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283 AC – Winterfell
pov Lyarra Snow
Lyarra was wringing her hands nervously as she stared at the wall. Torrhen's last letter had depicted the battle of the trident and his intention of preventing Elia Martell and her childrens' deaths, personally if necessary. During their plotting he had told her of the mountain that rides, a monster of a man that would seek to snuff out the last Targaryens... and her brother would try to fight against that monster if necessary.
Utter madness but then her brother's sense of justice had always been a defining trait of him... in both lifes aswell. Someone knocked on her door, "Come in" she called.
Benjen came in, his expression grave as he wordlessly handed her a letter and she could immediately make out Ned's refined writing.
She read the letter once.
Then again, slower, her breath catching on the edges of the words.
Lyn Corbray, slain.
Jon Umber, grievously wounded.
Brynden Tully, unconscious, condition unknown.
Tytos Blackwood, Jonos Bracken and Rickard Karstark, broken bones.
Ned himself injured but not too heavily.
Torrhen...
Her hands trembled.
She re-read the last line.
Torrhen Snow, gravely injured while defending Princess Elia and her children from Gregor Clegane. Multiple broken ribs. Skull trauma. Maesters unsure if he will wake again.
The paper crumpled in her fist.
"No," she whispered. "I cannot lose him.. not again"
She stood so fast her chair scraped across the stone floor. The guards at the door turned at the sound, but her eyes were locked on nothing.
She thought of how many times she'd scolded him for being reckless. "You're not indestructible, you know."
And how many times he laughed. "Maybe not, but I'm stubborn enough to make up for it."
Tears welled in her eyes and she didn't care to blink them away.
She looked down at the raven's message once more, now smudged by her tears and fingers, and gently laid it on the table.
She would not be allowed to head south she knew but the bitterness and rage threatened to overwhelm her and so she walked past a silent Benjen and left towards the training yard.
"Hold on, Torrhen," she whispered under her breath as she walked back into the cold. "Just hold on. I'll burn the world if I have to."
She would humiliate multiple guards that day, who to be fair didn't try too hard against the clearly grief stricken girl. Both Lyarra and Torrhen were popular amonst the servants and the guards, even more so after their revival and so the guards simply let themselves be trashed so that the young girl had an outlet for her rage.
Pov Maester Walys
As she did she was watched by a certain elderly man. He had of course read the letter and rejoiced internally, the war had been won by the rebels (though the Lannisters had to pay a harsh price for their sacking of the city), the demon boy would possibly not survive his injuries and the targaryen family while still alive would most likely still be executed by his grace King Robert.
Once Walys got the confirmation that the boy was dead he'd then make sure the girl would breath her last, the scene just now, made it even more important in his mind that he killed her as soon as possible.
He would even sacrifice his life if it meant she would die aswell. With the war over his position as spy was now quickly becoming more and more unimportant, once the girl was dead the citadel had no more use for him here in the north so he might aswell go out taking the girl with him.
**Scene Break**
King's Landing, 283 AC
Maester's chamber in the Red Keep, Torrhen Snow's sickbed
pov Eddard Stark
Ned winced as the pain flared up again and he cursed under his breath about the monster that had proven to be even more troublesome than Torrhen had made them believe initially... Torrhen...
Ned looked at Torrhen's still but luckily still breathing form with great concern... if he lost Torrhen too... only Lyanna, Benjen and Lyarra remained and with Torrhen's greendreams who knew how much time Lyanna had left.
The room was quiet save for the faint crackle of a brazier in the corner and the shallow, raspy breaths of Torrhen Snow. Ned Stark sat down beside the boy's bed, hands folded, grey eyes fixed on the unmoving form beneath the blankets. Torrhen's head was wrapped in clean bandages, and the purpling bruises along his throat and chest were stark against his pale skin.
"You damned stubborn boy," Ned muttered quietly. "You were supposed to survive your recklessness, not nearly die from it."
His fingers clenched on his knee. "Jumping on the Mountain's back… gods, Torrhen. Brave as it was foolish. But you saved them. Elia, her children… little Rhaenys looked at me with those wide eyes and thanked me as if I was the one who pulled her from the pyre. That was your doing."
The door creaked open and Ned stood, brushing the weariness from his face. Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, and Robert Baratheon stepped inside, their boots soft on the stone floor.
"We've heard what happened," Jon said, voice heavy with solemnity. "I hope for a quick recovery."
Ned exhaled, returning to his seat. "The boy is as methodical and cautious as Father ever was, but he's got the wolf's blood in him too. Jumping on Clegane's back… it was madness. And yet, it worked."
"He's a Stark, then," Robert said with a brief grin. "Madness and honor make a fine northern mix."
Jon stepped closer, watching the boy in the bed. "So… everything he told you came true?"
"Aye," Ned said softly. "It still feels like some tale told in the dark… but yes. He foresaw it all. Torrhen is a greendreamer."
Robert looked between them, a touch of frustration crossing his face. "Would someone kindly tell me what's going on? I still want to know why you pressed the cavalry forward to this stinking hellhole without warning."
"Torrhen predicted the sack," Ned replied flatly. "He knew the Lannisters would turn on the city and the royal family to avenge Aerys' slights against Tywin. He knew Gregor Clegane would be sent to kill the children."
"You should've let them die," Robert said, his voice cold and gruff.
Jon and Ned both turned sharply.
"Elia and her children are innocent," Jon said. "They are not Aerys. They are not Rhaegar."
"They are still dragonspawn," Robert growled. "And Elia is a Martell. I will not have Dorne rise against me."
"You're right," Jon said diplomatically. "Sending them back to Dorne is… unwise."
Hoster Tully nodded. "Then we keep them close. Marry Elia off to a loyal lord, send the children to Winterfell. Let them grow up under Stark eyes, far from influence and power. When the time comes, Aegon could take the black or wear a maester's chain."
Ned glanced at Torrhen again. "I would take them gladly. And yes… Elia should wed again."
There was a long pause.
Robert's face slowly split into a grin. "Say, Ned. Torrhen isn't promised to anyone, is he?"
Ned's eyes narrowed. "No. But—"
"Then there's your solution. Elia marries her savior. The people will love it. The Dornish can't say a damned word—she and her children still breathe because of that boy."
"No," Ned said firmly. "Robert, he is a bastard. From the North. You'd risk war with Dorne for this?"
"I risked war for Lyanna," Robert said. "And Dorne lost. They can count themselves lucky she's not dead. This is no longer a discussion, Ned. Torrhen and Elia will marry when he's of age. That's final."
With that, Robert turned on his heel and strode from the room. Hoster followed, offering a sympathetic nod to Ned. Jon Arryn lingered only a moment, long enough to rest a hand on Ned's shoulder, before departing silently.
The door closed behind them.
Ned looked back to Torrhen and let out a long, slow sigh.
"Betrothed to a princess, a widow no less." he murmured. "Seven hells, Torrhen. You don't wake for three days and look what they've gone and done to you."
He stood and gently adjusted the furs over the boy's chest.
"I suppose congratulations are in order," Ned said softly, allowing a faint smile. "Though I suspect you'll be furious once you wake."
With a final look, Ned turned and left the room.
He had friends to find. And if Lyanna still lived, he would need a midwife.
The Tower of Joy waited.
The Tyrells were now the concern for Wyman Manderly who he had appointed as commander of the Northern army and ordered to end the Siege of Storm's End. Given the lackluster performance of the Reach so far he had no doubt they would bend the knee to Robert once they saw the Northern Army approaching them.
**Scene Break**
pov Eddard Stark
The morning sun was cresting over the walls of the Red Keep, but Ned Stark paid it little mind. He sat astride his horse, cloak billowing in the sea breeze, surrounded by the six men who had stood beside him through storm and steel and by now recovered from the battle of the trident: Howland Reed, William Dustin, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Ethan Glover, and Ser Mark Ryswell.
A sturdy woman of middling years named Daella rode behind them, her satchel full of cloth, herbs, and tools of her trade. She had delivered more than a dozen highborn children throughout the war, and if Lyanna lived, Ned would need her skill.
The gate loomed before them, but they were intercepted before they could pass.
"Elia?" Ned frowned as the Princess of Dorne, wrapped in a heavy cloak of burnt orange and gold, stepped into their path. Behind her strode Yohn Royce, favoring his left leg slightly but armored and alert.
"I heard you were preparing to ride out," Elia said, voice calm but resolute. "To the Tower of Joy."
Ned dismounted and approached her. "I must find my sister. If she's alive, as Torrhen claimed, I won't waste another hour."
"You needn't go in with steel drawn," Elia said. "Arthur Dayne will listen to me. The men at the Tower are loyal to House Targaryen—and to me. They will not spill blood if I give them reason not to."
Royce crossed his arms. "And I will accompany her, to ensure she does not do anything… inadvisable."
Elia shot him a dry look. "I am not so foolish as to throw myself into a den of swords. But if this can be ended without bloodshed, let it be so."
Ned studied her for a long moment before giving a small nod. "Then ride with us."
**Scene Break**
The Red Mountains of Dorne
The Tower of Joy rose before them like a pale spear in the distance. The ride south had been long and grueling, made harder by the weight in Ned's chest. What if Lyanna was not there? What if she was already gone?
As they crested the final ridge, they saw them: three knights, cloaked in white, standing like statues outside the tower.
Arthur Dayne.
Ser Oswell Whent.
Lord Commander Gerold Hightower.
The three Kingsguard had not drawn their swords, but their hands hovered near them, watching the large company approach. Their wariness broke only when Elia Martell dismounted and stepped forward.
"Arthur," she called, her voice ringing clear over the rocky terrain.
Arthur Dayne blinked once, as if uncertain of what he saw. Then he took a step forward. "Elia?" His voice was hoarse with disbelief.
"I am alive, thanks to Lord Stark," Elia said. "To him, and to his bastard brother Torrhen, who nearly gave his life to save mine. They spared Rhaenys and Aegon. King's Landing was sacked, but we were not among the dead."
Arthur's face shifted from disbelief to something like reverence. He looked to Ned. "Then I owe you a debt I can never repay, Lord Stark. I know my sister shall be as relieved to hear of Elia's survival as I am."
"You owe me nothing," Ned said. "Only let us see my sister."
Arthur turned to the Lord Commander and Oswell Whent. Gerold Hightower looked older than he had days ago, as if the weight of the realm had finally caught up with him.
"The king is dead," Elia said softly. "Rhaegar fell on the Trident. Aerys… was slain during the sack. The war is over. This can end without blood."
Gerold Hightower studied her. Then Ned. Then the silent ranks of Northmen and the woman behind them, clearly a healer.
He exhaled deeply.
"I swore to keep her safe," he said.
"And you have," Ned replied.
Gerold closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, they were weary.
"Stand down," the White Bull said. "Ser Arthur. Ser Oswell. Sheath your swords."
The other two Kingsguard obeyed without hesitation.
Arthur turned back toward the tower and gestured for Ned to follow. "Come. She waits for you."
Ned didn't wait for ceremony. He turned to his men and nodded. "Stay here. Only Daella and Elia come with me."
Then he followed Ser Arthur Dayne through the stone archway, his breath shallow, his heart thundering.
Inside, he would find his sister. And with her, the final truth that Torrhen's greendream had promised.
**Scene Break**
The scent inside the tower was cloying — dried herbs, smoke, and the faint, sickly trace of blood. Ned had climbed the stairs in a haze, each step like passing through the years they'd been apart.
He stopped at the doorway.
"Lyanna?" he breathed.
The figure on the bed turned, her long dark hair tangled with sweat, her eyes shadowed but unmistakable.
"Ned…" she whispered.
In three strides he was at her side, kneeling beside the bed. Her skin was pale, too pale, and her cheeks sunken. But her voice—gods, her voice still carried the warmth of home.
"You're here," she said, lips trembling.
"I came as fast as I could. We thought you were dead, Lya."
"I almost was." She tried to laugh, but it turned into a shallow cough. "But I had to stay alive. For him."
Ned frowned, confusion sharpening. "For who?"
She shifted weakly, reaching for his hand. "My son. Rhaegar's son. But he's more than that, Ned. He's… he's the future."
**Scene Break**
The next few days were the happiest days Ned had experienced since he had gotten that blasted letter from the king calling for his and Robert's heads. Nonetheless it was clear to him that Lyanna was slowly becoming weaker and weaker.
Then one day Daella, the midwife, entered the room, flanked by Ser Arthur Dayne. She gave Ned a brisk nod.
"Your sister's time has come. Out. All of you. She needs space."
"No," Lyanna rasped. "Ned stays."
Daella hesitated, then relented. "Fine. But stay quiet and keep her calm."
The labor was long. Too long.
For hours, Lyanna screamed through the pain, her body wracked with contractions that bent her like a bowstring. Blood soaked the sheets by the time night fell, and Daella's face grew grim with each passing hour. There were no milk of the poppy dreams, no silent, dignified ordeal — just Lyanna Stark, biting through her own screams, fingers clawing at her brother's hand, a girl of winter desperately trying to bring new life into the world.
"She's too small-hipped," Daella muttered between contractions. "This babe is coming wrong."
Ned could only watch. Helpless. This was not the battlefield where he belonged. This was a war far crueler than swords and fire.
At long last, in the gray hours before dawn, a cry pierced the tower — shrill, new, and alive.
Daella held up a squalling, red-faced boy.
"A son," she declared. "A strong one."
Lyanna sagged back, eyes fluttering open. "Ned…" she croaked. "Let me… hold him."
The boy was placed in her arms. Her smile then was brighter than the sun rising over the mountains.
"He has his father's face," she murmured, stroking his cheek. "But… Stark eyes and hair. You see?"
"I see," Ned said, his throat tight.
"You can't tell Robert. Or anyone. Promise me, Ned. Promise me…"
"I promise," he said, and meant it though Torrhen already knew... but
"His name is… Jaehaerys... like the conciliator"
She smiled again. And then her breath rattled.
"Lya?" he whispered.
Blood seeped anew beneath her body. Daella rushed forward, but there was nothing to be done. Her strength was gone, drained into the sheets along with her life.
Lyanna Stark, the she-wolf of Winterfell, died with her brother's hand in hers, and her child resting gently on her chest.
**Scene Break**
Ned sat by the window later That Morning, the newborn wrapped in fur and sleeping soundly in a makeshift cradle.
"She never stood a chance," Daella said softly, cleaning her tools with a grim look. "Too much blood lost. Too much strain."
Ned nodded numbly. "Thank you. For keeping her alive as long as you could."
"She held on for the child," the midwife added. "I've seen that kind of will before. It burns fast, but bright."
He looked down at the child. Jaehaerys... a nice name but sadly one they could not make public.
Torrhen had called this moment. The dream had been true — and now this boy lived because of it. But Lyanna was gone.
A sound from the stairs signaled Arthur Dayne's approach. The knight stepped inside, removed his white cloak, and knelt by the bed where Lyanna lay shrouded.
"She was always braver than we gave her credit for," Arthur murmured. "I will send word to Winterfell and King's Landing".
Ned said nothing for a moment. His eyes were on the babe, already beginning to stir again.
"No don't send a word to King's Landing, Robert shall hear the words from me personally."
"Before we go King's Landing we should travel to Starfall"
"Hm.. why?"
"The last time I heard from Ashara she was pregnant... you were the only one she had laid with"
**Scene Break**