"You will not be attending the tourney," Brandon barked, imposing form towering over her. Lyanna stared into her brother's eyes, lips curling into a slow smile. Colour crept into the man's face at her unrelenting gaze. She lifted the goblet to her lips and took a languid sip of her spiced wine. Let him wait.

Lyanna lowered her cup. "Father," she said, without looking to Lord Stark who still sat in his chair, drinking horn in hand. "I wish to attend the tourney." She cocked her head to the side, not for one moment softening her expression. "I believe you've the call on such matters."

"And so you shall attend." Somewhat heavily, Rickard Stark climbed to his feet. "Brandon, keep her path not; Lyanna is to retire and we may speak." But Brandon did not look as though he might see the wisdom in his sire's words and snapped his head towards the man with an incredulous look.

Two paws slammed against the table, wood groaning in protest at such treatment. "How can you allow it? Is it not shame enough that she lives in our home, fallen as she is? You would parade her before the lords and ladies of the realm?" He glowered, the fire in his eyes shining with pent up rage. "I've two daughters to consider." Lyanna grabbed hold of her father's hand ere he might speak.

"Is that what your goodwife has been whispering about?" She sneered at her brother, her cup finally finding its spot upon the table. "You needn't fear; a broken maidenhead is not catching. They are not like to breed just because we should travel in the same wheelhouse." In all honesty she had no wish to attend the tourney. She was past the age where such gatherings were thrilling. Would that they offered the distraction they once did. Alas, such was not her fortune. "I daresay you should know all about it."

"If I were lord of this house, I would see you out on your ear, you little whore," Brandon bit out, truly incensed. "I know not what witchcraft binds your will to hers, lord father, that you have allowed her and that brat to remain in your home, but I will not expose my family to such shame. I abide by your decision but barely." Then to her he said, "If you dare step near the wheelhouse, I will chain you behind it and have you dragged all the way to White Harbor."

Once more she stopped their sire from offering any words. Standing to her own feet, she leaned in, bracing her weight upon her arms, palms curling around the edge of the table. "Are you not the most righteous knight to ever have graced the lands of the North?" she questioned gently. "Such care for your daughters' reputation. Well, they are yours after all. I suppose you owe them as much. A pity such notions do not extend to Lady Barbrey or cook's daughter. Does your wife know about them, I wonder?"

"Be silent!" Typical Brandon; he could speak ill of her to his heart's content but as soon as she said a word back, she was a villain. Or rather she was always a villain, but might be more vile than usual in such circumstances. "You've no right to stand in judgement of me."

"Might be not," Lyanna shrugged, "but you've no right to go against your lord. And yet here you are, pissing into the wind, like the clever boy you are. Dearest brother, you might as well accept it. I shall please you by riding my mare, if I must." She would not be going, she decided. Much as riling Brandon might amuse her, their departure offered her ample opportunity to spend time with her son and that she would vastly prefer to any show of clashing spears and lances. All the better if they could ride about without Brandon's disapproving glower. In the meantime, however, she remained perfectly pleased to seat herself back down, returning her attention to the board. "I believe, sire, 'tis your move."

"You will not ignore me!" She almost rolled her eyes as her brother thundered ahead. "This discussion is not over!"

"As thought anyone could ignore you, the way you yell. Truly, Brandon, you will disappoint your lady greatly. A knight is the meekest man in the hall, might I remind you." If anger were to have a sound, her brother's guttural growl would fit admirably. Not turning a hair, she went on. "I tender you my apologies, brother mine, but I really would finish this game and return to my chambers."

"Might be we ought to leave it for another time," their father finally spoke, deciding the matter for her. "The day has been long." She nodded, striving to keep her expression from showing any disappointment knowing when she was dismissed. Brandon and his poor timing would cost her; she had finally managed to push her sire into a corner, after a great deal of strategising, and she could not see how breaking her concentration and returning later to the board would not result in loss.

Yet after having spoken to her brother of his duties, she could not very well refuse to fulfil hers. Once more she rose from the chair and smoothed a hand over her middle and down her skirts in a swift brush. "Very well, I shall take my leave now. A good night to you, lord father." Turning to her brother, she offered him a sly smile. "Good manners dictate I wish the same to you." Let him make of that what he wished.

Waiting for no answer, she stepped down from the dais and walked past Brandon hurriedly. He drew back as though her mere proximity might befoul him. It was good of him, she supposed, for she certainly had every wish of fouling his face if not his image. Carried on with steady steps, she found herself into the wide hallway, the mounted torches blinking in friendly manner as they spilled guiding light onto the walls and ground. Following the familiar path, she made her way not to her own chamber but to her son's.

Lyanna knocked gently on the door, waiting for Jon's voice to rise in invitation. He did not disappoint. Pushing the door open, she peeked within, smiling at her beloved child. "Why do you not yet sleep?" she asked, stepping over the threshold. A merry fire burned in the hearth, lending its bronze glow to their surroundings. "A growing boy must rest."

"I thought you were with Lord Stark." It was no answer to her question, but Lyanna accepted the words along with the kiss he pressed to her upturned cheek. He had outstripped her a year past in height and was well on his way to outdoing both her good-sisters as well. "What happened, mother?"

There were times when her conscience quite overwhelmed her with a sense of shame. He was such a caring boy and he suffered a great deal because of her. Pushing the thought aside, Lyanna reached out and patted his arm gently. "Brandon had some matters to discuss with father. I would have been quite the burden had I stayed, so I chose to come to you, for I know I am not a burden here."

"He insulted you again, did he not?" Her son bristled, causing a soothing sound to pass her lips. "He cannot keep getting away with it. I will–" Taking him by the shoulder, Lyanna shook her head vigorously, telling Jon in no uncertain terms he was to do nothing. "Why won't you let me protect you?" A lifetime ago she would have laughed to hear such a question. "I can win against him. I can." She did not disbelieve him; Lyanna had seen Jon with a sword. Any man with sense would be wary of setting himself against her son in combat.

"I would not see you harmed for the world, my love. And certainly not so you might stop Brandon's sharp tongue. He is my brother; what is between us need not concern you." It was not as though she had no notion of why he carried himself so in her presence. "Now then, tell me you will give this no further thought and I will leave you to your rest."

Yet it was too late. Having birthed and reared Jon, Lyanna prided herself on knowing the boy like the back of her hand. The mutinous expression he wore with such abandon hardened even as she crossed her arms over her chest, rapping her foot expectantly. Disapproval had worked very well when he was a boy of five. At five-and-ten, with him casting her to great disadvantage with his height alone, it did not seem to hold the sway it once had. "He is wrong to call you any of that. And if he cannot see it, I will make him."

"'Twould only hardened his heart against us. Trust me on this, my love. Leave him to me." Their eyes met and held. For his benefit, she curled her lips into a soft, loving smile. "Your only concern need be your own health. As long as you are well, I will have no complaints, no matter what the world says. Remember that."

Jon's lips pressed together as though some great distress were being visited upon him. But in the end, he relented with a short nod. "Very well, mother. I will leave matters as they are. However, I ask for something in return." Curious, she hummed quietly in response. "I shall make no move against your kin and you tell me about my father." She could well see why he thought that might work.

"Alas, my sweet boy; I have already promised to speak of him when you are a man. Barely one week away it is, too. You must wait, as agreed." He protested, claiming such a short time would make no difference. "If it makes no difference," she answered, "then why hasten? You have waited this long, a few more days shan't hurt you."

"Can you not give me this at least?" he insisted, reaching out to take hold of her arm. "If I am to endure all the slights, do I not deserve to know why I have been placed in such a position? I will not be that much different at six-and-then than I am now. You say yourself, 'tis only a few days."

"I will discuss it upon your nameday and not one day beforehand," she answered resolutely. "And if you truly wish to hear my reasoning then open your ears and hear; once you are a man, your grandfather has agreed that he will petition the king so you may be legitimised. " He gasped. "And once that is done you and I will have a great many duties to attend to. You will understand then what you do not now."

Jon turned away, taking a few steps towards the lancet. "Why would grandfather accede to your wishes in this?" Her son, it had to be said, was not a naturally born schemer. He was good enough for the broad strokes of any given situation, but the intricacies were often lost on him. She hoped it was age and not inclination that drove his lacking understanding. Seeing little sense in keeping him in the dark on that matter, however, she hastened to make her reply.

"You will be a Stark, but of the female line; Brandon's children cannot fail to inherit Winterfell. Ned has two sons. Benjen, if he should choose to wed, will doubtlessly have a few brats of his own. There is no danger here for my father, or his precious heirs. Beyond that the name will offer you protection." She smoothed her hands over her middle, fingers picking at the plaited girdle. "All shall make a great deal more sense as soon as you've the whole story. Ask no more and I shan't be forced to speak falsely."

"You are my mother; you should not be lying to me under any circumstances." He must have been spending time with Ned once more. Lyanna sighed.


"You are not trying to convince me to stop, I hope." She blinked up at Benjen, doubled over as she was. Her back protested the position but she held to it fast, hands yet plunged within the insides of the chest. "Because even if you were making such an attempt, I would not listen." They were too far gone into the whole madness to stop at such a point. The dice had been cast. The mummery had to be brought to satisfying end. And what an end there was in sight. Come hell or high waters, she told herself, her son would learn the truth.

"When have you ever listened?" Benjen groused, his pale face reminiscent of curdled milk. It was very clear to her he disapproved. "But if you would permit me to offer some counsel; Jon is a wonderful young man. Do not warp him because of your ambitions. Whatever you believe you know, put it aside. Father has already agreed to legitimise him. That has to be enough."

"And yet it is not," Lyanna answered, her gaze cooling. "I will thank you not to presume too great a power over me." By the glare he cast her, she could tell he thought her much too forward as well. "You will keep silent, as you always have. Even if I should make a great scene, you will do as before. I know that because I know you." She returned her attention to the treasure before her eyes. Her fingers stroked over the cool, hard scales. "Honour does not suit you as well as it does Ned."

"And boldness suits you very little, sister. It looks better on the likes of Lady Ashara for she has the sweetness to carry it with." If he thought her put out by the remark, he was greatly to be pitied. In fact, if she turned sharp and unapproachable with her boldness it was all to the better. It would give her more than enough reason to decline making for the tourney, it would please Brandon and it would see her safely out of the sight of too many eyes.

"You ought to run to her then, Benjen. We would not wish to deprive you of her sweetness, now would we?" For all that, she did think him right. Ashara was quite possibly the most pleasant great beauty of her acquaintance. The gods had been very generous with her. She was glad the woman loved Ned so and that they were happy together. She was equally glad Brandon had been shackled to a woman whose illusions he broke time and again, not only because Catelyn gave him grief over every single one of his mistakes but because she was equally aggrieved. Truly, in life one got what one so richly deserved. She nodded at the wisdom of her own thought and pulled her hand back from the chest and its precious contents. The lid slid shut, the lock was fastened and she covered it with a length of silk. "I see you are not yet off."

"In all honestly, can you tell me you are doing this for him? Just lie; you are good at that. Tell him you loved his father a great deal." But that she could not do. Lyanna had not loved Rhaegar; not in the way such wording might imply and certainly not a moment before she'd held her precious babe to bosom, the pains of childbed slowly fading from memory. "Tell him father opposed the match but you went ahead anyway thinking you might change his mind. Tell him the man is dead. End this. For the good of all." Her brother's tone had turned beseeching.

She wondered what he would do if he knew the truth. But she could not speak the words to him. He would not believe it anymore than the Prince had. He would not believe it until it was too late and the net was cast and drawn. How utterly devastating it had been then; how trivial it all seemed as she met her brother's concerns with a scoff. "Why Benjen, I had no notion you cared so greatly. You must speak to father and have him send you to King's Landing. The good of all may be attended to there."

"You are a contrary, obstinate creature," he offered after a brief silence. "I cannot understand why you would go through with this. As his mother, you should not wish to cause him pain. Surely, even you understand there can be no good end to stirring up the past now." Frankly she was surprised he did not fall at her feet and beg for her to listen. It was a good manner of surprise. If Benjen had grown a backbone she need worry no further for him. "I cannot believe father agreed to this." She did not watch for his expression as he said the words, fearing he might look rather like Brandon just then.

"Father is wiser than the lot of us put together, as well you know it. I can but hope that sets you enough at ease that you may not pester me overlong upon the matter. Do not injure me with regards to the truth I must tell. It will out; better that he hear from me rather than any other. I will explain it well and leave him in no doubt as to his choices. That is what I can promise you." One could but hope Jon proved tractable. Her past experience gave her hope.

The echo of a distant memory offered momentary distraction and a crumb of solace to shield her against the ache in her chest. She did not proceed blindly, with the best of hopes at heart. She knew she must cut away the most natural ambitions in her son. A woman had to wonder to what extent her powers might sustain her. She was to find out only too soon. "Enough of this then; you've matters to attend to, I daresay, and I even more so. Pray, let us be on our way." And with that she ushered her brother without the chamber, shutting the door in their wake.


The crisp air whipped its icy lash against the exposed skin of her cheeks. Lyanna maintained her seat with some difficulty, patting the thickening cords of muscle in her mare's neck. "There, now, I shall take you on a short ride." Only ill could come of too much idling. She glanced over her shoulder to the shaded insides of the stables, twisting in her saddle. The horse beneath her danced on light legs. "Patience. You will be given your head soon enough." The promise did little to calm the beast, but she could already see Jon emerging from within, slightly bent as he spoke to Edwyle. The cousins parted once they sighted her, Brandon's firstborn giving a small wave and a smile before taking himself off upon his own path.

"Well then, shall we be on our way?" Why did she not like the expression on his face; Lyanna straightened, gripping tightly with her knees to keep the horse underneath her still. Her eyes remained on her son's face, however, for a long drawn moment. Jon seemed not at all bothered by the scrutiny and watched her back with daring, the darkness of his eyes sparkling like deep waters stroked by the sun. She was losing her touch. A frown followed the realisation.

"Do let us," Lyanna invited, pressing her heels into firm flanks. The mare was off with a neigh, vapour and mist trailing in their wake. She pushed hard, knowing Jon would keep up without difficulty. She had taught him to sit a horse, after all, almost as soon as he could put one foot before the other. She ought to know his skill at least, if not his preference. Though even there the two of them were of a mind. There was nothing quite like a hard ride to buoy the soul.

Cutting wind set itself against the pair of them to no success. They made for the forested area where one might walk for a spell without their thoughts being interrupted by servants running to and fro, or by meddling kinsmen or the ill-intentioned ones. She might have called her sire as well, but then that would have delayed her plans and she didn't suppose her son would take kindly to it. Not on his nameday, not when he finally stood to learn all that she had hitherto hidden from him.

Jon overtook her, his steed's gallop sure and strong. He led then for a time, allowing for a clear view of the back of him. Lyanna blinked as anaemic sunlight measured the width of his shoulders, its glimmer a line of silver-gold against the dark cloak and wondered to realise his back was much broader that day. He stood somehow greater than he ever had. Whatever had her lord father told the boy? She would ask of it after, Lyanna decided, following at her son's heels. Let him have his moment in the sun; what followed would doubtless prove a sore trial to his tender heart, for that she couldn't believe to have changed in so short a time.

At lengths, they dismounted, feet sinking into a soft layer of frost-bound snow. Heavy boughs closed the forest in around them, blocking out much of the faint light dominating the heavens. But neither of them was daunted. The horses breathed heavily, might be glad for the moment that their masters had chosen to walk. There was a silence fallen between them, with Jon frowning from his great height down at her and she herself peering at him in a serious manner. Tension gathered with the fallen quiet. He might well have outgrown her, but he could not yet outwait her, which her son dutifully proved by putting an end to the discomfort. "For goodness' sake, lady mother, I was made a promise."

"So you were," she agreed, passing the horse's reins from one hand to the other, before turning to the south and stepping on. "It is a short tale, truly, for what I can say is not like to please you. But you have asked about your sire and I said I would tell you. Well, hear me then, and learn." He fell into step with her. "Your father I knew of for a long time ere I set eyes on him; he was making a name for himself even as I was a child, and his greatness did not fail to shine, carrying praise of him throughout the kingdoms. I, naturally, had no plans regarding him; it was too much of a risk. Though having seen him once, I knew well why the fascination of women with him endured. Still and all, his power was too great for me; I'd meant to snare a man who could never meddle with my affairs." Confusion bloomed upon Jon's brow. "Oh, indeed; I have not given you the reason yet for such exploits. As a girl I oft wondered with my father to the Wall and I'd spent a great deal of time with its Maester, but perhaps more time in the lower libraries. I shan't share with you what I found there, suffice to say you will learn of it for yourself soon enough." She smiled gently at the frown he offered. "Back to the matter of your sire; it was at Harrenhal we came together. You see, I'd learned something which firmly set my attention upon him. He meant to do a very daring thing, so I promised him my own sire's aid in his scheme, knowing full well such would not come, and then, at lengths revealed my admiration for him. I promised him further aid in his scheme by offering to bear him the third child he so desperately wanted, for it went ill with his own wife. She was very frail and was caused great discomfort on account of it."

"Wait. Stop." Jon let go of his beast's reins and grabbed both of her shoulders. "At Harrenhal, with a pregnant wife and schemes of his own; are you saying my father is the banished prince?" He seemed awfully calm. Lyanna counted that his sire's blood. She answered with a nod. "My father is a traitor," her son whispered. The hands fell away from her shoulders. "How could you?"

"You needn't acknowledge the connection. I have already told you, you shall be a Stark soon enough." Fire blazed in Jon's eyes and he drew air long before speaking. To her chagrin, his concern proved to be of an entirely different nature.

"Damn the connection! You said yourself you had no intention of aiding a man but set out to use him for your own purposes. How could you? For I seem to recall it being said he was fond of his mistress; is he to be so easily cast aside for whatever plans you have made?" He did not yell the words, though his voice was one of quiet fury. It chilled the blood in her veins and made her proud all at once. "Is it because of you that his plot was discovered?"

"Nay indeed, that was the work of his own haste. If he had waited, he might have succeeded." She mused a space. "Or not; Rhaegar was ever a dreamer with great plans and ambition to match, but not too much in the way of practical sense. He had some lovely ideals nonetheless."

Jon swayed on his feet and for a moment Lyanna thought he might fall with the way his face went bone-white. But he only made his way to a snowy mound and sat, as though he'd found his throne. Then, he did a most surprising thing. Her son covered his face with his hands and gave a great, shuddering gasp. "I thought he was dead." He looked up. "All my life, I thought my sire was gone, buried in some unmarked grave. And now I find he is well and alive. Not only that, he is a stone's throw away, always has been. All this time, I might've had a father of my own." He watched her expectantly.

"I never told him; I was to write him as soon as I learned if a babe has been conceived, but I never did and the distance was too great and his concerns too numerous that he might turn his attention to the matter. The Dornish Princess gave birth to his heir soon after Whent's tourney. As before, her health suffered greatly and he turned all his efforts to bettering her situation. Perhaps that is what caused his failure; nevertheless, his wife recovered. These days she lives in her native Dorne."

"Did she know about it? About you and my father?" She walked closer to him, allowing her own mare to wander. Kneeling before his seated form, Lyanna placed her hands upon him to steady herself. He allowed it grudgingly.

"I believe so. She laughed at the crown of flowers upon my brow and told me, good-naturedly, that we must take our victories where we can. In her eyes, she was, of course, the victor, for she would have a crown and her children would rule one day. And so they shall; whatever their father has come to. That must be a great comfort to her. May she enjoy it." Lyanna begrudged her not, except for the bonds of marriage.

"How good for her. It seems to me you have all been well pleased; with the exception of the prince, I expect," he paused there, looking at a point above her, "and myself. And might be his own children, those of whom he's aware."

"I am sorry to have caused you pain. But it was inevitable." He started and climbed to his feet, forcing her back. Slower than him, Lyanna rose with some difficulty. "I did not bereave you gladly."

"Nay, just willingly," he answered with steel. "Has it ever occurred to you that I may have wanted a father? That perhaps, like any other child, I'd have taken him on any terms; even as a turncloak brother of the Watch? You deprived me of that because it fit your whim. How is that not monstrous?"

"Jon, you must unders–" She was cut off before she could say anything further.

"Oh, must I? Why? Because you will it? Just as you willed to be mistress of my fate?" The question hung heavy between them. She made no answer. "Well, I shan't. If you may do as you will with impunity, then as your son, surely, I am entitled to do likewise. Therefore, let us have a right understanding between us, lady mother; it is despicable, beyond anything, to use another as callously as you have used the prince. But more than that, to place yourself as the arbiter of what is right or wrong based solely on convenience to the point where you would part child from parent is unforgivable." All the while he spoke with harsh, low tones, as though getting the words out were a struggle. His eyes were flooded then with tears and his expression turned pained in truth. "Anything else I would have understood; passion, pity, even youthful folly. But this," he trailed off and swallowed thickly. "I do not accept this."

Fleet-footed, he turned around and made for his horse, swinging in the saddle and taking off without another word. Lyanna did not attempt to stop him. She had known it would shake him, but her hope had been he would not put so much stock by it. And if he had not, would she have been pleased? If he had asked her of thrones and such, would that have made her easier?

It would have, for she'd have placed herself as his moral superior then and told him of things he could not have. But lo, the rug had been pulled from underneath her feet. Jon had cared but for his sire. The realisation was slow in occurring. But once it had, for a first Lyanna was flooded with great grief. She shuddered and turned to look for her own horse. Might be her father would have a few words with the boy when he saw just how distraught Jon was.


"This is no laughing matter," Lyanna muttered, the unspooled thread of her patience frayed to snapping. She glared at her younger brother and the smug expression he wore so well. But Benjen, far from being cowed, did not back down. Instead, he moved another piece upon the board. She wished he were yet young enough that a slap to the back of the head might work him into better behaviour.

"I am not laughing, am I?" he said at long last. "But allow a man some expression of pleasure when his luck has finally turned around. I do believe this game is mine." Alas, she was tightly bound and could not disprove him. "Rather unlike you, if you ask me. Normally, you'd prefer chewing off your own foot to letting me win. Or could it be that you are distracted?"

"You know very well what the matter is." The cold reply had only the effect of calling Benjen to lean in. He studied the last line of defence on her side as she contemplated what she was going to sacrifice next in a bid to stall for time. She sighed and leaned back in her seat. "Just take it as you've won and let me be off."

"So you can sulk and talk yourself into believing you made the right choice?" He mocked. "I think not. You got precisely what you deserved and must now live with the consequences of your own actions." In contrast to his words, he reached out and took her hand. "Take comfort in the knowledge that your son is far superior in merit to both yourself and his sire, if you will; for having seen his reaction, I doubt he will ever stoop to using others in a game of power as the both of his parents have done." Lyanna detected no malice there, but nevertheless withdrew her hand. Benjen let her be. "It is your move now, I believe."

She randomly pushed forth one of the pieces. Benjen wasted no time in capturing it. Yet his thoughtful look prompted her into speech. "Why do you look like that now? Have you more criticism to levy my way?"

"My criticism can only hurt if you believe you have done wrong and then you will do the tormenting on your own." He tapped the table gently with his forefinger. "Ever eager to sacrifice the dragons, aren't you?" She glared at the piece and found that indeed, it had been her dragon. Teeth clenched in response. "What a fierce expression you bear; but that is your problem, you know." He allowed her another move and then proceeded to capture another piece of his own, though he might have ended the whole thing then and there.

"Why do you insist upon drawing this out?" Lyanna questioned, half wanting to throw the board to the ground like a petulant child. Not that it would avail her much of a victory with Benjen. He was immune to bouts of rage; only coldness hurt him and she hadn't the heart for that in the moment.

"It pleases me." Three words; they said so little and yet so much. But Benjen would never leave her in a lurch; she did not have to wonder at his meaning, as he was quick to set her upon the right path. "And it is not as though you have some better company to entertain. Face it; Jon will come out when he is good and ready, and even then you may well not be on his list of priorities." His smile flashed brief cruelty before it melted into its less caustic counterpart. She felt the blood heat in her veins. "Oh me, have I angered you then? Good, perhaps this way you'll give better sport."

Unable to take it for a second longer, she jumped to her feet, ongoing game be damned. "You understand naught at all, so do not presume to lecture me." It was, in hindsight, not the best reaction she might have displayed. "Whatever my son chooses to believe, what I did, I did for the best reasons. Whether he sees it now or later is likewise no affair of yours."

"Somehow, I do not think that is his view of it," her brother returned. "It seemed to me he thought you made the poorest choice possible; but then what do I know, as you say." He stood as well and walked around the table, drawing nearer and nearer. It took only a slight push to get her back in her seat. From there, Benjen used the same strategy as previously. "In your grand scheme, as you pushed your pieces this way and that, you forgot a small detail. Most unimportant, many would say, but one that, nevertheless, seems to have toppled your tower of intentions." Condescendingly, he patted her arm from that great height. "If I were Jon, I would make for the Wall and come clean to the other victim of your manoeuvring. I wonder if he will ride for the Wall."

Her eyes flashes with fury, but she refused to feed into the conversation. Benjen went on, undisturbed by her silence. "I would in his stead. It is less danger now that his sire is a brother of the Watch and the man's firstborn is well loved by all." Pulling back, Benjen shook his head. "I will say this of you. You did well to encourage what goodness there is in that boy. And now it is time to step aside."

Lyanna bit her tongue. She struggled to keep silent. But her temper was roused finally beyond stopping. "He is my son."

"As much yours as he is his father's. Mend what fences you can and other hurts leave to the healing hands of time, but do not expect that boy will ever look the same way to you again. You have betrayed not his expectations, for that Jon would have forgiven, I think, but the very values you would have him cherish." She looked away. "I say this for your sake as much as his. And if the years have grown any wisdom in you, you will mind it."


It was always the lacks in one's life that tended to have the strongest voice, while many and more blessings fell to the wayside, whenever dark clouds rolled up, threatening storms, lighting and thunder. It was no different for Jon, for all he wished it might have been. For just that reason he sat in the hayloft, wondering just what he was to do at such a juncture. His mother had injured him, grievously so, and the heart in him would not cease its malcontent whining even as it staunchly overflowed with love for the selfsame woman. Maddening remained too light a word for his predicament.

Edwyle passed him a bit of bread. "If you would just tell me what it is aunt said," his cousin spoke gently, as though looking to tame a wild horse. Jon was not at all precisely certain all his sullen silences and sharp retorts were unlike a hoof's strong blow. "Is your father a bad man? Is that it? Grandfather would never let any harm come to you or aunt; you know that. He would not have you come to a bad end."

The most important question would go unanswered; Jon saw to that. "He shan't be lord of Winterfell forever." Of course the best thing to do, having had the truth he'd so desperately longed for, was to leave. Lord Stark did not have many years left and when his heir took his place, though he would not send mother and him away, his incessant recriminations were like to make cohabitation unbearable. "I do not know what I am to do."

Alas, his cousin was not a fool and not like to simply accept prevarication. "Lying is beneath you; I am disappointed you would even consider it." Ned took a moment to grab Jon by the shoulder. "You already know what you want to do, do you not?" Jon offered no answer. "Let me guess, you wish to see the man." Once more he said naught; approaching the exiled prince with tales of kinship was a danger he could ill-afford and more to the point, he had little enough in the way of evidence. As luck would have it, he looked very much a Stark. Ned though would not leave be and kept on pushing.

"'Tis complicated," he said at long last. "My mother's tale was not at all what I expected it to be." There it was, one of those leading moments on the precipice of fate. He touched Ned's arm. "Even if I sought him out, he shan't wish to see me." His cousin frowned. "I hoped and hoped it would turn out my father yet lived; having learned he does, the notion does not seem so sweet to me now." He squeezed, seeking solace in the other's response. "The more I think about it, the more I despair. There is naught I can give the man."

Ned started. "He is your father; there is naught you need give him. To my mind, the matters stand precisely the other way around. Just who is this man?"

"Someone my mother hurt beyond any hope of reconciliation, to my thinking." He was sorely tempted to pour out his heart then and there, yet aught held him back. It seemed somehow wrong that his cousin should learn before his father of such a truth. And yet in him waned the desire to ride for the Wall and speak. "I cannot tell you the whole thing yet," he spoke, preventing an ambush of queries from his kin.

"Very well; keep your secrets. But know this, whatever aunt has done need not stop you from reaching out to your father. If you must do it, then by all means, do keep in mind that as a babe, you certainly had no fault." Jon disagreed, but let matters lie. It would do no good to argue with Ned. "Now, eat and let us return to our chambers before we are found here. You have no notion just how long aunt has been waiting to catch you without, have you?"

And if she found him, she would beg, might be, for his understanding, his forgiveness. Jon was so scared he would simply give in. He should not want to and yet the thought of being at loggerheads with the creature dearest to him in the world was discomforting. He himself was no fool. The prince might well accept the claim of kinship, if Jon appeared before him, but what was that to a man full grown? And what could he expect of their meeting? Rhaegar Targaryen had not watched him grow, nor prayed for his health, never took him up on his horse, neither spoke to him from the heart as a father might. And Jon himself was beyond all such things; he was no child.

Eating the food was a chore, though Edwyle had easily picked out all of his favourites. He chewed through the offerings, hoping not to choke as he swallowed down. He managed, somehow, only a little buoyed by the nourishment. And yet, his own bleak perspective began to shift, as though a solitary ray of light had managed after long labour to strike through the layer of gloom he'd surrounded himself with and shine for him an alternate path. It was as much of a blessing as he could have wished for and Jon took leave of Ned with a small promise of further discussions when most of the matter was settled. His cousin was kind enough to play scout and see him upon an unpeopled route before retreating to his own affairs.

Jon searched for his grandfather, beginning with the man's solar. Aside from an open scroll and a quill resting upon it with the inkwell by its side there was naught to speak of in that chamber. He then made for the man's bedchamber but was fated to an equally unsatisfying conclusion. As a last attempt, he chose to look near the heart tree of the godswood and there his labours bore fruit.

Rickard Stark was sitting upon a strong root, seemingly caught in polishing Ice. The greatsword gleamed in the faint glow of the Northerner sunlight, calling to the shipwreck of him like a beacon in the foggy night near to hopelessness. Jon bound forth, calling for his grandsire much in the way he was used to doing and the man responded in a like fashion, glancing up from his work with a small smile and a greeting.

"'Tis good to see you out of the bedchamber, boy." Gruffly, the lord of the house patted the empty spot by him. "Come, be my hands for a moment; these old bones need rest." Jon attended and hurried to obey, taking up Ice. He did not polish the weapon, but held it upon his knees as a wide hand came up to ruffle his hair. The elder cleared his throat. "Well then."

"Did you know, grandfather?" He'd not mean to put the question so bluntly, but Jon supposed one was apt to lose their glib tongue, if ever they had one, when faced with such acceptance. "Did lady mother tell you who my father was?"

"She owned up to it when asked, but I had figured out that much on my own." Jon frowned. His grandsire was not loath to continue. "I do not rightly know what story my daughter told you; Lyanna has been a most peculiar girl since young. She thought I did not know of her sneaking off to glean knowledge in the art of arms wielding and she certainly thought her entanglement with the Prince would remain a mystery to me."

"How did you learn of it?" Jon would be hard pressed to name anyone his mother's equal in scheming. But then, might be, there was no better than his grandfather to occupy such a spot. Every master had their own teacher.

"There is little to it, truly; your mother returned with Brandon and his bride just after a most peculiar message from the Prince had arrived. You see, he seemed to believe I was going to aid him in calling a great council. There was a further missive the messenger was kind enough to hide away from sight in my daughter's chambers. I let the man be, sending him back to his master. As for Lyanna's letter, its content made quite clear my daughter's actions."

"I do not understand; mother said father never truly took an interest in her after," he trailed off. "Grandfather, did you, by any chance, hide the letter from mother?"

The man nodded sharply. "If she was not with child, I was going to wed her off to one of my bannermen. There are among them kindly men who would not have minded her state overmuch. Lord Dustin, for one." He sighed.

"You might have worked to rid her of me." The words stuck like pointy knives in the back of his throat. Jon worked to quell the emotions.

"I would come upon her in the Southron facing tower at times, watching, waiting. She guarded her pregnancy well; I will give her that." His grandfather frowned. "I could not bring myself to take you away from her. Had the Prince won, I should have written him of you both. But he lost." The man looked up at the canopy of red leaves. "She grew more despondent with the waiting even as her body swelled with new life. When I could no longer pretend ignorance, I called her to me. She cried when she told me what she had done and even begged that I would aid the Prince if I could."

Jon's shoulders fell. "She told me she had no intention of asking for your aid in his schemes." Grandfather shrugged.

"My thought is that she may have realised her affection for the man too late. Whatever the case, at that point any intervention on my side would have spelled grief for us. The Prince had his heir by then, the King had doubtless learned much of his son's plans and all that could be done was to wait and see which dragon prevailed. To Lyanna's sorrow, it was not her beloved."

Swallowing his discomfort, knowing he might not speak quite as freely to the lord of the manor as he had done to his mother, Jon pointed out what he hoped might kindle some faint trust in his own heart. "The Prince must have passed through Winterfell on his way to the Wall."

"That he did; you'd not been born yet. The pregnancy was hard on your mother." He'd not been told then, Jon surmised. "Whatever the natural costs of it, they were compounded by her discontentment and regrets. I let her see him just once; he was deep in slumber. Praise be, she struggled through after that."

"Why would you do that? Why keep the truth hidden from him? There was no more danger then; he was an exile by that point. Banished to serve in the Night's Watch all his days." Why were all willing to throw Jon's needs away with nary a thought to the pain they caused?

"He asked after your mother; he wanted her, that much I know. Loved her, I believe; a father can tell." Rickard took up Ice from Jon's lap. "What life could he have given her as a brother of the Watch? And if he chose to run away, my daughter would have followed him into the harsh life of the banished. That is not even counting the danger your presence would have posed."

"I am just a bastard," Jon pointed out unflinching. He was so very tired of people using him as their excuse.

"He wed your mother after the Northerner fashion." That he hadn't known. "'Tis not as binding an oath in the eyes of the realm, I grant you. But there you are. The great council was to convene over two matters of great import; the Prince told me as much. Thankfully, very few were made aware of his liaison with my daughter and most are content with the explanation we have put about. Oh, the tangled webs we weave."

Those should have been his words. Jon was once more in a quandary. "I want to see my father." Just once would be enough; he told himself. He would take the man's likeness and keep it for a fond memory if they exchanged some words. It became ever so much clearer to him that he could never come out and speak the truth. Too much had been done to part them and too much would be uncovered by bleeding hearts. He supposed he must make peace then with the little he was going to get. It was more than he'd had before. His father had a name; Rhaegar Targaryen. He would soon have a face and a voice as well.

"You are a man grown, Jon, and must do as you deem fit," his grandfather said after a brief silence. "You've a horse of your own and coin for your use, should you need them. I only ask that you wait until Brandon has left for the tourney."

The tourney; he'd forgotten all about it. He did not suppose he might avoid his mother forever, in any event. They had to speak; if naught else, he must reconcile his findings with the flesh and blood woman who'd raised him. Naught would be gained by procrastination. He hurriedly stood to his feet and thanked his grandfather for the truth. Rickard Stark dismissed him with a wave of the hand.

Mother he found in her own bedchamber. She looked wan. Dark circles under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights. A stronger man might have taken in her appearance with nary a pang; Jon felt his heart in the grip of painful pity. His filial duty was not entirely lost on him. Nevertheless, he spoke in as monotone a voice as he could manage, when asking if they might have words together. Some of the glimmering light in his mother's eyes faded at the question and she answered in a subdued manner when inviting him to join her.

"I was with grandfather," he said, just after taking a seat upon the edge of her bed. She occupied a spot at his side, neither too close, nor quite an arm's length away. "I have his approval to seek out my father at the Wall." It did not feel as triumphant an admission as he might have imagined.

His mother took a deep breath. "Mean you to make a clean breast of it to him?" He shook his head. Then Jon explained his purpose and the sadness on the woman's face deepened. "I did what I thought best for you and now that you are a full grown man, you must do likewise for yourself. Very well then; I shan't try to stop you." She stood and moved to the trunk at the end of the bed. "There is one thing I wish to give you."

She stooped and opened the chest, withdrawing from it a small box. Opening it, she turned the thing towards him, offering it with both hands. He saw only cloth within. Jon stood and moved closer. He picked up the offering and with one hand removed the coverings in his way. A gasp followed.

"Beautiful, is it not?" his mother asked. "There is a Maester Aemon at the Wall; kin of your father's, though his years of service stretch long into this age." Why ever would he part with so precious a thing and give it in her care? Jon could not help but voice the question. Lyanna shook her head. "You may ask him yourself when you reach the Wall. I have told you all the truths that were mine to tell."

Unable to help himself, Jon carefully placed the box on her bed and tugged his mother into an embrace. Who knew what else he might learn of her and how his feelings would develop from there on? For the moment, however, her first heartless claims had been shaken from their pedestal of absolute cruelty. She was not the woman she had once been in his eyes and would likely never be so again, but she remained his mother for all that and such a truth he could not entirely disregard.

"Mother," he said after they'd parted, "give me your blessings when the time comes." She nodded. He let go entirely the and turned to the box whose lid he shut. "'Tis best you keep this then, for the time being, until I have spoken to the good maester at the Wall."

"Nay; I cannot do that. 'Tis yours now." She retrieved the small chest and pushed it into his arms. "I am a Stark and shan't need such a thing." It was the manner of gift he did not deserve; Jon knew fair well she must have paid dearly for it.

Opting against starting some new argument with the woman, he accepted at long last and saw the gift stored in his own bedchamber. It sat amid precious mementos, such as hunting daggers given to him by grandfather. He suspected the egg was as much for his benefit as it had been for his mother's; that way neither of them would forget. It was the only tangible proof of her words he had, in any event, and one he would leave behind on his journey to the Wall. There he would see if the maester might have need of it and return the thing if at all possible.

He was not a Targaryen and it would simply not be right to take it as his due. Breathing softly, Jon reopened the box, looking upon the glimmering scales. He touched his hand to the cool shell and it seemed to leech his warmth greedily away. Jon pulled his hand back a moment, looking upon the faint indents left behind before returning it to its erstwhile position. The scales were warmer than before. He stroked downwards and hissed when a sharp edge cut into his flesh. For some odd reason, his mind begged him to put flame to the thing and singe it in retaliation for spilling his blood.