Disclaimer: All characters belong to George R. R. Martin.
Don't take this too seriously. All characters are pretty ooc probably. I was just trying to write something a bit angsty, and this thought popped up in my head. Later in the fic it will have elements of a crossover fic but it won't be the focus.
"He hates me!" Ashara moaned into her arms, dropping all pretenses of being a proper lady. She was currently in the inn in Wintertown, away from Winterfell.
"The kid is overwhelmed. His entire world just shifted in a matter of a few hours." Tristan appeared out of nowhere, a glass of water and a gray pill in his hands. At her disgusted look, he frowned sternly and pushed it closer to her mouth. "You have to. You can deny it, but I can tell how weak you are."
Even though he was taller than her now, and he was visibly a decade older, it was times like these that made her realize just how much she'd missed. The Tristan she knew was a pouty, selfish brat who didn't know the first thing about taking care of others. He wouldn't even have remembered that she had to take a pill, much less be observant enough to notice her pain and be the one to force her to take it.
She felt so out of place in these moments, realizing that the world had gone on for a decade while she was taking a nap. She closed her eyes one day, and opened them again, and everything was different.
As he held out her hand, she noticed a line of red. "What's that?" She asked, referring to the thin line of blood on the outer hand.
"Oh this, I met an interesting brat. Now stop trying to distract me and take the pill." He didn't allow her to continue on, instead pushing the pill towards her.
She took her time swallowing the pill, trying not to let the uncertainty show on her face. She didn't want him to worry more than he already was. She could feel the slight pain in her head clearing up, the pill doing its work on her brain.
"I know." She sighed, reluctantly knowing he was right. But it didn't make the pit in her stomach fill up. "I know that this is far better than what I deserve. I deserve to be yelled at and hated, and I should be grateful he's even listening to me."
"Hey, hey hey." Tristan protested, taking his place next to her. "You know as well as I do that you were with postpartum depression. You tried to commit suicide for gods sake. Even if you stayed with him, you wouldn't have been in any headspace to properly care for him."
"What does that say about me as a mother?" Ashara refused to let herself use those terms as an excuse for her actions. It would be easy to do so, but that would be just running away from her responsibility.
"It means that you were a human who suffered a lifetime of tragedies in such a small time." He was gentle, and he had such a kind presence, all her resistance fell away.
"You really grew up to be an amazing man." She whispered as she lowered her head to his shoulder, her eyelids feeling heavy.
"I wanted to be someone you would be proud of."
"I am," She whispered, her heart feeling light, before darkness overtook her.
—
It was Arya's scream of rage that began the chain of chaos that night.
Dinner had been a tense affair fraught with tension. There was a chill in the air that even the Starks weren't used to. Rickon was still boisterous, and Arya talked about a secret training she was doing. But even these regular interactions were undercut with a sense of restlessness that he couldn't place. It felt forced, though he didn't know if that was true or he was just perceiving it that way because of his restlessness. Robb supposed it originated from the fact that his parents barely glanced at each other.
It wasn't the first time in their marriage the two fought, usually when it concerned Jon, but this one was especially bad.
He was sure it had to do with the rumor of Jon's mother. There were claims that she had appeared in Winterfell. The tales claimed that she was Ashara Dayne, a woman long thought dead.
He had originally scoffed at the rumors, until Jon had uncomfortably confirmed those rumors. He had wanted to ask more, but Jon just brushed past him looking more brooding than ever. Even now he was just playing with his tart, head down.
Everything had been going okay, until Sansa had begun mentioning her "prince charming."
The three in question had immediately flinched, and his father who had always smiled at her fantasies for the first time tried to correct her. But it was Arya, to no one's surprise who caused the loudest noise.
"Tristan's not a prince you idiot! He's an assassin!" Arya glared at her angrily, standing up. "And he's not here for a moron like you! He wants to take Jon away! I won't let him!"
"Arya, do not yell at your sister! Apologize right now." Her mother chastised, looking very heated.
"No!" Arya cried out, her eyes showing a wild panic. She turned to mother, ever the only one with the guts to disobey her. "You want Jon gone too so you agree with him! I won't let you! You're not planning on going away right Jon?" She turned to Jon, her eyes a mixture of hope and fear.
"Of course Jon's not going anywhere." Robb laughed, finding the idea ridiculous. "He's our brother! Why would he leave? Tell her Jon!" He nudged him in the ribs, expecting Jon to back him up, maybe tease Arya with him.
But instead Jon just stayed unnaturally quiet.
Heart hammering in his chest, Robb turned to look at Jon with narrowed eyes. "Jon?"
Jon refused to look in his eyes, though he mumbled something so inaudible it might have just been the wind.
"Jon!" Robb cried again, his voice a bit sharper this time, reflecting the very real panic that was setting in.
"I… I don't know! She wants to come with her! But I'm not sure…" Jon trailed off seeing the looks on his siblings faces.
"What?! No!"
"You can't go, Jon! Who's going to teach me to how to fight?!"
Even Rickon, not really understanding it began crying.
But Robb just stared at Jon, his panic leading to anger. For as long as he could remember, Jon had been by his side. He was his brother, regardless of half or bastard. Jon was a part of him, and the two had never been separated for more than the one week he was sick.
Just imagining that Jon was willing to rip apart that bond made his heart clench, and his blood boil.
Dinner ended when Arya threw her food at Sansa. Lady Stark had had enough, and with one last accusing glare at him, she sent everyone to their rooms.
Jon was lying on his bed, his heart still full of turmoil. He was so confused about what to do that just thinking about it made his head hurt. He knew Robb would have a little quip if he revealed that, but then again he wasn't sure that he and Robb were on talking terms at the moment.
He'd never seen Robb so hurt before.
A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts. Thinking it was just a maid he opened it without much thought, but he was surprised to come face to face with his father.
"Father." He said in surprise, taking a step back so he could see his face. "What are you doing here?"
"I was hoping that we could talk." His father said, looking uncharacteristically solemn. Not that he wasn't usually, but there was something different now.
Jon blinked before he realized what his father would want to talk about. His surprise gave way for apprehensiveness. Lips pursed together, he nodded silently.
They took a seat on Jon's bed, sitting apart from each other.
"I guess, I should start by apologizing." His father said.
No sooner had the words come out of his mouth, that something in Jon had snapped. All the repressed anger, all the years of doubt and insecurity just burst out. "About what exactly? About the fact that you never told me who my mother was? Or the fact that you lied to my face about her? Or are you just apologizing because you were caught?!"
Something flashed in his father's eyes, and for a brief moment Jon thought he might have gone too far. But rather than get mad, he just deflated even more.
"All of it. All of it and more." Ned admitted, with a soft, regretful tone. "You had a right to know who your mother is, and when you came to today, I shouldn't have lied to you."
"Why did you lie to me?" Jon asked, his rage deflating at his father's sincerity. But without the rage, all he felt was the deep sense of hurt that only one close to your heart could inflict. "You're Eddard Stark. The most honorable man in all of Westeros. You never lie."
His father smiled bitterly, a look that he couldn't place flashing over his eyes. "I don't like to lie, Jon." He corrected, placing an emphasis on the word like. "I feel it's dishonest, but sometimes for the sake of my family, I have lied. Though sometimes my decision doesn't always turn out right."
"Really? About more than just me?" Jon asked suspiciously, not believing that his father would ever do such a thing. Sure he'd got caught lying to him, but he'd had his whole life to wrap his head around the fact that his father's honor was stained when it came to him. But more than him? That still sounded far-fetched.
"More than you and your mother." Ned emphasized. "Do not ask me more about it, Jon. This is a secret I'll take to the grave." His eyes grew hazy at that, his face looking pained.
"Then tell me why you lied about me?" He said, half wanting to know, half wanting to pull his father out of whatever painful memory he was holding.
"I won't lie to you anymore. A huge part was the vow I made to both the Daynes and the Tully's. The Daynes', your mother's family, did not want their daughter's memory to be dishonored further. And the Tully's, Lord Hoster Tully feared what your existence meant for his grandchildren." Jon's eyes widened as Ned talked about the vows he made in the heart tree all those years ago to his mother. "At the time, it was a valid concern. Even though Ashara was a Southerner, she was a descendant of the first men just like the Northeren's, and the Dayne family though not as powerful are very respected in their own right. It would not be out of the realm of possibility that you would be scrutinized as a successor."
"Does that mean I am not a bastard?" Jon questioned, still confused by his father's words regarding vows.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you Jon. The vows I made were not marriage vows, and thus not legally binding. Nor were there witnesses. But if people found out I made a vow in front of the heart tree that I did not follow through…"
"People would look down on you." Jon realized with a sinking heart. "But you had no choice for the sake of Aunt Lyanna." He pursed his lips.
Jon felt confused. First when he thought he might not be a bastard, a strange panic welled up in him. If it turned out that after everything he went through as the bastard of winterfell, when in truth he was a true born, he wasn't sure he had the strength to forgive his father if that had been the case.
It made him realize that no matter what, he loved his father, and he wanted to forgive him.
"The other part of the reason I kept it from you, was to protect you from the truth." Ned revealed, causing Jon to whip his head upwards to look at his father. His brief confusion was satiated when Ned continued. "I did not want you to blame yourself if you found out how she died. Luckily it seems that was not the case."
Oh. Jon thought as he listened to his father's explanation. He was still angry, but slowly that anger felt like someone was rubbing a salve over the wound. His sincerity and openness, it was all he'd ever wanted from his father. That and the Stark name, but that was different.
"Would you have ever told me?" Jon asked.
"...I don't know." Ned answered honestly.
Before Jon could think, he moved, throwing himself in his father's arms. He didn't know when he'd stopped doing that, but he was annoyed at himself. He felt so safe, so warm, like nothing could harm him. At the moment it didn't matter to him about the lies or the truth, because one truth was undeniable. He was the son of Eddard Stark, and that would never change.
The two embraced, just clutching each other desperately. There was an unease in each other's heart, one that could only be explained by the unsaid elephant in the room.
It was Jon who brought it up.
"Mot- Lady Ashara wants me to go with her." Jon revealed, finding out just then the word mother didn't come naturally to him. "But you know that." He noted his father's unsurprised face.
"She was quite vocal about her desires." Ned chuckled, breaking into a smile. The fondness there was undeniable. "Wouldn't take no for an answer from me."
"She gave me a choice." Jon thought out loud.
"Yeah well, you're her son. You've got an advantage." Jon smiled at that, before it fell away to reveal the uncertainty painted across his face. "What do you think I should do?"
Ned looked at him strangely. "As a father, of course I want you to be beside me. Not just you, if I had it my way, all of you would stay at Winterfell until I'm old and withering on my deathbed. Unmarried, and still little kids."
"I'm sure Sansa would enjoy that." Jon said dryly, making Ned's face stricken. Sansa had been waxing poetry about her prince charming since the moment she'd turned 5.
"So you want me to stay?" Jon asked eagerly.
"I do want you to stay… but I also think it might be a good idea to see what your mother wants you to see." Ned revealed, to his shock.
Immediately all his old feelings of insecurity came back, and he spat bitterly. "Why? That eager to get rid of your bastard the first chance you get?! So you can go back to pretending that your honor is unblemished?"
He expected his father to react harshly to his words, instead he just brought him in for a hug. "Because behind that fear and anger, you truly want to go. You want to know a mother's love, you're just too afraid to get hurt again. But Ashara truly loves you, and I know that you will love her too."
Jon melted in his embrace, clutching his robes tightly. "What if… what if I'm not what she imagined? What if she comes to hate me?" Jon whispered, softly.
"Then you will always have a home here." Ned whispered reassuringly.
That night the two put their demons to rest, and just as Ned was leaving, Jon asked the final question that was haunting him. "Did you love her?"
Ned paused at the door, his memories flashing through his mind. "Your mother was one of the only few people to have ever seen me for me. To everyone else I was the second son of Rickard Stark, or the boring brother of Brandon, or even Robert Baratheon's shy and quiet friend. To your mother, I was just Ned. She saw me before even I saw myself."
The more I know you the more curious I am. Just what makes men like Robert or Brandon, men admired and envied throughout the realm, crave your company more than anyones. And what makes you think that I myself have not fallen for that mysterious charm?
"In another life, I would have married her and I would have had no regrets."
Jon noticed that he never explicitly answered his question. But he didn't need to. The way he spoke about her, the quiet sadness mixed with a hint of reverence was enough to answer his question.
Story is almost at the end! Just one chapter left!