Chapter 1: The She-Wolf Cometh

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire and its adaptation, Game of Thrones.

I kept my promise, Lya. Mayhaps it isn't what you would have wanted for Jon, but I kept my promise. He is safe with Ben at the Wall. Robert would never have been able to reach him there.

A moment later, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, felt the cold bite of his greatsword upon his neck. Fitting that Ice would bring about a Stark's death in the south.

The maesters had thought that there was little pain in a beheading. If the blade was true and sharp, it would severe the threads which allowed men to feel and hurt, love and fight. Yet for the lack of pain, there was something else. Something strange.

He opened his eyes and found naught but darkness.

Eddard Stark was surrounded by a vast, cold nothingness. A shuddering feeling pressed on him though he couldn't connect any known feelings to it. He didn't feel the crisp coldness of the North, the cheery warmth of Winterfell, not even the heat he had experienced in King's Landing, salty and humid and smelling of shit, or even of Dorne, where the air was so dry one's sweat turned to salt. He couldn't feel his body breathing, nor did he choke.

His body was weightless in the void.

Calloused hands reached for his throat, up his chin, and over his eyes, nose, and lips to find everything still in place as one would be if whole again.

He was alive, but not. For being alive meant he would be in the throes of King's Landing, at the mercy of a false king he declared to be true. His mind went back through the mistakes he had made: trusting Baelish, warning Cersei, even agreeing to Robert's wishes. But the one, which stung most, was telling the people that Joffery Waters were trueborn and royal.

His mouth felt dry, his soul almost bitter, realizing that lie had done no good. Not like the other one, the one taken to his grave.

Unlike the Seven, the old gods did not prescribe an afterlife. There were no seven heavens or seven hells, only the sweet release of death. His gods were nameless and numerous, only represented by the faces upon the weirwoods, like the one in Winterfell.

We never should have come south.

"Ned!" a pained voice screamed. "Ned! NED!"

His heart clenched, an old betrayal that had lingered and haunted him in the black cells coming back to life. He turned towards the voice and tried to smile. His sister stood there, as beautiful and brilliant as she had been before he found her in that thrice cursed tower in Dorne. Before he could speak, before he could ask any questions of her, she moved forward to him and with vicious strength he had forgotten, slapped him quick and severe across the face.

"You fucking liar!"

Lyanna Stark watched, if only momentarily, as her dead brother reacted to her rage. When he had promised to protect her son, she had hoped for a good life for him. She had never fooled herself, as Rhaegar may have, that he would take the throne. Her child was never meant to rule the kingdoms, but to lead his brother's men in the war against the Others.

"Lya—" Ned began, raising a hand to his stinging cheek. She slapped him again, earning an undignified gasp. He stumbled backwards, awkward since there was nothing to stand upon, from her second slap. "What—"

"You promised me!" Lyanna screamed, slapping him once more. "You promised you would protect my son! That you would keep him safe from Robert and his ilk!"

"I don't—" Ned raised his arms in defense as Lyanna continued to swat at him. "Will you stop it—please—Lya!"

"How could you?" she asked through tears. "How could you send him to the Wall like a thief or rapist? How could you allow sweet Ben to go to the Wall? You should have stopped him, raised him some seat, and sent my son to live with him, if you were so worried about your trout wife! You could have given them both Moat Cailin, or line our western shore with defenses against Ironborn reavers. You didn't even tell him about me, about his mother."

"Lya!" Ned roared. She hated that she flinched back. She was Lyanna Stark, a she-wolf of Winterfell. She was Lyanna Targaryen, wife to Rhaegar and Elia. "I did what I could."

She glowered as she had back at Harrenhal, when he and Bran and Ben questioned her over the prince granting her that crown of winter roses. "No, you did not. You bent over to the whims of Catelyn Tully and allowed her to drive yourblood, my son, to the Wall. You could have told her the truth, about who Jon is, and granted him a lordship and keep, since you would never go against that fat, whore-mongering fool you called king."

"Robert was—"

"Robert was a terrible king, Ned. Three children, all products of adultery and rape. Cersei Lannister gave your friend horns, and what punishment did she get? Was it her head, chopped off on the steps of a sept? Was it her children, scattered to the winds, made hostage or forced to wage war?

"No, Ned. It was your children. Robb will perish because he's too much like you. Your Bran? He'll become the puppet of our gods' cruelest power. Rickon will perish as well, while your daughters will suffer because you never gave them what they needed. Sansa was blinded to the truth of men, while Arya was drawn into a world she never could've survived in."

"I…" Ned sighed, running a hand through his greyed, brown hair. "I am sorry, Lya. If I could go back…"

"Don't bother, Ned. It won't be you going back. I have pleaded to the gods for them to interfere, to grant more than the magical gifts of our long dead kin. You will remain here, my honorable brother, as I correct the failures you made."

"And how will you do that, Lya? You died in Dorne, long before any of my children beyond Robb were born. Do you think you can escape Robert, what he would do because of Jon's father? Dragonspawn, he called Elia's children. A girl, barely four, and a babe still at the teat."

"I do not need to worry about what Lyanna Stark might or might not do," she said. "We shall exchange places, Ned. You will be here, dead and forced to watch the world tick on, while I will awaken, alive once more.

"Life for life, just as how the first Valyrians awoke their dragons. Just as how Jon's aunt will awaken children from stone.

"Just as how I will return in a body through which Stark blood runs."

She watched Ned's expression, spotted the moment the truth dawned upon him. He reached out, mouth opening, but it was too late. It would be uncomfortable, disconcerting even, but when Lyanna awoke once more, she would be within her brother's body. She didn't know when or where it would be, only that it would be in the past. She prayed that the old gods would look favorably upon her and send her back before her son, her sweet Daeron that she had prayed would be a Visenya, had gone with Benjen to the Wall. That would be before Ned went south, into a pit of vipers he could never understand.

Lyanna closed her eyes, asleep in a void. She opened them and found herself in the lord's chamber in Winterfell.

And now it begins, she thought, feeling the strong muscle of her brother's body. His cock stirred, and she tried not to blush at the strange sensation down there. Muscles she had possessed no longer existed, and ones she had never known or worked were present and aware.

And then a hand, small and unfamiliar, brushed the hardening member. Lyanna stiffened with a rough intake, her grey eyes opening and trailing to the side. It appeared on whatever night before her soul slipped into her brother's body, he had taken his wife to bed. Catelyn had remained, a coy smile flashing in her river blue eyes.

"Husband," Catelyn said, voice rough and wanting.

"Wife," Lyanna replied, trying to not find it odd that she spoke with Ned's voice. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I don't mind, my lord."

Contrary to Lyanna's desire, the cock stiffened. Her cock, now that she thought of it. It was a strange, almost sickening one, yet as long as she inhabited Ned's body, his cock was now hers. She tried to think of things that would strip this body of arousal, and only achieved it upon remembering those nightmares of Robert smashing her babe with his warhammer, just as he slew Rhaegar.

Dragonspawn, he called Elia's Aegon and Rhaenys. Dragonspawn, he would call her Daeron.

"Ned," Catelyn said suddenly, shifting to sit. The furs fell away, exposing sagged breasts from five pregnancies. "What's troubling you? Is it about Jon Arryn?"

"In part," Lyanna replied, once more with Ned's voice. "Hearing about what happened to him, about Robert coming north… I've been dreaming of my sister, because of it. I keep dreaming of when I found her in Dorne. I remember the heat, the men who were with me, and those we found waiting at the tower."

Lyanna knew Ned had spoken little of the tower of joy to Catelyn Tully, so seeing her rising interest was a pleasant surprise. Had she known how Ser Arthur and her Ned would act upon meeting while she was in the birthing bed, she would've given the three Kingsguard left behind by Rhaegar strict orders to escort her brother and Howland Reed up the tower, to swear fealty to their proper king, and ensure good men survived that bloody, pointless melee.

"I made her a promise then, before she died. One I haven't properly kept."

Catelyn's brow furrowed and she reached out to lay a hand on Lyanna's broad shoulders. She allowed it, for that was what Ned would do. "Lyanna? I might not have known her well, but I could help."

"I'm afraid I cannot lean on your aid, Cat," Lyanna whispered. "It's something I must do alone. It cannot be done any other way."

She rose from bed, stiff and unaccustomed to Ned's larger size. It was awkward for her, though she had been bedridden for nearly a moon before that horrible, fatal battle upon the birthing bed. That she had the strength to tell Ned who her son was and extract a promise that put him at odds with his chosen brother was a miracle within itself.

"I understand," Catelyn said. "What of the children? What plans do you have for when Robert returns south?"

Unsaid was the suspicion of why Robert Baratheon was traveling to Winterfell.

"They will remain here," Lyanna said. "Starks are of the North, and never do well in the south. My siblings learned that the hard way." She paused, closing her eyes briefly. "Only Cregan returned with honor and life intact. That he returned with a second wife was fortunate."

"And what if Robert wishes to betroth Sansa and Prince Joffery?"

"I will need to take the prince's measure first. I won't allow my daughters to have unhappy marriages."

It was a lie, for Lyanna would not allow her sweet, naïve niece to marry that monster in silks. She would need to expose Cersei's children for what they were, and hope her son was willing to take up his rightful banner and name. Robb, she was certain, would follow his cousin to war, though of the North she couldn't say. Ryswell and Dustin had their grievances with House Stark, and to learn their men had died for naught might turn them hostile. Bolton would be watched closely, especially since his heir was a vicious, cruel bastard who unknown to all was a kinslayer as well.

"But he's the crown prince. She will be queen."

Lyanna turned to face Catelyn. "Once I thought Robert would be the perfect husband for Lyanna. We all know what transpired from there."

Ned's wife frowned. "But she was kidnapped."

"Lya was too wild, too much of the wolf's blood, to be kidnapped without killing her attackers—or getting herself killed."

There had been no bodies in the riverlands. Her party had stopped at an inn for a night. Come the morrow, she had vanished, trunk and all. Lyanna knew what had happened, but all her brothers had been left with was guesswork and speculation.

Should she the chance, she would hang Petyr Baelish's guts upon the weirwood's branches. He had prevented her letter from reaching Brandon. He had betrayed Ned to his death. That weasel would not live to see her son ascend the Iron Throne.

"Then why say otherwise?"

"Robert would not hear it any other way." Lyanna turned away, searching for breaches and tunic. She was thankful Ned had the foresight to slip on his smallclothes before going to sleep. "And after what happened to Brandon and Father…"

"The lie had to remain," Catelyn said pensively. She remained quiet for a few seconds. "Will you tell our children?"

"Soon," Lyanna promised. "I will tell Robb, Sansa, and Jon, as well."

Catelyn's face transformed, waspish and frustrated. "And what will become of your bastard? Will Benjen finally take him to the Wall? Or will I have to suffer him for years longer."

"Jon will always have a home here in Winterfell," Lyanna roared, appreciating the power she had using Ned's voice. Catelyn flinched back, even as her lips pursed and eyes flashed. "He is my blood. None with Stark blood will ever be forced out of Winterfell. Not as long as I live, and not as long as Robb lives. You know those two are—"

"He is a threat to Robb!" Catelyn snarled. "You don't see it, but I do! I have heard time and again of how he appears more like a Stark than your own heir! Your lords wish to foster him as much as they want Robb, and for what? To hope he might stumble into their daughter's bed and give them a key to Winterfell?"

"Enough with that talk," Lyanna said. "I will not suffer you to speak of Jon that way. Growing up among his blood as true siblings has done more to protect Robb than you will ever know." She sighed, snatching at clothes. "I must go. There is much to do, and winter is coming."

Lyanna found her way to the covered balconies overlooking the training yard. It was already midday and she had yet to find a moment to take her son aside and speak with him. She was grateful the old gods had allowed Ned's memories to linger, for she would have been clueless otherwise as to be her brother, the Warden of the North. She had done her best to emulate her brother, even as her thoughts were plagued with Daeron. How would she approach him? How could she tell him the truth? Would she admit to him who she actually was, or blame reawakened fears of him dead like Aegon and Rhaenys?

Her mind remained unsettled as she found him, busy sparring with his "brother", Robb Stark. She stood there for a few minutes, watching them go back and forth. She had seen enough, watching her own brothers and training with Benjen to know Daeron was holding back. Lyanna felt a twist of fury directed at Catelyn. The only reasons he would hold back were because of her, because she had punished him in the past for being better than her trueborn son.

Curse you, Father. Why did we have to suffer for your Southron desires? We should have married good northerners, instead of settling for Andals who burn our trees and worship false gods.

Were it not something that might risk her neck, she would see the sept Ned had raised for Catelyn stripped down and burned. Brandon never would've built that stain upon the Stark honor and legacy. He knew well enough that Winterfell should always remain a faithful citadel for the old gods.

She waited until Daeron finally grew tired of Robb's faltering attacks to knock away his shield with a quick swing and ring his head like a bell from above. The heir to Winterfell stepped back and nearly collapsed to the muddy yard, shaking his head as he tried to regain his balance. Once he did, he ripped off his helmet and grinned. Daeron did the same, and Lyanna found her heart aching. Both boys had the Stark look, yet where Robb possessed his mother's coloring, she could spot hints of Rhaegar's face in Daeron.

Lyanna clapped, drawing their attention. "Good show, you two," she said, voice booming enough to travel to them clearly. "How have they been faring, Ser Rodrik?"

The old master-at-arms smiled and nodded. "Lord Robb has performed well, though I still struggle with getting Jon Snow to not hold back."

Lyanna nodded. She quickly found a stairwell down to the yard and crossed over to her son and nephew. They watched her, having drawn close together. In a better world, they would be as close as brothers, yet knew from the beginning they were cousins.

"Good news, though not as great as I would like," she said. Lyanna drew both into a tight hug, struggling to not chuckle at their faint blushes. Embarrassment showed easily in First Men and Valyrians alike. "Robb. It's clear you're stronger than Jon, but not as quick. Allow him to wear away his strength against your shield instead of trying to batter his away. That is why he won."

"Of course, Father," Robb said with a flushed smile.

"And you Jon," Lyanna continued, "Don't hold back. Your training with Ser Rodrik is meant to prepare you for combat. For war, should there be need. If you hold back here in the yard, then how can you expect to fight at your full strength in the field?"

"I—" Daeron struggled, looking away. His ears went red, and Lyanna feared she had been too harsh.

"Fight as if you were fighting for your life, Jon." She glanced at Robb. "Same with you. I had to bury my father, my brother, and my sister. I do not wish to bury any sons."

Both boys nodded, for that was what they were. They might nearly be men, but they weren't yet.

She released them and turned to Daeron. "Jon. I have been thinking on a matter recently, and I believe now is the right time." Lyanna laid a hand on his shoulder. "I wish to tell you who your mother is."

Daeron's eyes went wide, even as Robb sucked in a harsh breath. Lyanna wondered if Ned had ever planned to tell her son the truth, or if he had been secretly grateful to go to the grave before he needed to do as he promised.

"During the hour of the wolf," she whispered, low enough only for her son, "come to the godswood. There's much I must tell you."

"I will, Father," said Daeron, unaware how completely his world would shatter.

Lyanna stared into the red, crying eyes of the heart tree. She remembered fondly the time spent fighting with Benjen here, wielding the wooden training swords he pilfered from the armory. Ser Rodrik had been a younger man then, but still he had been their master-at-arms. She wondered if the man ever learned of what they had been up to, or if he was unaware of the mischief occurring in the godswood of Winterfell.

The hour of the wolf still lingered over Winterfell, and soon her son would arrive. She had watched him closely the entire day, heart aching over what Ned had done to him. Jon Snow. There would never be a name she hated more than that. Not Robert Baratheon or Tywin Lannister or Aerys Targaryen. Not even Lorch and Gregor, the monsters rewarded for spilling royal blood.

She would need to tell Daeron the full truth: her connection with the old gods, of what transpired at Harrenhal, how she plotted to abscond with Rhaegar, and about those long, wretched moons in Dorne. She would even tell him of the men who died for him, both the white cloaks that should've protected him and the northern men her brother had foolishly led to their deaths.

Daeron might hate her, she feared, but there was no turning back. Lyanna Targaryen had promised to tell him about his mother, even if he thought it would be Eddard Stark telling her.

There was only one place they could have that conversation, down below in the crypts of Winterfell.

Snow crunched behind her. Lyanna fixed her gaze upon the weirwood's face, upon the blood-red sap that trickled down like tears. It was only when the footsteps stopped and she heard her son rasp out, "You wanted to see me, Father?" that she turned to face him.

"Jon," she whispered, hating that name upon her tongue. "Do you know why I asked you to meet me before the heart tree?"

"Because none can lie before it," he said. "You… You promised to tell me about my mother? Who is she? Where is she? Does… Does she love me?"

Lyanna smiled, even as tears threatened to spill. "That I did. What I can tell you is that she was a noblewoman, someone I loved dearly. She died so that you might live, and she is closer than you might think."

He frowned, face long like hers. It hurt her, how much Stark there was in her son. She could spot the things Rhaegar had left behind, but they were faint, so masked by the blood of the First Men that it was no surprise everyone ate up Ned's lie. Had she not known better, Lyanna might believe the whispered rumors that her son was truly Ned and Ashara Dayne's. But that child, that sweet girl, had been stillborn.

"This is not the place to tell you the full story, however. Follow me," Lyanna commanded. Her son did so as she made her way through the godswood.

They stepped out into the lichyard, where the servants of House Stark had been buried for centuries. Crossing through the maze of short, broken headstones, she headed for the iron doors that guarded the resting place of the Lords of Winterfell and Kings of Winter.

Daeron said nothing as they entered and descended into the crypt. Lyanna used Ned's memories to guide the way, taking up a lit torch she had prepared for this meeting. As they approached the place where her bones rested, her strides shortened and her heart pounded, nervous.

And then they came upon the three statues Lyanna had dreaded coming upon. To her left were her father and brother. They had died before her son's birthright, murdered by the last king of the first Targaryen dynasty. Her foolishness and inability to understand what the old gods had tried to tell her had led to their deaths. She would find a way to repay Ser Jaime for what he had done. Even now, she could hear those last, mad words of Aerys II:

"BURN THEM ALL! BURN THEM ALL!"

Upon her right was a single statue. Lyanna turned to face it, allowing Daeron to step up besides her.

"Why are we before Aunt Lyanna's grave?" he asked.

"I have a story to tell you first," Lyanna said. She glanced at her son, then back to her form, etched forever in stone. "It begins at Harrenhal, at the great tourney. My sister encountered a trio of squires assaulting a crannogman."

Daeron's brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt.

"She drove them off with a tourney sword, and discovered she had rescued Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch. She invited him to join us, and that was where I met him." She smiled fondly, remembering that day. "The following day, the jousts began. Many were taken by surprise when a mystery rider joined the lists. The Knight of the Laughing Tree, he was called, for he bore a shield with a smiling weirwood. He challenged three knights, and defeated them all. The only ransom he demanded was that they teach their squires honor."

"Those squires," her son began, "were they the ones Aunt Lyanna chased off?"

"Indeed," Lyanna said, smiling weakly. "It was only after the Rebellion that I learned from Benjen that it had been Lyanna that day. My brazen, willful sister had dared to ride like a man, and had succeeded where Ben or I might have failed."

"And then what?"

Lyanna's expression went grim. "The king thought Lyanna was a threat to him. He ordered Prince Rhaegar to find her…and to bring back her head."

Catelyn Stark frowned. When she had struggled to find Ned, she had risked heading out to the godswood in the midst of night. She had not truly thought he would be out there, but she was more surprised to find Jon Snow present as well. Robb had mentioned to her earlier that Ned had promised to tell Jon about his mother, but he hadn't heard a when or where. She had followed them from the godswood and into the crypts, using the light of Ned's torch to follow them.

What she had already heard surprised her. She creeped up to the nearest corner, close enough to spy upon them. Catelyn remembered the Knight of the Laughing Tree, and remembered assuming like many it had been some brazen, foolish squire. To learn it had been Lady Lyanna Stark was a shock, even if she had put up with stories from about her riding ability and wildness.

"As you might suspect," Ned continued, "Prince Rhaegar did not bring back Lyanna's head. He did find her, and he did learn the truth of what she had done. I suspect that is what first drew his attention to her, and what drove him to crown my sister instead of his wife. It was a cruel thing he did, but there was much few knew.

"While we were there for the tourney, Brandon and I danced with Ashara Dayne of Starfall. Her brother was Ser Arthur, the Sword of the Morning, and a close companion of Prince Rhaegar.

"Moons after the tourney, Princess Elia gave birth to a son, Prince Aegon. She was told that she would bear no children, especially with how difficult the birth had been. Rumor was that Rhaegar had a vested interest in having three children, so he turned his gaze to Lyanna."

"That's when he kidnapped her?"

"Do you remember what I said about my sister?"

Jon whispered something, too weak for her to hear. His face did take on some color, though she couldn't tell with the torchlight upon their faces.

"Lyanna had chafed under her betrothal to Robert. She had always been willful and daring, much like Arya. Like her, and our brother Brandon, Lyanna had a touch of the wolf's blood. I'm not sure if it was that or if she had genuine affection for him, but she agreed to secretly meet with Rhaegar in the riverlands. If there was a letter for us, it never came."

Catelyn frowned as something she had long since forgotten came to mind. Once, in the days leading up to the day she was supposed to marry Brandon, she had spotted Petyr Baelish, her father's fosterling, come down from the rookery with a pleased smirk. She had spoken with him briefly, but he said nothing.

The day after that, they had dueled over her hand. Baelish was struck down terribly and only survived because she had pleaded with Brandon.

Could Petyr have done that? Catelyn wondered, fearful for what it could mean about her childhood friend. She had trusted him, had even written him a raven when she heard he was made the Master of Coin upon the king's small council, but if he had prevented Lyanna's letter from reaching her brothers, then it meant he had played a role in getting her betrothed killed and sparking a dynasty-ending war.

"Lyanna disappeared, and you know most of the history afterward," Ned continued, still nowhere close to admitting who Jon Snow's mother was. "The rebellion was fought. I raged at Robert for accepting the murder of Elia and her children. I went south, to Storm's End, putting an end to Mace Tyrell's siege.

"And then a letter arrived for me, sent from Ashara Dayne."

Catelyn scowled. Once, only once, she had asked Ned if Ashara Dayne was Jon Snow's mother. He had demanded she never ask again, and she had done as he wished. But for that to be the truth in the end infuriated her. Why couldn't he have told her then?

"She is not your mother, Jon. The letter Ashara sent me was about Lyanna, and where I could find her."

"The tower of joy."

"Aye. It's in the Prince's Pass, though it no longer stands. I traveled there with six companions: Howland Reed, who Lyanna had saved; brave Martyn Cassel, Jory's father; Ethan Glover, who had been my brother's squire; Lord William Dustin, who's wife hates me to this day; Ser Mark Ryswell upon his great stallion; and Theo Wull, who we called Buckets. When we reached the tower, we found three knights of the Kingsguard waiting. They had been absent from the Battle of the Trident, from King's Landing, and even the siege of Storm's End.

"But there, beneath the tower where Rhaegar hid Lyanna, we found them. Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull. Ser Oswell Whent, the Black Bat. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning."

Catelyn closed her eyes, remembering the astonishment and pride she felt, hearing of that battle. It had been a shame that five sons of the North were lost fighting those three men, but Oswell Whent was a relation of hers through her mother, Minisa of House Whent.

"Howland and I were the sole survivors of the melee that broke out. We butchered each other to the sounds of my sister screaming."

Ned sighed, loud and echoing. "If only we had known why."

"When I reached Lyanna at the tower's top, she was in a bed of blood. She was exhausted, not from a fever as I have told the realm, but from childbirth. She had born Rhaegar a son, one I discovered to my horror and shame, was trueborn."

Catelyn choked on her tongue and covered her mouth with her hands. The Seven were with her, for Ned and Jon Snow had not noticed her error.

"I…I have a cousin?" Jon asked, voice tight. "Wait, you said he was trueborn. But wasn't Prince Rhaegar married to Elia Martell?"

"She was. Rhaegar, somehow, convinced my sister to marry in the Valyrian tradition. They, unlike the old gods and the new, allow for practices such as polygamy and incest. The former was what he used, likely citing Aegon the Conqueror and his son, Maegor the Cruel. Poor men to take after, but that was what he did."

"What became of Aunt Lyanna's son?"

Catelyn held her breath and waited.

"I promised my sister I would protect her son from Robert. She knew the fates his siblings had suffered and wanted different for her son.

"So, I did the only thing I could," Ned admitted. Catelyn's heart stopped, for she could guess what he would say. "I took Daeron Targaryen, whom some would have already declared king and knelt for, and declared that he was my bastard son, Jon Snow."

"I… I'm not your son?" Jon Snow asked with a hoarse voice. "I'm… not even a bastard?"

"No, you are not." Ned sighed, turning to face his sister's statue. "I do not regret stripping you of your birthright, for it was the only way to protect you from Robert. Lyanna begged me, even as she died, to guarantee you lived.

"And she would be furious to learn you were going to take the Black. For all she might respect the Night's Watch, she would never allow you to go. If she were alive, Lyanna would box in my ears for allowing Ben to go, and box in his for good measure."

"Truly? She loved me that much?" whispered Jon—Daeron. He was Daeron Targaryen, Catelyn knew. She clenched her hands and leaned against the wall of the crypt, wondering what she should do with this knowledge. For a moment, she considered what she might have done, had it been Edmund or Lysa who bore a child with a death warrant already upon them solely because of their name. Could she have done as Ned did? Would she be willing to commit so completely to a lie to allow her flesh and blood to go to the Wall?

Fury rippled through her. Yes, she would have done whatever it took, but why did he have to claim Daeron as his own? Was Ned truly so foolish to think she would be offended by Brandon's bastard. In some ways it would have been worse, but it would have made their marriage sweeter. She had known what kind of man Brandon was, going into their marriage. She had hoped he would remain faithful, but trusted he would not bring a bastard back to Winterfell. Better that child be raised elsewhere, in Barrowton or Starfall, raised by the women foolish enough to lie with a man not their wedded husband.

Catelyn Stark stepped out from behind the corner. She took a few steps towards Ned, who she loved, and Daeron, who she didn't know how to deal with. They turned to face her, and she didn't see fear in Ned's eyes.

His grey eyes, always so loving, bore anger she had long forgotten.

TBC