loving mother, instead of a cold father. A mother that would have protected him against the hate and sorrow of his name. An uncle to teach him to fight. A cousin to grow up with. A town to explore and call his own. A better life…

He tried to stop feeling sorry for himself as they approached the stairway to the keep. There was a small public stable just outside the steps, and they both tied up the horses. The pathway up to Barrow Hall was like taking the walk to the executioner's block for him. At one point he stilled and fell to a knee, his breathing becoming short and shallow. Lyanna turned and raised an eyebrow

"You cannot be this unfit, brother."

"I don't think I can do this" he muttered. To himself. To Lyanna. He felt her hand slip onto his shoulder, her lips kiss his cheek. She sighed warmly while hugging him.

"Yes. You can. When you go out into the world, you can't afford to let your past hold you back. It will kill you." She gritted out the words, then smacked him on the back of the head. Hard.

"Ow! What was that for!" But before he could react, she had smacked his face as well. He stood up in anger but before he could say anything she interrupted.

"Shut the fuck up. Get. It. Together. You are Jagare Snow. The Bastard of the North. You can't let your shit past rule over you your entire life. You have to become your own person. Become the man that your mother can be proud of. That I can be proud of. That you can be proud of. If you keep looking back, you will get lost." Jagare stood quietly for a moment before nodding. "Good" Lyanna smiled and nodded back, then continued up the steps, Jagare not far behind.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Barrow Hall loomed into view. Wooden walls and square stone towers. Jagare distracted himself from the impending confrontation by remembering what he knew of his mother's house and their history. Thinking about history always relaxed him. History was done and dusted. Nothing to think about but fact. Along with the Starks and the Boltons, the Dustin's were one of the oldest houses in the North. The Barrow Kings were heavy contenders to the Starks for hundreds of years, ruling from the Stoney Shore, through the Rills, north to Castle Cerwyn and as far east as the White Knife. They built their castles on the barrows that were once the graves of the first men. It was said giants themselves rested underneath these lands, and the greatest barrow of all held the Barrow King, the greatest Dustin in history, who expanded their territory as far as the Broken Branch River to the east and the coasts of the Stony Shore to the west. He was a great warrior king, who could grow to the size of a giant in battle, and fought single-handily against the Warg Kings, the Kings of Winter, and the Red Kings. Finally, he was laid to rest when the Stark King employed the help of a warg who controlled a mighty mammoth. With the help of the great beast, they were able to subdue the legendary king, but not before he crushed the Stark King beneath his massive body. Over time, the Dustin's had fallen in power, but controlling the third largest town in the North, and the principal manners of Moat Cailin, they had influence and power.

His mind jerked back to the present as he sensed a halberd being crossed in front of him. He looked up at the two guards. They had bored expressions and looked like they wanted nothing more than a sit-down with a horn of ale.

"What's yer business in Barrow Hall" One of them grunted. It sounded very rehearsed. Jagare stilled his mind and spoke clearly to not give anything away.

"We are scout riders from Lord Dustin's party, we bring news from Winterfell, and messages from his lordship. Lady Dustin will want to hear it." The guard glared at him and the other turned his head slowly.

"You from round ere?" He asked, his eyes narrowing. "Is jus that…everyone in Barrowton call er Lady Ellie." Jagare steeled himself.

"No, I joined the party as they headed to Winterfell. Lord Dustin said any man with a horse and sword was welcome into his service. My sister here acts as my…servant. Cleans my horse and cooks for me. You know how it is." It seems to have convinced them. Grunting, they lowered their Halberds and let them through. Lyanna breathed out heavily.

"The lady will be in the great hall" one of the guards called to him. "Mind your manners. She isn't in a good mood." Jagare thanked him, and the pair of them walked towards the large doors.

"See, easy enough" she muttered, smiling at him. Then her expression changed to annoyance as she hit him in the shoulder. He winced and rolled his eyes.

"Lya, be realistic. I will have to pass you off in some degrading position for it to seem natural. We both know perfectly well you could beat me in a fight."

"And don't you forget it" she grumbled, but with a tiny smirk. They made for the entrance and pushed open the large wooden doors. Inside, a long hall comprised entirely of dark blackened wood stretched before them. Five Hearths on either side of the room blazed, and at the end of the room sat a woman a little younger than his father. She was flanked by two other women and a man standing his arms crossed, and they seemed to be looking at a map. They walked the width of the hall slowly. Jagare was surprised at the lack of people and guards, maybe they all travelled to Winterfell. Before they reached the dais, he caught the snippets of a fading conversation spoken in hushed whispers.

"It's too risky…he's not ready…not up there." The man cut them off with a decisive whisper that he couldn't catch. They all looked at him and he shook his head, before glancing up and noticing them. He didn't know the man, but the sigil was clear. The lizard lion of House Reed. Heavily bearded, but small and lithe he glared at the party. His gaze travelled over the two of them for a while before walking towards them.

"I believe you have visitors" he muttered before sweeping his green cloak behind him and moving swiftly past them out of the room. A brown set of eyes locked onto him, and he felt himself freeze. The eyes raised reproachfully at him, but his tongue stuck in his throat. Luckily Lyanna stepped up.

"We are looking for Lady Eleanor Dustin. We have news of her nephew's return, and further news from Winterfell." As Jagare had suspected, the women at the front responded in truth.

"I, am Eleanor Dustin." She frowned at them. "And my brother has already sent a raven with what happened at Winterfell, and I am not sure my nephew is particularly bothered about letting me know when he returns." At the mention of Willam, a small ball of anger thawed Jagare's nervousness, and he stepped forward towards the table.

"I assure you, my lady. This piece of information is more detailed than what Lord Dustin told you, and I believe you will want to hear it." He looked up at her, his mind whirring at an impossibly fast rate, his heart beating out of his chest. Her frown deepened.

"I see no reason why he could not wait-" Her face slackened as he stepped further into the light. She had lost her voice, and Jagare knew at that moment that she saw him.

"I-I…" She took a breath and closed her eyes. "Leave us" she commanded the two ladies, who immediately departed in haste. Slowly she walked forward, Jagare feeling his own feet slowly pulling him towards her. She was tall. Long brown hair the same shade as his, was pulled into a tight braid that stretched down to her back. Her face was smooth and pale, her eyes brown as the bark of a tree. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, the same cheekbones that he and Willam shared. She looked so young... Her eyes never left his as she walked forward. "When my brother wrote to me, to tell me my son had escaped Winterfell, injuring his cousin on the way out, and was most likely heading into the countryside…I didn't believe it. I thought that he had been killed and the story served as a cover-up if he was never found." They reached each other, and her hand came up to cup his cheek, where he felt tears gathering. "And now I see a man in front of me, with his…father's eyes and his mother's face." Her face broke into a smile. "It seems that this moon is full of surprises." Choking on a sob, Jagare finally managed to speak.

"Mother…" but that was all he could take before he broke into her hug and let the first real tears in a very long time fall down his face. She was warm and she hugged him strong and fierce, just as a mother should be.

"My son…" She spoke, choking back her sobs. "You…you came!" She laughed quietly, and so did he. She held his shoulders at arm's length and looked at him.

"I-I had to...even after Winterfell, I couldn't leave without seeing you." He felt the largest smile he'd ever had pass over his face.

"You truly are your father's son…" At that Jagare felt his face fall slightly.

"My father kept me from you for seventeen years. I want nothing to do with that man ever again." She looked at him with guarded sorrow, her eyes speaking words that were unintelligible to him. But her face broke into a smile again and he knew all was well. She looked past him at Lyanna, who had been standing there silently since they had embraced.

"And you must be Lyanna…" she smiled sadly.

"Aye, that's me." She gave a short curtsy. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Dustin."

"Oh please, call me Eleanor. My position as Lady Dustin is only for show, in reality, I have little power. You saw Lord Reed of course" she sighed in frustration. "My dear brother sent for him to act as castellan rather than give me any control over the Barrowlands. Not that Egor does not rule well its just…well he would much rather be at Greywater Watch. But of course, he owes my brother a lot so…" she looked back at the two of them and shook her head with a sigh. "Look at me, rambling on. It's just…well I'm…" Jagare took her hands with a small smile.

"It's okay…I understand." She smiled warmly back at him and then her face fell. Her mouth became a serious line, and her eyes hardened.

"Come, we must go to my brother's solar. We have…much to discuss." Without another word she turned on her heel and walked purposefully off in the other direction. Jagare let out a long breath he did not know he had been holding. Looking at Lyanna for a moment, he smiled weakly. She returned it, then gestured forward with her head, and they both followed his mother. They entered a large, well-furnished room. The wood had been glazed and polished and the carpet looked expensive, red, yellow, and very fine. A large Moose head hung on the wall, and below was a real version of the Dustin sigil. Two Crossed axes beneath a crown. His mother was gazing out of the window onto the streets of the town. The sun was still high in the sky, a little after midday. After a few seconds, she turned back to them.

"Did you get my letters?" she asked, her face creased with sorrow. "I…tried to send as much as possible for you. But my brother forbade anything I wanted to write myself. He didn't want you to have even a hint of happiness in your years there." Jagare felt his body tense and he nodded.

"Well, he succeeded" Jagare grunted. He heard a cough and glanced at Lyanna who glared at him. "Mostly" he grinned. His mother let out a nervous smile before continuing.

"I think Jeor must have picked up on my message, we both shared an interest in the Old Tongue, and I prayed he would realise."

"Well, he did." Jagare started at the log hearth, the heat filling the room and making him feel warm and relaxed. "You don't know the number of times I asked after you. To everyone. I was either met with sullen silence or angry yelling. But I never stopped asking. Never." He looked back at her. "The Starks took me away from you. I'll never forgive them for that. I wouldn't have cared if the entire North had hated me…as long as I'd been with you. But they made you seem like a whore and named my father a rapist. For all he was, that wasn't true, was it?" She inclined her head, showing she agreed.

"Jeor was boastful, prideful, and sometimes quick to anger. But he had a good heart and an even better sense of right and wrong. He would never touch a woman who did not want him."

"Still doesn't redeem what he did" Lyanna growled. His mother looked at her questioningly. "He treated Jagare like dirt all his life and trained me to be nothing more than a puppet to secure his alliances. And then…" she paused and looked to Jagare. He nodded, knowing what she wanted to say. "And then he was willing to sacrifice Jagare to the Starks. Let them kill him just for power!" He watched his mother's face, a blank mask, her fingers tapping loudly on the wood.

"Jeor was always ambitious. And after it happened, he changed. Even I could see that." She let out a short sigh. "I won't forgive his actions, but there is something else, something you need to know, my son." Jagare swelled at her calling him 'son'.

"Of course, what is it, mother?" She flashed him a small, appreciative smile.

"There is history that you do not understand. History that was buried underneath the events of that harvest feast. Few choose to remember the real reason for that feast in the first place, and what could have occurred if not for your birth."

"What are you saying," Lyanna asked softly.

"I'm saying, that Jagare did not split the North in two. He saved the North from total self-destruction." Both of them looked at her in surprise. Was she japing with them? She looked back towards the window and continued.

"Neither of you was alive at that time, you don't know the state the North was in. The Dragonlords had just been defeated, and the Norths part in that almost caused a war." Lyanna and Jagare exchanged confused looks.

"The Targaryens never came to the North" Lyanna spoke. "They were defeated not long after the fall of Harrenhall."

"Their dragons died of mysterious causes did they not" Jagare continued. "On the banks of the Gods Eye." His mother shook her head and chuckled slightly.

"That is what we wanted to be believed. When the Dragons came to Westeros, three factions who rarely co-operated came together. The North, the Maesters and the Faith all met in the Riverlands to counter the problem." The Maesters were the healers and thinkers of Westeros. Every castle had one, but they were trained in Oldtown by the Conclave. The wisest men in Westeros. Wise men do not sit back and allow history to pass them by. Although they have always stated that their purpose was simply to serve the lords of the realm, many have suspected they have ulterior motives at hand."

"Makes sense" Jagare murmured. "But could they really defeat dragons?"

"The history you have heard is that the dragons died on Westeros soil, not being used to such foreign conditions." She turned around with a thin smile. "It was bullshit." Jagare had not read much on the Targaryens, but he knew of the animosity between the Faith and the North. It was very strange for the two to work together.

"What happened then?" asked Lyanna, equally as confused.

"The three factions hatched a plan to take out the dragons in one night, ending the Targaryen Conquest. A bastard Stark named Brandon, with the help of the Reeds of Greywater Watch, designed three Weirwood arrows. Each one was imbued with the magic of the old gods. These arrows possessed no abnormal qualities apart from their colour, but inside was the same force that shattered the arm of Dorne and flooded the neck." Jagare knew of this magic. The Children of the Forest had channelled the magic of the old gods twice before, to break Westeros from Essos when the First Men had invaded, and then to try and seal off the North from the rest of the continent.

"The Maesters then used their own sciences to create potions that would make the dragons sleepy and subdued. They had it fed to oxen, and watched in triumph as all three swallowed their concoctions. Lastly, under a banner of their gods, the Faith came to the Dragonlords' camps as envoys, and with the bowmen of the warrior sons, fired the arrow into the dragon's eyes. They were the only ones who could approach the camps without raising suspicion. At the time there was a dragon at Harrenhal, a dragon at the Eyrie, and a dragon at Storms End. All died. And the Targaryens were soon exiled from Westeros." There was a short silence until Lyanna spoke again.

"Forgive me, but how does this impact Jagare, and the North?" His mother took a seat and shrugged.

"You know how the Northerners are girl. Stubborn, unbending. We are First Men, and with us lies the First Men traditions. Although the Starks and the Reeds carried out this task, the North itself was divided on whether to help. Some fought against the partnership with the Faith and thought it was an insult to the old gods. Key among them was your father." She nodded at Lyanna. "He was young at the time but was a fierce supporter of the old gods. Several houses thought that the Starks had made the wrong choice in helping the Andals, claiming that the Dragonlords could have been their allies. Burning the non-believers where they stood." She scoffed. "Damn fanatics. The King underestimated the zeal of his lords. They thought that it had made them look weak to the Faith, and they wanted to show strength again.

"They wanted war" Jagare muttered.

"Yes, for no reason other than for the sake of war itself. They never would have gotten to the Vale, but the Riverlands were close, pious, and had much plunder to offer. Even the Starks themselves were divided on the matter, and this was in the days when there were no east or west powers. Houses from all over the North declared war or peace. The King knew that if an army of rebellious Northmen marched south, he would have to stop them, lest the faith raise armies in retaliation. That feast was meant to reconcile the houses in the first place. If what had happened didn't happen..."

"So, wait" Lyanna spoke, clearly a bit confused. "What?" His mother took a breath and spoke slowly.

"Jagare may have given the North something to argue about, but the laws of the gods forbid my brother from warring against his own blood. And King Stark would have sent his entire family to the wall before allowing the death of a newborn babe. What would have happened if a rebel army marched south? What is war for the sake of war?"

"Death" Jagare muttered.

"You caused the North to unite into two power blocks large enough to never fight for fear of mass slaughter. You saved us Jagare." Jagare took a deep breath in, his body feeling weightless and light. He wasn't what he had thought himself to be all those years. He wasn't a villain. He wasn't the cause of the North's fighting, merely an extension of it. It seemed dreamy, and surreal as if it was simply a figment of his imagination.

"The North had been warring itself long before my father slept with you at that feast wasn't it." He asked, already knowing the answer. But instead of what he suspected to be the right answer, his mother closed her eyes and shuddered, as if remembering a painful memory.

"Jagare...Yes, the North was tense before that feast even started. Very tense But I haven't been completely honest with you." Jagare raised an eyebrow in confusion. His mother turned to look at the window once more, studying the people below.

"Jagare…you are my son, make no mistake. I held you as a babe and though you have grown, your eyes give it all away. I am your mother. But Jeor Karstark...is not your father."

Will be impressed if anyone saw that coming, I dropped a couple of subtle hints. Feel free to comment!

Instagram is Blood_of_the_North_3