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A Song of Ice and Fire ... and Magic
Chapter 1: The Tower of Joy and the Boy Who Lived
When Voldemort came to kill Harry things ended up going differently. Resulting in Harry ending up in Westeros growing up a Stark. This is his story. Harry/Dany and Jon/(No Spoiler)
Voldemort callously stepped over the lifeless body of Lily Potter, his lip curling in contempt as he raised his wand. With a sneer, he cast the killing curse at the defenseless baby who, unexpectedly, seemed to be gazing directly at him. However, in a sudden turn of events, as the curse made contact with the baby's forehead, a brilliant blue shield materialized around the child, reflecting the deadly curse back towards Voldemort, an event that gave him no time to react.
In an instant of excruciating agony, as if his very soul were being torn apart, Voldemort witnessed a portal materialize around the boy. The baby, encased in the protective shield, plummeted into the portal … and the haunting strains of medieval music filled the air.
Abruptly, the world plunged into darkness, leaving Voldemort with an unsettling sense of disorientation and pain, … and confusion as to the fate of the baby.
- HP - GOT - HP - GOT - HP - GOT - HP - GOT - HP -
Eddard Stark reined in his white stallion, bringing it to a stop as the pervasive darkness of night enveloped the landscape. The cold from the air coming off the mountains seeped through their mail and plate armor, rendering an icy chill. Observing his six companions also halting, Ned issued the directive, "We shall make camp here. It is but a half day's ride to the Red Mountains, and then a few more hours to reach the Tower of Joy from there." Dismounting, his metal boots resonated with a clatter upon the hardened, frigid dirt.
Ethan Glover assumed the responsibility of igniting the fires, swiftly succeeding in creating a blaze that offered a welcome reprieve from the biting cold. Chieftain Theo Wull retrieved a fresh deer leg from his sack, the only remaining spoils from their earlier hunt that day. Tying his mount to a nearby tree, Ned settled by the warmth of the fire, seeking solace from the penetrating cold that had permeated his bones, as the heat from the day had entirely disappeared.
The moment he dismounted and settled into a sitting position, an overwhelming sense of concern seized him, no longer having anything to distract him. It had been a year and a half since he last laid eyes on his younger sister, and an entire year since her abduction by the silver prince. As he looked into the fire, the echo of his best friend's voice, Robert Baratheon, resonated in his mind, the memory vivid despite leaving the King weeks ago.
"Ned," Robert's voice lingered, the aftermath of their bloody and arduous battle with the Targaryen's evident in his weary and even more hoarse tone, "bring her back to me."
"Of course, my friend," Ned responded, a solemn promise escaping his lips, "For both you and me." The gravity of the vow hung in the air for a second as the men had clasped hands before Ned had turned and left for the capital.
The gaze in Robert's eyes, marred by the pain of his battle with her kidnapper, pierced through the bloody antlered helm. It was a look that conveyed a wounded soul, assuring Ned that his friend's love for Ned's sister was as true as his own. After the victorious fight with Rhaegar on the Trident and his chat with Ned, Jon Arryn took charge of guiding Robert to seek out the care of the maesters, dispatching Ned to reach King's Landing before the Lannisters. If duty hadn't demanded his presence, he would have forsaken the capital and headed straight for the Tower of Joy, as the entire trip he could not get the image of his sister out of his mind.
While tearing bites from a piece of deer leg, Ned's mind echoed with silent prayers that his detour through King's Landing hadn't cost precious time for his sister and he couldn't help but think about what awaited him at the Tower of Joy. While Ser Barristan Selmy had pledged allegiance to Robert, Ser Jonothor Darry and Prince Lewyn Martell met their demise on the Trident, and Ser Jaime Lannister lingered in service to the mad king, a choice that ultimately proved foolish for the deranged ruler. Three members of the Kingsguard were unaccounted for.
Ser Oswell Whent, Ser Arthur Dayne, and Ser Gerold Hightower remained conspicuous in their absence from all the reports Ned had diligently gathered before departing King's Landing. Each of them epitomized not only goodness and nobility but also extraordinary martial prowess. Ned's apprehension grew, contemplating the possibility that Rhaegar, anticipating a rescue attempt by either him or Robert, had stationed one or more of those knights with Lyanna.
While the Spider had told him that it was likely that at least one, if not all of them, had fled with Rhaegar's mother and brother, Ned could not fully accept that scenario without concrete confirmation.
The Kingsguard does not flee, Ser Gerold once told him, a very long time ago.
Sleep eluded him as Lord Howland Reed, Captain Martyn Cassel, and Ethan Glover shared laughter, swapped war stories, and engaged in animated conversation until the early hours of the morning, a tactic Ned knew was not uncommon for men about to go into a fight. When a semblance of sleep eventually claimed him, it was a fitful rest at best, leaving him with the feeling that actual sleep had eluded him altogether.
Upon waking, the sun indicated the early morning hours, casting its gentle glow upon the camp, already banishing the cold from the night. Only Ethan Glover and Ser Mark were awake, savoring the spoils of a successful morning hunt. Glover, having already eaten his share, gestured to Ned to join them, saying, "Eat, my lord. Today is the day."
Ned, accepting the invitation, settled on the ground beside them, tearing into a bite of the deer. "A righteous day it shall be," he affirmed, hoping the words were true.
Once the entire company had stirred from their slumber and partaken in a morning meal, Ned gathered them together to address the pressing matter at hand.
"Gentlemen," Ned commenced, his tone carrying a gravity that mirrored the weight of the impending mission. "It's unlikely that Lyanna is the sole occupant of the Tower … three members of the Kingsguard were notably absent during the Siege of Storm's End, and I am nearly certain we will encounter them here."
Lord Willam Dustin voiced his inquiry, "Did they not accompany the Queen and brother of Prince Rhaegar in their flight?"
"The Kingsguard does not flee," Ned reiterated with a steadfast conviction. "While maybe one of them may have gone to Dragonstone, I worry that Ser Gerold, Ser Arthur, and Ser Oswell are likely to be guarding my sister."
Ser Mark expressed skepticism, "The Sword of the Morning, protecting a hostage in a tower nestled within the mountains? It seems … unlikely … my Lord."
"He was a confidant of Rhaegar," Ethan chimed in. "He'll be with the man's family."
Lord Willam interjected, "Not to mention he was the Lord Commander himself."
Ned affirmed with a resolute nod, "Those are valid points and yet I can't shake the feeling that they await our arrival."
"The Kingsguard is bound by oath to protect only the king or his heirs. What reason would he have to safeguard the Prince's hostage?" inquired Theo Wull, his skepticism cutting through the air.
Ned harbored his own concerns, but he hesitated to entertain the troubling thought that lingered. "I'm ... not sure," he replied cautiously, unwilling to vocalize the unsettling suspicion gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. "But such is my suspicion. They are honorable men. If they are there and if no harm can come of this, then none will. Understood?"
"Aye," replied the men in unison.
"Then let us ride."
The small party embarked on their journey, traversing the landscape for the better part of the morning. The campsite from the previous night now seemed a distant memory, and the towering peaks of the mountains which had only just beginning to emerge on the horizon when they started their ride in the morning grew steadily larger as the day progressed.
It was midday when the group arrived at the foot of the mountains, the Prince's Pass standing as a formidable gateway into the realm of Dorne. "A bit audacious of the Prince, isn't it?" Lord Willam quipped, a wry smile on his face. "To conceal his captive mistress within the borders of his wife's kingdom?"
Ned kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, his expression devoid of any amusement at Lord Willam's jest. The gravity of what they might find hanging heavily over him.
As dusk began to descend, the group reached the Tower of Joy, the red-bricked tower standing prominently within view. Navigating their way to the tower's entrance, a distinct sight awaited them – three gleaming knights in resplendent white armor stationed at the tower's base. Ser Oswell donned his bat-winged helm, the Sword of the Morning, and the Lord Commander visible in all their glory.
The arrival of Ned's party had clearly not gone unnoticed.
"Greetings, Lord of Winterfell, friend to the usurper," greeted the Lord Commander with a note of derision. "You've come to reclaim the Prince's love, have you?"
"The Prince's hostage, I believe," Eddard countered, maintaining a measured composure. "Lay down your swords. You are outnumbered seven to three. No harm need come of this."
"We swore an oath, my lord," Ser Arthur declared with a sense of duty, "to defend the Targaryens with everything we have. Besides … I think these are good odds."
"We will not betray him as you have," Oswell added, shaking his head at the men in front of him.
"I sought you on the Trident. Where were you if not with your Prince?" he questioned.
"We were not there, but carrying out a mission assigned to us under the seal of secrecy," Ser Gerold responded.
"Woe to the Usurper if we had been," added Ser Oswell.
"When King's Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were, if not protecting your King," Ned pressed further.
"Far away," Ser Gerold explained, "or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells."
"I descended upon Storm's End to lift the siege, the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne yielded, their banners dipped, and their knights bent the knee and pledged fealty. I was certain that among them, I would find you, perhaps attempting to capture the younger Baratheons."
"Our knees do not bend easily," asserted Ser Arthur Dayne, with an unwavering demeanor.
"Ser Willem Darry has fled to Dragonstone, along with your queen and Prince Viserys. There were rumors that you might have sailed with them," Ned continued, probing for insights as to why they were here.
"Ser Willem is a good man and true," affirmed Ser Oswell.
"But not of the Kingsguard," Ser Gerold interjected, emphasizing a crucial distinction. As he had conveyed to Ned on a previous occasion, "The Kingsguard does not flee."
"Then or now," added Ser Arthur, reinforcing their commitment.
"We swore a vow," Ser Gerold stated simply, "and we intend to honor it."
"Your honor will remain unquestioned throughout your lives, sers," declared Lord Howland. "The Mad King was mad, and the Prince was a fool. Pledge your swords to a true king. A noble king."
"Robert Baratheon," Ned interjected, his voice carrying conviction. "A just king of the Seven Kingdoms."
The Lord Commander rebutted, "A usurper of power to which he has no right."
"We will never follow such a man," Ser Oswell asserted firmly, as Ser Arthur donned his helmet.
It became apparent to Ned that attempting to negotiate with them was futile.
Recognizing the impending clash, Ned's comrades closed ranks, standing beside him, drawing their blades in unison.
Seven against three, the tension in the air thickened with the weight of the approaching conflict.
"And now it begins," declared Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, as he unsheathed Dawn, its pale milkglass blade alive with ethereal light.
"No," Ned responded, a somber note permeating his voice.
"Now it ends."
The distinct ring of steel echoed as Ned unsheathed Ice, the sound resonating through the scene. In a powerful overhead swing, he brought it down upon Ser Oswell, only to be met with a deft parry. Locked in single combat, the two warriors engaged in a dance of lethal precision. To his left, Ned observed the radiant light from Dawn as it effortlessly intercepted the simultaneous attacks from Ethan Glover, Theo Wull, and Martyn Cassel. The trio's strikes were met with graceful and skillful defenses, the sword moving with an almost … magical fluidity.
Meanwhile, Lord Howland and Ser Mark engaged the Lord Commander in a fierce battle, each exchange a testament to the struggle with the Lord Commander. Lord Willam hastened to Ned's side, reinforcing the beleaguered Stark in his struggle against Ser Oswell.
Ice whirled through the air, deftly parrying Ser Oswell's sword, only to catch the bat-winged helm on his opponent's head, sending it tumbling to the ground. In the second it took Ned to look down for his sword, the Kingsguard took advantage and retaliated with a swift kick to Ned's stomach, forcing him to stumble and collapse to the ground, gasping for breath. As Ned prepared to rise and rejoin the fray, Ser Oswell executed a vicious sideways slash, with Lord Willam Dustin caught in the fatal attack. The crimson cascade of blood stained the silver plate, marking the tragic end of one of Ned's party.
Undeterred, Ned grabbed his sword, regained his footing, and launched a relentless assault on Ser Oswell. Amidst the fierce combat, he witnessed Ser Arthur's lethal precision, piercing Theo Wull's heart before swiftly impaling a wounded Ethan Glover through a cracked breastplate.
In a move that seemingly caught Ser Oswell by surprise, Ice connected with Ser Oswell's shoulder, throwing him off balance. Capitalizing on the opening, Ned mirrored the earlier kick, sending the Kingsguard sprawling to the ground.
As Ser Oswell struggled to rise, Ned's blade descended with a decisive strike, severing his head from his shoulders.
As Ned raised his gaze, the aftermath of the skirmish revealed a grim tableau. Ser Arthur Dayne had swiftly dispatched the last of his opponents, Martyn Cassel. While Lord Howland Reed managed to deliver a fatal blow to the Lord Commander, but not before sustaining an apparently serious wound that left him struggling to stand. Ser Mark and Ned stood as the sole able-bodied survivors from their side of the fight..
"Well, well, Lord Eddard," Ser Arthur's voice resonated with a measured tone, "How quickly seven become two. I fear your new born son will grow up fatherless. A pity." The man's confident tone, stirred echoes of Ned's brother Brandon's voice in his mind. He recalled Brandon's admiration for Ser Arthur Dayne, dubbed the finest knight and the most skilled swordsman in the realm, a sentiment voiced during the tournament at Harrenhal.
"And three becomes one, Ser. You are still outnumbered," Ned countered, pointing to the man's fallen brothers. "End this now, I implore you." Ned pleaded, partially out of a desire for an end to the bloodshed and partly from an undercurrent of apprehension in the face of the formidable knight.
Without uttering a word, the knight lifted Dawn, and as swift as a flash of light that the sword resembled, the sword descended with lightning speed, providing Ned his answer. Ned's response was instinctive, yet he still barely lifted Ice in time to intercept the attack. Ser Mark, seizing the opportunity, swung his greatsword, aiming to exploit the momentary vulnerability created by Ser Arthur's assault. Yet, the Sword of the Morning, with apparent ease, thwarted the counterattack. The air crackled with the intensity of their exchange as the two skilled warriors unleashed a relentless barrage of strikes on the sole remaining defender of the Tower.
As the clash unfolded, Ned found themselves pushing Ser Arthur backward, the force of their combined assault gradually driving him up the hill toward the imposing wall of the tower. It was there, less than two paces from the wall that Ser Arthur Dayne executed a masterful maneuver. Ducking beneath a horizontal swing from Ned, the Sword of the Morning skillfully maneuvered Dawn through the crease between belt and breastplate on Ser Mark's armor. In a single moment, Ser Mark crumpled to the ground, his greatsword falling to the ground beside him.
Ned barely had time to register the unfolding danger before Dawn, the pale, radiant blade, descended upon him once more. It was all he could do to defend against the relentless strikes but with each calculated swing of his sword, Ser Arthur Dayne expertly maneuvered, driving Ned backward toward the grim pile of corpses with an unyielding attack. All of a sudden realization dawned on Ned; Ser Arthur's strategy was clear – to force him to retreat until he stumbled over the fallen bodies. In that moment of chaos, a sobering thought permeated Ned's mind … "This is where I die."
"I will defend the Targaryens!" Ser Arthur bellowed, his resolute declaration punctuating each advancing blow. Confusion clouded Ned's mind. What Targaryens? Only Lyanna was supposed to be here, wasn't she? All the other Targaryens were accounted for. But before he could spare more than a tought on Ser Arthur's decleration, his earlier guess about the man's strategy was proven correct, as his boot made contact with the lifeless form of Martyn Cassel causing him to fall backwards. Ned's back collided with the unforgiving ground, and Ice slipped from his grasp. In an act of desperation, knowing his end was soon to come, he grabbed the iron battle axe from the lifeless grip of Chieftain Theo Wull.
Using the borrowed weapon, Ned intercepted the next crushing blow from Ser Arthur, the impact feeling like a mountain descending upon him. Using his entire body weight, the Sword of the Morning exerted relentless pressure, inching his shining blade ever closer to Ned's vulnerable neck. The sunlight of the vanishing sun reflecting off the sword blinded him, and in the haze of impending doom, Ned's thoughts turned to Lyanna. "I'm so sorry, Lyanna," he whispered, feeling the cold touch of steel against his neck. "I've failed you."
Just as the bleak grip of hopelessness threatened to consume him, the oppressive pressure from the sword suddenly lightened. Slowly, Ned opened his eyes, which had instinctively shut tight against the searing pain of the sword on his neck. What met his gaze was not the same look of blind fury in Ser Arthur's eyes from a moment ago. Instead, there lingered only confusion and pain.
Seizing the convenient shift in his adversary's demeanor, Ned summoned every ounce of remaining strength to throw the knight off him. With a determined effort, he hoisted himself back onto his feet and dropped the iron battle axe, opting instead to pick up Ice from where it was lying nearby. As he turned, sword drawn, to face Ser Arthur once more, the formidable swordsman struggled to rise, blood spilling from his mouth.
When Ser Arthur finally managed to stand, Ned saw his unexpected savior. An arrow jutted from the man's side, piercing both the area between his ribs and his pristine white cloak.
Another arrow flew past Lord Eddard from behind, finding its mark in Ser Arthur's stomach, locating a small, unprotected area below the knight's steel plate. Though the Swordsman did not collapse, a loud growl of pain echoed through the air. Confused, Ned turned around to witness his savior – Lord Howland, barely conscious, blood seeping from his side, gripping Ethan Glover's hunting bow with a pained yet triumphant smile upon his face.
Seemingly undeterred by his injury, Ser Arthur Dayne continued his relentless approach toward Ned. Despite his wounded state, the Sword of the Morning summoned more strength than anyone in his condition should have possessed, swinging Dawn with clear intent … however, the strike proved too slow. In his current condition, even with Lord Eddard fatigued and drained, he effortlessly sidestepped Ser Arthur's attack.
"I'm sorry, Ser. This is the end," Ned declared with a heavy heart. In one fluid motion, he raised his own sword, Ice, and swiftly thrust it downward into the crease of the plate over Ser Arthur's shoulder, surprising the Kingsguard. A momentary flicker of surprise gave way to an expression of regret in Ser Arthur's eyes which lingered for several moments. Yet, it was acceptance that replaced that as the swordsman fell to the ground, before the light in his eyes slowly faded.
Ned hurried to Lord Howland's side, supporting the bleeding man by placing his arm over his shoulder. "You saved my life, My Lord," Ned acknowledged with gratitude. "If there is anything you should ever …"
"Let's hope we arrived in time to save hers," Reed responded cutting off Ned Stark, his gaze fixated on the tower.
"We need to get you some help," urged Ned. "Hopefully Rhaegar saw fit to leave a maester with my sister, when he decided to imprison her here."
As they approached the tower, the stone arch looming before them, a sharp cry pierced the air—a woman's cry of pain. "Lyanna!" Ned exclaimed, a surge of urgency propelling him forward, pulling Howland Reed up the stairs.
"Go to her, Ned," Lord Howland insisted. "I can manage."
Respecting his words, Ned gently lowered him onto the stone steps before sprinting up the spiral stairs, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. Bursting through the door at the top of the staircase, he nearly bowled over the two individuals standing just inside the door in his haste.
As Ned entered the room, the sight that met his eyes surpassed any shock he had ever experienced. His sister lay on the bed, her face flushed with exertion, hair disheveled, and her body drenched in sweat. A maester stood at her side, offering a comforting presence, holding her hand and providing sips of water. Another master sat at her feet, hands delicately placed beneath the fringes of her dress, which Ned noticed were stained red.
A realization struck Ned like a thunderclap—Lyanna is giving birth.
The room echoed with his sister's agonizing screams, each one tugging at Ned's heart. Despite having witnessed the birthing process twice before, this scene was different; the intensity of Lyanna's pain was palpable, and it left Ned paralyzed with uncertainty.
For a moment, he stood in silence, a statue carved by the gravity of the moment. "Lord Eddard?" yelled the maesters standing at her side.
The usage of his name allowed him to finally regain his composure and Ned moved swiftly to Lyanna's side, grasping her hand. "Ned," she whispered through the screams, her voice barely audible. "You … are here?" She questioned he voice laden with both gratitude and pain.
"Milk of the Poppy!" Ned urgently shouted at the maesters. "Where is it? She needs it, can you not hear her."
"We've used it all, My Lord," came the hesitant and regretful reply.
Shaking his head to dispel his worry, he looked back to Lyanna. "Be brave, sister," Ned murmured, his hand gently brushing her face, an undercurrent of anger coursing through him at the realization that there was not enough Milk of the Poppy on hand for her in her condition.
Minutes later, the sound of Lyanna's screams were joined by the delicate cries of a newborn. Her son, swaddled in soft blankets, was placed in her exhausted arms by the maester.
"Leave us," Lyanna kindly instructed the maesters, her voice carrying a weariness that bespoke the ordeal she had just endured. "And thank you for birthing my son."
"Howland, stay," Ned directed, acknowledging Lord Howland Reed, who had at some point entered the room, nursing his injured side.
Turning his attention back to Lyanna, Ned's heart raced with apprehension as he broached a delicate question. "It's his, isn't it?" he inquired, his fear evident. "Rhaegar's?"
Lyanna, her gaze fixed on her newborn son, breathed out a barely audible affirmation. "Yes," she confessed, her words a whisper carried on the air.
"I'm so sorry," Ned confessed, a tear falling onto his sister's bed as he knelt beside it. The weight of his emotions overwhelmed him. "Did he hurt you? I should have come sooner, I—"
"I love him, Ned," Lyanna interjected, her eyes unwaveringly fixed on her son.
"Of course you do, he is your son," Ned affirmed, his gaze shifting to the newborn cradled in Lyanna's arms.
"No Ned … I love Rhaegar," Lyanna declared, her words cutting through the air with surprising intensity. "With everything I have … with all that I am."
Ned's shock reverberated anew. "Your kidnapper?"
"No," she shook her head sadly, clarifying. "I chose to leave with him. I begged him to take me far away—from his mad father, from his wife, from Robert … whom I had loved but never in the way I loved Rhaegar. So … we came here," she explained, tears streaming down her face. "And here did we live, for a long time. But he always told me he had to face Robert. That it was the way things should be done. I begged him not to go, but he did."
Her voice grew hoarse, and Ned offered her some water to soothe her parched throat.
"Tell me, brother," she asked, a soft and hesitant look playing on her face. "Did he … did he face Robert?"
"Yes," Ned admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"And he fell?" Lyanna inquired, her eyes brimming with tears.
Ned nodded, "Yes."
"I feared as much," she murmured, leaning her head back and releasing a heartfelt sigh. "That's okay," she reassured herself. "I feel the strength leaving me. I … will be with him soon."
"No, Lyanna, you can't say that, you can't, I'll …" Ned began to protest.
"We were going to leave Westeros," she interjected, her voice soft and distant, seemingly indifferent to his words. "Selling the rubies from his armor in Volantis and starting a new life. He was going to leave the realm for me, allowing Viserys to rule."
"Please, Lyanna, we can be at Kingsgrave in a few hours, I can save you …" Ned pleaded desperately.
"No," she insisted. "It's too late. I need you to promise me something, Ned."
"Anything, sweet sister," Ned responded, a solitary tear falling from his face to the bed beside her.
"Two things," Lyanna corrected herself. "Please, never reveal to Robert where my heart truly lay at the end. He is a good man, and there was a time when I loved him as he loves me. I couldn't bear to see him hurt."
Ned cleared his throat, nodding solemnly. "Of course."
"Also, and more importantly, I would ask that you raise my son," she requested, her gaze fixed on the infant nestled in her arms. There was a poignant pause as Ned contemplated her words. "Let him grow to be big and strong. I heard you have a son now as well. Let the cousins be friends."
"If I say he's your son, people will know," Ned pointed out. "Robert will butcher the boy."
"Raise him as your bastard, then. One day, when he is ready, when he is a man grown, tell him of his true mother and father," Lyanna instructed. "His name is Jon. Jon Targaryen." Only now did Ned notice the silver and ruby wedding band adorning her finger.
"Jon Snow," Ned corrected her quietly.
"Jon Snow," Lyanna agreed, her voice barely audible, before finally shutting her eyes and releasing a deep breathe.
Ned stood up slowly, the weight of the moment settling on his shoulders. "Help me keep her promise, Howland. Nobody shall ever know."
"I swear it, friend," Howland vowed.
Jon Targaryen. Ned gazed into the babe's big, grey eyes, a characteristic shared by every Stark. "You will be a good man, Jon ..."
But the rest of his sentence was abruptly cut off by a resonant cracking sound emanating from the edge of the room, accompanied by an intense blue light that flooded the space, requiring Ned to shield his eyes. After several moments, the light receded, and Ned cautiously opened his eyes, wariness etched on his face as he tried to discern the cause of the unexpected phenomenon.
As he and Howland approached a bundle of fabrics nestled in the corner of the room, a soft cry emanated from within, giving them pause. Confusion etched across Ned's face as he exchanged a perplexed glance with Howland. Holding Jon securely in one arm, Ned took a cautious step forward, drawn towards the source of the mysterious sound.
Bending down with deliberate care, he began to unravel the bundle, revealing its concealed contents. As the fabric fell away, Ned recoiled in shock, his eyes widening in disbelief. There, nestled within the folds, was … a baby … with a distinctive scar in the shape of a lightning bolt, and vibrant green eyes staring back at him …
Kind Regards,
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Thanks to those of you out to those of you who enjoy my stories, I promise to keep updating the stories as long as you enjoy them, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback or reach out to me directly.
Author Note 1 – Have changed a couple of things from canon but in general will follow the books for both Harry Potter and ASOIAF for details. First of all, Voldemort found Harry shortly after he was born therefore Jon and Harry are about the same age. Second of all, Lyanna was in a little better shape when Ned arrived so they had more of a conversation, Ned knows more … will affect the way he treats Jon. And finally this will take a while for its importance to be revealed, but Hogwarts enrollment starts at 16.
Author Note 2 – All feedback is welcome (hopefully constructive!) Looking forward to what you think!
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