The Bastard's Band
Prologue (III)
Eddard II
"Take a seat, Lord Stark." Howland gestured toward a few chairs in his solar. "I apologize for the mess."
Howland's solar was a humble room. A wooden desk and a few wooden chairs decorated the room, good craftmanship but not particularly intricate either. Practical. The room had a few weapons hanging upon the walls and even a very familiar set of armor.
Eddard felt his mouth dry at the sight of it, pausing in his motion to sit down and deciding to remain standing for the time being. It couldn't be. Surely Rhaegar had destroyed the armor or kept it somewhere.
"Before you ask, yes, it is." Lord Reed chuckled. "After the Tourney, Rhaegar handed it to me to deliver to Lyanna discreetly. He did not wish to meet with her directly after drama that arose. Of course, before I had the opportunity…"
"The Rebellion."
No more words needed to be said on the matter.
"It is well maintained." Eddard moved his hand over the armor. If he closed his eyes, he could even remember the joust. Seeing the Laughing Knight lay low knight after knight, none of any particular skill but still beyond what most mystery knights were capable of. "Have…"
"Worn it?" Howland looked at him funny, allowing for Eddard to remember the man's short stature and give a sheepish grin. "No, but perhaps her son can."
"Howland." Eddard hissed. "That is far too dangerous! People remember this suit of armor!"
"They know nothing of its connections to Lyanna." Howland countered. "It will be a curiosity, at most. You can even say that you recovered it from Harrenhal and gifted it to your bastard son, as a mockery to House Targaryen. Aerys did say the Laughing Knight was no friend to his House, did he not?"
"That is not what I mean." Eddard gave the man a look. The man was capable but sometimes he did not see the full picture. "His greatest protection is that he does not attract attention. This armor will do nothing but bring attention. People will look at him longer, truly look at him!"
"They would find the Stark looks."
"In coloring." Lord Stark agreed. "But the nose, the eyes, even his demeanor scream of his Father. Up North, very few had seen the Last Dragon. Down South? They still remember their Silver Prince."
"And yet, here you are." Howland stated, sitting down himself. "Sending him South, to the Reach. The very heart of Westeros' Loyalist remnants. Why agree to the Tyrells' offer? If you are worried about eyes on him, why send him to the place where he is most likely to be recognized? To be used?"
"For his happiness." Eddard felt himself grow older by the moment. "The North has little in the way of opportunities. My lady wife has tolerated the boy but legitimizing him or even giving him a keep in the North will be pushing her tolerance, especially since I may have at least one other who will need a keep of his own."
"Still…"
"Even if they suspect, there will be no evidence." Features alone were not enough, especially to accuse the King's own brother in all but blood of treason. They could suspect at best. "A truth that cannot be confirmed might as well be a lie."
"From what we talked on the way here, the whole point is for Robert to pay attention to the boy due to his connection to you." Howland looked quite unnerved by the idea, as Eddard himself had been. "The man dreams of killing Rhaegar every night on the Trident, as you have mentioned yourself. Is there not a risk of him noticing?"
"Robert has always seen what he wanted to see." He had barely met Lyanna and yet he had never noticed her distaste for his antics. He hoped it remained true. Hoped beyond hope itself.
"I suppose you are right, even if they did suspect they would be confounded on why you would send the boy into their midst." Only Howland could insult him so indirectly to his face.
"I hardly had much of a choice." Lord Stark eventually explained further. Perhaps his 'reasoning' had simply been a half-hearted attempt at justifying a choice he had little alternative to. "Lord Tyrell made a good offer, my wife agreed that it was good, and there were no other true opportunities for him. Where else would he go? The Wall? That is no place for her boy, she would curse me for eternity and bad enough I lost Benjen to that den of refuse. Outside Westeros? A world of slavers and monsters, requiring huge sums of money to travel to."
"Even assuming no one notices who he really is, the South is not as kind to bastards as the North." Howland cautioned. "Even if knighthood could prove a great opportunity, would it be worth it?"
"I cannot protect him from everything." It hurts to admit it. That despite everything, he could only give Jon the tools to protect himself and be a good man. "There will always be those who look down on him for that sin I have placed upon him. Bastardry. I cannot change other men for blaming him for something he had no hand in, but I am confident that Jon will rise above it. Bastards can rise high. Orys Baratheon became the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Bloodraven was Hand of the King. Brandon Snow's company still roams in Essos."
"Orys and Bloodraven were known to have royal blood, and the latter was a sorcerer of no small degree of skill and an unrepentant kinslayer, Brandon Snow himself didn't end up amounting to much beyond the founding of his company." Howland rolled his eyes. "For all those great bastards, there are the infamous. Daemon Blackfyre, whose name is a cautious tale to this day. Bittersteel was the one that convinced him to claim the throne in his lust for power and his sister."
"Jon is a good boy." He knew that Howland was being honest, brutally so. People would see what they wished to see. A well-liked bastard would be compared to Orys and a disliked one to the likes of Blackfyre and Bittersteel. Even the bastard brother of old was now looked at cautiously after Robert had claimed the throne. "He will be a good man."
"I know." Howland agreed. "But I just want you to be aware that it will be difficult. He will need to grow up fast."
"Bastards tend to do so faster." Eddard spoke bitterly.
"Because they need to."
Eddard nodded and a comfortable silence emerged between them.
"You can give him the armor." He sighed; Howland smiled. "You will change it somewhat, to lessen the recognition however minutely. But I suppose he was sent to Highgarden to draw King's attention; he won't be obscure despite my hopes that Robert won't care."
"As you command."
"Do attempt to keep your smugness in check, Lord Reed." Eddard gave a glare, mockingly. "I thought a crannogman would be good at hiding their emotions."
"Only when sneaking up upon an enemy, Lord Stark." Soon the silence returned. Both men were not ones for mindless small-talk, and unlike with Lord Tyrell, Howland did not seem inclined to even try to speak of trivial matters. He was the one man in the North more reclusive than Eddard himself.
"Have you considered telling the boy?" He didn't need to specify what he was speaking of, they both knew exactly what was meant.
"You won one argument and have decided to push further Howland?" Eddard contained his emotions. His stone cold face was instinctual at this point, but Howland could always see through such things.
"Have you?"
"He is too young."
"He will always be too young, to you." The crannogman gave a pitying look. "Our children will always be children to us, Eddard."
"When I tell him, he will not be my child any longer." He would lose a son. Would Jon hate him? For lying to him, for telling him nothing of the other side of his family. The Aunt and Uncle who lived like beggars in Essos, always close to death?
And perhaps already dead.Eddard hoped they lived, that Robert had not truly become so monstrous as to kill innocent children by his own hand. Approving of Tywin's actions had been torture enough for Eddard, but to know Robert ordering such with his own will and going through with it would truly spell the death of the boy he had known in the Vale.
"Has he not asked?"
Eddard nodded slowly. Every night, in his nightmares. Just before Robert smashed his chest in.
"Once, when he was much younger." He had not reacted well to the question. Jon must have been scared off from asking again, to Eddard's shame. A boy should know his mother. "He has not asked since."
"He should not need to."
"Aye." Howland's piercing glare allowed Eddard's own shame to well up again. "But not yet. I will not tell him just as I leave him to the Roses. Once he becomes a knight, which he certainly will, and we meet again. Then I will tell him."
"The longer you wait, the harder it will be." Eddard pursed his lips. It was true. "He may even hate you for it. Have you at least told him his mother loved him? That she…is no longer with us?"
He did not answer.
"At least give him that much." Howland asked, or perhaps begged. "Tell him that she loved him and that the only reason she did not stay with him was that she lived no longer. It will, hopefully, keep him from asking more for a while as well."
"Or it will drive him to seek out the knowledge more." Eddard did not agree. "If you give a man dying of thirst merely a few drops of water, would he thank you or curse you for your cruelty?"
"I think that knowing one's mother at least loved them is far more than drop, Eddard."
He deflated; Howland was correct. As he often was.
"Damn you, Reed!" Eddard decided to walk off. He paused at the door to the solar. "I will tell him that much and we will give him the armor. Do not mention who it came from, it is simply a gift to an aspiring knight. A memento. I will…also tell him of Lyanna. As much as I can."
"Do not worry Eddard." Howland smiled. "If I twisted your arm any longer, I fear it would fly off."
"Respectfully, fuck you." Eddard walked off, his flash of embarrassment at cursing worsened as the crannogman's laughter echoed.
Not as strong an end to that discussion as I thought it to be.
The Lord of Winterfell marched down the halls of Greywater, hoping to get his emotions in order. He did not need Jon to see him in such a state. He needed to be like the Wall. Cold, but strong. Awe-inspiring, but protective.
He was lost in his thoughts until a familiar small boy narrowly avoided walking into him.
"Hello Jojen." Eddard was still peeved at his conversation with Howland. The man brought up good points, but it was hard to do something with so many different reasons not to. And the fear. Robert finding out. The Realms finding out. Jon hating him. Lyanna hating him. No, with such fears how could he tell the boy so easily?
"Courage would not be such a highly held virtue if it were so easy to be so." Eddard winced. The boys word hitting the very core of his thought
Eddard realized very quickly that Jojen Reed was a uniquely strange boy. His eyes seemed to stare unblinkingly at an individual, piercing their very essence.
"I suppose so." Howland had made some vague statements in the past that Jojen was blessed by the Old Gods. He had thought it to be praise for some skill or some sort of luck. But there seemed to be something distinctly supernatural about Jojen. "Where are you off to?"
"I talked with Jon for some time." Jojen looked off into the distance. "I said what needed to be said. For now, I retire to my rooms to rest. We have much to do in the coming days. I wish you well on your journey."
The boy moved past Eddard, leaving the man standing alone and quite confused.
The way he spoke…as if Jon is not leaving tomorrow with me and is staying here. No. I am tired and irritated, that is all.
"Ah, yes." He fumbled slightly "To you too."
Jojen's face changed, a touch of bemusement.
"I am not leaving tomorrow." Eddard had no response. He was far more tired than he thought, to make such ridiculous statements. Luckily it was at one of his closest friend's keep and not at Highgarden, where secrets are worth their weight in gold.
"I know." Eddard coughed. "I misspoke."
"I see."
Thankfully, the boy decided to not continue the embarrassing line of conversation and simply left, Eddard blinking his eyes at the sudden and almost rude departure.
"Sorry about Jojen." A new voice startled Eddard, he turned to see the young Meera Reed. "He's a bit odd. You'll get used to him."
"Jon and I'll be leaving tomorrow; I will have to start doing so from next time onward."
"Nah." Meera shook her head. "Jojen dreamed Jon would be stayin' here a few day longer. You'll be headin' out for a bit though."
"He dreamed it?"
Rhaegar dreamed things. A shiver went up his spine, but Jojen was no Targaryen.
"All the time." The girl sighed. "Always right about it though. Mostly useless stuff. But sometimes important things."
"Is this something you should be telling me?" This was the kind of secret many houses, if their House wasn't the Targaryens, would keep under wraps.
"Father never mentioned not tellin' you, and he always warns us 'bout who to tell and not tell." Meera spoke with confidence. "He didn't this time, so he probably doesn't mind."
"Probably?"
"You can't be totally sure."
Eddard gave a laugh.
"Indeed."
The state of the roads was an inconvenience. With how terrible the rain had been and the already poor conditions of the roads South, it would be too treacherous to travel at the moment. Of course, the Tyrells would need to be informed and Greywater had no ravens.
Fortunately, a small keep of a minor Lord sworn to House Flint, the House Carrows, were relatively close by. Three days ride, if they paced themselves and two if they did not. With a few of his men, Eddard found himself on the road again while Jon stayed and socialized with the Reeds.
The entire ride there and even after sending the raven to the Tyrells informing them of the delay, he found himself wondering how he could explain things to Jon.
Eddard found himself enjoying their journey to Highgarden. Despite it being the first true separation between him and Jon since the Greyjoy Rebellion, it had been an illuminating experience.
He had never gotten such an opportunity to simply speak with Jon about things, just the two of them. The duties as the Lord Paramount of the North, the duties to Winterfell, and the duties to the children truly born from him had left little time for chats between just the two of them.
And part of the blame lay on Eddard for that. He loved the boy, but sometimes the past seemed to re-emerge when they spent time together. He rode like his mother, and he could see so much of Jon's royal sire in his face and his moods. He did not want to see painful memories of the past.
But their talks had bled away so many of those worries. They had also revealed things.
So, he had hidden all his past away. He had wiped away his tears and resolved to never speak of things.
He did not speak of Benjen, who used to smile so brightly that the torches seemed dim in comparison. Nor did he speak of how, when he needed his brother most, he had left him behind to join the Watch.
He did not speak of wild Lyanna, her skill with a sword, lance, and horse alike yet competence in the more lady-like arts. Nor how proud she would be of Jon and her nephews and nieces.
He did not speak of Brandon. One of the best swordsmen to come out of the North but prone to brashness and short-sighted viciousness, cruelty, and lust. Which ended in his death.
He did not speak of Rickard, who despite his apathetic face, took the time to talk and love all his children and never stopped seeking to raise his House ever higher. Nor did he speak how sometimes, he and his siblings had all wondered if Rickard had loved his 'Southerly ambitions' more than he did them. It shamed him that he still did not know, for sure.
He did not even speak about his own childhood in Winterfell. When Mother, Father, Brandon, Lyanna, and Benjen had all been together. When he had felt whole.
He did not speak about fostering at the Vale with Robert and Elbert. Of Jon Arryn, Jon's own namesake. Nor did he speak of all the dead friends who no longer walked alongside him.
He did not speak of the battles of the Rebellion. That finally bloody clash at the Trident where Robert had killed his sister's husband.
He did not speak about King's Landing. Where Rickard has burned, and Brandon choked. Where Elia Martell had been desecrated in ways beyond repeating and the brutal deaths of her children, all younger than some of his own children.
He had tried to bury the past, but some things simply are not forgotten.
The whispers of servants and bannerman alike were as ever.
'Arya was Lyanna come again'. Bah! What did they know? Lyanna was only half as wild as Arya (a fact that brought him primal terror, constantly). Brandon and Rickon became larger than life, rather than the human and flawed people they were. Their shadow was still long and smothering, not helped by the widowed Lady Dustin's glares whenever they had met.
We stand in the shadow of giants,but we cast our own shadows upon the ones behind.
He did not dash the rumors or acknowledge them. These snippets were the most his children had of their long-lost kin, and he would not deny it to them, even if he couldn't bring himself to tell them by his words.
Eddard had long believed that while he was quiet and thoughtful, he had never been craven.
"Lord Stark?" His guard, Derrin, asked curiously. "Are you ready to travel back?"
Quite frankly, he was glad their travel to Highgarden had been delayed. Eddard 'Ned' Stark was terrified. His conversation with Howland repeating in his head again and again. The question at the tip of his son's tongue, help by honor and a love for his 'father'.
It felt like waiting for Robert's Warhammer to crush down on his chest. Caving it in, like Rhaegar. Though instead of rubies, all Eddard would have would be blood.
The question that had haunted his nightmares now. He prayed the boy would simply avoid it, but that was foolish and cruel on Eddard's own part.
Who is my mother?
What would he say? The boy was grown. He had so much of her. Her coloring and the wolf's blood ran through his veins. When he rode, it brought back memories of Tourney and that Knight of the Laughing Tree. He was half a horse.
But Ned also sawhishand in the boy. The melancholy and brooding. Those fine features were so unlike the stubborn northern slants. The hints of a Valyrian, of a Targaryen. Even the eyes, in the right light, seemed to flash purple.
Then the fear returned. Would the men of the Reach recognize the traits of their beloved Prince? Would there be those who dragged him into a war that tore the Kingdoms apart? Or worse, men who would kill the boy to curry favor with Robert. Surely Jon not knowing would shield him!
But could he simply put it off again? Was it for his protection anymore or was it Eddard's own fears? He couldn't possibly say it now, not with the boy being thrown into the Rose Garden. Such a secret coupled with the destruction of the truth the boy had known promised catastrophe.
I will tell him when he becomes a knight. When he visits Winterfell after doing so. I will put things to right. A boy should know his mother.
He would dread that day. He knew it would be the day that he lost a son. But that day was not today.
"Yes, I am ready." Eddard nodded his ascent as he and his small subdivision of guards saddled up and shot off the beaten path towards the swamps of the Neck, where Greywater Watch and Jon awaited.
"We'll be able to get back in two days, at worst." The guard commented. "Assuming the weather doesn't take a turn for the worse, we can spend a night at Greywater or keep riding and hope that one of the keep's farther South are the accommodating type."
"We will not stay at the Twins." Eddard did not like the Freys. They were parasites. Loyal to gold and the ambition of their Lord. "There are some minor paths we can take down South."
"I thought the Twins were the only crossing we can take without going down to the Ruby Ford?" One of the guards asked, curiously. Eddard had always cultivated a good relationship with his men. Soldiers that understood their leaders were more trustworthy and tended to be less likely to abandon once spooked.
"For large numbers yes." The Twins were the only reliable crossing for large numbers of people like a Royal procession or an Army. If every path down South was locked by the Freys, no one would ever cross over. "But there are some small paths that small numbers can cross reliably. Though you will have to be ready, these paths are sometimes stalked by bandits looking for easy prey."
The guard nodded, his face turning stone-like with resolve.
"What's the South like, Lord Stark?" Another one, the youngest of the bunch, asked. "I've never been, just have some of my Da's stories."
"It is different." The South was a place that frightened Eddard. All his worst memories had come from there. And some of his best. "It is not a place for Starks."
The Stark Lord almost cursed himself. His true feelings had briefly slipped out. Had his worries ruined his composure so horribly?
"Good thing the boy is a Snow and not a Stark then." The man laughed, a few of his companions warily chuckling.
As much as you try to deny it, the boy is not a Stark. Nor is he a Snow. He is a Dragon.The voice that sounded like the Mad King cackled in his head.
"I suppose you are right." Eddard stared off into the distance and the guards decided to avoid the topic as much as they could on the trip back. For their lord's sake and their own.
"You have gotten quicker." Howland's boy spoke as solemnly as ever. "I have taught you what I can, the rest will be up to you. My skills in this branch of mysteries have always been pitiful, alas. I am certain you will outpace me fast enough."
When he entered the room, Eddard was greeted to the strange sight of a raven flapping around an unconscious Jon while Jojen sat with a look of approval.
"Jon?" Eddard called out, worry brimming in his heart.
"Worry not, Lord Stark." Jojen spoke in a manner that only caused his worry to increase. "We were merely playing a game with Brynden."
"Brynden?" The boy gestured to the raven who gave a caw and landed gently on Eddard's shoulder, talons only lightly gripping upon his clothes. "As in the Blackfish?"
"More in regard to Rivers that the erstwhile brother of the Lord of the Riverlands, I am afraid."
Brynden Rivers. Bloodraven. He gave Jojen a look, who smiled slightly.
"It was Jon's suggestion. I had not named it, besides it seems taken with him." He looked at the bird with knowing eyes. "It will be a good companion in the South, a reminder of the North and his roots."
"A word of advice Jojen." Eddard smiled. Jojen, for all his maturity, was still a child in many ways and it was at times like that it showed. "When you are trying to convince someone of something, try not to speak as if the matter is already decided. Lead into it first."
The boy tilted his head in confusion.
"But it has been already decided?"
"Father!" Jon woke, getting up from the chair he sat and running to hug him. "I was practicing how to sleep on command by Jojen."
"A useful skill!" Eddard laughed. "If only he could teach Bran and Arya to do the same! Or even Robb, he has been sneaking out to Wintertown with Theon one to many times in the last few years."
"Father!" Jon hissed. "Jojen is a child!"
Eddard caught himself and cursed. It had become so easy to treat Jojen as a grown adult that he hadn't considered the boys actual youth.
"I am aware of the existence of whores, Lord Stark." Jojen spoke monotonously, but the edge of indignation was present. "There is no reason to curate yourself so overtly. I am quite mature."
"No one mature has to say that they are mature." Jon pointed out.
"To two fools, yes they do." Eddard brought a hand and rustled Jon's hair as he was about to continue his, losing, argument with the younger boy. Much to his exasperation.
"Enough boys." He looked down and Jon looked up. The boy seemed tired and frankly, so was Eddard. Riding hard for two days over the slightly flooded roads had left him with slight ache in the leg. "No need to spend your last day here together squabbling."
"Of course, Lord Stark." "Yes father!" The two voices said out at once.
"Now, I believe your mother was asking for you Jojen." Eddard needed to talk with Jon. Alone. He needed to speak before he shoved everything down and locked it away.
"I bid you good night, Lord Stark." Jojen bowed forward slightly. "And to you, Jon."
The boy left the room swiftly and quietly, it belied his rather frail nature.
"How was the journey, Father?"
"Fair." They were not accosted by bandits and the condition of the road was not poor enough to warrant extreme caution on horseback. "No trouble and the Lord of Deep End, Lord Carrow, was a kind enough host."
A silence settled and once again Eddard cursed his lack of small-talk. Anything to ease into this conversation and not ruin his relationship with his son.
"Jon." The boy perked up at the sound of his name. So, too, did the raven which had moved back to his son's shoulder. "I am not blind. I can almost taste the question that you have been seeking to ask since we left Winterfell. I cannot promise you answers, but I will answer them within my ability?"
"Wh…" Jon trailed off. Eddard forced himself to look into his eyes. Rhaegar's eyes and Lyanna's looks. The nightmares flashed before his eyes again. Jon, laying squashed and dead at the Trident.
"Where is my mother?" A simpler question than the last. One he had sought to answer anyway.
"She is buried with her family, as she should be."
"I…understand." The boy was too afraid to ask the true question and frankly, Eddard was scared that he was so pleased that the boy did not ask it. That he spoke around the matter. Perhaps, they were both scared. But Jon was a child and Eddard was a man grown.
You could only be courageous when you are afraid.
"Never forget that Winterfell will always have a place for you." Eddard pulled Jon into him for another hug. "That your family will have a place for you."
"I am no Stark." Jon whispered and the heartbreak in those words tore him. "No matter how much I wish it to be. And now I head South. To be a knight. Is that not even further from what a Stark would be?"
"There is more to being a Stark than a name." Jon gave him an incredulous look. "The truest knight I ever knew was a Stark."
Her son looked at him, curiosity writ upon his face.
"Were Uncle Brandon or Lord Rickard knighted?" Eddard laughed, the thought of Brandon getting a knighthood was laughable. Father may have accepted it, for the prestige alone though.
"Have you heard of the Knight of the Laughing Tree?" Eddard asked. "I can't believe it is a story told up North often."
"I have heard whispered of them, from Sansa and some mummers who visit Wintertown." Jon admitted. "A mystery knight that rode and defeated knights and the only ransom offered was for the knights to teach their squires of honor. The one the Mad King declared an enemy of his House."
"Yes." Eddard felt his breath catch, his heart beating faster and faster inside his chest. "Those knights' squires had attacked and mocked the Knight's friend, a crannogman named Howland Reed, and she rode for him."
"She?" Jon asked, confused with Brynden the Raven cawing in confusion as if it too understood.
"My sister." The ones who had known this secret were mostly dead and gone. Benjen, Howland and he had been all that were left. And now Jon, her son, was added to their number. "Lyanna Stark. The most Northern woman to have ever come from House Stark. Half a horse, wicked with a lance and a blade yet still capable of a decent embroidery."
He had never stopped people from speaking of Lyanna, but they had resolved to never do so before him of their own accord. Except Robert, of course. Eddard had allowed them. The less people brought up his sister, the less they remember her features and qualities, some of which remained in her son.
He had not spoken so much of her to anyone other than Benjen in years. The tears welled up, unbidden.
"I did not know her as well as I should have." Eddard admitted. He had thought time would mellow out Robert and that love could grow. Perhaps it could have? Or perhaps Lyanna had the right of it. He could no longer say that he truly knew the man, despite the brotherhood they still shared. "People only remember her as a wild woman, her skills on horseback and her great beauty. They remember her death and mourn her as a tragic woman who met an untimely demise. Even the King does so. But I? When I think of Lyanna, I think of that day. The Knight of the Laughing Tree, who rode to avenge her friend's honor when he could not."
"Father?" Jon asked. Eddard had not shown his tears to his children before. He had tried to be like the Wall. Reliable, sturdy, and unbreakable. To show his tears would make him human, fallible. And they would feel less safe. "Y-you don't have to talk more if you do not wish to!"
"No, I must." It was time to stop running. Even if he could not tell the full truth, he had to say this much. For her sake, for his own sake, and above all else, for Jon's sake.
"She was a true knight, though she was never given a title or swore a vow." He smiled, tears leaking from his eyes. "You ride like she did Jon. When you go there, you will continue her legacy. A Knight most Stark, in stature, demeanor, and blood even if not in name."
"Would she have…" Jon did not finish the thought.
Would she have loved a bastard nephew?
"Yes." He sobbed. "She would have loved you Jon. To see her nephews and nieces growing up. To see you ride as she did, putting puffed up Southern poofs in their place. Just like she did."
He spoke no longer as the tears flowed as they had years ago, when life had left Lyanna's eyes.
You would be so proud of him, Lyanna.
Jon held him, this time, as he cried out his heart.
And yet, for the first time, he felt almost at peace.
Author's Note:Next chapter is Highgarden! Didn't expect for Ned to have his emotional breakdown now, but I was writing and it just sort of happened. Dude has bottled up his emotions for years. Enjoy! Next chapter hopefully by Friday, if not then probably Sunday.