Chapter Text
“And so, in the year 283 AC, Lyanna Stark, the only daughter of Lord Rickard Stark and the second wife of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, died at only ten-and-six giving birth to her only child. On that fateful day, in the far away sands of Dorne, far from the cold northern winds of her homeland, Lyanna Stark gave her life to bring her beloved daughter into this world. The girl born that day would become the Princess Lyarra Targaryen, and hers would be a song of Ice and Fire.” – Grandmaester Samwell, A History of the Second Long Night, 347 AC.
Lord Eddard Stark knelt before the iron throne, his sword Ice in one hand and his newborn niece in the other.
Ned recited the words of his oath, pledging his fealty to the new king, but Ned could hardly hear his own speech or feel his lips move around the familiar words; his focus was on the sleeping bundle nestled into the crook of his arm. His niece was so small. Too small, Ned thought, for a healthy babe. But then, Ned knew little about babes to begin with. He had vague memories of his sister and brother from that age, but most of his experience had come recently with the sudden arrival of his niece. She was the first babe Ned had ever held. He had even held her before his own son, Robb, as Catelyn had named him. He was even born on the same day as his niece. The same day his sister had died.
“Rise, Lord Stark.”
Ned hadn’t realized he had finished his oath. He rose to his feet, using his sword as a crutch, moving slowly to not disturb his niece. Ned need not have worried. His niece gave a delicate yawn and then nestled closer to his warmth. Howland Reed stepped forward and held up a large sheath. Ned sheathed Ice and nodded gratefully to his friend. Howland bowed his head and retreated behind him. Ned readjusted his hold on his niece and met the cold eyes of the king.
Rhaegar Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. And the father of his sister’s child.
“Is that my child?” Rhaegar inquired.
Ned nodded. “It is, Your Grace. She is your daughter.”
Rhaegar grimaced as he stood. Ser Arthur Dayne made towards the throne to assist him, but Rhaegar held up his hand, ordering him back. His wounds sustained at the Battle of the Trident must not be as healing as fast as he and his council wanted the realm to believe. This did not surprise Ned. He had trained with Robert for most of their youths, and Robert’s strength was legendary even from an early age. He would have made an impressive lord. Or a legendary king had his hammer hit true. But Robert didn’t kill Rhaegar that day. And they did not win the war. After the battle, the Targaryen forces rallied behind their wounded prince, shifting the momentum of the war. Robert lost more and more battles, losing more and more men, until the only hope that remained to the rebellion was for Tywin Lannister to choose a side.
After news of Rhaegar’s survival reached Casterly Rock, Lord Tywin dispatched his entire army to King’s Landing. King Aerys, perhaps believing his old friend had come to his aid, opened the gates to the Lannister forces. It was still unclear to Ned exactly what happened next. From what he heard, the Lannister army subdued the gold cloaks with ease and then surrounded the Red Keep. And then somehow, when the siege was over, King Aerys, the second of his name, was dead. Stabbed in the back and, if rumors were true, with Jamie Lannister sitting on the iron throne, his white cloak and sword stained with the blood of his monarch. Ned wondered whether he was standing in the very spot where the Mad King died.
Rhaegar made his way down the stairs to the dais, his breathing loud and labored. Ned used to think Rhaegar was one of the most gallant men he had ever met. Astride his black horse, wearing obsidian armor and a helmet shaped like a dragon’s head, Rhaegar was every bit the prince he was born to be. There was a time Ned believed that he would have made a fine king, certainly better than his father at the very least, but that all changed when Lyanna disappeared. Now, Rhaegar looked tired. His once comely face was now hollow and his hands, bony and frail, trembled as he held onto his ornate cane. His silver hair, once lush and shiny, was thinning and the crown which Ned thought would one day suit the prince so well, looked wrong and heavy on his head. But perhaps the biggest change in the dragon prince was his eyes. Before, Rhaegar’s eyes were a vibrant, other-worldly shade of violet, but now his eyes had faded into a dimmed, tinted silver that resembled Ned’s own gray eyes. His life seemed drained along with the color. His gaze, which once shone with mirth and regality, now held a grief that Ned understood, but made him angry, nonetheless.
What right did Rhaegar have to mourn the man who had murdered his father and brother?
What right did he have to mourn Lyanna, who he barely even knew and was, as far as Ned was concerned, responsible for her death?
If it weren’t for Rhaegar, his sister would still be alive. Of that, Ned was sure. The rebellion would have never happened if Rhaegar had just left Lyanna alone. Sure, there was a lot of unrest under the Mad King, but Jon Arryn would have never called his bannerman if not for Aerys’s demand for the heads of his wards. Robert would have never started an open rebellion if Rhaegar hadn’t taken Lyanna.
But then, that wasn’t quite right. Rhaegar never kidnapped Lyanna. She left with Rhaegar. She married Rhaegar. She bore him a child. Willingly. Everything that happened afterwards was a consequence of that choice. All because Lyanna fell in love with the wrong man.
Ned knew it was unfair for him to blame Rhaegar for everything that had happened. It wasn’t Rhaegar who burned his father alive or forced his brother to strangle himself by trying to save him. It wasn’t Rhaegar who started the rebellion. And it wasn’t Rhaegar who killed Lyanna. The Mad King killed his father and brother. Jon Arryn was the first to call his banners. Robert led the rebellion because of his fictitious claim over Lyanna. And Lyanna died in childbirth, losing the fight against her own body.
Ned wanted to be angry with Lyanna for running away with Rhaegar, for dying so far from home bringing that man’s child into the world, but his grief would not allow it. It was far less painful to blame Rhaegar, a man eight years her senior, who already had a wife and children of his own; a man who should have known better.
Rhaegar descended from the dais and stood in front of Ned, his eyes never once leaving the babe in Ned’s arms.
“A girl, you said?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The King made no move towards his daughter, nor did he indicate he wanted to take his daughter into his arms. Ned was glad for it, for he wasn’t sure what he would do if Rhaegar tried to take her from him. Instead, Rhaegar merely stared at her, his expression both longing and sorrowful. Rhaegar opened his mouth, perhaps to ask for his daughter at last, but then hesitated. He seemed conflicted, like he couldn’t decide whether this child was a blessing or a curse.
Then, after what felt like ages, Rhaegar steeled himself, met Ned’s eye, and asked, “Where is she?”
It was no mystery to Ned who he meant. There was only one she that mattered to him.
“She’s with my men, waiting for me to finish here so that we can return home.”
Of course, Ned didn’t mean that literally.
After King’s Landing fell and Tywin Lannister declared for Rhaegar, Robert fled Westeros. Knowing a losing cause when he saw one, Robert ran, leaving the rebel army in disarray. Without Robert to keep them in line, his bannerman from the Stormlands divided into factions. The houses that were initially loyal to the crown defected and pled for mercy from the prince, now king, citing their fear of Robert and their vows to serve him as his sworn bannerman as the reasons for their treason. The small force of remaining houses still loyal to the rebellion joined their forces with Jon Arryn. But Jon was not the fearless leader Robert was, so without him, Jon could not keep control of his army. Jon’s own men ultimately betrayed him. They captured him and his new wife and sent them to King’s Landing, hoping that the head of their lord and lady would be enough to pardon their own crimes against the crown. Without the forces from the Vale, Ned did not have the numbers to continue the fight. But even facing a certain defeat, Ned still had some unfinished business to take care of. After the sack of King’s Landing, Ned sent his bannerman home while he and a few companions, men whose loyalty and friendship he would forever be grateful for, headed for Dorne.
Ned had heard a rumor that Rhaegar had a place built in Dorne called the Tower of Joy. Rhaegar had also disappeared during the start of the rebellion. He didn’t reappear until the fight at the Battle of the Trident, notably lacking three of his king’s guard, and people said he had traveled from the South. With Rhaegar still recovering, this was Ned’s last chance to find and rescue his sister. With a smaller party, Ned could sneak through the Stormlands into Dorne and to the Tower of Joy.
What met him there was far from joyful.
Once Ned arrived at the Tower, he and his men were immediately confronted by Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Gerald Hightower. Ned didn’t fancy his chances against a member of the king’s guard, let alone three, but for Lyanna he was willing to try. Ned demanded that Ser Arthur hand over his sister. He told Ser Arthur that Rhaegar could do with him whatever he wished afterwards. He could send him to the wall or behead him for treason, so long as he let his sister go home.
Ser Arthur did not draw his sword, nor did any of the other king’s guard. They all looked defeated before they had even crossed blades. Instead, Ser Arthur placed a firm hand on Ned’s shoulder, bracing himself for what he said next.
Lyanna won’t make it to Winterfell. She will never see the North again.
Ser Arthur didn’t stop Ned when he raced up the stairs of the Tower. Ned could smell the blood before he even reached the door. When he threw open the door, he found Lyanna lying in an enormous bed, the white sheets stained with blood. Lyanna’s pallor was striking; her dark hair matted with sweat, and her blood-soaked white shift clung to her like a second skin. She looked haggard and cadaverous, but when she smiled at him, she was still the most beautiful thing Ned had ever seen.
Lyanna, using what remained of her strength, reached for him. Ned was there in an instant, taking her hand in his, his other cradling her cheek. She felt cold, her tears like ice against his fingers. Ned couldn’t stop his own tears from forming in his eyes. Lyanna was dying. Ned had been around death long enough, had killed enough men, to know that a person could not lose that much blood and survive. The room reeked of death; it surrounded them like a mist. There was no maester, only a midwife and a couple handmaids, but even if Ned could somehow get Lyanna to a maester, he knew it would be too late. Ser Arthur was right. Lyanna would not make it to Winterfell. She would never see their homeland again.
“Ned, you came,” Lyanna had whispered.
Ned had said, “Of course I came. I’ve been looking for you.”
She smiled again, but her expression was weary.
“I’m so sorry, Ned. I—”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he had interrupted. Ned would hear none of that. Not from her. “It was not your fault.”
“But… but it is.”
Then she told him the truth. About everything. Rhaegar and his king’s guard hadn’t kidnapped her. She left with Rhaegar of her own free will because she was in love with him, and he with her. She explained to Ned that she’d asked Rhaegar to take her away after her betrothal to Robert, as she couldn’t bear marrying him. Lyanna recounted to Ned her love story with Rhaegar, from the moment at Harrenhal where Rhaegar crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty to their vows before a Septon and heart tree. Ned learned from her about their journey to Dorne and the time they spent together in the Tower of Joy. She told him about the life they were going to make together and the promises Rhaegar whispered into her ear the night before he left for war. And finally, she told Ned about her child, and everything made sense. The blood, the midwife, Lyanna bleeding between her legs. She was dying from childbirth.
The moment Ned realized this, the midwife came over and tried to place the newborn babe in Lyanna’s arms, but in her weakened state, she thought better of it and placed the babe in Ned’s arms instead. The little babe gave a soft cry, unhappy about being disturbed, but immediately calmed when Lyanna gently stroked her hand across the babe’s face. Ned froze, unsure what to do with the fragile life in his arms. Lyanna could tell he had no clue what he was doing and despite her exhaustion, she giggled at him, her eyes shining with mirth.
“Say hello to your niece.”
A girl. His niece. His only niece.
And she was beautiful.
Ned was in awe. His sister’s creation of this perfect, tiny human being filled Ned with wonder. She even looked like Lyanna. Her hair was already dark, and her eyes were gray like Lyanna’s, gray like his, gray like the rest of the Starks. She was his blood, his family. The babe cooed and Ned felt his heart melt.
“She’s perfect.” And Ned meant that.
He knew in that moment he would do anything for this little girl, just as he would do anything for Lyanna. So, when she whispered into his ear, asking him to protect her daughter, he agreed without a moment’s hesitation.
“Robert will come back,” she had said. “He won’t stop until Rhaegar is dead. He’ll kill her too, Ned. I know he will. Please, Ned. Promise me you will always protect her. Promise me.”
Promise me, Ned.
“Lord Stark.”
Ned was startled from his thoughts. Ser Arthur Dayne was looking at him expectantly.
“His Grace asked you a question.”
“My apologies, Your Grace.” Ned said, chastised.
Rhaegar sighed and asked again, “Where do you plan to bury her?”
“In the family crypt at Winterfell, with our father and brother.”
Rhaegar shook his head. “No, she shouldn’t be buried in some cold, dark place. She needs to be somewhere warm. Somewhere with life.”
“Your Grace, I—” Ned started, but the King was no longer listening to him.
“I would like to have her buried in the Great Sept of Baelor. Yes, that is where she should be. She belongs here, with me.”
“She belongs in the North. She is a Stark, and I will bury her as a Stark,” Ned declared angrily.
“She became a Targaryen when she married me,” Rhaegar fumed. “I am her husband. What I do with her remains is up to my discretion. It is my decision.”
Ned scoffed. “And the last decision you made for her got her killed.”
Silence descended upon the throne room, so thick you could slice it with a sword. Rhaegar sputtered, unable to find the words to rebuke Ned’s assertion.
“How dare you,” Ser Barristan roared. “Just because his Grace has pardoned you for your treason does not give you the right to speak to him as you please. You know nothing about the decisions he has had to make. The choices he has made for the good of the realm.”
“Do those choices include his decision to fool everyone into thinking Lyanna was kidnapped, causing the deaths of my father and brother, and starting a rebellion?”
Ser Barristan opened his mouth to speak, but Rhaegar raised his hand, cutting him off.
“Enough, Ser Barristan,” Rhaegar said. He glared at Ned. “I will forgive you for your words today, Lord Stark, for Lyanna’s sake. But do not push me. You will give me my wife’s remains, and you will hand over my daughter.”
Ned pulled his niece closer to his chest.
“Give her to me.”
Promise me, Ned.
“No.”
Rhaegar raised a brow.
“No?”
“No,” Ned said more confidently. “You can’t have her.”
Ned’s bannerman, gods bless them, drew their swords and surrounded him, forming a protective circle.
“You dare draw your weapons before the king.” Ser Arthur Dayne drew his sword, and the other members of the king’s guard followed suit. “Be reasonable, Lord Stark. Hand the girl over.”
“I’ll die before you take her from me,” Ned declared. His niece, sensing the tension in the air, began to cry. He soothed her as best he could under the circumstances, but it only made the crying worse. “I promised Lyanna that I would protect her. You couldn’t protect Lyanna; I won’t let you fail her daughter, too. She belongs with her family.”
“I am her family!” Rhaegar cried. “I am her father. I—”
Suddenly, the doors to the throne room burst open and in strode Elia Martell, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. This was the first time Ned had seen her sense the tourney at Harrenhal, and she was as beautiful as ever. When Rhaegar ran off with Lyanna, everyone in the seven kingdoms speculated why he abandoned his wife for a younger woman. Many speculated that it was because Elia couldn’t bear him any more children, but many more suggested that it was simply because Lyanna was more beautiful than her. Ned didn’t think that was true. Both women were beautiful in different ways. If Lyanna was winter, then Elia was summer. Where Lyanna’s skin was white as snow, Elia’s was dark like cinnamon. They both had dark hair, but that was where the similarity ended. Lyanna’s hair was dark brown, and she had curls that were as wild as her. Elia’s hair was wholly black, almost like obsidian, and shined like jewels. These two women could not have been more different if they tried, but what they both had in common was that they had the bearing of a queen.
Elia stopped in front of the throne, her hands on her hips.
“What is going on here?” she asked. “Put those away!” she scolded.
They all sheepishly lowered their swords.
“My love, what are you doing here? You should be resting.” Rhaegar said.
“I suppose I could say the same about you, husband. Now tell me, what is going on here?”
Elia looked around expectantly, but no one volunteered an answer. His niece continued to cry, drawing Elia’s attention.
“Is that…”
Elia stepped forward, slipping between members of the king’s guard and Ned’s men to reach him. The Queen looked down at the crying baby and held out her arms.
“May I, Lord Stark?”
Ned didn’t answer, unsure of what to do. If he gave his niece to the Queen, would he ever get her back? Would Elia try to harm her? Surely not. She was a mother herself, but the little girl in his arms was living proof of her husband’s affair, married or not. But Ned has been trying to soothe his niece for some time and she just won’t stop crying.
Finally, Ned nodded and gently placed his niece in Elia Martell’s awaiting arms. Elia adjusted the babe to sit comfortably against her chest and walked to stand beside her husband, Ned following close behind.
“She’s quite small,” Elia said. “Has she been eating properly?”
“I found a wet nurse at Starfall, but I was told she has been finicky.”
Elia nodded. “When was the last time she fed?”
“This morning, Your Grace.”
“Oh, that is far too long. No wonder she’s so upset.” She shamelessly pulled her right breast from her dress and began to feed her.
Ned was shocked by the sight. The Queen was feeding his niece from her own breast, as if the child in her arms were her own and not the child of her husband’s second wife. Ned should have looked away out of respect, but he couldn’t help but watch. His niece had never taken to her wet nurse so quickly, or so heartily. She looked like she belonged in Elia Martell’s arms.
Elia smiled down at the babe and gently swayed back and forth as she fed her.
“What is her name?”
Ned opened his mouth to answer, but Rhaegar beat him to it.
“Visenya,” he said. “Her name will be Visenya, to go with her brother and sister.”
Promise me, Ned.
“Lyarra,” Ned interjected.
Her name is Lyarra Targaryen. I named her after mother. She would have liked that. I wanted her to always have a part of the North in her, because even if she is a dragon, she is also a wolf.
“Her name is Lyarra. Lyanna named her before she died. She wanted her daughter to have a northern name.”
Elia smiled. “Lyarra. What a beautiful name.”
Rhaegar nodded his agreement, the grief in his eyes sharp and suffocating.
“Lyarra it is then.” He whispered.
The three of them stood in silence. It was strange, Ned thought, how the three of them were now connected by the little girl nestled in the Queen’s arms.
“Your Grace,” Ned began. “If you do not want Lyarra—”
“And why wouldn’t I want her?” Rhaegar bristled. “She is my daughter.”
“I only meant that if you would prefer for Lyarra to be raised away from King’s Landing, I would understand. While you may have married Lyanna, there are many in the seven kingdoms who will not recognize your union. They’ll see Lyarra as—”
“A bastard.” Rhaegar finished.
Ned nodded. “I would be happy to take her with me back to Winterfell. I’ll raise her alongside my son, Robb. She can grow up in the same castle as her mother. She will be well loved in the North.”
Ned could picture it clearly. He’d bring Lyarra with him to meet Catelyn at Riverrun. Ned would finally get to meet his son and then he’d introduce Lyarra to her aunt and cousin. He’d explain to Catelyn that he was taking Lyarra back with them to raise at Winterfell. Catelyn was a good woman, so Ned was sure that she would understand and welcome the fresh addition to their family. Robb and Lyarra would share a wet nurse and then a nursery when they reached home. Lyarra and Robb would be constant companions, much like how his sister was with his little brother, Benjen. And then, when he and Catelyn had more children, because surely, they would have more children, Lyarra would be like a sister to his younger daughters and sons. Ned wanted that. He wanted it desperately.
“And she will be well loved here, in King’s Landing.” Rhaegar said. “I understand your concerns, Lord Stark, but Lyarra is my daughter. She is a Targaryen, and she will be raised as a Targaryen. I will not have her denied her birthright because of a few whispers.”
Ned expected the answer, but he was disappointed all the same. He wasn’t ready to let Lyarra go.
“Then I’m going to take Lyarra to the nursery,” said Elia. “I will finish feeding her and then put her down with Aegon. Rhaenys is going to be shocked when she comes to wake Aegon and finds her sister.”
“Wait,” Ned cried, stepping forward.
Rhaegar threw his arm out in front of Elia, blocking Lyarra from Ned. Ser Barristan grabbed the pommel of his sword.
“I’m not going to try to take her. I just want to say goodbye.”
Elia looked at her husband. Rhaegar eyed Ned, his expression unsure. He seemed worried that despite Ned’s words, he would run off with Lyarra the moment the infant was placed back in his arms. Satisfied that Ned had no chance of making it out of the throne room, Rhaegar nodded to his wife and Elia placed Lyarra back into Ned’s arms.
Lyarra was sleepy from eating. She yawned and reached out with her little hands to touch Ned’s face. She smiled at him, and Ned could feel his heart breaking all over again.
“I will see you again, little Lyarra. I promise.”
Promise me, Ned.
Before he could change his mind, he handed Lyarra back to Elia.
“We’ll take good care of her, Lord Stark. I promise.”
Elia stepped forward to leave but paused mid-step.
“Oh, and husband? You should allow Lord Stark to take Lyanna home. I know that if it were me, I would want my bones to be returned to Dorne.”
And with that, Elia strode out of the throne room.
Ned watched her go, never once taking his eyes off her until she disappeared, taking Lyarra, and the last piece of Lyanna, with her.