Ned IX

"Is this as you wish, Lord Stark?"

The stone wasn't Lyanna, not really. There was none of her life, none of her tendency to fidget as she was forced to sit still by their father. She appeared more a lady now than she had while taking in real breath, with the stone cold visage of her face dainty in supplication. Her hands were resting in her lap, the iron longsword denied her when none of the kings or lords around her were without their hallowed blades. The girl next to Rickard and Brandon Stark was one that perhaps might have been more dutiful, less ruled by the Wolf's Blood.

"This is sound work," Eddard Stark admitted, nodding at the stone carver. The man nodded, before motioning to the two men near him to assist in moving the last of his family's visages into place above their bones. This family of smallfolk had been doing this work for nigh on a thousand years now. He had always known he could rely on them, even when he called for statues of both Lyanna and Brandon. Even if he were breaking tradition, as most of these halls were filled with the sculpture of kings or lords of Winterfell, he was going to ensure that his family were here, together once more.

'If only I could ensure that we all would be together,' he then turned to Brandon's statue. It too lacked the life of his brother. But that image was filled with rage and steely determination. It was something that he could imagine his brother wearing. He wished to reach out, to touch his brother's hand. To give Brandon back what was by every right his. Winterfell, the North…those were Brandon's, and Ned knew, 'And I am but a pale shadow, following behind so lamely.'

"There it goes," the head mason declared, as finally Lyanna's stone twin had been lifted so even while now sitting, she stared directly into his eyes, "Lady Lyanna is now ready, Lord Stark," the older man wheezed out, this likely, hopefully, the last time he would make his way into the crypts of Winterfell, "she will rest here with her fathers," he looked at the statue for a moment, "They will give her comfort."

'I hope,' Ned's thought betrayed his apprehension. Lyanna would have preferred most likely to be buried beneath some tree out in the woods. Mayhaps with a meadow of blue winter roses growing about it, she had always loved those flowers, or atop a hill where the sun and the wind could greet her every day. She would want to be free as the wind she so desperately sought to sail away on, a freedom in death that she would never been allowed in life.

That was not the way of the Starks. The Starks were buried in these crypts, ever since Bran the Builder himself laid the first stone of the First Keep of Winterfell. 'Down there,' he thought, looking into the pitch black, towards the caves hundreds of feet beyond his sight, 'down there lies the oldest bones of House Stark. Lyanna is one of us,' he felt his fist tighten, 'So here too shall her bones lay.'

"Lord Stark," Vayon Poole was standing only a few feet away from them. Roger's son, Ned had known the man was being groomed to replace his father, and as one of his tasks, he'd been told to assist his lord in the finishing of Lyanna's burial. It was a task he'd take to admirably, already having Rickard Stark's statue in place when Ned had returned…almost nine months now, if Ned thought about it. Still, the man was of a prickly disposition, and Ned could see the agitation in the man's posture, as rigid as a frozen cod. The Steward to be took a sniff, and then finally said, "I believe it would be best, now that Lady Lyanna has been finished, to end this excursion," Ned could see his eyes twist down the tunnel, deeper into the cold, cold crypts, "Trips such as these are perilous, and a Lord such as yourself cannot afford to become ill when his family is still yet so young."

"You are correct Vayon," Ned bowed his head, and the shorter man's shoulders relaxed, "This place is very cold, and very dark," words that were missing the depth of the icy air and the ever creeping shadows, "Certainly too cold and dark to go further than in winter," he waved his hand, and the three stonemen finally allowed Lyanna's image to rest, "I am sure that you have prepared proper payment for their work?"

"Certainly Lord Stark," Vayon bowed his head. Ned nodded to himself. He was, mostly, only asking to have words help fill this silent place. The cold…the quiet…there was something here…something wrong. This was a place for the Starks. Yet, it was a place that seemed of another age of Starks. Those that were kings, rather than mere lords. And who made blood run as freely as the warm water through the Great Keep of Winterfell. Those that lived, and fought and died in the Ages before pen met parchment. Those that were things other than himself, not men as Ned had known them, but stranger…darker…

Colder…

'What would you think of this father,' Ned took one final look at the final of the new addition to the crypts. His father was, as Ned would have known, the most like the rest of the men who lined these halls. Ned's father's stare was as cold in death as it had been in life. The eyes carved into the stone seemed to carve into Ned himself as they met, the pain becoming so much that Ned could not help but turn his gaze downward, 'My mission a failure. My sister dead, my brother's dead or gone, my first child lost, buried not in the hall of their ancestor but beneath some tree hundreds of miles from home,' he kept his eyes locked downard, his head bowed beneath the harsh visage of the man who he could never truly know. Neither in life nor in death, 'I…I am so sorry.'

There were so many things he was sorry for. He was sorry that he had never seen the pain and misery that Lyanna had been so afflicted with. That he had not spent more time with his brother, and mayhaps tried something to calm him down so he would not ride off to his doom. That he had not realized that the last time he saw his father, as a boy of barely eight, he had insisted on being a proper young lordling, and not embraced the man one last time. He was sorry for all that, and so much more. And yet, that was all he could do. To be sorry, to weep, and cry, and pray, and hope that when he next saw his family, that they would be in a place where they could be safe.

"I am ready to leave," he said, and Vayon nodded. It would be only a few moments before they would emerge from the Crypts. It had been one of the small blessings of the old Starks that their statues and their cairns were in the furthest reaches of the caves. That allowed for more recent burials to occur closer to the entrance. It was easier to bury new additions now, and it meant…that there was no need to descend into the darkest corners of that place. Ned could see, from the way that the men around him seemed to straighten, with smiles returning to their faces, that those who had joined him had agreed with him. He made one final nod of his head to the old mason, "You have my thanks and gratitude."

"Aye, Lord Stark," the older man nodded, before saying, "Though I must say, an no offense is meant in any way," Ned gave a slight nod to allow the smallfolk to continue, "I never wish to go down there again," and Ned could then see the fear in the man's eyes, "So cold down there, Lord Stark," his eyes were focused on the door, as though he feared that the Stark Kings themselves would soon be rising to come and take his head as recompense for insulting their home, "So cold."

"Aye," Ned added, at least somewhat calming the man, "Aye…it is," even out here, in hopefully the last days of a long blasted winter, it was so much less chilling up here. Though still…

Ned could not could not help but Dream of Spring.

"The location for Stoney Hold has been determined," Roger Poole looked older, now, than when Ned had first left not even two years prior. Mayhaps managing the whole of the North had been too much for a man of his age. Or mayhaps Ned could only see it now, with the immediacy of the war gone, and the mundanity waying on him in ways that pure pressure could not, "Though, it will take time to build Ser Ryswell's new keep. There is stone a plenty for the construction, yet with the ground still near frozen, and so few small folk there to build the thing-"

"It should be enough for Mark until spring comes," Ned said aloud, allowing Roger to accept the discussion was over. Ned sighed, remembering the sullen form of Mark Ryswell as he boarded that galley on Starfall. He had left when all his other companions had, to return to their homes. The poor man had not taken the travel well, and of all of the men, had seemed to Ned to need the most

'And more importantly, it might feed that loyalty even more,' he added to himself.

Twas not that he didn't trust Mark. Or Ethan Glover, who was receiving a new set of armor and horses. Or Theo Wull, with a sudden set of exclusive mining rights that had been in dispute among the mountain clans. Or Willam Dustin by recognizing his fishing rights up the Fever. It was that Ned knew that he could not afford even one slip up, and while they had all made oaths of blood together, he wanted any temptation of oath breaking to be as far a mind as possible. There were reasons why he'd allowed the Reed's to take up a mantle as the first family of the Crannogmen, or why he'd given Martyn Cassel the title of Master of Horse alongside his current post as captain of the guard.

Loyalty is a dog that must be fed.

'Dog,' Ned thought of the one member of his guard that he was not offering a sop too. The blue haired man, for like Ned he had lived through too much to be considered a boy any longer, had taken a ship east from Starfall while the rest of his companions had gone North. It had been a final request, and a reward in a manner. Cu had admitted to Ned that he had shared Lyanna's dream of seeing the world.

'You were too taken with your own part in all this Cu,' Ned thought, appreciating the horror and exhaustion on the young man's face, 'You thought you drove Lyanna to her actions. She'd have made those with or without you most like,' he considered, 'That you thought I should have some punishment for you…'

It had been then, that Ned had taken the young man in his embrace. For a few moments, standing on the rocks as the Sunset Sea smashed great waves against Starfall, they stayed there weeping. Both for the family they'd lost, the wounds they'd suffered, and the lives they'd have to go living. Yet Ned would not ask this brother of his to return to a place of such pain. Not when he had already done more than Ned could have asked of the former wildling.

'"A dog might live for twelve or so years",' Ned remembered him saying at the end of the embrace, when they became to exhausted to despair any longer. Cu had almost attempted to say something, but Ned had insisted that he accept his life as a free man. As Ned's companion. As his friend.

As his brother.

'If only my other brother was here,' Ned thought of Benjen, the youngest of their pack, and now wearing the Black of the Night's Watch instead of the Gray of House Stark. Benjen had told Ned his intention to give his life to the Wall as soon as Ned had returned to Winterfell those many months ago. There was no outright explanation, though Ned had a few guesses. He would not, however, pry into his younger brother's desire for redemption. There was enough pain when remembering the family of his that was dead. No need to cause hurt with those that were still alive. He had granted Benjen's request, and lost the last brother of his blood to duty, 'So the only brother who might return in full is the one a sea away.'

The declaration of brotherhood had been enough to send Cu into yet another weeping fit. After allowing the Hound of Winterfell to compose himself, Ned had asked him only that he guide Oswell Whent to Essos as had been guaranteed to Arthur Dayne before he set himself on the Pyre. Cu had accepted, though Ned knew it was not something he would embrace wholeheartedly. Yet the offer of freedom and enough coin to pay for Cu to go live his life as a free man was more than enough to soothe the young man's aggravation with their defeated foe. They even had a plan for Cu to head to Myr, a place he would most likely be able to put his skills to good use.

Ned had tried to follow up on what had happened to Cu, yet it was difficult. Many of those who had fought in the Rebellion had ultimately found themselves unable to return to the fields of peace. Those men had taken up the call to fight as sellswords between the Free Cities. A knight, even one as great as Cu, could disappear in the conflicts there. Certainly when they were over two thousand miles away. So all he could gather was rumor. He was certain the young man wasn't dead, but that was all he was certain of.

'All I can do is pray that he is well,' Ned thought, as he looked over a new piece of parchment from the citadel that Roger handed to him, 'and that one day, I may see him once more,' he began to read it, 'Oh, good. Oldtown will be sending a Maester soon…'

Walys Flowers, his father's Maester, had died only a few weeks after Rickard Stark had, leaving Winterfell without a Maester when Ned had arrived home the previous year. It had been impossible to get a new Maester transferred to the North. He had met a good fellow by the name of Luwin in Riverrun, but the small man went to the Eyrie with Jon Arryn and Catelyn Tu-Arryn.

'Gods,' Ned did not need to remember the horror he had felt when he'd read of Catelyn Arryn's second child. Or rather, of the loss of Catelyn Arryn's second child. The poor girl had been quite dutiful after her first misfortune, returning to her husband's bed, and yet this second one was lost even earlier than the first. Ned could only imagine Catelyn Stark, so red and warm and full of life, and who not two years ago had life as Lady of Winterfell and a marriage with Brandon Stark in her future. Now, she was Lady of the Eyrie, yet even Ned knew that Jon Arryn was no Brandon Stark, even when his Foster Father had been twenty years younger. Though as luck would have it, 'I suppose it a mercy that her sister was able to bring her second child into the world.'

Little Jocelyn Baratheon was born not seven months ago. There had been fears that the girl would be sickly or damaged like the other children of Hoster Tully's daughters, yet they had been assuaged by the girl's birth and healthy life so far. Ned only knew the girl's name, yet he was keen enough in history to know that Jacelyn was named for the mother of Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen that Never Was. Perhaps there was something to that, though it would not be a worry as long as Robert could have sons and daughters of his own. In fact, it might be a promise of an alliance, a marriage between Jocelyn and a new crown prince would certainly help tighten Baratheon grip on the Iron Throne.

'Yet Robert does not yet have issue.'

"Eddard?"

"Ah," Ned gave a quick nod to Roger, and then signed his name to the parchment. With his approval now clear, he handed it to Roger, who already had a dozen or so other messages to send out, "Thank you Roger, I don't know how I could have finished all these so swiftly without you."

"Well, you best learn quickly," Roger laughed, slowly turning toward the door, "This shall be my last year. Vayon shall be the one to make these trips starting next year," as he opened the door, there was a cracking sound in the air, and Ned could not help but wince, "Ah, that is a reason why I shall soon be glad to no longer be Steward."

"I hope you will not spurn any requests for advice?"

"No, no," Roger chuckled, "As long as it is you coming to me, my dear Eddard."

"It will be my honor to do so," Ned smiled, before standing up fully, "Now, I might as well practice walking down the stairs then," he patted the older man on the back as he passed him, "I shall probably be making my journey down many a time to have you knock some sense into me."

"I hope you will let Vayon do some of that knocking."

"I shall try," Ned then began his way down from his Solar, passing multiple rooms as he did so. There was luckily no more trace of the many Lord guests he had welcomed into his home the last time he had been there. The clearing out of Winterfell and the surrounding hills had taken almost the rest of the war. Of course, it had been worth it, considering that army had been why they had won. It was why his head was still attached to his neck, and Robert now sat upon the Iron Throne.

'Now if only he had a prince to tie this all up,' Ned returned to his previous consideration. It had already been ten months since the wedding of Robert Baratheon and Ned's good sister. Yet there was no news yet of Cersei Baratheon growing a bulge in her belly. Certainly, it wasn't too strange for a woman to not be with child less than a year after her marriage, 'Yet Robert has proven…capable in that department,' Ned thought while considering Mya Stone, 'Yet, still too early to wonder,' he considered as he opened the door to the yard. He walked forward into the yard, watching as around thirty men, in padded cloaks rather than metal armor, marched around the icy courtyard. Ned took a moment to stare at them as they passed, and then gave a short nod to Martyn, who was riding alongside his brother and son, young Jory doing his best to follow whatever his father wanted.

"Ah, Lord Stark," Ned heard the low rumble of a voice next to him, and turned to look directly into deep brown eyes with long curly brown hair framing them. This would not have been too strange, as Ned was only slightly taller than most, yet it was for this pair of eyes belonged to a boy not yet twelve. Young Walder, great-grandsire of Old Nan, Grandson of the Biggs who'd been killed along the Trident, would soon tower over Ned. There had been much talk of him already joining the guard, yet Ned had listened to both the boy's father and Nan in keeping him as a hand around Winterfell for now. No need to have someone so young go out and die at this age, certainly not with how much his family had already given for the Starks. The boy just continued to stare out at the courtyard, before adding, "Are you going to be running drills Lord Stark."

"No Walder," Ned said, looking over toward the Armory, "I shall be visiting the Godswood," he needed to clear his head on his own, and the Godswood was the place he could be most secluded.

"Going for a cleansing my lord?"

"No," Ned said, a bit too quickly. There were three pools of warm water near the guest house within the godswood. Ned had long known of them, and it had been one of those that Ned had initially resigned himself to bathing in when Nan had made that stink the night before his departure. That there were underground baths hidden away beneath the Great Keep had been a secret to all but the most versed in Winterfell, which Ned, as a man who had lived most of his life elsewhere, had not been. Now that he was, he saw wisdom in keeping them secret, and allowing Walder and other members of the castle servants to use the pools inside the godswood.

It would simply not do to allow more eyes to come wandering into that place. Certainly when there would be things that Ned wished to remain private occurring there.

"I am going to the wood to pray," he said honestly, hoping that his blush was hidden by the cold's effect on his body. It almost seemed to be, as Walder nodded, and then did his best to return his attention to the men-at-arms.

"Want me to assist you in crossing then?"

"Oh, no," Ned laughed, as he walked down the stairs onto the muddy yard, "I'll make it there my self," he gave a final wave to the massive boy, who waved back. The boy was so polite for a young man his age, and hopefully would remain so. He was slightly slow, but with a body his size, it certainly would not hold him too far back.

"Lord Stark," Martyn Cassel rode up next to Ned, giving him an eye, "Off to the Godswood again?"

"Aye," Ned nodded to the older man. Martyn was only a few years younger than Roderick, yet the war had taken much from him as it had of many men. He would continue to serve as captain of the guard, perhaps for quite a while longer, but his days as a great warrior were likely over. Ned could only be thankful that Martyn considered the Starks to be something like family, and thus he'd hopefully be able to keep the man on unlike Roger Poole, "Would you care to join me Martyn?"

"No," Martyn shook his head, "No, I don't think it would be wise of me to leave the men to layabout," he leaned in close, and whispered, "Between you and me, the lot is worse now than they were at the start of the war."

"They are?"

"Yes," Marty nodded quickly, so as not to alert the men to this discussion, "Most of these men only really saw action at the Trident, and most as infantry," the remembrance of the terrible battle and the difficulty that Ned had in removing the matting blood from his hair and surcoat, "So they only really fought with those tenderfoots and dotards from Fleabottom," he shook his head, "They say that any Northern Man is as good a fighter as ten southorn men, yet they only know what it's like to fight those who had no good armor and mayhaps a quarter of their training."

'That might be a problem,' Ned thought. He, like most of the North, believed that they were better than those south of the Neck. Yet it was common for those of each kingdom to believe their way superior, as his experience with proud Valeman and haughty Westermen had taught him, and he knew that arrogance could eventually be turned on him. Ned could only shake his head, before patting Martyn on the shoulder.

"Do what you must."

"I will."

Ned was soon past the training men, and around the confines of Winterfell. After so many years away, these most recent months had allowed the halls and yard of his fathers to become his again. When he'd last been here, he'd been unable to consider this place his home. Now though, it felt like he was beginning to belong here again. Even if in the back of his mind he knew this was not where he was supposed to be.

And no place felt as home as the Godswood itself. The small forest was older than any part of Winterfell, a grove so ancient that the walls had been built around it at least thrice over. Ned's stroll was often like this, first through the main iron gate, and then along the short path towards the center of the wood. His stroll was always under the shade of the pine, the ash and the oak that had spread their roots among this soil for hundreds upon hundreds of years.

Yet all those trees, older than any living man, were newborns in comparison to the ancient heart tree. The white bark of the Weirwood was brighter than the snow covering the ground beneath it. Staring down at the pools of the forest, given shade by the fiery red leaves of its branches, of which there must be hundreds across the massive canopy of the tree, was the face that had been carved into its trunk. Brandon the Builder was said to have decided to build Winterfell around this tree, for he so revered the gods that held this place holy. To stand here was to stand before the primeval North, and be judged by them, by the first men, and those who came before the first men.

And here, once again, Ned could not help but feel as though he was not worthy to be the one taking his knees to pray.

'Gods,' he prayed to himself, 'I beseech thee, here my pleas.'

The Weirwood merely stared down at him, red sap oozing from the cuts. The sight was only barely reflected in the black, cold water of the pool that sat beneath it.

'I am a second son, unworthy of the duties that he has been privileged with,' he continued, 'I have taken what was rightfully my brothers. His home and his land and his titles. I have betrayed my father, by usurping his firstborn and failing to do as he would as lord of the north,' his mind turned to the many sacrifices and gifts he had been forced to hand out in order to build the army to go south and fight in the war, 'I,' he paused, to reveal to the gods if to no living man, 'I have taken my sister's son, and raise him as my own. She shall never be known as a mother, deprived of the recognition of her labor,' he felt something in his stomach twist, 'I have stolen my nephew's birthright, his mother, and his name,' he thought of the wobbling form of Jon, 'For now, he is my first born, a fate I can only hope you decree is his fairly,' and then he stopped, took in a breath, and added as a final repentance, 'And i have taken from my first child the rights as firstborn. I can only pray that you give them other gifts, for I have taken their blessings away from them.'

The Tree remained quiet. The whole wood was quiet, the winter snow keeping the normal chatter of life of the forest dead as a bone. Ned slowly opened his eyes, and saw the face of the heart tree unmoving, forever melancholy, as though seeing the unending tragedy of the lives of men. Ned continued to kneel before the tree, with his hands locked together. Waiting for some kind of answer, some kind of assurance or forgiveness or even reprimand. Yet all he could do was kneel there, his trousers soaking from the snow melting beneath him.

He would remain there, waiting and kneeling, for many hours. Finally the coming dark would force him off his knees, the winter forcing him away from this hallowed place. He was a Stark. Their words were winter was coming.

And yet, Ned could not help but dream of spring.

"Fa," the boy was looking up at Ned from his knee. The little creature waved his arms around, up and down, all the while locking his deep gray eyes with Ned's. As he waddled along Ned's leg, only barely kept up by holding onto his father's arm above his head, he would remain focused, "Fa-ter."

"Good Jon," Ned said, though a small feeling of embarrassment slightly climbed into Ned's head, as he looked down at his own belly, which had widened just a tad over the months he'd been home, "Father," he said again, watching his son do his best to manage each step, little nails digging into the skin of his arm, "Father."

"Fatter," the boy said, this time making it seem more like Jon was describing Ned's stomach, and Ned had to bite back to maintain his smile. Despite the unintended mockery, he couldn't help but love this little boy. Already the boy's personality was coming through, a bit quieter than most boys, a bit sadder. He did not cry often, yet he rarely smiled. While he was beginning to learn to walk, and he could crawl well enough, he rarely wanted to leave the rooms of the Great Keep, preferring to keep himself in the nursery or perhaps, when he was feeling most fuss, in his mother and "fatter's" room.

'But today, you join me in the Solar,' Ned thought as the little boys seemed to grasp at the sleeve of Ned's tunic, clumsily moving his right foot in front of his left, as the tiny sausages along his palm digging in, 'What with what is happening but a floor down,' he looked at the face of the child he'd been raising for almost a year now, and let out a sigh, 'Gods, I don't know whether to worry that a Maester isn't here, or thank the gods that they haven't arrived yet and it's old Nan down there.'

Jon, was from Ned's guess, perhaps sixteen months old. That was a fair age he had heard for a child to be saying the names of certain things, such as mother and "fatter". It also showed why he was nearly able to walk under his own power, and that he was ready to move from breastfeeding to solid food alone.

'Your mother's breasts will no longer be for you,"' he said, watching closely as his child almost fell backward, before clinging upward with all his strength, 'Though, they weren't made for you either,' he watched as the child's gray eyes began to focus on his fingers, 'Perhaps…everything happens for a reason. Would we have had enough to feed you had Artori…best not to think on that.'

The boy had originally been fed by Wylla, a nursemaid of House Dayne. Poor Lyanna had tried to feed the boy, and had done so for the first few months, but during the last two or so weeks she'd been unable to feed the boy, and it had only been the presence of that Stony Dornish woman to save this boy from starvation. Yet it would have brought about questions to bring Wylla along to King's Landing. After all, it would have been strange for the Dayne's to have simply hired her out after Ned had "Brought Arthur Dayne's life to an end". Perhaps were Jon his bastard and Wylla his mother…no, that never would have worked, what with Artoria and he being married for so long. So it was incredibly fortunate that Artoria's body had been readying for a birth, and she had been able to take that duty for Jon on.

It was another one of the pieces of good fortune that had helped them pull the plan off so well. The month or two long stay in Dorne had allowed them to push Jon's birth date a few months back, offering that Artoria had defeated Barristen when she was in her fourth month of pregnancy, rather than the late fifth that would have occurred had they had given him his true name-day. He had only celebrated Jon's first name day perhaps a month ago, a date they would have to live with, but one that was close enough that anyone simply looking at the growing babe would simply think him an early grower.

Yet the biggest piece of fortunate was that they were back north so quickly, and that there was no one but Ned's household in Winterfell now. Had they arrived around five months ago…

'The would have seen that there was no way that Artoria might have been able to fight Barristen,' he thought, trying his best to use some relief to hide the anxiety that was filling his belly. If he could take comfort in the gods' blessings from how their plans with Jon had worked out, perhaps the fears for his wife below, bravely fighting a woman's battle of the birthing bed, would not cause him to tear his hair out. He could instead take great comfort in knowing that without a Maester or a Septon here yet, no one could have seen how quickly Artoria's belly had bulged beyond her thin frame, 'the questions about Jon would perhaps have started the-'

"Ah!"

"OOF!" Ned lost control of his thoughts, as he felt a sudden wait collide with his belly. After regaining his senses, he looked down, and saw Jon's head had directly slammed into his stomach. The boy had likely lost control of himself after his fingers lost their grip completely, and he had fallen forward. Ned stopped, and stared at the twisting pile of limbs on his stomach, before sighing as the boy brought his head up and stared into his eyes once more, "We will need to work on walking more," he said, his breath finally returning to his lungs.

"Fatter," Jon said.

"Father," Ned added, only to hear a pair of footsteps coming from behind the door in front of him. Ned stared at the door, waiting for several minutes, as the whole of the world seemed to stop. And just for a moment, the fear that he'd done his best to try and bury for these many months came storming back to the front of his mind.

'Is something wrong?' he thought, 'The birthing has been taking so much time. Is the babe well. Is Artoria well,' his mind returned to that dark night, where he and Artoria watched their first come and go without a breath of air, 'Has anything happened to her? Should I have called for the Maester earlier? Would it have been better to mo-'

The door opened, and little Nan was standing there, exhausted, yet with a smile that showed no teeth.

"It's done Ned," she said, the words causing Ned's heart to float from his chest, "Go see your wife. The babe took a while. It's here now though, and ready to meet his father."

'He,' Ned thought, 'My son,' he then looked down at Jon, who was busy looking between Ned himself and Nan, the confusion of the world still clear on the boy's face, 'My sons,' Ned corrected himself. He picked himself up from the chair, and calmly walked with Jon in his arms, 'I'm a father, again, I suppose.'

"I'll take that babe," Nan said, holding out her arms to accept Jon into the, but Ned could only shake his head, moving past the woman who had had a hand in Ned's own birth over twenty years ago now.

"No," Ned said, "Not yet," he adjusted Jon in his arms so the babe would rest comfortably with his head against Ned's right bicep, "Artoria, would want Jon to meet his brother," he said, doing his best to hold the babe as lightly as possible. At least, Ned hoped she would.

"If you say so," Nan shook her head, "Though I suppose at least this proves you did not find your wife so hideous after all," Ned couldn't help but hear the smirk in the reverberations of the crone's toothless voice, "to have two sons now," Ned couldn't help but hear a wistful sorrow as he left the room, though he heard a sigh of contentment as he imagined the old woman reach the chair he and Jon had just been in, "Now, I think I might need a bit of shut eye…"

It was only a few dozen steps between the Solar and the rooms he and Artoria had been sharing these past few months. Now, of course, she'd be staying here with the new babe on her own, while Ned would move to the old rooms that he had stayed in as a boy. It was lucky they were close to Jon's nursery, if for no other reason than to allow him to be close to Jon as he took over Jon's care while Artoria would care for their newest babe. And considering how long the whole birthing had taken, Ned wondered if Artoria would ever allow him back in her bed.

'Mayhaps three hours,' he grimaced, remembering being sent away as his wife screamed at him, Nan and a few other maids doing their best to help their lady. He had known that the birthing bed was said to be a woman's battlefield, yet he had not considered how the length of the birth had quite easily eclipsed the time of the actual fighting along the Trident. He almost wondered, from the times he had heard his wife's screams, if she would prefer to don her armor and lance once more.

The door to the room was open, and he walked through, his arms still holding Jon as comfortably as he could manage. The room had only two other maids, with Nan gone now, and the other two of the five off likely doing other things. From a quick glance at the bed, he could guess one was likely having to find fresh sheets. The things were stained with blood, something not uncommon in a birth, but he was rather sure he'd rather not have them in any use again.

The two that split in their current duty. One was just finishing loading a small pail on the side of the bed, and Ned could see within it some knives and other metal tools. A look closer, and he saw some large red bulbing mass inside it, and Ned almost felt himself become sick, only with the rational words of Nan and the calmer looks on the maids keeping him from reliving the loss at Blackhaven.

The other maid was currently next to his wife's head, applying a dripping rag to his wife's blushing forehead. Artoria's eyes were half open, blinking slowly, as she tried to keep her eyes open beneath a bright pink skin. The sweat covering her face was proof enough of the labor, even the little flick of hair now stuck to his wife's forehead instead of its customary position high above her head. Yet despite the exhaustion, he could see the smile perched upon her face, and he did not have to look far further down to see why she was so content.

There, half covered in a swaddling cloth that Artoria had knitted herself, the first actual success she had had in her needlework was a little body, fidgeting as it adjusted its head against its mother's belly. Artoria's hand had come to rest of the upper half of her new son's back, gently brushing her fingers across the newborn's skin. He could hear little sounds coming from the babe, who looked nearly as exhausted as the mother he laid on. Ned could not help but stare at the two as they laid there.

"Ned," he was brought out of his trance by her words. They were barely above a whisper, but Ned could hear so much in them. Exhaustion at the forefront of her voice. A slight amount of fear, certainly not every babe survived even through the first few hours of breath. But above all, he could hear pride. Her next words confirmed that estimation, "I did it Ned," he could see tears already flowing down, mixing with the sweat on her face to create a strange river along her cheeks, "I did it."

"Yes," Ned walked up to her, slowly handing Jon, who seemed entranced at his mother, to the maid, while he began to rub her forehead with the wet cloth, "You did so well," he raised his other hand to her cheek, cupping it, and slowly running his fingers, "So…so well."

"Ned," Artoria coughed, taking in a breath with as much strength as she could before trying to remain in control. Ned felt the urge to reach out to her and hold her close, yet stopped as he watched her regain control of herself, and lie back down, "Ned, is he-"

"He is very well," Ned said, turning his eyes to his new son, who at that notice, let out a full cry. Ned let out a sigh of relief, glad that the new boy's lungs were working, while Artoria giggled, "You did so very well, Artoria."

"I did it," Ned felt his stomach twist, more tears forming beneath her eyes, "I did it," she did her best to reach her arms, shaking as they were, down to pick the boy up. Slowly, she lifted him from her belly, and then the boy let out a sharp cry.

"EIAGH!"

Luckily, she brought the babe up toward her chest, and Ned then returned his attention to his wife as she began the process of letting her new son have his first meal. He then stopped, and looked back at Jon, who was simply staring at new child, both discomfort and wonder on his face. He pulled back the cloth, dumped it again in snow melted water, and placed it on Artoria's head after she seemed to set herself and the new babe up for this first feeding.

"Artoria," Ned said, "I brought Jon here," Artoria's eyes seemed to widen, "I can take hi-"

"No," Artoria reached out her free hand, and began to coo, "Jon, Mother's here," the maid stopped, and stared, before slowly moving herself and Jon forward. Jon, looking at his mother's hand, reached out his own hand, and let out a giggle when his mother grasped it, "Mother's here for you Jon. I'm here for you."

"Artoria," Ned said, "I'll look after Jon, do not worry yourself with more than you must," he watched as her eyes seemed to flitter back and forth, "I shall take Jon tonight until you are wel-"

"I can take him," Artoria said, her voice stronger and slightly vicious somewhere in there, "I am a mother. If I cannot look after two chi-"

"You need to worry about resting," Ned sighed. There were times where Ned could not help but worry about Artoria. Nothing too strange, a mother wishing to care for her was not really out of line. Yet when he remembered her spending days at a time working away at needlework, her fingers becoming calloused and most of her effort nothing but rags due to the blood stains and the hitches in the fabric, he almost worried she might overtax herself. Ned would not allow the cost of birth to take his wife as it had taken his sister. He placed his hands on her shoulder, and then said a few final words, doing his best to ensure his wife would fall to sleep, "Rest now, you have done so much, I ask only that you care for yourself as well."

"Yes," Artoria said, her eyes beginning to close once more. The arm fell to the mattress, Jon's fingers left strained outward. Ned nearly felt worry, yet Artoria's even breathing calmed his nerves. He watched as she looked down at the babe on her breast, who was seeming to take after his mother. In his appetite.

And in the golden fuzz atop his crown.

"Ned," Artoria pondered, her eyes beginning to close as sleep began to conquer her once more, "What should we name him."

'Name,' Ned hadn't thought about that. Part of him had been preparing to name this son Brandon, with both Robb and Jon taken. Yet the golden hair, and the look of pride on his soon to be sleeping wife, changed his mind. He reached his hand down to pat the little boy as he took in his first meal.

"Artos," Ned said, and he smiled at the slight surprise on Artoria's face, "After the one in this world who I could not be without," he watched as her face gained a final smile as her eyes closed. Her even breaths became unlabored, as in her sleep, she seemed to gain a peace. He could only allow his smile to grow, "Thank you, Artoria."

His mind flashed to the past. To the blue lion passing him on the lists. To the night in the hall of a hundred hearths. To the meeting again in Casterly Rock, and the image of her bathed in moonlight. To the boat, and the baths and the march south to war. To the Goodbrook knight, to Barristen Selmy and to Arthur Dayne. And now, his mind turned to his family before him. His wife. His sons. A new life, bursting forth from the world that had died before.

And once again, Ned allowed himself to dream of spring.