Author's Note: Heya kiddos. Closest chapter to date to the original story. Nearly took it out entirely, but I elected to keep it in as you can tell. Can't go hand-waving something so important in canon, even if it's changed drastically in my story. Added a small snippet of new stuff at the end to make it flow a bit nicer into the next chapter.

I hope you enjoy this update! I hope to have the next one out soon, but only time will tell. Not too much time, ideally.

Chapter 30

Original word count: 2,074

Revised word count: 2,667

The Tower of Joy was an ill-fitting name for a sad stack of stone.

A single round tower of sandstone, it had been raised atop a peak in the backbone of the Red Mountains, offering a lofty vantage of the Prince's Pass and any armies approaching it from the north. When not manned—it often wasn't, these days—it had become a known hideaway for Dornish paramours, a place to meet one's secret or forbidden love.

Or to stash the woman you abducted. Or didn't abduct, as it may turn out.

The view was quite stunning, miles and miles of mountains and sand and sun, but all Eddard Stark saw as he and his companions rode up the narrow trail was his sister's face. She'll be a year older now. Has this last year been as hard on he as it has me? I hope not, considering. Eddard wondered if it would be the same or an entirely different Lyanna to greet him—or if she'd even greet him at all. Or if he even wanted her to.

Aelor Targaryen had told him a truth, and not the truth Eddard had fought and killed for. If it was the truth, as he would soon determine, it filled the new Stark of Winterfell with a bitter stew of anger and mourning. If Aelor had told him true, Brandon had ridden into King's Landing demanding vengeance for an abduction that hadn't been an abduction, eventually losing not only his life but the life of their father as well. Eddard had ridden to war and married a stranger to save a woman who hadn't needed or wanted saving. Half of his family had died, all over a misunderstanding Lyanna had not corrected.

She should have told us. Something, anything.

Ned couldn't fathom why she hadn't. He glanced over his shoulder, to the first of three men in Citadel gray and the trail of women following them. No, he couldn't understand at all.

He heard the creak of hinges as the door to the tower opened, and Ned returned his attention to it. Two men in white armor stepped out, strides confident despite having forty men fanning out in a half circle before them. It was quiet in the mountains, only the clop of hooves and rattle of armor audible as the two men studied those in front of him.

Ser Arthur Dayne's presence would have made this much simpler, but Aelor had kept the Sword of the Morning with the new king, alongside Barristan the Bold and Prince Lewyn. Eddard could understand why—one assassin had already struck at the heart of Targaryen power, and while Tywin Lannister lived there was always the threat of another. In his place, Aelor had commanded a specific man to accompany Ned.

Lord Walter Whent, oh-so-recently a vassal of the Riverlands, trotted forward until his horse was a spear's length away. "Oswell."

Oswell Whent, distinctive helmet bearing a black bat with spread wings under one arm, nodded at his brother. "Walter."

"I suppose you are aware the war is over."

Gerold Hightower, known as the White Bull and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, answered him. The aging, broad-shouldered man had reportedly been there when Aerys burned Eddard's father, having been sent to find Rhaegar shortly afterwards. Rhaegar had returned months later while the White Bull had not, the reasons for it now clear. "We hear it is only beginning."

"You hear wrong," put in Lord Cleyton Byrch, vassal of Duskendale and Aelor's chosen representative. The man had lost both of his brothers during the war, and Ned hadn't heard him say more than a dozen words the entire journey. "The prince will have things in hand long before we make it back to King's Landing."

Eddard nodded his agreement. "Lannister will fall sooner rather than later, Sers."

Lord Walter dismounted to stand in front of his kin. "Whatever this is, whyever you are here, Prince Aelor has promised leniency. I believe him good for it."

Ser Oswell looked at Ned, ignoring his brother entirely. "Lord Stark. I suppose you are looking for your sister."

The Lord Paramount of the North nodded. "You suppose right."

"She is here," the Lord Commander admitted. "Our king ordered us to protect her at all costs."

"Your king is dead," said Ethan Glover, voice vicious. He had ridden with Brandon and his party to King's Landing that faithful day a lifetime ago, the only survivor of the retinue. Aelor Targaryen had ordered him released from his captivity the moment peace was struck, and he had joined Ned in King's Landing. Clearly Ethan held quite a bit of disdain for Hightower, but that was to be expected. It had been the White Bull himself to throw Glover in the black cells.

"Your new one resides in King's Landing, awaiting your return to swear fealty." Eddard prodded his garron forward slightly. "Lyanna is my sister. If you were to guard her, it should not be from me."

"You and your armies killed the king," Whent replied, face and eyes still utterly calm.

"And his brother killed the man who did it," Eddard responded, meeting the Kingsguard's impassive demeanor with an icy one of his own. "I have bent the knee to King Aegon; many of my bannermen now ride with his uncle's army. There is no fight here, as my letter from the Prince Regent confirms." Eddard produced the letter, sealed with the two warring dragons of Prince Aelor, and proffered it to Hightower. "Shall we continue this farce, or may I see my sister?"

Hightower was ignoring the letter and instead eyeing the maesters and midwives, clustered in a small group outside the ring of soldiers. "I see King Rhaegar informed his brother of her condition." His eyes fell on Eddard. "She is in the later stages now; riding horseback may harm the babe."

Eddard tossed the letter, sending it twisting down to fall at the feet of the Kingsguard. "We are prepared for that."

Whent and Hightower glanced at one another for a moment, conversing without speaking, before the latter looked back to Ned. "She is in the top room, Lord Stark," the Lord Commander said, then stepped aside, scooping the letter up with a flourish. Ned dismounted, waved an arm to signal his men to remain there, and stepped into the tower.

Eddard Stark forgave his sister the moment he saw her. His anger was still there, boiling beneath the layers of ice Eddard Stark used for blood, but it was doused by the overwhelming wave of sheer relief at seeing her alive.

Lyanna was wearing a dress of Stark grey, standing at a window on the other side of the tower from the entrance. She had heard him climbing, he was sure of that, but she did not turn from whatever it was she was watching. Ned stood there for several breaths, taking her in in silence.

"Lyanna," he spoke quietly, still standing in the doorway, ecstatic to see her whole yet hesitant to fully enter.

Her answering voice was small and soft, words that certainly wouldn't have described it a year ago. "Ned." Another silence hung thick in the air, one Eddard didn't know how to fill and Lyanna didn't seem to want to. The Lord of the North could only stare at the side of his sister's face, full of words he wanted to say yet unable to manage any of them.

Lyanna Stark sighed after a long while, finally turning from whatever it was she had been watching outside to look at him. Though this chamber was well-maintained and even a touch opulent—Myrish rugs, intricate candelabras—his sister did not look like a woman who had been living in luxury. She looked exhausted, worn to a wisp. Her belly was prominent against her dress of grey, made more so by her slight frame, an obvious mark of the predicament she was now in. The burning fire that had always been in her gaze had burnt out, replaced by a weary, haunted glaze to her grey Northern eyes. Though younger even than Ned, she seemed ancient somehow, as ancient as Ned himself had felt after the Trident.

His heart broke, seeing it. Gone was the girl with wolf's blood, replaced by a tired woman carrying a child when she was still half a child herself.

Lyanna turned to face him squarely, resting one hand atop her heavy belly as her lips trembled slightly. "I hear you are the Lord of Winterfell now."

Ned only stared for a moment, wondering how in the name of the Old Gods that was the first thing she said after so long, before slowly answering her. "Yes."

His baby sister nodded, looking down and fighting the clear quiver in her voice. "Rhaegar told me what happened to father and Brandon."

His anger burned through some of the ice, reminding him of what all had happened due to that man. And due to Lyanna. "Rhaegar must have told you a lot of things."

Lyanna didn't look up to meet his eyes again, wincing back like his words were a physical blow. "He did. He told me many things; wonderful things."

That wince had crippled Ned's anger before it could take root. He took a small, cautious step into the chamber, still several paces away but closer than he had been. "I suppose the Kingsguard told you of what happened after that."

Her nod was even smaller than her voice. "Robert killed him. And then his brother killed Robert."

More than that had happened, so much more. Eddard had married, called the banners, gone to war, killed men. A city had been sacked, a river turned red. Thousands had died. All he said, though, was "Yes."

Another silence descended and held sway for several minutes. Eddard didn't know how to move on from here, and clearly neither did Lyanna, so the silence grew long and heavy, until she seemingly could bear it no longer. "Is the war over, then?"

Eddard took another, almost imperceptible step towards her, as if she was a frightened animal who would flee at any quick movement. "Yes, and no. We have bent the knee to the Iron Throne, and I have sworn vows to King Aegon." Ned glanced at her belly again, realizing for the first time that the child there would be the sibling to the reigning king. He'd known that, surely, but he'd never consciously thought about it until now. "The Prince Regent and most of the North—most of Westeros, actually—is in the Westerlands, chasing Tywin Lannister after he murdered Elia Martell."

A flash of guilt, so potent it took Eddard aback, flashed across his sister's face at the mention of the Dornishwoman. Ned wasn't sure if she'd been told she would replace her, or be a second wife, or what had decided between her and the man she had eloped with, but the mention of her name clearly brought some shame. "Rhaegar told me Aelor loved her."

Eddard shrugged, though Lyanna wouldn't be able to see it as her eyes were still locked on the ground. This isn't the Lyanna I once knew. "I don't know about that. Maybe so."

"That was how he justified it, you know." Lyanna moved her eyes from the floor to look out the window again, though she kept her body facing Eddard. "He said Aelor would love her more than he ever could; as much as he loved me." A tear, only one but enough to tear at Eddard's hardened heart, slipped down her cheek. Lyanna never cries. "He said she loved him too."

He swallowed, but there was nothing to say. Eddard managed another two shuffled steps before she spoke again. "Benjen?"

Eddard had nearly let his youngest brother accompany him to the war; Benjen was five and ten, and many Northerners that age and younger had accompanied their fathers and brothers south to war. "He is the Stark in Winterfell. You know as well as I there must always be one." And thank the gods for it. It's all that kept him there, and I could not bear another loss.

Lyanna's stiff posture relaxed a fraction, as if a chip had fallen from the stone she bore on her shoulders. "I feared he had seen the battlefield as you have." He saw her swallow before she spoke again. "Robert's brothers?"

Eddard knew this was all a diversionary tactic, meant to keep the conversation away from all that she had done, but he obliged her anyway. "I saw to that before coming here. They nearly starved to death in a siege, but Stannis listened to me for the sake of Renly and surrendered. Mace Tyrell is escorting them to King's Landing." He stepped within an arm's length of Lyanna but didn't reach for her, noticing how her entire body had begun shaking. He spoke again to give her more time to compose herself. "You have a niece or nephew by now."

That statement finally drew her gaze back to her brother. Her pain so visible nearly broke him. "I do?"

Eddard nodded, giving the smallest of smiles. "Catelyn Tully and I were married soon after the war started. She should have gone to the birthing chamber some weeks ago, though I have received no official word."

Lyanna smiled back, quivering but genuine. "I'm so happy for you, Ned." The smile lessened. "Will anything happen…I mean, since you surrendered will there be—"

"There were repercussions," Ned cut in gently. "Or I should say there will be; hostages to serve in the south, including my own child annually, but altogether more than we could have hoped for. Prince Aelor favored leniency. He knows the war was brought on by only a few men."

Lyanna's voice broke, though she kept her tears from falling. "And me." Eddard could say nothing, as her statement was true no matter how much it pained them both. Instead, the Lord of the North gently reached out to lay a hand on his sister's arm.

It was as if a dam had burst, his usually strong and stubborn sister breaking into sobs that wracked her body and Eddard's heart, hands clutching at his woolen coat. Eddard did the only thing he knew to, taking his sobbing sister in his arms, paying careful mind to keep from applying pressure to her swollen belly.

The Lord of the North had never been good with soothing words or placations, and he didn't offer any now. Eddard didn't reassure his sister with statements of her innocence that wouldn't be true. He didn't tell her it was all over now because it certainly wasn't, not with a royal bastard growing in her belly. All Eddard Stark did was hold his sister as she cried, sobs filling the Tower of Joy.

He was death itself.

Some part of Aelor Targaryen, both the old and the new, lived for war. He craved it, desired it, loved it, even if he hated those it took from him. He felt so alive, so invincible, like one of the dragons his ancestors had ridden. He roared like one too, barreling off the ridge towards the lines of Lannister men below.

His cavalry thundered along behind him, in the wedge formation he'd used for good and for ill throughout the war. On the plain stretching from Lannisport to Casterly Rock, his own infantry was advancing towards the lines of red and gold, Randyll Tarly in command. Aelor thought little of them, only seeing the great lion banner at the center and knowing who sat there.

The man who killed Elia.

Aelor howled with rage, Warrior echoing it as they charged down the hill, hooves sparking the rocky soil. They were a wave of men with lance and shield, a great iron fist to smash into the waiting footmen below.

He was death itself.

And death rode straight into Tywin Lannister's trap.