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Chapter Text

Ned I

Dayne was dead, Hightower was dead, Whent was dead. Three of the finest swords the realm had and possibly would ever know now lay down amongst the Dornish sands. Blood leaking through the gaps in the once resplendent white armor, the whitecloaks dusty and torn from the vicious melee. It was hard for Ned to believe looking at the bodies now that these men had been the ones that had just moments ago dispatched five of the north's finest fighters, his friends. Dustin, Glover, Cassel, Wull, and Ryswell had joined the kingsguard in death, the price to pay for his sister he supposed.

Not that it brought him any joy. Even if these men had turned out to be just as disgusting and complacent in Rhaegar’s crimes, kidnapping his sister forcing himself on her, all the while these men stood by and let their prince act on his worst impulses. Allow him to drag the entirety of the seven kingdoms into war to sate his lust. The thousands dead, the lives ruined, the families and friendships broken and for what. Even with all that Ned couldn't bring himself to find pleasure in these three men’s demise. He wanted revenge that much was certain, but that by no stretch meant he had to take pleasure in it. Not like Robert.

God’s Robert. The man he had thought of as a brother, he who he had grown up with. To see him stand in that room as Tywin Lannister and his creatures masquerading as men brought in the covered bodies of Aegon and Rhaenys, Ellia almost cut in half at the midriff. This was abhorrent. In that moment Ned had wanted to do nothing more than draw Ice and bring it down upon the Lannister patriarch's neck, some justice done. But when Robert had lifted the cover to look upon the babe’s and uttered the words “all I see are dragonspawn” that’s when Ned knew he couldn't recognize his foster Brother. He had been brutal on the field yes but who wasn't. But this… this didn't even sicken him. This was just wrong, and Ned knew it.

So no, Ned did not like this. But he would do it all the same. He would absolutely do this again if he had to. For Lyanna absolutely. For her Ned would bring a fury so great that old Valyria would cry in terror. For the she-wolf, the little sister who would run wild through the halls of Winterfell playfully taunting him. For the girl who would sit in the godswood at the roots of the weirwood plucking winter roses without a care in the world. For her, yes Ned would kill again. Howland, out of breath and bracing himself on his knees, was the only other survivor of the combat.

Howland, bloodied and bruised, returned to a full stand, sheathing his sword and walking over to Ned helping him up and out of his thoughts. If anything Ned was glad his close friend was still here. As the two turned their eyes to the sandstone tower. Moving together the sound of screaming was clearer. The pair quickened their pace blades redrawn as they entered the tower.

Rushing up the spiral staircase they paid little attention to their surroundings until they found the top. A small room with a few windows, white drapes glinting with the light of the dornish sun, hiding his sisters form briefly from a curtains gauze though Ned cared not. The first thing the pair noticed was the bed, and the figure desperately clinging on to life in it. Lyanna.
“Lyanna!” Ned all but yelled.

“Ned”

The strain in her voice was obvious, Ned quickly rushed over kneeling at the side of the bed trying to look for wounds that could have resulted in the excess of blood on the sheets when Lyanna stopped him. She was ghostly pale, eyes sunk into her skull, hair matted with sweat. But she smiled, and for the briefest second all strife was forgotten, Ned looked at his sister taking her hand before the situation crashed down on him again like a ram.

“We go to get yah out of here.”

“Ned… we know that's not happening.”

Ned heard her words but they were of little consequence, this was his sister she had to make it. She couldn't die, not here. Not when he had already lost so much, Father, Mother, Brother, Friend, damn be the gods both old and the new, but he'd not let them drag his sister down to their embrace, not when he had finally found her.

"we-we can get a Maester, we'll find one nearby, the-they'll fix you up, an-and then we-we-we can go ho-Home." Even when saying the words, his eyes betrayed his beliefs, already knowing that no wise man, nor belligerent god could save his sisters life now.

Lyanna shakily took his hand and lightly squeezed. Her grey eyes met his. And in that look a thousand words were said and understood. None of them Ned wanted to accept. Tears began to flow from his road weary and battle heavy eyes. Maybe this is what Bran meant, when the air of finality settles like an armoured cloak round ones shoulder, the knowing that you must make peace with reality.

“You can’t die here, I won't allow it!”

“It's not yours to decide Ned”

Ned looked at the blood on the sheets, and some small logical part of his mind was screaming what he did not want to accept. She would die here. Yet another body, yet another boned filled casket, an endless trail of tear mourned boxes strewn about like a child's toys, ever since this war started.

“Ned, I have so many things I need to tell you. But please, Rhaegar…Elia.... The Children.....did they?”

The rawness with which she said Elia Martell's name and her request of her children, caught him briefly surprised, but not enough for the horror show of images in his mind, the villainous actions and downfalls of this war.

“...Robert caved in his chest, he now lies at the bottom of the Trident. Elia...... Lady Elia met her end at the hands of Tywin's dogs, so to did the Princess and baby Prince.”

Much to Ned’s shock Lyanna looked pained, anguished, grief stricken, what little tears her body could muster, poured down her red streaked face. As she tapped a nearby table with a few papers on them. Howland went over to read them, his eyes going wide and face pale. He passed them to Ned. A notice approving an Old Valyrian Contract, stating the terms and conditions needed for dual marriage, as well as the practice of Marriage between Family, by the high septon. And below that a statement of marriage, for Rhaegar and Elia and …. Lyanna Targaryen. Lastly two folded and creased certificates lying underneath everything, a last choice option, should the world's head, fall from its quaking shoulders.

“wha-What… What have you done! Old Gods forgive us, what have I done! ”

Ned’s shock was immeasurable. There was no way. If this was true than the rebellion, Roberts reign was based on a foundation of lies. Ned looked to Lyanna as if to see some confirmation of the opposite but saw only knowing honesty.

“You loved him....them?”

“And they me…”

There was shame on her face as she said that, more than likely knowing the consequences of their actions. Lyanna had never been particularly good at accounting for those. But there was grief of the rawest kind too. That's when Ned knew that this was the truth. His face paled, his mind raced and stood still at the same time. But he held her hand still. Her eyes full of tears pulled on Ned’s heart strings, he was furious, angry, but he wouldn't leave her not now.

“Ned… Please bring him to me… please.”

Ned, confused for a second, snapped out of it when he heard the sound of a babe. It's soft gurgling and cooing, no cries of any kind. A wet nurse walked in, in her arms a bundle of blankets. Ned could no longer describe what he was feeling, but he took the babe in his hands. Its blanket bearing the three headed dragon of house Targaryen, but the child's features said anything but. A small tuft of black hair like a peach's soft skin, slightly pale northern skin, two pairs of small lidded eyes opening, revealing soft grey blues, with the faint specks of dark purple catching the soft candle light. Unable to say a word, he handed the babe to his sisters struggling arms, too weary they seemed to pull her bed fabric closer. 

"Oh, my sweet little boy. Hush now...I know....It won't be long now, and I apologize for that, little Prince. My Dragonwolf."

Lyanna's words hurt more than He could possibly imagine. Her quiet caring tone, as she stroked her babes cheek to comfort his gentle cry's, it was if he were watching his own mother lying back in the rocking chair, overlooking the godswood, patting Lyanna gently as she rocked his babe sister to sleep. Turning away from the sweet seen, no it could be her last, Ned aloud his sister time, so she may leave a lasting imprint of mother and son. 

Looking as Ned walked away to the window, his head bowed under the dornish sun, the twinkling of his tears catching the light as they dropped. She turned her head now, to gaze upon her quickly made friend, his loyalty and honour no noble lord could compare. Many a tear ran down the white washed face of Howland, his tender gaze catching her own, eyes begging for a forgiveness, when he had done nothing wrong. She made the effort to smile at him, a small nod of thanks. As she turned back to her sweet babe, so too did Howland's legs give, calloused sword hands clutching at his hair, as more tears did fall on that tower room floor. 

Though her voice was failing her, in those last few breaths before she'd see her loves again, she would speak loud as she could, her last words heard to all in this room. Closing her eyes she gathered her strength, and then gazed at her small blue eyed son, the perfect piece of her broken heart, Rhaegar's chin and slender face, with that slightly turned nose, reminding her briefly of her grief. 

"Know this my son, you were never at fault for any of this. Never did we think that a our actions would cause all this agony. We had made plans, the three of us, we where all to be bound to Dragonstone when all was explained. you would have been raised amongst your older brother and sister, and any other babes that would follow you after. We all would have been so happy, but no story is ever that fairy tale ending, a lesson I learned on this journey of mine."

A moment of silence was given as she caught her breath, the slight twitching muscles inside giving her unwelcomed pause. Howland sat on his knees, one hand covering his crying eyes, while her quiet elder brother's hands, clawed desperately at the old quartz tower walls. a physical object to which he could shear away his pain. A gentle coo, turned her back to her wide eyed son, as he gazed back into her failing eyes. 

"You must be strong for me Daemon, for I am no longer your Queen Rheanyra, and my health surly fails me. This will be the end of my....Our tale, but it will not be the end of yours my son, My Beloved Rogue Prince. While I go to rest now, I pray that you survive this blood begotten Game of Thrones, and that your uncle raises you well, for that is all I would ask of him on my death bed, a promise that he'd keep you safe, just as I wish too."

Turning her gaze from her son, she let her eye's rest back on her dear brother, red streaks of tears staining his stone mannered face. His eyes a glass with those unfallen tears, as he reached her bedside again, laying a kiss on her sweat browed head. 

"I Promise you Lyanna, May Old Gods above seek their wrath on me should I fail, but I promise you wild sister, your son will grow loved, and never shall I let harm befall him."

The weight of his promise felt like a noose on his neck, a warning belayed by the hangman, for his word he ever break. While not looking at him, so to did Howland give his own pledge to his failing sister, his bended knee and hand over heart given to both his dying saviour, and forever Queen. 

A soft sigh escaped Lyanna's lips, her grey eyes turning skyward becoming blown with her failed breaths. A carefree smile growing a little bigger on her face, eye focused on something he could not see. 

"Thank you, oh...thank you....Ned.....Howland, With this.....I....can...rest. Can...You....See....her...brother......Mama's calling...fer...me."

A whispered sigh escapes her blue chapped lips, and her hands rest on her chest, her son still clasped close to heart, which beats no more. The babes crying begins, joining the sorrowful men as they say their silent goodbyes to their much loved northern lass. As Ned quietly stretch's out to brush his shaking hand down his sisters frozen face, her faded grey eyes closing to their final sleep.

A long moment of silence was given were no one said a word saved for the soft crying of the infant, that was slowly rocking his small body free of his deceased mothers arms. The gentle whistling of the dornish sea side winds making the clouds darken outside. A storm brew on the horizon, almost as if to wash the aching sorrow of  blood and death away from this land. A deep sigh brought the attention of those in the room back on the Stark paramount, his eyes still closed in thought while his body remained turned to his sister. Reaching over, he carefully took the crying prince to his chest, letting the soft rumbling of his breathing sooth the wee lad back to sleep.

"Howland?"

"Lord Stark?"

"Ned please, Howland...for at this moment you are by far my most trusted companion."

A smile, however bleak it was crept up the marsh lords face, his eyes more resting on small babe then the man holding him. "You honor me Ned."

A small smirk gracing his lips too, as he turned to face the man, and the nursemaid who stood quietly next to the door. 

"Just as I promised to keep my sisters son from harm or death, so too would I ask a promise of yeh both, that you'd not tell a soul of what happened here, not ever."

A confused expression bloomed on Howland's face, his eyebrow quirking upward stating his puzzlement. "But Ned, the lads Trueborn and a second son of the late crown prince, by order of succession he has law-abiding right to the throne. Hell's we even heard the reasons on why Robert was talked into being king in the first place. It was due to his Targaryen blood relation by Jon Arryn, not by right of conquest on which he claimed that crown?!!" Howland's voice becoming more loud as he made his stance by the queen he swore too, and not the whoring mongrel that sat the stupid iron chair the north won for him. But Ned only shook his head, his eyes showing more weary and exhaustion then any a being thought possible.

"No more Howland....no more. I had enough war to last me till I die asleep in my bed. I'll not drag a freshly born lad into this pit of daggers and lies. Of snake-hearted men that sit on their chairs made of bones and gold, watching as the world burns around them for their petty gains. I'll not drag my nephew, into those seven hells, just to make right by his departed fathers claim. He is my blood, and by my honor as a stark, I'd not see him dead before he can stand on his own two feet."

A silence stretched onward in that cold forlorn room, that sat the edge of the sandy Arm of Dorne. Where many great men bled out on cruel southern sands, the birds an rats soon come to peck out their innards. 

"Alright Ned, I promise yeh...I won't tell a soul. But....Please, do right by the lad, do right by her, and when he's old enough for it, tell 'im who his family was."

A silence befall that cursed room again, till Ned shifted his gaze back out that faded light curtain window. "I will my friend, I promise I'll tell him it all, when he's older. But until that day comes, the world will only know him, as the war begotten-bastard stain on my cloak, a believable lie that will keep to the masses until he's ready. Until that day comes, his only name will be......

Jon Snow.

Chapter Text

Ned II

After the end of Robert's rebellion, the finally say to it being the brief court made visit of Lord Paramount Stark from the eastern costs of Dorne. A horsebound cart carrying multiple boxes of burnt dead, save but one man, known as Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch, and a tightly bound babe cloaked in a well worn white cloth held tightly to a silent nursemaids breast. A singular box lay apart from the others, a carved dire wolf head resting nigh the top of the boxes lid. Recently made King Robert I Baratheon, was said to been seen laying a white colored rose atop the box, with greatly sobbing tears in his eyes, his hand roughly clasping his long made friend and Brother in all but name, each mourning a different way. Having made his claim of a bastard son known to the kings court, and confirming with Lord Hand Jon Arryn, that the departed dead would have honours being shipbound or roadway traveled home, Ned Stark left via the kings road home, his small entourage taking his sisters body home to rest among the crypt sleeping starks of old. An unknown stop made along the marsh covered banks of the ruby red ford, and another honoring pyre was made near the banks of the trident, the few Stark house guards been made to swear on pain of death should they talk, a smaller chest attached to a horse saddle, added more bones to be buried.

On arriving home Ned stark was met with the grief stricken arms of his younger brother, Benjen Stark's shaky frame being held up by his brothers arms, a unity in mourning they never shared as brothers of the same house. Turning from his brother, Ned was met with the face of his year since made wife, a brown furred cloak bundle clasped to her chest, the faint gurgles of a babe made over the early spring winds. A tender scene if not for the devil may cry sneer on the Lady Stark's face, a she looked hatefully at the similarly cloaked bundle in the nursemaids hands. Not a sound being made from the quiet black haired babe. Turning her gaze back on her Lord Paramount husband, who's well known quiet disposition, and shyly made small talk with noble ladies, being the only refutable fact Catelyn Stark nee Tully could rely on after the death of her betrothed, the late Brandon. 

A frostily made welcome was given, and a war born son with blue-grey eyes and curled red-brown haired babe, whose name was after the current King, who was well known as Ned Starks friend. Having sed her peace, and her anger beyond clear, the Lady Paramount left her husband in the courtyard, her small gathered maiden house entourage following her to the main keep, her ever whispering  in-eared septa trailing along her coat tails, a venomous glare still resting on her holy robed face. Taking a glance at his brother, and his slightly grimaced face, Ned nodded his head in the direction of the crypts, motioning two of his men to follow carrying the box and two small chest's. The walk was silent, only the soft crunch of deadfall and small stones under boot to accompany the whistling spring wind before turning silent again as they made their way down the carved stone steps to the graves of all Starks. The first statured graves past seeming to glare at everyone, Great Winter Kings along with their stone made Direwolf companions, quiet judgement their forever expression.

On reaching the freshly stone carved grave capsule, an unmade stone statue with which to fix to the polished stone lid sat nearby the iron picks and chisels. Pointing to the men, they deposited the bone filled box in his sisters grave, while also having the small black wood furnished chest placed at the foot of stone container. A confused quiet stutter made from his brothers lips made silent as Ned held a finger to his lips, the smaller brown wooded container with unseen carved polished lid held tightly in his hands, as he thanked the lads and sent them on their way back. Waiting to make sure they were gone from the dark echoey crypt, their torch light seemingly vanish into thin air, he turned back to his questioning brother, and placed the little brown letter box on the know closed stone lidded cask. 

"Ned? wha-what're you doing, why'd yah have the lads put that second box in Lyanna's Crypt? And what's with all the silence and secrets?"

"All in do time Ben, but first before I tell you anything, I want to know if Lyanna did something or say anything that you know about during that tourney at Harrenhall or after it concluded before she disappeared. Be honest with me Ben."

A disgruntled look showed on Benjen's face, among a small fraction of surprise in his eyes. Sighing he closed his sleepless eyes for but a moment then turned back to look at his brothers serious and cold expression. 

"I'm surprised that you'd only think to ask now, but maybe not seeing as what's happened and where we've end up. I know we haven't been the closest since mother passed and you left for the Eyre on order of father to foster you with other southern lords. As you well know me and Lyanna were practically tied to each other, her hell razing schemes around the household often making me complacent when all I would usual do is tell her the repercussions she'd face when it go wrong." He claimed with a smirk of remembrance on his face, his brother's serious expression cracking slightly to smile along with him, both lost in happier memories of long gone days. Slowly Benjen's face turned into another grim look, hard glared eyes leveled at his older brother. 

"While she never did tell me the specifics of it, Lyanna was vehemently against marrying that whoremonger you call a friend, And don't you say otherwise, I fucking well know what that prick got up too when he wasn't doing that mock-courting of his. Hell's half the whole bloody tourney, I was watching over Lyanna so Robert wouldn't think to force himself on her, though he certainly did try to kiss her once drunk that he was. Lyanna straighten him out before I could that day, a good fist to his smug faced jaw. Never had I seen a man so shocked as he was with her glaring down at him, pawing at her side for her practice sword to gut him."

The flabbergasted expression of Ned's face would have brought a laugh to his brothers lips, if not for the rage he was currently feeling fist clenched and shaking at his side. Before he could voice a question or clarification to Benjen's response, he carried on with his story. 

"As you well know, Lyanna came across Howland being accosted by some small house Riverland boys looking to make themselves feeling important an all. What you might not know is how Lyanna not only beat the lads off him, but also tried to convince the man to ride in the tourney to win back his honour." Benjen's wistful smile coasted his face again, like a spark of a candle wick changing the flow of the flames. 

"Wait....so the Knight of the Laughing Tree was Howland? But that makes no sense he was sitting next to us as we watched, so who......Lyanna?!?"

A nod from Benjen was all he got in response. 

"She had me gather her the rusty battered up armor and had Dacey Mormont, her lady in waiting paint her shield for her, and the both of us helped her strap on the armor while Howland retrieved a spare horse to ride with. After Brandon's battle with that fool friend of year lady wife's (what that fool was thinking challenging him I know not), you remember how she passed out from the heat, that was a lie so know one could question where she was, Dacey covering for her by staying back in the tent. The whole thing would've gone just fine, had she not been spotted by the Prince and Ser Arthur at the old ruined hut along the banks of the Faces. I was supposed to meet her their to help dispose of her armor, but the prince and his kingsguard beat me too it. Lyanna probably saved me' head from fallen when I tried to rush the Prince so she could run, the smack she gave me upside the head with her gloved fist still hurts."

Ned was speechless as he listened to his brothers tale, the dancing flickering candles in the arid tome, playing tricks with his eyes, making him see the very things his brother spoke of with such devotion. 

"The Prince was surprised to be seeing me, but seemed more stone shocked at Lyanna's gall to ride in the tourney challenging knights near twice her age all for another mans wounded pride. The Prince was dumbstruck by her, and had I not known it then I would believe it know that he was becoming infatuated by our sisters wild mannered allure. While i was panicking and apologizing saying I'd take her punishment and claim myself as the Knight of the Laughing Tree, even if it would probably coast me my life at the order of the king, the prince shook us off. He merely smiled and reached for Lyanna's arm holding the shield, taking it from her with a small kiss to her hand, saying how she had to be the best rider he ever did see. And to the rest of the court as far as any are aware, the Knight of the Laughing tree disappeared, for all but his painted shield which the Prince gave to the Mad king."

Ned's opinion of the Prince rose higher at that spoken act, a clear choice by his lord father was given, 'find the knight and bring him to me' was what the Mad King had practically screamed from his viewing box. An order the Prince and Ser Arthur should have carried out to the letter, yet instead the Prince made a grand lie to protect his family straight to his fathers face, a battered and broken shield with a laughing Weirwood the king's only prize. 

"I'm not sure what was discussed after that between the Prince and Lyanna, but I do know that Dacey was in on it, and I acted often as Lyanna's escort and guard throughout most of the tourney. Meetings in secret where often conducted between the Prince, Princess, and Lyanna over the course of those four days, Dacey often acting as Lyanna's protector whenever Robert the ass would stop by to converse or court with her, not knowing that she was doing a similar action with a different man. I myself often got to meet with Ser Whent or Ser Arthur who would point out things on my sword movements which I'd practice on the trees near their meeting spot. The lot of us acting like guards despite the secretive thing we were conducting, I even got to challenge the Prince to a mock sword battle once, Old gods above was their ever a faster blades man, other than Ser Arthur. When Lyanna was crowned by Rhaegar after the tourney I don't think any suspected it, not even the Prince from what I saw. I think it was supposed to be Ser Arthur that would win and crown Lyanna for the Prince's sake, as a way to honor her boldness and skilled riding, but fates a funny thing brother, and while the rest may have hated the prince for crowning our sister, never had I seen two people more in love then them, and the realm bled for it."

Ned was silent and stone faced then, his own fist clenched in self hatred that he had so clearly missed all the signs, at that ah-cursed tourney, where all but two smiles died on that riders field the whole kingdom given show to a pair of supposedly star crossed lovers, split either side by both physical and honour bound barriers, despite their aching hearts. 

"I'm not sure what happened in the months after that, nor how things had devolved so badly, father and brother where dead at a Mad Tyrants feet, Lyanna no where to be found except for the tale making the rounds that she was kidnapped, none of which me, Howland, or Dacey ever believed. But by then the realm was at each others throats and you were only listening to that honourable fool Jon Arryn, and your friendship with your brother in arms Robert, to here anything we had to say otherwise. And now look where it has gotten us, a dead man who I felt was worthy of our sister, a slaughtered monarchy, where only a single Man's guilt was needed to be sentenced, and our sister, brother, and father laid side by bloody side in their stone tomes while we stand here talking of lost things."

Benjen's head rose from were he was staring with teary eyes at the name inscribed in the stonework beneath their waist, his cried out hollowed pits staring back at the mirrored image in his brothers. 

"So tell me Ned, now that my secret deeds and guilty conscience has been made known to your closed turned ears, blinded by a lecherous man you felt the need to name a brother. What is it that now you finally listen, to what I have to say."

The questioned man didn't say anything his eyes closing in pain for the honest and logical words his brother having sed. The soft scraping of a boots caught his ear though, as his brother made to pass him by, an angered snarl on his lips as he tried to leave is ever silent brother behind. A snatching hand caught his shoulder stopping his furious mourning brother in his tracks, finding the courage to tell what he had needed too since they had walked into this foreboding hallowed cavern.  

"You best let go of me Ned, before I lose the last bit of patience I have and slug you into the wall. I have had enough of the sil-"

"I Know Alright! I.....I know......I was wrong brother.....and not a day since I did, goes by that I don't forgive myself for all of this."

His voice was like rockslide gravel, a swallowed choking grief being held fast in his aching throat that he felt like screaming out all this unwelcoming pain. 

His brother having now turned to look at him, his eyebrow raised for him to continue. And continue he did, of all the things he learned about Lyanna and the Prince, and the Dornish princess, that had enraptured his wild sisters untameable heart, and the actions that led to a now never shared secret and the innocent babe left as a by product of that shared love between the three. He opened up the small box and gave it to his brother, the small gathering of documents and shared letters and messages inside. A full account of a three shared love, and the loss chances to stop a ill begotten war on their behalf that none of them wanted. The names written down for the babe's unknown gender, and rendered trueborn by the eyes and word of the three most honourable swordsmen that were slain due to pits of lies made by greedy power driven men. For a daughter the late Prince's reborn Conquering trio, a Visenya III Targaryen. For a second Son, next in line after his slightly elder and now deceased brother, a Daemon III Targaryen, a name chosen by Lyanna's favorite story, of the Red Queen, and her dashing Rogue Prince.

A moment of silence was given once Ned had returned the documents back to the small wooden box. Both brothers silent on the weight of the full truth of everything. A long faced sigh was given by Benjen, as he looked up at the dank cavern ceiling, a contemplative expression on his blank face. 

"You know, for the longest time, I have always wanted, and always sought out to be a knight. A great glorious honour-bond adventure seeking Knight, only made true by the games the four of us would play in the courtyard between our lessons. It was only as we began to break apart and become weighted by our lordly duty's that I started to see myself as the spare, the forgotten wolf pup as it were. If fate had continued as it had without that trip to Harrenhall, I would have gone within maybe two....three years time to bind myself in service to the wall. Their were two things that changed my mind though. The first was a brief conversation I had with Ser Arthur while we guarded the Prince, and Princesses. Aemon Targaryen, second born son of Maekar I Targaryen, The King that never was supposedly as he chose the life of a Maester seeding his chance at rulership to Aegon V Targaryen and now serves at the wall, ever since Brynden the Bloodraven was condemned to the black for his crimes during the Blackfyre Rebellions. The Prince had often shared letters with his Great Uncle at the wall, as they talked of the goings on of the realm. The Prince often claiming he was much the better father to him, then his actual one, as Ser Arthur described."

Ned stared flabbergasted at his brother for even considering such a thing, even though he'd grown up on northern stories from Old Nan and his mother on the honourable duty as serving as a black brother, he'd had learned of the respect the rest of the realm held for the Black Order of the Wall. Had seen the bleak shipments of Thieves, Rapists, and dishonourable folk, and half rusted storm sodden cargo sent their from the many lords in the south, as they often made pit stops by Gulltown, which Lord Arryn and his two charges frequented on lordly shipping and trade management. Where Ned had learned to respect the roles traders held for the people and the realm. A healthy gained respect for the hard made men who spent nigh their entire lives on the rough western and eastern sea's, braving both storm ridden sky's and ruthless cut throating pirates. 

"I had all but promised myself that that's were I would go regardless of everyone's opinions, so as not to be seen as the burden of a forgotten lord paramount, and serve some purpose by devoting myself to the Black, still being an adventurous knight, just one that travels further north than any southern would ever choose to do. I was told some harsh truths though when I said as much to  Ser Arthur and Ser Whent, a good slap upside the head given to me by the Bat knight, for ever believing myself as a burden or unworthy of the life of a southern adventurer. I can still remember his honest words now, and how greatly they changed my mind. 'What is the point of others opinions lad, when its your life that you control. Are you but a sheep, fallowing the herd as a mindless creature only to eat and shit till you die listening to the word of others. Or are you a Wolf, a babe yet still, but only because his true calling hasn't sought him out yet.' The words the Bat knight gave were much the same if only a bit more crude, and more pointed to the joys of a lass draped upon your arms, then the honour of a knight."

A larger smile grew on Ned's face, as well as a great blow to his heart, the image of Ashara crying as he presented the bone filled box of her brother, his sheathed weapons of Dusk and Dawn being given to her elder brother as he stood stoically, thanking the man that slew their greatest fame. Wanting to change the conversation from the departed Dayne knight, Ned voiced a question. 

"And the other reason?"

A wistful smile breeched the gates of his solemn faced brother, a small light coming to his eyes. 

"Something I never thought myself ever to care for, until the Bat knight suggested the idea. As we played the game of secrets and well timed lies during that tourney, I found myself spend much of my free time with Dacey Mormont, a girl nearly of age with me, only being two years younger, and an absolute beauty that I lost myself too. We'd often spend time together after dark, maybe late into the hour of the wolf when not at the feasts and party's of the other noble lords. Sipping ale by the fire side near our tents, just talking about each others lives, and the bond we both had for our siblings. I'd not have thought anything of it at first, except for a new friend to share with Lyanna, until i caught myself staring after her, just as she would laugh and blushed a deep red from the strong booze. I full realized I had found my purpose in life, when I grew to love those shared moments of ours. When  once she gave me a rushed kiss by the fire light, and I leaned into it, rather than away."

A larger smile and a small happy tear broke away from Ned's eyes as he gazed at his brother, infatuated by the mere memories of his northern lady of love. Glad that in all this tragedy, at least two people would get their much deserved happy ending. Reaching over Ned clapped his arm on his brothers shoulder, stopping his recollection.  

"This makes me glad brother, glad that i am not going to be the last that remains of our generation, glad that this will not be the last time I will see you, or that you may become lost in those wide travels of yours, glad.......glad that at least one of us, shall live up to mothers wishes. I take it this means that the both of yeh are to seek out a marriage and the long needed binding of our two houses?"

A grateful nod and similar smile was shared by the Wolf pup no longer. "I...yes brother, I would be most honoured if you would help me in this."

"Always Brother, you should never need to ask, I'm sorry it got to the point that you needed to." returned Ned his arms coming around to clasp his grown brothers shoulders. The Knightly Wolf being born today between the shared brothers pain and happiness. 

Early spring 283 to 284 a.c

After speaking things over in the Crypts, it was decided that Ned would gather the Great Houses within a years time for the marriage between Lord Benjen Stark, and Lady Dacey Mormont. A time to mourn and give thanks after the Rebellion, with which Ned was able to discuss which old keep to give to his brother as well as send raven request's of supplies and builders from the capital as war reparation's for aiding the now King Robert in his taking of the Iron Throne. A request that was signed off within three months time having been sent to the Lord hand, to the decided new Seat of Sea Dragons Point, south of Bear island, and a worthy spot for his brother to cultivate and prepare for Iron born raiders and Pirates snaking up along the sunset sea. Having called a meeting at Winterfell between the bride, groom, and the brides mother, Lady Maege Mormont who was the current unofficial head of the Mormont household, an agreement was reached and ale passed around between all for the new great house his brother and sister-in-law would start. 

Within a month of the start of the new year, all the northern lords were called to Winterfell where the wedding was to be conducted. Seeing as both families felt their was no need for courting when the truth of everything was shared with Maege and Dacey, both having earned and deserved of the truth of an unknown northern queen and her surviving babe. Both Maege and Dacey shedding quiet tears as they each got to hold Daemon silently agreeing of the characteristics the boy shared between mother and father. An oath was given from both that they protect the boys secret to their dying breath. A surprise was shared and worried between the Stark Brothers, and the Mormont ladies, as the colour of Daemon's, or rather Jon's eyes became a deep weirwood-amber red, with the faintest flecks of purple as he grew older. Doting the black tufts of hair on his head, their were also four or five small strands of white gathering to either side of his face. A blessing or a curse of the Old gods, was the undecided outlook on the strange northern babe's appearance by most of the household.

The change of the boy's appearance in in the Lady Starks eyes, was one brought only of a deep loathsome hate, every time a wetnurse or scullery maid of the house coined the phrase 'Old Gods blessed' had her gritting teeth and holding back a snarl at the household staff. A new name was whispered among the Tully house guards, Septa's and maids, brought on by the shared hatred for the bastard, as the southerners referred to him. 'Red eyed Demon, Bloody Snow, and Cursed Child'. Any members caught saying this out loud by either Ned, or Benjen or those they trusted, was delt with either lashings, or sent away from the house stead. Though often when the Knightly Wolf heard tale of what was being said about his dearly loved nephew, a burly fist was given to the men, and a withering wolfs glare directed at the women folk. 

While others may have thought less of him for it, Benjen was often seen walking about Winterfell with Jon bundled tight to his chest with a fur satchel, a nursemaid following behind if ever needed. Long hours were spent between the man and his sisters son beneath the Weirwood of the Godswood, stories of the babes mother, or his departed wild uncle as they grew in Winterfell being told like a reverent doctrine by his ever faithful uncle. A moment shared when Lady Dacey Mormont was in the keep where each held Jon close to heart as they spoke on things of the future, their hands bound in premarital bliss.

When the northern house lords did gather for the wedding, a grand celebration it was. Not only for the happily soon married couple, but also in honour of the northern fallen over the many wars in the past years. Food stores and apple cider were shared with the small folk to show respect for their fallen as well, a gift that many in Winterfell showed an accountable and well trusted Lord paramount now cared for the northern province. When the night of the wedding did arrive, it was awarded an auspicious sign by the northerners for an unexpected light summers snowfall, and deep pale moon shining upon the weirwood tree, making its white bark glow in the torch fire. Grand cheers were raised by northern lords and ladies alike as they feasted the couple of the newly named House of Amber, set to make their keep and lively hood as a much needed Northern Fleet, along the natural formation harbour of Sea Dragons point. Their House banner a Red Field with a Grey Tree, their equally chosen house words, "Rooted in Loyalty, We guard All"

The location chosen for the natural resources built up their since the time of the Old Warg Kings, the ancient ruins of their castle keeps still their and covered in overgrowth. With the North being unprepared for an Iron Born attack or wildling raiders due to the recent war, an upgrade to their military resources were much needed. Additionally with the House of Manderley been so successful as the main northern trade hub and income, it was wise to invest more into trade and commerce for the betterment of all the northern lords. This time along the western coast's of the north instead of the east, opening more trade options with Houses of Highgarden, and Lannisport no matter how unfavourable the Lannister's were in the northerners eyes. Having it explained to the Manderley's over the course of the wedding preparations and celebrations created a unity and favourable outlook to the mermen's eyes, happy to invest and share his own ideas with the soon to be northwestern trade hub.  

When the time of the bedding rolled around it was taken in all good fun, though Benjen swore he'd belt the first lad that think of touching his lady wife inappropriately. Only for Dacey and her sisters to laugh and say they'd do it themselves without his help, and with a mace, as the Mormont ladies were famous for. Neither the bride nor the groom were seen again until well after mid morning the next day, a goofy smile on each of their happy faces, making many Northern lords and ladies roar with laughter. Before everyone departed back to their keeps as the wedding was considered a finished affair, The well trusted Manderley and Umber lords were asked to stay for talks of trade and commerce. When in actuality they where gathered in Ned's solar with guards posted at the end of the hall, so he could reveal the truth of the War, his brother and Sister-in-law's idea, along with Maege's coarsen. While talks were made Benjen and Dacey retrieved Jon so he could be presented before the two Great house lords during discussions. To say that both the Greatjon and Wyman were surprised would have been an understatement. The Greatjon himself looked ready to throw his chair out the lords solar window, while Lord Manderley merely stroked his chin in thought, more confused he had missed it rather than upset of the dilemma that came with knowing such a secret. 

When all was explained that no one was interested in fighting a war for a Targaryen infant least of all Lord Stark, despite the many harsh truths he came to learn about his 'friend' from his fellow lords and their overall opinions of him, they had all agreed that they had seen to much blood in that last war, and fighting another so soon would be illogical. Their was a concessive however that  when the lad came of a proper age, he would be told of his heritage, and he could decide for himself what he wished to do with it. Upon looking at the young prince themselves both lords had different reactions, The Great Umber whispering under breath of 'Greenseers' and 'Old gods blessed', while the Merman lord simply commented on how much he looked like Lyanna, seeing more the mother than the father in the wee lad.  

With the main topic said and done with, the lords and ladies discussed largely on topics of resources that could be traded for more coin and materials to better not only their own keeps but the north as a whole. A agreement was made between the Manderley's and the Umbers that if they set up a proper loading bay along last river and begin a large ironwood logging operation, they'd provide the ships necessary to ferry and sell them along the eastern shores and on to Essos. Other topics such as upkeep of the roads and food growing alternatives with mugs of ale were discussed until things were finished between the four of six most great houses of the north, soon to be seven with the great House of Amber. Benjen and Dacey were to make their way out of Winterfell, and on too Bear island were they'd stay for a time, while the stonemasons and loggers cleared the land and built their new keep. 

Many moons and slow going seasons passed since that day, with new sources of income and power being gained in the north. The Keep of House Amber was built directly over one of the Old Warg King strongholds, the plateau and stonework it was built on being two convenient and lest costing of materials to waste rebuilding in another area. A natural Weirwood grove was already close by and in range to add to the new keeps walls. The two old Weirwood Trees seeming to merge together at the center and twirl around each other, being over 9 meters tall. Each was carved with a different face, one had an almost soft-sighing feminine appearance with thinly carved eyes, while the other was clearly a frowning faced man. When seeing them in person they named them as the Pale Dancers, and the circular shaped godswood, The Maidengrove. WhiteBark Keep was finished in the late year of 284 a.c, the new ancestral seat of House Amber. 

In the Year 289 a.c the Iron islands declared themselves their own monarchy, and openly rebelled against the Stag Antlered Crown, calling the realms to war as they invaded and burnt down Lannisport harbour. 

Banner of House Amber, founded on the last month of the year 283 a.c

WhiteBark Keep, Seat of House Amber. Finished building in the late year of 284 a.c

Chapter Text

284-to-289 a.c

Growing up in Winterfell was difficult for Jon Snow. The Bastard born child of an unknown mother and the Lord stark Paramount, in the grief led actions of his fallen family members during war march. His unusual appearance with his dark red eyes, so much so they looked like freshly spilt blood on snow, and his strangely white curled stands of hair along side his mop of crow dark hair made him both blessed and cursed to the many eyes of the northerners. He's not entirely sure where it came from, and his father never did explain to him or anybody that asked. He merely kept to the same words of 'He is of my blood, and that is all that should matter'. To most the doubling taking looks at him wouldn't really bother him, if not for the reactions the southerners of the Lady Starks maiden household when they saw him. 

Fierce and venomous glares enough to fill like swords been driven into your back, harshly made barbs of, 'Demon Child' or 'Bloody Snow' as he walked passed trying to get to his lessons, often left him feeling lonely and hated, making him retreat to the safe havens of the Godswood, or the Crypts. His brother and sister though where much easier to accept him, and often lifted the burden of hatred and distrust that surrounded him most days. His older brother Robb, would often mock spare with him in the courtyards, acting out scenes of their favorite knights and hero's from story's. Where Robb was a big man of the Old Winter Kings, and the tales of Honourable Knights, he always preferred the conquers and dreamers. Tale's of King Aegon and his sister wives, of Cregan Stark the Great Wolf of the North, and Daemon 'The Rogue Prince' Targaryen as he lay siege to the islands of the Stepstones, earning his right and title as King of the Stepstones through the respect of his Men and their fallen enemies. 

Many was their a time that he'd spend with his younger sister Sansa, reading old books on some of the greatest love stories and tragedies of Westeros in the glass gardens in the inner parts of the keep, until she turned cold and distant from him due to her lady mothers influence. Lady Stark, or Lady Trout as most of the more drunken Winterfell guards would claim, was always hostile and angry with him, despite him never having done anything to her. He had once tried to gift her flowers he knew were pretty and that she liked them as they grew in the glass gardens before Sansa was born. When he presented them to her she had slapped them out of his small pudgy hands screaming how 'he wouldn't trick or fool her like he had fooled everyone else'  and then both slapped and cursed him something most foul for a pious lady of the seven leaving him in the mud terrified and teary eyed at the small age of three. 

Instead of crying their in the mud like most young toddlers would do, he had gotten up and ran, his two small feet carrying him to the godswood, wear he knew the scary lady would never venture, and cried himself to solace under the tale white and red tree. He wasn't sure exactly why it was as he grew up, but the most peaceful, and comforting places to him where the Stark crypts and under the big weirwood Tree in the Godswood. After that day he would always try to avoid the Lady Trout, often only seeing her in a day when he was playing with Robb, or saying hello to Sansa. He had found out the reason that she hated him when he passed by some grumbling Riverland housemaids near his small room by the kennels. The Term of Bastard being brought up a lot that he'd sought out Maester Luwin and asked him to tell him what it meant. When the explanation was given he'd had posed the question to the elderly Maester, of 'Why is it that the child born of broken faith is held responsible for the actions of his sire?' to which the kindly old man replied 'Their not suppose to'. 

When the reason was answer was given it had only left the small 5 year old boy more confused asking more questions, until the elderly Maester pointed him to some books in the Winterfell library. Their it was that Jon had found his second most favoured place in Winterfell, and spent long hours of both day and night reading up on the most random of things, an instinct almost telling him that he should reach for one book rather than the other. This grew to anger lady stark, and also make his older brother jealous, as the copious amounts of studying led him to pull father ahead in his early morning studies, so much so that he reached a point of understanding material and mathematical problems two years his senior. Maester Luwin had great pride in his star pupil and had voiced the idea many times over to both the boy and Lord Stark about him potentially becoming a Maester. He disregarded the idea however, as something told him that while he loved to learn about the worlds many things, making a life of it was something he wasn't interested in doing. Rather surprisingly this was the first time Lady Stark agreed with his choice, only to whisper later when his father couldn't hear 'That such a prestigious honour isn't worthy of a Bastard'.

While the first few months were difficult between him and his brother with his new found skills of learning, they eventually reconciled when Robb started to grow into his bulky framed strength, often pushing him around on the courtyard with their practice wooden swords. Sansa was still quite cold to him however, and by being rewarded and praised in secret every time she called him Snow instead of Jon, or brother, like she used too. While it made him upset that his loving sister was gone and lost to the teachings of her mother, she would still smile at him when no one was around or looked conflicted each time she did call him Snow. His father was often the only member of his family in the Stark household that genuinely praised him for his actions rather than demoting his achievements or well being due to the end of his simple name. 

His uncle and aunt though, where everything too him, as they always treated him like family, and sometimes a Son. Benjen Amber and his Lady wife Dacey Amber, would often come around to visit Winterfell when they could or when delivering fresh cargo and supplies from their western trade shipments when his father and uncle talked business. His uncle's recently formed house had made waves in Western Trading and Wealth, having finished building the Green Harbor along the neck of Sea Dragon Point in 285 a.c, their Castle-Keep WhiteBark overlooking the main bay area atop the cresting head of the Dragon. Many ships where traded for, and taken from Iron Born raiders that tried their luck of raiding along the Stony Shores, that now the Northern fleet consisted of 80 ships from House Amber, and 148 ships from house Manderly. Each being helping each other build docking ports for their War-Galleys. Within three years of being built, The House of Amber was made the second richest house in the north, and they invested most of it in upkeep of their docks and blooming city along the green thicket hills of Green Harbor trailing down the northside neck of the Dragon. 

While the faith of the Seven was strong in White Harbor under the practice of the exiled Manderly lords, it was less welcomed in Green Harbor, where a large glass domed building was constructed around a smaller Weirwood grove near the banks of the water, a larger influence of the Old Gods and their practice was welcomed by the traveling settlers from fishing villages spread around northern coasts, and small folk looking to move away from southern houses and  their politics. The faith of the seven was practiced though, a small sept created from cobblestone and motor collected from expansion of the Green Harbor, a small faction of Red Priests were also excepted with limited practice of their faith, where the constructed a small communal brazier temple on the most eastern edge of Green Harbor, their faith also being more accepting by the northerners for their simple practice rites and protective actions to both the weak and the poor. 

The Lord and Lady of House Amber were greatly respected by the small folk, their actions of acceptance and seeing to the needs of their people over their own self improvement was seen as a truly novel idea by the southerners that had chosen to move here for better lives. Many a time was seen as either Lord or Lady Amber would make their way down to the City Guard courtyard and teach young lads and lasses alike interested in learn the arts of weapon wielding, creating potential for them to higher or teach into full guardsmen and women. Their were also many times that Lady Amber would make her way down to the Weirwood Prayer Grove and share northern tales and stories to the small folk children of Green Harbor, adding in small lessons to teach them their words and sums for better jobs, making their parents thankful that their lady cared for them so much. 

Trade deals were made between House Amber, House Redwyne, Great House Tyrell, and other large trading hubs along the sunset seas of Westeros. Their main product being shipments of furs, good lumber, and quality stone work from the stone quarries in the southern caves of Sea Dragon Point. The Large quantity's of Walruses that dwelt along the rock caved southern beaches, giving high quality skins and Walrus blubber useful for oil lamps and brazier's. Their were also large fields of northern apple trees that were being grown in the more rural areas of Sea Dragon Point. This allowed for fresh apple preserves and produce to trade, and a new distilled drink that was all the raze for the northern and southern houses, Northern Apple Brandy, sterner stuff compared to any of the southern fruit made alcohols, and nigh on par with Northern Ale. 

Since being married and the start of the New house of Amber, the Lord and Lady were nearly infatuated with each other, many a blushing made or red faced guard putting distance from the rigorous lovemaking the two caused in moments of passion turned to lust. It was without any surprise that within 3 months of being married that Lady Dacey fell pregnant with her first child, a son and heir to the House of Amber being born two months after WhiteBark was finished building. His cousins name was Edwyle Amber or Eddy for short after Benjen's grandfather one of few Starks to ever earn a knighthood, born with the rich brown-black hair and complexion of all Starks, but the rich forest green eyes of the Mormont's, the lad of course, had the lanky stocky frame of both his parents. A few years after being Edwyle was born, Lady Dacey fell pregnant again giving birth to a daughter this time round, a year younger than her cousin Sansa. They named her Arya Amber, after her great grandmother who was well respected as a warrior woman of the mountain clansmen, capable of shooting a long bow from a tree at 130 paces at a moving target. Arya was the be-jeweled Amberstone of House Amber. Luscious silky dark brown hair, lightly brown northern skin, thin lips, and sharp grass green eyes made her an adorable little tyke, wrapping keep guards and maids around her little fingers with her devious impish smile. 

While Edwyle was only a year and a half younger than Robb and him, they often would spare or play with each other when he came to visit Winterfell with his father or mother when bringing supplies. Because of their teachings by their parents and their Maester Qyburn, (who is generally despised by other Maesters for his actions of studying the bodies of still dying men for alternative healing practices, In reality he is a rather fatherly and innovated learner and teacher, who's studies of northern healing and poisonous herbs brought him to the position of WhiteBark Keeps Maester, after nearly loosing his status as a Maester by order of the citadel) made them see Jon not as the southern term of 'Bastard' and more the cousin of their blood who they grew attached too. 

When the War of the Iron Born Rebellion broke out across the Seven kingdoms, his uncle Benjen sent his wife and two children to stay in Winterfell where they were kept safe from harm in WhiteBark where the Iron Born raiders could possibly strike from, and where most of the Northern houses were gathering to sail on Benjen's fleet along the western shores to begin siege on Pyke. As his lord father had already left with a majority of Winterfell's army to join his brother in Green Harbor not waiting for Lady Amber's arrival along the Kings road, Lady Starks treatment of him got worse. From nearly dawn to dusk harsh tasks meant for the maid-servants or stable-hands were carried out by Six year old Jon Snow during the first winter in nearly four years, his palms and feet covered in angry blisters from the back breaking work, and should he fail or slack his assignments it meant no dinner or lashings carried out by the Riverland guards. 

He kept his mouth shut about speaking out or asking for help from anyone as it led to only more beatings or worse punishments by order of Lady Trout, as that's all she was in his head now. Not the pious seven stared southern mother of his brother and sister, but the two faced scaley trout that seemed driven to run him from his home or to fade to death amongst the snowbanks of the outer Winterfell walls. His brother and sister were kept from him too, their mother telling well crafted lies to 'Prevent his bastardly influence' on them. Within month of work Jon was barley on his feet, the inability to not see a Maester causing his wounds to bleed and remain unclosed, open to disease and infection. When Lady Amber and her children did arrive in Winterfell it was to her utter shock to not find Jon rushing to say hello and cling on to her and her children in bear hugs, only to opened mouth horror when she learned from the Maester that he was bed ridden with the Pox. His left untreated wounds becoming inflamed and infected and leaving him passed out and in a coughing bloody heap on the cobbled castle floor.

The Lady Trout having hushed up everyone in the keep, even the Maester saying how she'd have her guards throw him to the streets and his Maesters chain revoked if he told what led to the lads current death bed sickness. Not that Lady Dacey didn't find out, her constant nigh bedside care of the dying son of her closest friend, left her open to snuck words of what befell the boy from faithful and true maid servants of House Stark. They had taken liking to the sweet and caring boy, who's kindness was shared regardless of maid-servant or stable-hand status. When the Lady Amber heard of what the Lady Trout had done, she nearly was driven to bash the southern Lady's head in with her mace, with righteous rage she felt on her sister's son's behalf. Knowing she couldn't attack the Lady Paramount without at the very least being thrown from Winterfell's Halls, she instead gathered the faithful and true Stark housekeep-helpers and had them tell her so she could keep a written account of all the misdeeds done to Lyanna's boy when she or Benjen or his Uncle Eddard couldn't see it. 

When it was done she very nearly hugged the dying boy in his pox ridden state, the shear amount of pity and self-hatred she felt at not catching on to this sooner tearing her soul in pieces. She had ended up making her way to the crypts that night and held herself in prayer and apology at Lyanna's feet, asking for forgiveness of not protecting her son like she promised them to do. Eventually the children were told that Jon had fallen ill with the pox, when Luwin's own beliefs on the likelihood of the child's survival was made known. Tears were cried by all of them and while they were prevented from touching him, each gave prayers of recovery to him every day there after. Most of all Dacey, who when not sitting in chair beside him, was taking meals and spending time with her children, or head and hand clasped to the bark of the Weirwood tree, begging Old and New gods alike to keep him from death's cold hands.

Jon I

The black canvas of his closing eye lids were awash in brilliant searing colors, a facet of his growing poor health. Most of it was a slow rise of forest green or vivid sunny yellow, but their were also these violent bursts of brilliant red that would appear randomly, and with increasing pace, feeling like stabbing picks against his tender head. It got to a point that the red flashes were happening every second while he was working like Lady Trout told him too. His wounds were sore and bleeding and his breath was haggard and wheezing, but yesterday he had already failed his assignments and lost his dinner near the servant table at the end of the dining hall. He was beaten and starved, as his father or sword instructor would say, he was a dying animal as it limps away to its eventual demise. His aunt Lady Dacey hadn't arrived yet with Eddy or his baby cousin Arya-underfoot, as she constantly brought him joy and relief when she chased after him or had him read her Targaryen stories in the godswood when he was free. They would have prevented the Lady Trout's actions against him from fear of father finding out, not that Jon was sure he'd care anymore. 

Over the last few months, even before the Greyjoy's declared War against the Seven Kingdoms, his father was becoming more and more distant from him and he wasn't sure why. His father would look at him from distance, or from up close and a dreary sadden look would cloud his face, or if he noticed me watching him, he'd play it off with a smile that didn't reach his eyes like they used too. A deeper fear that his father would abandon him to the actions of his monstrous Wife that had it out for him, however unjustly it was until he would end up dead or left on the streets of winter town, nothing but the clothes on his back to his name. It made him build an anxiety complex to constantly be around some one of his family, weather it be Robb, Sansa who could still act coldly to him, or father which he'd observe or shadow from a distance to calm his ever quaking heart, but now, father was gone, and his brother and sister were taken from him, and he was left to face the Lady of the house with all her pity vengeances. 

The headaches and flashing colors were growing worse and worse as he lugged a heavy chest of scrolls from one end of the main keep to the other, he felt a cough build up in his throat, and as his foot caught on a stray uneven stone he collapsed to his knees, banning his head on the way down and spilling the scrolls all over the floor. His temple was bleeding and the colors were merciless on his aching eyes, staring ahead he caught the sigil of the Direwolf in the corner of one of the scrolls, and suddenly his whole vision went white.

Through the pain of his bleeding head, he distantly heard an agonizing scream shouted all around him, like the stories he read of the fields of fire, a throating scream that danced from thousands of souls as they cooked alive in their metal armors, joined by the calls of winged death as they soared above. He heard a sudden crunch and crack, like the shattering of a wooden dummy as if one of the castle guards crashed their steel forged maces or hammers into the chests during practice drills, and felt a roaring bone shattering ache in his chest, trying to cough the pain away and only feeling the iron taste blood in his mouth. 

His vision was blurred around the red-white tinged edges, but above him standing like a immovable statue, he could see a tall broad shouldered knight, wearing a stag antlered helm, a blood soaked Warhammer clenched tightly in his meaty fists as he lay cold and dying at his feet. A rushing cold sensation surrounded him, causing him to gasp as he died, the whispering fading winds in his ears, his last words unfinished, though not in Jon's own voice, but it sounded similar. "Lyanna....a...and......Elia..." the dying voice spoke, letting the rushing cold waters take him. 

As Jon's mind drifted in and out of consciousness the colors of his vision would clear briefly and vivid dreams would play in his head. Of a grand tourney where knights fought for glory and honour all to appease a Mad wingless dragon cloaked in tattered and frayed scales. A Knight with the head of a laughing Weirwood sat without flaw on a stormy black stallion, the vivid red leaves in the knights branch's drawing the Mad dragon's ire, causing him to roar and scream as the Knight rode away in the distance. A shadowed man wielding a white star-like sword, and a slender winged dragon watched as the Weirwood knight discard his armor into a lake of his brethren, finally removing his head, and revealing a slight female direwolf. 

The vision's grew stronger and kept playing as Jon drifted in this sea of smoke filled fog, his body feeling disconnected and listless. A Direwolf pup being bitten in the ears by a laughing bat, all the while watching the Star-sword man as he polished his blade, slowly turning him into an armored full grown Direwolf. The same armored direwolf then wandered a thicket of bright silk trees, his eyes bored and glass like, until finally clearing as he watched the most stunning brown female bear as she roared and smacked at wandering fish and reeds that got in her way. The two joining each other next to a roaring river their faces nuzzled as they lay asleep next to the waters edge. A new scene showed the meeting of the female direwolf and a withering yellow sun with red wings stretched out from its back, wielding a small thin spear. The wolf howled at the sun, causing it to brighten and draw closer, something the direwolf appreciated, her tail wagging as she barked in joy. Both turned from themselves and watched as the slender winged dragon returned, and danced around him in a grove of flowers.

A three pronged castle sitting on a converging river, watched as a mocking bird was nursed back to health by a foolish scuffed scaled fish, only to be speared and eaten by its lying songs. The Mocking bird watched jealously from his perch as a thin Red Scaled Trout danced beautifully for a disinterested wild Direwolf, the wolfs eyes drawn to a most perfect violet tinged star, that danced and twinkled around him only to drift away, but that didn't stop the wolf from chasing it, leaving the Red Scaled Trout unaware. The Mocking Bird watched it all from his high perch, including the night cloaked female direwolf make its escape to the waiting open arms of the slender dragon back in that flowered grove. He cried his dark silk-spun song and flew far away, too speak his message to the creatures of a tall red castle in the distance, where the Mad wingless dragon resided, the wild direwolf chasing after his tail feathers, and the violet star that rested their.  

The Mad dragon watched on as the two howling direwolves burnt to death by angry green flames in a red room, as he sat upon a iron sword-made throne, his laughing screams drawing shouts of all the many beasts, animals, and fauna too bleat out their angered and fearful cry's drawing a major war that split the very earth which they resided in. A winged sun watched on as the slender dragon and female direwolf stood before a ring of Weirwood's and a Seven-pointed star draped in white cloak, the she-wolf receiving a pair of red wings herself which grew attached to her back. The war cry's from the other creatures creating fear for the three, as they retreated to a lone tower at the edge of a sand filled valley far to the south. In the process the winged sun which glowed a fiercer yellow now, was dragged back to the red castle, bound tightly to the throne by chains crafted by the Mad wingless dragon. The winged she-wolf's belly became swollen with child as she mourned the distant calls of her pack, but remained at the side of the slender winged dragon who paced in fear, hands holding his head as he watched from his window at the foredooming battle.

The She-wolf cried in fear but was settled by her dragon mate as he comforted her, only to leave her in tears as he left covered in hardened untested scales, a slender sword clasped in his claws. The sky darkened with the booming of thunder and the crashing of the waves, the gods reaction to the unsightly death that the many-faced shadow fed on as he remained bound in chains of ice by the other gods, his chains wrapped tightly around a massive Weirwood tree, with thousands of carved faces. A large White Raven with a splotch of deep red on its beak, bit and tore away at the ice-made chains as the great Weirwood cried in both anger and fear, its many red leaves shaking at the White Ravens foolishness. On the battle field the slender dragon faced off against a charging black horned stag, only to fall drowning in a glittering red ford, the bleating stag and nigh silent Direwolf next to him watching as the realm bled. 

In the red castle a fearful white lion watched as the green fire seemed to speak to the Mad dragon, drawing his gaze to his lofty window to watch as the city before him became washed in green flames, the cry of thousands music to his frayed ears, alighting a lust to the Mad dragon. The White lion roared his distress as the Mad dragon gave the order, even when the city was currently facing the red tinged blades of hundreds of golden lions, led by a mighty and strong grey-maned Lion, his jaws roaring in challenge at the Mad Dragon. Unable to watch the chaos around him, the white lion chased after the green fire, and smothered its torch before it could light its brothers and sisters to see millions burn. Turning back to the red room, its white claws stinking of ash, it watched the Mad Dragon make its final shriek, before attempting to fly away, only for the white lion to drive its shaking claws into the dragons bone thin hide, staining his white fur. 

In a different part of the castle two small sun-kissed dragons ran screaming in fear from a black-red manticore and massive mountain with swords clenched in fist. The winged sun cried in fear as it tried to gather its two babe dragons to her arms, only to taste a blades kiss of the darken mountain as his hand closed around her small neck and smothered her flickering flames. Agonizing screams ringing in Jon's head like church bells as so too did he scream as he lay in his bed, his body wracked and withering under the terrifying blood soaked gaze of the monstrous mountain, his calls of 'Muna!' and 'Keppa!' matching that of the tiny and scared sun-kissed dragon as she lay hidden under her fathers bed, the manticore searching for her. So too did her screams join his own pain wracked ones of the dying, tears streaming from his rolling white eyes, as the manticore dragged the small dragon to the surface, his wicked black tail driving repeatedly into her small body piercing her organs and scratching her little bones, until she screamed no more.

A black raven flew to the lonely sand surrounded tower, its dark message driving the winged she-wolf to her knees, the comforting arms of the star-sword knight holding her, as she shook with agony and pain, her drowning mournful howls reaching the far corners of the earth, weeping the loss of her slender dragon and her winged sun. Her pain remained as the bleeding realm settled, a crown of Antler-bones being rested on a muscled bleating stag his hooved fist clutching a great blood stained hammer, a lust driven lioness watching nearby, watching more to the chair the stag sat on, then the stag himself. The White stained fur Lion baying in despair, his knees giving way as he clutched at the dead forms of the baby dragons and their winged sun mother as they were presented to the stag king, by the Grey-Maned Lions men, all the while the White Lion snarled his claws unsheathing wishing to plunge them into the Monstrous Mountain and Grinning Manticore. A Quiet Direwolf whose eyes had been clouded with the scenes of blood and death, his teeth sore from all the killing snarled and howled at the Grey-Maned Lion's actions and his attacking dogs, and demanded the Stag that was his friend to see justice. Only for the booming laugh of the Stag to permeate Jon's ears in that hollowed red tinged room, a dark smile twisted on the Stags lips. 

The Quiet Direwolf left in a howling fury, his brutish northern companions following him as he delivered an end to all the remaining battles, forcing the realms from fighting each other, eventually reaching the lonely tower, where the knights of bat, bull, and star-sword waited for him. The frenzied screams and howls of the winged she-wolf drawing the men to arms and another field of blood where only the weakened Lizardlion and Quiet Direwolf remained. When they arrived at the top of that lonely tower, it was to a bed of blood, and the winged she-wolf's tender cry's as she held close to chest a baby dragon, with a white direwolf head, his eyes tinged a bright red. Above in the storm ridden sky's the massive Weirwood Tree, with its Thousand Carved Faces, spoke softly to the baby Dragonwolf his red streaming tears pooling at his roots, directing the Dragonwolf's gaze, a grand future waiting for it to claim, or lose too the ice-chained demon that it guarded. 

The visions ended for Jon in fast pace flickers, like a withering candles flame, as the names of the beasts and creatures whispered over and over in his ears leaving him stunned and crying fresh tears as the truth was revealed to him, as well as the great song that he was to sing on the orders of the Weirwood Tree, his forever chosen Patron God waiting for him, since the song was first sung hundreds of years ago. The visons turned to tiny flashes of his future, the most clear of them a Golden Rose flower, being held tenderly in the arms of the Dragonwolf as they danced on freshly fallen snow. With the fevered dreams breaking, so too did Jon's crippling and almost certain deathbed sickness, his rolled white eyes settling as his weary tear stained lids finally opened to the gentle light of the morning sun, his world changed forever. His voice cracked and aching, dry beyond belief, he spoke the words that were last repeated to him by the Weirwood Tree, the tone sounding like the voice of the slender dragon.

"Brōzio ñuha iksis Daemon Targārien, Tresy hen Rhāegār Targārien, se Līāna Targārien nee Stārke. Se ZaldrīzesZokla, se eminna ñuha dēmalion, ondoso Suvion-Perzys!"

Chapter Text

Benjen I

The War against the uppity, and frankly stupid Iron Born Reavers was a footnote in the grand history of Westeros. When the war was called and the reason for its starting was shared throughout the continent, I had felt it wise to send Dacey and little Arya and Edwyle to Winterfell with their cousins where they'd be far and safe from the conflict. Seeing as my northwestern port was still less known in  the last few years since its creation the Greyjoy's were unprepared for the semi-large armada that came baring down on them from the north, nearly the entirety of Northern houses conjugated to my city in WhiteBark, and boarded the war vessels created for the Northern fleet, all 78 War-Brigs set sail within a month of the banner's being called. A large majority of the War-Brigs received little to no extra fittings after we had captured them from previously stupid Iron Born Reavers over the years, and outfitted them to our colours, the years of working at a sea port, providing nearly all my soldiers with proper experience in sea-warfare, and sailing. 

We met with Robert Baratheon, the cunt as I preferred to think of him, as he routed the Iron Born from the South with most of the southern houses available to fight, while my fleet took care of the north with the aid of Bear Island, leading a stronger and less prepared siege against the Krakens from the North, laying waist to much of their food stores and smaller house keeps and recovery soldiers with Lord Jorah Mormont, both of our swords cutting down the Green boy Reavers in droves, mercy only given to those that dropped their weapons and fell to their knees instantly. Seeing as a large majority of Iron Born are rather dense, a great bloodbath was created and many thousands of men and boys died with rusted sword and axe in hand. Though we did not wish it, we aloud are men to raid the treasuries of each keep, and store the findings for later. One particularly interesting find was the Valyrian sword of House Reyne, Red Rain held in the hands of one of the lord son's of House Dustin during the storming of Old Wyk, along with an old Valyrian steel made chest containing a vast quantity of gold, which House Amber soldiers claimed for their Lord. 

When the fighting reached its end with the elder son's of Balon Greyjoy dead at the hands of the southern lords, his last two children and his own head doomed for the chopping block if not for the prevention of Lord Eddard Stark, as he coerced his friend the King from further needed bloodshed, instead seeking a peaceful alternative. The King agreed, having his friend charged with the Ward of Theon Greyjoy third and last son of Balon, and his twin sister Yara to remain on the Kraken Isles with her mother and brought low father. As the Lords made ready to depart and leave the battle when finished I came before the King, and sought to claim the ancient ancestral sword of House Reyne from the Westerlands, something the King agreed too, even when unknowingly cowed the Houses of his lady wife and Father-in-law. Seeking to avoid blame and discourse with my potential trading partners I requested a meeting with all the Westerland Lords and Lord Paramount Tywin Lannister, which they agreed to though with reluctance. 

Before them I apologized for the Kings foolish idea's and acceptance of my claim, and alluded to how I fully intended to present the sword before him, and have him deny me so I could return it to the Westerlands and a new Western Lords claim for it. While it was not much, it earned me some respect from some of the Lords of the Westerlands, but still hoping to seek their favour and the disfavour of their king, I presented them with the Valyrian steel strong box, the coin still inside. I revealed how my men found this along with the sword and that my original plan was to create my own ancestral sword from smelting the strongbox down into a blade, the gold inside to pay for the work of Valyrian smith's. Not understanding why I presented this too them, I freely gave the Strongbox and gold to Lord Tywin Lannister claiming that I only needed one shiny blade, and not two, and I hoped that this action would continue the favour I had made with the trading houses of the Westerlands. A nod of acceptance was all that was given by the Western Paramount lord, before I left them to chat amongst themselves. 

With Red Rain now strapped at my side, I had the pommel exchanged for silver carved tree in the shape of my House sigil, the subtle design complimented the overall red shine of the blade, nigh creating the perfect sword to match with my House banner. My skills and leadership, along with Lord Jorah's earned us much favour with the other Northern Lords, and other small house lords, The King so impressed with our actions, that he called us forward on the last day, and had the both of us knighted before nigh all the prominent Lords of Westeros. The dour look of my face shared with nearly all the Lords of the Stark lineage hiding my clenched teeth, and glaring eyes towards the savage and brutal whoring mongrel, that cost me everything. When all was said and down, Ned came up to me on the ships headed back to Green Harbor and gave his support and happiness at my improvement and actions to earn such boons compared to last we spoke. 

When we arrived in Green Harbor I offered a victory feast to all the Lords and smaller vassals in the north that came with us, sharing the bounty and beauty of WhiteBark with them. Many were quiet impressed with all I had accomplished in such sort order, as well as the economy I was providing to my people and not just benefiting myself. The Most pious of them though, were absolutely ecstatic with my efforts of renewing faith of the Old gods with my small folk, finding both the Seaside grove and the Pale Dancers of Maidengrove acceptable and earning more support from the Northern Houses and their lords. The feasting and showing of the splendor of WhiteBark lasted only a day, as many lords wished to make for home and see their loving families again, myself included as I traveled with my brother to Winterfell to retrieve my wife and children, and to see my nephew's and nieces. 

When we arrived though, with the coming of the spring melt at our backs, it was to find a house in discourse, with the Lady of Winterfell her ever snooty and proud self now seemingly pregnant since my brothers later year departure. My Lady Wife looking distraught and beyond angry though she kept it well hidden with the mere twitch of her dominant eye being the only give away, and all the children save Jon who was absent, in varying levels of despair, sadness and terror, while they tried to maintain weak brave faces. Our reaction must have been prominent as their was instantly a confused frown on the Lady Trout's face, on seeing me and my brother. Maintaining protocol but barley in the face of what looked like a sudden tragedy, me and my brother were both welcomed home to tender kisses and hugs from our respective brides and children. When the staff had final returned to their business, the stable hands taking our horses away and carrying our things to our respective rooms, we made to question what is going on only for Dacey to interrupt us with two words.

"It's Jon...." her quiet voice hiding so much fear and pain, that was nearly invisible on her courtly facade. 

"Wha-what?" practically both myself and my brother stuttered in response, expressions of deep fear creeping up our spines at those two simple words, an edge of panic in our tones. "What do you mean it's Jon??!? Where is he?!?"

The running and collapsing baby girl of my young two year old daughter and her older brother into my knees did nothing to quell my rising and hyperventilating fear. Catelyn the prude that she was seemed to disregard the entire thing like it was beneath her, while my Brother equally held a shaken and fearful Sansa while her older brother Robb had thick red tear stain's down his cheeks, long since dried, but an uncertainty befalling him, leaving him anxious and skating glances at the main keep. While we all stood in an almost huddle in the courtyard, the few guards and staff on hand glancing at us warily and at the main keep themselves, we missed the near running form of Maester Luwin as he made his way too us. 

"My Lord, Lord Benjen, thank the gods for your safe return, but you must come with me quickly. Their is much we need to dis-!!"

The sprinting and stuttering Maester was cut off from his report when a agonized-pitch filled scream rang the length of nearly all Winterfell, the reeding hoarse voice of a young boy being clear to us as the scream slowly died out, the forms of the children around us tensing and continuing to shake in fear, while Dacey merely closed her own eyes, hands clenching at their sides, and mouth shut tight as if to hold in her own scream of terror. My own and my brothers panic sky rocketed as we heard the seemingly dying shrieks of our sisters child, the same screams we had heard in doves as both Reavers and soldiers were cut down in the throws of battle. The kindly Maester stopped his rush to wait out the screaming before slowing his gait to us a fearful look in his own eyes. 

"Maester Luwin...."

"Maester....?"

Both me and my brother spoke, our uneven voices tinged heavily with the unspoken fear we each held, to hear the wanted and very possibly unwanted words of the Winterfell's main healer. Who now upon reaching us looked grief stricken and terrified himself, hands shaken as he clasped them tightly in front of himself to show proper course and action in face of propriety. 

"My Lords, since your departure away to the battle, Jon Snow has fallen ill to a most certainly fatal case of the Pox, and has yet to recover in the last five months since he collapsed to the floor. During this time his body while given treatment continuously since finding him, has been racked with high fever, blood filled coughing, and spasmic shaking as he attempts to fight of this sickness, his screaming is a recent nigh daily occurrence, as his health progressively worsens instead of getting better. At this point my Lords' I...i...i can't know if...f...f...f I can sa...save him."

The last words barley leaving the upset Maesters lips as he prematurely mourned the loss of his prized student, his words being lost on the two lords as they broke from their families and ran to the main keep to see the condition of their sisters son, who may be joining her sooner than they ever could have imagined in their worst nightmares.

*****

Jon's condition was without doubt considerably worse, maids and healers covering themselves in freshly washed cloths and sickness preventing masks on orders of Maester Luwin as they tried to alleviate the small 6 year old boy that was racked with shakes and unimaginable pain every 20 or so minutes. Chaffed bloody skin from leather bound straps held him, while pus filled hives covered every inch of his bare body, each bleeding excessively even when covered and bound tightly in fresh linens. Occasionally his eyelids would skate slightly upward, showing yellowed red veined eyes, rolled up in his head as they shifted violently from side to side, his voice laboured and hoarse as he would wetly cough every now and then, trickles of blood spattered mucus trailing down from the corner's of his lips as the healers gently dapped it away. His entire figure pale in the shut windowed and candle filled room, stuffy with heat as they tried to raise the boys temperature to fight off the plague slowly killing him with every day. 

When the stopping and rushed feet of Benjen and Ned tried to barge into the room, warning shouts were given by the few hardy staff in the room, as they rushed out and prevented the lords from contaminating themselves or the work area of their dying nephew. Their fight and struggle not quitting as they watched helplessly at the remaining staff working to prevent their nephew's death, only stopping when Dacey reached them and helped the staff reign in her husband and brother-in-law from worsening the boys condition. Each let their own quiet tears and grief fall from their eyes as they watched silently from the entry way, the copious amounts of bloodied bandages and deathly pale skin of their charge, reminding them to unwanted memories, they had hoped to strike from their minds. 

Incapable of doing anything they returned to Ned's solar to discuss things more thoroughly, only to be left in defeat as the death of Lyanna's son seemed all but certain to the learned men as his condition was explained and the signs given for both recovery and death. Both men were seen leaving later that night to the crypts beneath the Castle Keep where they were seen praying for the salvation of her son's life as they gathered beneath the feet of her tomb.  They stayed for most of the night their only returning to their own bedchambers and the solace of their lady wives closer to the morning's first rays of light, Lady Dacey having stayed awake though for an altogether different matter, which she discussed with her husband in quiet tones. The next morning, when both Lords had eaten their fill, Benjen was seen heading for the training dummies were in total silence, and the occasional enraged scream he shattered seven wooden training dummies and heavily chipped his old castle forged steel sword.  

A full three weeks passed with no change in Jon's condition and the whole of Winterfell prepared for the worse, all the children inconsolable, and the new young Greyjoy ward tucked away into a spare room of the main keep, watched every hour of the day by two sets of guards until more favourable conditions could be made for him on order of Lord Stark. In the beginning of the fourth week, Jon fell nearly silent, is struggling body incapable of keeping the same fight it had weeks before, when the first day passed without him giving out a scream, many in the household checked with Maester Luwin just to confirm he hadn't died in his sickened sleep. As the last rays of the sun fell on the end of the fourth week, leaving only two more days until the change of a new month, the winters snow finally melted in the early spring, Jon's eyes opened for the first time, his voice hoarse as he barley whispered the Valarian phrase from his lips catching the attention of the healers unaware and frightening them as they had made preparations with materials needed for the Silent Sisters. 

Shock and hope filled the Household that night as the Lord's and Lady's were woken from their slumber and made aware, Benjen and Dacey being first to the scene as they cried tears of joy as Jon was helped to a small cup of water, his stray hand shaking considerably as he tried to grasp the wooden mug. A sense of thankful peace and happiness returned to Winterfell's halls, as each of Jon's family visited him in some way from the doorway beyond overjoyed to see him awake and gaining strength, the healing scars on his wrists the only remainder of his near imminent death. By the third day of the second month, Jon was up and out of bed, his sickness near gone, as he walked carefully around his small room, and watched the wind shaken leaf's of the godswood as they drifted passed his glass planed window. with his condition deemed fully cured by the humbled and thankful Maester at his incorrect deduction, long waited hugs were given to the boy barley allowing him to stand on his weaken legs. 

Feeling that enough time had passed and that Jon's condition was stable, Benjen and Dacey approached Ned in his solar with a carefully written pamphlet of eye witness accounts and claimed signatures that Dacey had gathered on Lady Catelyn's actions and hidden depravity since Ned's leaving. A quiet almost rumbling air settled over the entirety of the Winterfell Keep, everyone awaiting for the imminent explosion set to happen, as Lady Stark made her way to her Husbands solar, unaware why she was being called, and that all those complacent in her deeds towards young Jon Snow were being captured and bound in the black cells. From the stray words heard after the roaring angered howl of the seemingly Quiet Wolf, Lady Catelyn was lucky to still be welcomed in Ned Starks home, a copy of the earlier Pamphlet as well as a message of warning 'should something remotely like this happen again, she would be sent home disgraced, without her children', being delivered to her Lord Father.  

Both the Lord and Lady of House Amber gave their venom filled looks towards the currently cowed and fearful Lady Catelyn in the face of her husbands unleashed Rage. They had come to an agreement with Ned earlier before Lady Catelyn was called, to have Jon raised among their household and his other cousins and Uncle, to avoid Lady Catelyn's or fiercer treatment to befall the child they cared for and held so dearly. Ned Stark himself barley avoided a bruised and broken jaw from his brother with his earlier promises, now broken, that he'd keep the boy safe, and received a verbal lashing and beating, from a scathed and angered Lady Amber, her usual caring green eyes, now looking like a snakes poison. 

The letter box containing Jon's truth was given to Benjen with a reluctant nod of acceptance from Ned, with the confirmation still in place that the boy would only be told the truth when they felt him old enough to understand it. Within the week after that befell that 'Incident'  both Robb and Sansa distanced themselves from their Lady Mother, having heard what happened from the talking guards, and Edwyle when he was warned and told the truth of things from his Father and Mother. The full weight and light of things were seen, when Lord Stark had the eldest boy's, the Greyjoy Ward included, gathered outside the Keep to watch the sentencing procedures with the accompaniment of Lord and Lady Amber, Lady Stark being currently bound to her quarters on order of Lord Stark. The guilty were given their choices of death, the Silent Sisters or the wall, a large majority of the Seven Star pious Riverland Guards choosing death in accordance with their beliefs, to which the young boy's came to understand the northern way, "He who gives the sentence, shall swing the sword." 

*****

Jon II

After waking up I had several moments where I was unsure whether I was dreaming or if I was awake, the blurry after effects of the combined Valyrian Dragon-Dreaming mixed with the First Men powers of Green-Seeing creating quite the headache. While most of the visons weren't always clear or understandable, each more different than the last as he had them each night now, the magical strain and toll it took on his body lessened each day he woke and strengthened his body and mind. In his recovery in his room, he had requested the various Valyrian and First Men tomes they had in the Winterfell's library, were he grew to learn of the extent and general powers and abilities he could gain in the coming years as he grew older from both his ancestral lines. 

The shock of learning who his true parents were did effect him, though he maintained to not show it on his outward appearance, all too aware of what other futures and timelines could come to pass if his identity and new abilities were leaked to early. So instead he calmly aloud the Visons to share more with him in due time, as well as read up on the history of his two houses and the common physical and emotional traits of each. Confirming in his research that his physical body and face structure was more of his fathers, and those related to his Valyrian house, while his more emotional and physical appearance were more of his mother's maiden House, their background connecting him to the Warg Kings of Old, the Wolf's blood running strong so to speak.

The visions of his true brother and sister, mostly his sister, and the happy family he could have been born and raised into taunted him in his dreams. His fair mother's carefree smiles and pouty angered glares when she saw injustice or something had royally pissed her off, reminding him to his own mannerisms. While the soft sung voice of his tall and stoutly father as he would dance or sing in forested meadows with his loved ones drew unseen tears to his eyes, his unheard voice begging his father to stay when watched him leave his mother in the dornish tower to end a war they had not sought to make. His father's appearance reminded Jon so much of himself that when he'd wake each morning he'd look in the small mirror built inside his wardrobe and wonder how it was that no one had caught on to his Uncle's carefully crafted lie. It was not just his fathers bodily appearance he took after he found, but also his fathers skills, and small joy's. His deeply rooted need for seeking knowledge, his natural talent with a sword in hand marking him as a prodigy much like his father was, and his voice, 'though he had never let anyone truly hear it thinking it always sounded different and wrong like it was missing something', held that same mournful songful tune, when he practiced in the godswood during his spare time. 

As the days past, so to did he learn that his care was to be given to his other uncle, the man he had grown to cherish and love as his surrogate father, Uncle Benjen was going to take him back to WhiteBark to live amongst his younger cousins and be treated with the same respect and love as a trueborn son, like they always did when they visited him. After finding out, he received a far more lengthy vision that night on all the connections his Lady mother shared with her younger brother, and her current sister in law, as well as their companion Howland Reed. When he woke the next morning, after hearing the visioned conversation between his two uncles in the Crypts after his mothers passing, and the promise Benjen made, he ran to his uncle and aunt and gave each of them a tear-filled hug, thanking them as tears stained their clothes, each holding him just as he imagined his father and mother would have.

On the last night before he would leave with them though, he received an almost wake-feeling dream as he walked from his room and down to the Castle Crypts, when arriving at his mothers and fathers singular grave he kneeled and hugged his shaken arms around his stone carved mothers feet, their whispered gentle voices playing in his ears as he remained dreaming. When he was finished and gave a finally prayer before standing, he was hit with a lengthy vision that cleared away the world around him. He was stood watching as a warrior in white pelts and red stained leather circled in a fighting stance with a castle forged armoured Knight, wielding a a simple steel sword. On the back of the wildling Warrior, was a Weirwood Harp, the strings a glowing red, as they had long since been stained with the red sap leaked from Weirwood Trees, held in his hands was a shockingly Valyrian steel sword, its hilt and guard crafted with Weirwood and a hardened Red Amber Stone at the center of the guard. While no sound was heard the names of the Warriors were given, as well as the name of the valerian blade wielded.

The Castle-Forge Knight was named Aebard Snow, nee Stark, sired by the man he faced off against, Bael the Bard, or Bael Winterwind as he was named, his voice and sword strikes soft as the cold breeze. The Sword was supposedly found and guarded by Wildlings deep in the heart of the Original Weirwood Tree's, sunk deep in the bark of one centuries old tree, incapable of freeing until Bael pulled it free having received divine prominence from the old gods. Having claimed the Sword for his own, Bael Named it Frost Singer the pale sheen of the blade unmarred by centuries of red sap bathing and sealing in the bark of the Weirwood, giving it the appearance of frost covered snow. The Vision ended when instead of exchanging blows with his son, Bael simply smiled his toothy grin and knelt his head over the frozen wasteland his hands offering his son his sword, the Son taking his fathers Sword, and decapitating him cleanly as his father's red eyes smiled for the last time, his finally song given. 

When I woke from the vision it was to see the stone statue of the same armored son I had seen in my dreams, in his hands the ancestral sword of Ice, a dark dour look in his stone made eyes. Despite the wrongful feeling of it, I searched the around the tombed sarcophagus following my instincts, and found a small hatch seal located behind the statue, the words Aebard Winterwind written on them. Opening the seal I was presented with a lengthy object wrapped in white wolfs pelt, and the same white and red runic carve Harp belonging to the late Bael Winterwind. Placing the Sword to the side, I grabbed at the Harp first, the design fitting perfectly with my arms and fingers, and when I strummed the red strings, a gentle thrum seemed to settle over my entire body, a feeling of acceptance and belonging. Thanking my Stark ancestor's for the treasured gifts, I made my way back to my room in the quiet risings of the morning, the dawns trickling light brushing the tips of the distant eastern mountains. 

Before I left to travel with my new family to WhiteBark where I would live for the next 5 and a half years, I made my way early in the morning to the wolfs wood, and bagged myself a snowshoe hare and sacrificed it at the roots of the Weirwood in the Godswood in thanks to my Patron Gods for all they had given me, the answers I so desperately sought for most of my life, and the guidance needed to strive for the coming futures. My new precious treasures of bygone, days carefully stored in my travel sack and horse saddle ready to bring new songs to these long since sung Northern lands, and the glory of the creatures that grew strong here. As he rode away from the tall Grey walls of Winterfell, Jon started to hum under breath the Song created by the great man that was his father, a song of longing, of journey, and of a tale to bespoken long after it ended. 

High in the Halls, of the Kings who are Gone.

Jenny would Dance, with her Ghost's......

Valyrian Steel Sword of the Wildlings, Last owner Beal (The Bard) Winterwind, Name: Frost Singer 

Model: Bastard Long Sword. Guard/Pommel/Hilt: Weirwood with thin coating of Valyrian Steel along the top and sides. Headstone: Harden Red Sap from a Weirwood Tree, Red Amber. 

Weirwood Harp crafted from the fallen branch's from the Original Weirwood Tree's, the Mammoth gut strings beringed in a Weirwood Tree sap bath for seven days, making them incapable of weir and snapping. An instrument that will never erode or break since its fashioning. Runic symbols craved from the Languages of the First Men, Giantish, and Children of the Forest. 

Last Owner: Bael (the Bard) Winterwind. 

New Valyrian Ancestral Sword of House Amber, Previous House Reyne.  Name: Red Rain   Previous Owner: Second Born Son Of Lord Dustin Drumm, of the Iron Born Reavers. 

Blade: Red Sheen by soaking the tang in Human Blood. Guard/Pommel/Hilt: Remade to suit current house, done in steel forged Silver, with a Carved Tree pommel fitting of House Amber.

Chapter Text

Jon III

289-to-295 a. c

Growing up in WhiteBark was a welcomed change of pace for Jon, his life far more freeing and uplifting despite the weight of truth that now sat on his shoulders. His Uncle and Aunt were always kind and considerate to him, never showing him distance or pity for his very presence, only love as a parent should, something he was eternally grateful for though he could never speak the reason why too them.  His uncle Benjen would let him sit in with Edwyle in his solar where they would learn politics of state and governance, needed skills for trueborn children that will one day inherent positions of high regard. His aunt Dacey would teach him the wisdom of courtly edict and proper discourse, when to show a smile to friends, or lie with fingers crossed behind a guarded mask. He would learn to fight with a sword in the training yards in the main keep, or in Green Harbor with the city guard when uncle Benjen was conducting his duties as a lord. He would join his cousins and aunt as they would go to the city Godswood grove on the slow days, and pray and tell stories to the small folk children under the weirwood tree. 

His visions would still come every night to him as he grew older, often the most memorable during important accomplishments in his life. The first being when he batted a city guards squires training sword to the ground defeating his first opponent, receiving smiles and congrats from his family and the guardsmen that had taken favour or showed respect to him. The same night he received the same five minute long vision of a his father wielding a training sword against an opponent, his movements slowing down at each strike, like his visions were teaching him how to fight properly. Something that he took to practice each and every morning before the first rays of dawn on the court yard wooden dummies, until he could mock spare with his uncle, that also enjoyed an early morning exercise. The second vison came to him when he was in the main library, having chosen a valerian text to read but not understanding the words written in small note form or taken and re-written from old valerian scrolls.  

A vison show him in two parts, the first of his Muna studying the same texts in her favorite chair by the Winterfell library window, her speech in a northern bogue of High Valerian. The second was of a beautiful dornish woman with a silky yellow-brown dress with pale purple eyes a wide in fascination as she read through a different High Valerian text, her accent having more of a soothing tinge then the rough accent of his Muna's. This was his first look at his Step-Muna the mother of his deceased brother and sister. Her soft smile and happy bubbly appearance brought thick tears to his closed eyes, enraged and despaired that he would never know the feeling of being raised by either of his Munas. The message beyond the heartbreaking vision though was clear, he was supposed to learn High Valerian, something he later asked of his uncle Benjen, who accepted and pointed him towards Maester Qyburn, who was all to happy to teach a prodigy student after gaining a report on his new pupil from Maester Luwin, a Maester he was welcoming and courteous with as he to wished for the further exploration of knowledge. 

While he struggled at firs to understand the complex algorithms and constants of the nearly lost language of his house, he began to see the fluidity and natural rolling of the language when he studied the ancient Valerian songs and poems written long ago and saved by Aegon the Conquer, an unlikely musician for his time and disposition. By the time he had turned eight, he was speaking the language fluently and often slipped his curses when he hurt himself on accident or messed up in the royal Targaryen tongue. Something his cousins and uncle would laugh at, but his aunt would give him the motherly glare, even when she couldn't understand the foul terminology. Seeing his progress his two cousins would often follow him like an older brother, and try to watch how he conducted himself and copy him. Something he would have received lashings or beatings for from Lady Trout, but was only given a thankful hug by his uncle and kiss on the cheek from his aunt. The night it happened he cried himself to sleep, finally letting go of the buried hatred and pain he gained from Lady Catelyn, who he's now never have to face again, or her cruel vindictive ways. 

When he wasn't spending time learning or with his family, he was often in the Maidengrove under the entwinement of the Pale Dancers and polishing the sword Frost Singer that he received through his visions. When he had arrived at WhiteBark and first went about renewing the old blade, his aunt had caught him with it, and instead of taking it away, listened to how he came to find it and taught him how to take care of his weapon instead, sharing how her own mother taught her the same way after she received her first weapon. His uncle Benjen was rather proud of how he had come to find it, sharing a story of how he and his sister would often search around the tombs and crypts back home for buried treasure and dragon eggs, going along with the old myth of Jacaerys Velaryon's dragon giving birth to a clutch of eggs during the Great Dance when he had sought the support of Cregan Stark, creating the Pact of Ice and Fire. When I shared my belief of who the Sword belonged to he was also rather amazed, as the tale of Bael the Bard is largely inaccurate and disbelieved by the north for the sacrilegious idea of what it means when it's true. The ancient Northern House of Stark sharing a bloodline with Wildlings, something that could ruin the very image they presented outside of their fall to the Red King Boltons. 

He sent a message back to my uncle Ned of what I had found and where it could be located in the Crypts, for peace of mind on confirming our family history. He promised before hand though that he'd not take away my found treasures regardless of what uncle Ned claimed back otherwise. In the following months until we received a raven back, Arya and Edwyle constantly asked after the tale of how I found the Sword and the Northern legend of Bael the Bard, Arya was rather fascinated with the bold actions of Bael, when it was told of how he tricked his way into the main castle keep of Winterfell with nothing but a fake name, and a harp strapped to his back. Edwyle often helped him keep the uptake of his new sword, and the Weirwood Harp he chose to keep for himself, the ruby red shine of the harp strings rather eerily similar to blood. Having my secret found out though, I also request from uncle Benjen if he could find me a tutor so I could learn to play the historical and beautiful instrument. He agreed saying it would be interesting if a Stark could learn to preform in the arts, as not a single member of their house could truly sing worth a damn. 

After half a year when he turned seven he became close with a traveling Essosi dancer, musician, and singer, her performances where absolutely stunning and she had earned herself a legendary persona in the arts back home in the Three sister's city of Myr, where most of the artistical masters are born or make their living. Despite the disbelief his uncle first showed, he was a natural harp player, his slender like hands inherited from his father strumming over the strings as sweetly as a freshly baked apple pie. His playing only grew more bold and inspiring after each lesson, his singing also being helped along by his new teacher, who was beyond impressed and thankful of such a worthy student to train, regardless of his birth. When he could, Jon would bring his Harp to the town square of Green Harbor and play for the traveling merchants and long time residence learning more and more as he played and drawing larger and larger crowds, his new small folk pseudonym 'The Weirwood Harper' had earned him a will liked reputation with the residence of WhiteBark. He was more then not seen as the eldest son of his uncle Benjen rather than his cousin Edwyle, with how he took to the well beings and happiness of the small folk.

It wasn't his intention though to undermine his younger cousin, rather it was his want to emulate his deceased father. The vison of his young courtly father dressed in tattered garbs and discretely followed out of the Red Keep by Ser Barristan, or his long time friend Ser Arthur so he could play as a traveling Bard for the small folk of Kingslanding. He would take on various requests and deny the cat calls from the pleasure house lasses during the nights he snuck out, giving the coin he earned to orphans or the poor, sometimes even giving them to the other fledgling artists paroling the backwater streets to make a living. The past memory showed to him by the visions had inspired him to act much the same with the small folk of WhiteBark, making him feel as he had earned the trust, respect, and love of the people he would one day rule over and take care of. A message he had explained to his family in the dining hall a few weeks later when his cousins had asked him. A proud smile adorning both of their faces and his younger cousin Edwyle shaking his head at how he hadn't seen the obvious benefit right in front of his very eyes, while Arya just grinned and laughed at her older brothers expense.  

Arya was slowly become his favorite person and companion throughout the day, her mischievous actions and escapes of her court lady lessons all the raze in WhiteBark Keep, which her mother was somewhat lenient on, but not always. She'd sneak off to find him and what ever he was doing, preferring to learn things as a boy rather then a girl, wanting that same adventurous lifestyle she only heard about in stories, like Visenya the Conquer, or Nymeria Martell of the Rhoyne, or her more personal ideal, Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, the She-wolf. Wanting to satisfy his beloved daughter's adventurous spirt, uncle Benjen had the tailors make elegant and practical riding leathers for her, as well as a training bow and arrow. Something that she took too like a fish in water, as she rode with her mother on Dacey's foal Rockmar. She would climb trees with him and Edwyle in the forests beyond the Main Castle Keep, her small fingers and quick feet getting her farther up then either he or Edwyle ever could go. That was of course until the accident. 

One particular windy day, with high stormy winds coming from the west made sailing and tree climbing difficult, long distance travel nearly suicidal on the chance that a stray gust sent your vessel up against the shore rocks. We had gone climbing again because uncle Benjen and aunt Dacey were busy settling a farming territory dispute with two unyielding and stubborn individuals, and had wanted them to go have some fun today, instead of him and Edwyle suffering through the same headache they were now facing. He was eight going on nine, with his cousin Edwyle having turned eight recently, while Arya was just passing five years of age, and rambunctious as ever. The had made their way to their favorite Iron Oak tree to climb, a race being cajoled into starting by Edwyle as he raced away, Arya hot on his heels followed by Jon. The race was going fine until Arya went a fair bit too high taking a risk as she scrabbled and kicked herself up one branch, the force not taking into account the random gust of wind that slammed them against the rough bark. 

Hearing her frightened scream as she began to fall, Jon didn't think twice as he leapt from his spot diving mid air and catching her protecting her head as he landed wrong on his dominant hand and arm. A loud crunching sound was heard followed by his own pained shout as it racked up and down his now paralyzed arm. Arya had passed out from fear, while Edwyle was carefully but frantically scrambling down the tree to check on us and fetch help. By the time he was standing over us, tears streaming in his eyes full of fear, my vision was already going blurry, causing me to pass out among the underbrush and deadfall. By the time I was waking it was to find Maester Qyburn over me with his tools, splinting my broken arm and fractured hand, saying how I shouldn't use it for a year unless I wanted permanent damage. Arya had ended up giving me a tearful apology and thankful hug at saving her at the cost of my arm, something which her mother and father were equally happy about, but also gave us a lecture about climbing things during windy days. 

The disadvantage of my non-dominant arm was a frustration I battled with for two straight months, throwing a small tantrum in my room as I tried to do my sums, and only made more illegible scribbles. After doing that I went to relax by taking my harp and practicing with it in the Maidengrove, a peaceful action that soothed my fragile nerves when I saw a rather disturbing or bloody vison of the past. My frustration only grew sadly as I could only play with one hand making the cords sound wrong, but my stubborn drive at wanting to always play something worth hearing had me keep strumming cords until long after the sun began to set, so lost was I in the playing. By the time aunt Dacey had come to fetch me herself for evening meal, it was to the sounds of a majestic and musical twinkling, of the softest pulling of harp strings. With my focus solely on the playing of the harp, my non-dominant hand adjusted every which way, until soon it was playing as greatly as my dominant hand. The scene had surprised my aunt as well as myself, to which I had asked Maester Qyburn later that night before bed on how it happened. 

His explanation was incredibly fascinating, sharing how in the historical records of the Citadel in Oldtown accurately explained how accomplished artisans, scholars, and swordsmen would lose or gain the inability to use their dominant hands and learn the skills of ambidexterism. The ability to use to hands in perfect unison, that neither hand is really dominant anymore and both are equally capable of handling any task. He requested that as I heal to additionally keep a journal of my improvement with both hands so he could study it and later send it as further records for the Citadel, something I agreed to as the fatherly odd Maester was always kind and courteous to me. After that day I proceeded to practice both my instrument and sword handling in my opposite hand. In the beginning I was rather horrible and discombobulated that half the time I would fumble and drop my training sword, or mistakenly brush the wrong cord. But as I practiced and practiced I soon became perfectly capable with using my left hand instead of my right, giving it over a year and a half to fully heal and lose that sore phantom pain feeling, improving my left hands strength and ease until it matched that of my right. 

For a while this new skill only allowed me to play more complex and stunning music pieces for the small folk, drawing attention from the pleasure house lasses, as with turning ten, so too did I start to reach my early maturity, growing taller, and more lean like the build of my father, who reached a startling height of six foot-four inches, and was built like a professional jouster and longbow archer. I gained a bit more of the broad shouldered musculature that came from the stark lineage, but most of me was taking after my father. My curly raven black hair with the few white strips of hair complimenting my deep red eyes if the blushing looks from the maid servants and small folk were anything to go by. Wanting to try something beyond my music with my left and right hand, I tried dual wielding against the city guard squires and uncle Benjen in the morning, in official capacity I got trounced and laid on my back every time I did, my dual wielding uncoordinated with each other and hitting my opposite blade or myself in accident. 

But I kept at it until I turned eleven, when the first lengthy vision in a long time burst through my dreams one night. It was the same scene where my father was fighting against Ser Arthur in the Red Keep training yard, except it now slowed the sword movements of Ser Arthur, and the positioning of his hips and feet as he danced and swayed around the training court slashing and evading hits against my fathers sword strokes, eventually having him lose the fight with a sword to his neck. I watched with the diligence of a student studying a mastery of sword skill and began to implement my training against the wooden dummies in the morning, and the fluid movement in the godswood with my sword 'Frost Singer' who's reputation was now making the rounds of the northern continent, by curtesy of uncle Ned. 

Having found the records on Aebard Stark nee Winterwind, son of Bael Winterwind, and Jaebella Snow, sole daughter of Brandon 'the Daughterless'  Stark. The explained actions of how Bael the Bard truly loved the trueborn girl and had sought out her hand beyond her fathers wishes, marring the Wildling in the Godswood of Winterfell and hiding away beneath the main keep during the major war started by the Stark and northern Houses to retake Jaebella from the Wildling kidnapper's, while she quietly gave birth to her only son. Who's main line was directly linked to the Stark lineage through the marriage of a second cousin of the Stark household to remain true to his mothers bloodline. His journal on the history of things, was found in the old Winter King's and Lord paramount texts in the hidden library in the lords solar, something that uncle Ned felt needed to make right the Stark history as he sent the prevalent information to his vassal lords and how the information came to pass. 

The fact that their essentially was a second Ancestral Valerian steel sword belonging to house Stark through marriage had earned further support to his uncle by the northern houses, most being largely acceptable to the new information of the wildling background all current Starks shared. Both the Sword and the Weirwood Harp were documented on order of uncle Ned to both Maester Luwin and Maester Qyburn who together collected the relevant information and sent it as a joint historical report too the Maester Citadel. The Bastard Longsword 'Frost Singer' and the Greatsword Ice became known additions to the Stark ancestral blades throughout all of Westeros after that, many Lords, Ladies, and prominent scholars, commenting on the unique design of the new blade, as well as the historical Weirwood made instrument that Jon now claimed, earning him much unneeded attention. Maester Qyburn's fascination was more towards the Weirwood pieces of the Harp and Sword, the pieces of the red resin and their possible healing properties having him go out and collect samples from the Pale Dancers without damaging or disparaging the ancient and holy trees.  

After he had reached ten, Jon's studies on state craft became more complex and physically learned material. He spent time going with uncle Benjen to talk with trading delegations and other nearby Northern Lords when they traveled to hand deliver harvests orders. He got to travel to Bear island were he faced off briefly with the Bear Lord Jorah Mormont, aunt Dacey's cousin who was an incredible swordsmen and jouster, the last being a skill Jon was never very interest in though he was a incredible rider on his mothers old foal, Winter. He ended up tying with the Bear lord in a mock battle using his new dual wielding technique and catching him off guard. This of course inspired all of Dacey's younger sisters to challenge him in the sparing ring with their blunted maces, most of which left him the few purple and yellowed bruise, but all fights he won with his dual wielded training swords, impressing Dacey's mother Maege Mormont. 

Many trading delegations went much the same along the North western coast, as well as a rare trading with Last Hearth, when the Greatjon and his heir the Smalljon came to greet with them and feast in Whitebark's dining halls for a few days. Over the visit he came to learn of the various exploits of the two Greatsword wielders, though what they classified as swords may as well be Small Castle Forge steel-trees. When the time for music and dance arrived after eating and telling stories I graced Arya with a song I had written on the history of my Harp and Sword, the tale behind such a tragic love story inspiring me, and becoming Arya's favorite as I would practically sing it to her each night. Retrieving my Harp from my room showing it for the first time to the two umber lords, whose interest I drew as I sat myself on a stool in the middle of the hall were single performers would play. The ambient strumming drew a quite hush to the dining hall as many high born and low born strained to hear the heart wrenching tune as I began to sing. 

Far over the icy mount, that stretched many mile ah-long.

Thar rests a great bard, his soul full of song. 

His eyes would grow weary, as he slept in Weirwooded Trees. 

The cold winter's wind, made white hair dance in the breeze.

(chorus)

Oh, come now yeh wee lads, let me tell yah the tale.

Of a Northern Bard Trickster, and Stark Maiden Pale.

He'd paly and he'd sing, his voice made of glass.

Fer dream he did, that Frozen flower, that wild lass. 

Sweet birds would cry, and Great wolves would mourn.

Fer in that minstrel Man's eyes, his heart was forlorn. 

Oh, come now yeh wee lads, let me tell yah the tale.

Of a Northern Bard Trickster, and Stark Maiden Pale.

And away he traveled, silver-white blade tied on his hip.

On his back, a red string-ed songstress, in mouth a Clever quip. 

He crossed over the icy mount, with those withered red Hands.

Fer the love of his northern lass, he'd make peace with Ruled Lands. 

Oh, come now yeh wee lads, let me tell yah the tale.

Of a Northern Bard Trickster, and Stark Maiden Pale.

Find her he did, In a Grey tower ah'mass.

A Direwolf pendent, bound'er tightly and chaste. 

Fer not but a great man, would hav'er hand to lye a kiss.

But only laugh did the Fool, his mocking red eyes ah-gliss. 

Oh, come now yeh wee lads, let me tell yah the tale.

Of a Northern Bard Trickster, and Stark Maiden Pale.

Strummed he a Sweet tune, Strumming great lords along.

Bring tears to the lasses, till their tears be long gone.

Up jumped the Lord Paramount, a honored Bard's Surmount.

Keep playing the Bard did, his foot tapping the count. 

Oh, come now yeh wee lads, let me tell yah the tale.

Of a Northern Bard Trickster, and Stark Maiden Pale.

Now came our end as many forsee, 

Down went the Bard on bended knee,

where he made his love-lornful plea,

For the hand of the Lord Pale daughter free!

"Oh, what's more glorious than this,

For that fair lady's first kiss,

The taste of her pouty lipped liss,

Her true hearted-lover's unveiling bliss!!!"

Oh, come now yeh wee lads, let me tell yah the tale.

Of a Northern Bard Trickster, and Stark Maiden Pale.

Oh, come now yeh wee lads, let me tell yah the tale.

Of a Bold Weirwooded Harper, Whose Name was Bae-el....

(Lyrics created by Darkened Oni, beginning author and ballad writer.)

When the song finished long after he slowly rifted too a quite on his Harp, eyes closed to embody himself with the flow and sway of his music, Jon stopped letting his fingers rest at his sides and opened his eyes to watch the reaction of the crowd. The response was immediate to his eyes and ears, tear streaked faces of maidservants and handmaidens alike, Arya and aunt Dacey both red faced with tears mouths agape in wonder at his song, the deep echo of the dining hall enhancing his voice unknowingly. Lords and manservants seemed dumbstruck and unmoved as they stared at him, still caught up in the after effects of his song. His uncle Benjen was hiding his eyes behind an upraised arm, swallowed with the memories of his beloved sister as if Jon had summoned her very image to life with the dual personalities explained in the song. Finally when all was said and done with, everyone having recovered, his uncle stood up and began clapping, the entire dining hall joining him at the first public showing of Jon's song. 

Standing up he bowed at the praise, and offered his place to the muses of the Whitebark court to conduct their own pieces and jauntily tunes for the performances tonight, most looking at him as if he was a walking god before them, making him blush heavily. Unsurprisingly to all those in the know, excluding Jon, he was asked to dance and practically paraded around the room by various small house ladies and girls all seeking to earn the attention of the beautiful boy singer that had serenaded them with his love song, again unknowingly and unwantedly. By the time he returned to his room that night his feet were absolutely aching in his fine tailored shoes, and was sporting a new headache at all the sultry made glances and Suggestions (Read Kidnapping's) to accompany this or that lady back to their guest room bedchamber, all of course he politely brushed off, with a bashful smile, while inwardly he winced at his stupidity of unseen consequences. 

On the beginning of the next few days, he tried to spend most of his effort in the training yard, practicing his dual wielding technique against his cousin or the other small house lads squiring or training. When he completed a smashing victory against two less studied lads, each of his swords ending up under their chins, he was surprised to see both Greatjon Umber and the Smalljon Umber wanting to have a go at him. His first fight against the Smalljon was a fairly evened fight, up until a two thirds of the way going, when the Smalljon started to rap up his power fueled blows, making him drop his less strong sword arm and eventually lose to overall power in the end, with only a slight nick on the Smalljon's cheek. The mock battle against the Greatjon went much the same, except it ended far mor quickly and his arms where practically vibrating with the powerful swings of the Umber Lords Greatsword. Wanting to also prove himself Edwyle faced off against each of them as well, and thusly lost to each in turn, uncle Benjen and aunt Dacey giving each of us a proud nod and hug respectively afterword's. 

With the last few things cleared up regarding the harvest trade materials, the Umber delegation left, and made their way back towards Last Hearth alone the cobbled stone portion of the Kings road that was only selective to the ending boarders of Green Harbor and White Harbor respectively. With that the months continued to pass by with Jon continuing to gain larger understanding of his capabilities and strength, his visions centralizing more on the present future, than on the spare memories or moments of the past that was connected to him. He celebrated the birth of his new cousin's, the first being Brandon Stark named for his deceased uncle, son of Ned and Catelyn, their last child since the found out incident about Jon's near demise at the Lady of the houses hands. His aunt Dacey also fell pregnant not long before the Umber delegation came to visit, giving birth to twin children Lynara and Rickon Amber, named after Jon's grandmother and mother, as well as his grandfather. 

When Jon reached the age of Twelve he received his most clear vision of the Future he had ever seen. A vision that left him melancholy the next morning, which his family noticed but he only shrugged them off when they sought to ask him questions. Still thankful to his patron gods, he went hunting alone and sacrificed another snowshoe hare beneath the Pale Dancers to show his devotion and gratefulness. After that he spent nearly every day training and studying the things that he would need for his soon made journey, making mental mappings of his uncles solar and how to get their unseen for the things he would need to take with him. His dual sword work became a thing to outright fear in the training yards the synchronized spinning of the blades creating both a flair for the dramatic, and deadly countering combo to the heavy handed strikes of the other swordsmen, being parried away with nearly a spark. He had gotten so good that he was outright winning spars with his decade and a half uncle during their early morning spars, which Edwyle had taken to joining. 

He had also taken the initiative since his mother's foal Winter died, the recently learned Warg spirit of his Mother dying with the old equine, from the visions he'd seen of her riding and Warg bonding with her horse. He had been with the foal when she passed away in her stables, her heart slowing from old age. Wanting to emulate his mothers connection with a horse, and make both his parents proud as a worthy jouster, he had practiced on his new Northern Stallion, Grestave for his thick dark grey coat, and sharp brown eyes. While it was a weak connection, he still maintained and forged it with Grestave, letting his mind meld with the Stallion's to where the briefest interest of a direction would have Grestave going towards it without physical command. Much like his Mother, he rode like he was born on the back of a horse, his instinctual leaning going with the momentum of the horses gallop. In the works of Jousting he was an amateur at best his spear precision abysmal as it cracked against the outer rims of the hanging targets, or outright missed them altogether in the training yards of the City Guard Barracks. 

Finally, after three and a half months had passed, just as the vision said it would happen, his uncle requested a surprise hunting trip through the woods with him and Edwyle, each taking their respective horses, a single sheathed blade, and a set of bow and arrows. 

 Jon Snow's (Daemon Targaryen's) appearance, current age: 12 and 3 months. 

Chapter Text

Year 295 A.C summer. 

Jon III

He was going about his day as usual, having already trained with both his sword work, and his harp practice in the Maidengrove. Now he was sitting in quite space of the Hustling and bustling main court, enjoying the sounds of the servants and stable hands as they went about their daily tasks, while reading a re-copied journal from Maester Tolkin's account of the Rein of Maekar the Warrior, The Anvil. An interesting read if ever their was one among the stuffy and often dry remounting's of the Targaryen rulership, traditional to a fault those gray-rats of the Citadel. It was at a certain part on how Maekar designed his plan of the Hammer and the Anvil against the first Blackfyre Rebellion he participated in. That was of course until he spotted his lightly armoured cousin and uncle making their way to the main courtyard, a set of bows and quivers strapped to their backs along with a single hunting knife and sword, his own gear being carried by a spare manservant from the main castle keep. 

"Jon, I would like it if you came with me and Edwyle out to the wolfs woods to do some hunting. I've been hearing reports from scouts that their seems to be an increase in the deer and boar population, and I'd rather avoid an overgrowth of animals so close to Green Harbor's Apple fields."

Uncle Benjen ever the serious figure he wanted to be, even with the carefree smile that always rested on his face, leaving deeper laugh lines each year he grew older. His time growing into the Lord of Whitebark had changed him from the adventurous knightly seeking boy that his vison's would show him on the spare few nights, visions of his uncle and his mother as they'd play childish games with light teasing in the Godswood of Winterfell, the problems and strife's of the world falling away to their deaf ears. Nodding back at his uncles request he grabbed his gear from the manservant and started to suit up while his uncle had the stable hands grab their horses, having a small four person guard come with just in case of bandits or wildling attacks. 

Once they had all been geared up accordingly and their horses where saddled they rode out of the main keep courtyard down the Kingsroad towards the junction split where one path led to the wolfs wood, while the other led back towards the main city of Green Harbor. Avoiding the traveling caravans that where heading up towards the main city, they took off at a decent pace down the Kingsroad until reaching a dirt cut off into the forest, their they slowed the horses to a soft trot, their black hooves beating against the grass and gathered leaves of deadfall. The rich earthy smell of the woods and decaying wildlife reached all their noses, the faint wafting's of stale sea breeze coming from their backs.

Having found the main area with which to hunt, they each took a guard, Edwyle getting the extra one on orders of uncle Benjen despite his complaints that he was fine. Together they each chose a direction in the woods and traveled along their chosen beaten path, the faint hooting of the crows adding a relaxing atmosphere despite the constant danger one should hold of a forest constantly teaming with unpredictable wildlife. Slowing his horse further, Jon spotted the light sunken tracks of a small herd of deer, going a bit further north then where he was traveling. Not wanting such a freshly traveled prized to slip away he motioned for his guard to be on the lookout and they kept following the tracks, his hand raised and halting them both when they opened up to a small bowel curved valley, long grass reeds providing a worthy sustenance to the ten or so deer that gathered in a tight formation, unaware to their new found danger.

Taking care not to make a sound, Jon got down from his saddle and had the guard remain on his horse, taking his long bow of his shoulder and crouching low to hide himself further in the underbrush and course grass. drawing two arrows, a small thing he had practiced to centre on area wide targets, that he had perfected in the archery stands back at the training yard, he got himself in position and took aim. His target's being two young bucks that where staying closer to the edge of the circle formation of the herd, closing the females more to the centre as most likely more than a few where heavy with child during the course of this overly lengthy summer. Calming his beating heart he drew in a slow breath, pulling the bowstring taunt to his cheek letting the two arrows set dead on his targets for instant kill shots, letting the wind die down before he released. 

Twin bellows of pain shot out from the herd, forcing them to break ranks and scatter off back into the woods, as two members of their herd slumped over into the grass, small droplets of dark red blood splashing against their course hides around the tall wooden fletching lodged in either their head, or their heart. Calling his guard back Jon approached his two kills and brought out his hunting knife if he needed to stop any unwanted suffering from misplaced shots, the dying whimpers of the Stag with the arrow through its heart being the only one as it strained a bit from his soft brushing hand, letting his knife rest against its throat as he slitted it, killing the creature instantly and painlessly. Taking care to carefully gut the animal he lifted the carcase to the waiting arms of the guard letting the man go secure it to his horse when they made the travel back. 

carelessly he made his way over to the second carcass, not watching his surroundings what so ever until a great white furry beast had its paw down on his chest, having knocked him on his ass without making a single noise, its soft growling making him drop the hunting knife in his hands and makins him lye prone so a s to not antagonize it. The beast was huge, resting at a height of two maybe three meters tall, its massive white dog like paw pushing lightly but firmly on his chest holding him down, as its large tooth muzzle starred him dead in the eye. It deep ruby red eyes flicked with the barest hint of intelligence as it continued to growl harmlessly at him in intimidation. It was a White furred Direwolf, a northern creature not seen south of the Walls since the time of the old Winter Kings. 

A rustle and a tearing of something had his eyes drift away to a second slightly smaller Direwolf, this ones fur as black as a starless night with deep yellow moon eyes, its muzzle already thick with blood as it bit into the second carcase of the deer he had shot down. The difference in appearance was obvious between the two creatures as the second Direwolf was struggling too stand with a large swollen belly, marking her as a female and pregnant with a large litter of pups. His instincts told him that the White Direwolf was a male, holding him down from antagonizing or threating the Female so she could eat without worry on damage to her swollen body. Seeing the scrapping of his guards bow against the mans leather jerkin, as he tried to draw an arrow sneakily to protect his charge, Jon immediately warned him off with a loud click of his teeth and a shaking of his free arm to tell the guard to stop. 

The guard's actions had caught the gaze of the Direwolves, each turning their gaze to the armed guard a small distance away shaking with fear at the massive predators, the Female started to growl in intimidation at the guard, while the Male turned his unnerving red eyed gaze on the guard, telling him to smarten up without barking a sound.  Wanting to take an initiative and prevent further escalation Jon slowly brought his left hand up in front of the Male Direwolf's gaze, letting it fall gently to the beasts furry muzzle and stoking his cheek in a calming relaxed motion. The beast stilled its soft growls immediately content to focus more on the strange appendage giving him pets like a common animal for the first time. Letting the animal go at its own pace, Jon kept petting him, slowing his fast beating heart to tempo with the Direwolf's, until the Direwolf changed his life for the better, when it leaned its head into the soft stroking of the human underneath him, nuzzling against his hand for more. 

"S-ser J-jon???" the guards startled gasp gave him the confidence to begin standing as he kept his hand against his new made friend eventually resting both hands against its thick and course white fur, scratching at it as the great tall beast began to slightly lean against him in contentment. Curious of the attention that Male was receiving the Female, crept over the half chewed carcase of the deer and made her approach over too him, sniffing his offered hand when she got close enough, and also seeking pets and scratches when she felt safe to do so. To the guard's eyes it was a seen told out of the books of the first men, the young boy turning young man, surrounded in a forest valley with two great direwolves aside either arm. 

******

The scene they made was nothing like the reaction he got from bot his uncle and his cousin when they grouped back up before heading home, their killed game secured and the trailing massive forms of the two Direwolves making all the guards uncomfortable while Edwyle gapped in astonishment and the damnable luck of his older cousin, while his uncle Benjen held a wonky smile on his face, until the black furred Female came up to him and brushed against his saddle bound leg. His uncle had reluctantly agreed after that to bring the very pregnant Female and protective Male that seemed to now be all but shadowing Jon back to the kennel's of Whitebark, the spoken voice from Jon, of his stark blooded children possibly bonding with the Direwolves and the unborn pups, swaying his mind to agree.

The two massive wolves drew the eyes and the terrified screams from many of the working small folk as they made their way into the main courtyard, past the great castles front gates. Taking charge immediate uncle Benjen ordered the guards to stand down and requested the Stable hands to refurbish a large space near the kennels for the two wolves, allowing Jon and Edwyle to carefully usure them into the space once it was done, the keening tired pants of the Female making obvious of the closeness of her birthing litter. As things began to calm, small folk nosey's started to sneak way, spreading their gossip every which way into the cracks of both Whitebark and Green Harbor, of the Pregnant Black Direwolf, and the Massive White Male Direwolf that had bonded with 'The Weirwooded Harper'. 

The News caught the attention of Arya and lady Dacey first, causing them to each find out for themselves, the former having rushed to the stable stalls at the first spare moment she could get to find her older brother, and surrogate older brother both protectively petting and calming the great large creatures. Aunt Dacey merely asked after her husband as she stayed with the twins in the nursing room with two maidservants too help her, as uncle Benjen eventually made his way over too her and told her everything. Later that night, his aunt acted with more pois and concerned about the potential hosting of such wild animal companions for their children, while Arya blabbed excitedly about wanting a Direwolf pup to call Nymeria after one of her favorite historical ideal's, a fierce she-wolf warrior that would become her best friend and join her on wild adventures.

She ended up receiving her wish closer then she expected as two nights after finding them, the Female gave a difficult birth to a litter of four pups, two males and two females, each born with separate distinctions. The Female pups where each born with different shadings of dark or light grey fur, the older one having yellow eyes like the mother, while the younger had deeper orangey red coloured eyes, believed to be from the Mother Direwolf's mate, as the White Direwolf was not, only being protective of her, and not intimate at all. The Male pups however had the black fur coats of their mother, while each had their sperate colored eyes of dark orange and deep yellow, the younger of the too, born the runt of the litter, having a grey tuft speckles of fur on his fore and back legs. A bit of time was needed between the mother and her new pups, but already they each seemed too be favouring their own bonded companions, something that Jon had seen in a future vision the first night of the direwolves arrival.

Arya claimed the elder female pup, her Nymeria as she requested with its dark grey fur, and yellow eyes terrifying her chamber maids as she would take the pup to her room and have it sleep on her bed when it could be separated from her mother. Edwyle however grew close with what seemed to be the next pack leader, the eldest black furred male, with its deep Orange eyes looking the color of Tree sap, as his family name suggested. The remaining two pups didn't really leave their mother or react with anyone, leaving it to interpretation that they were meant for the twins, something Dacey and Benjen would test once they got older. While it was unexpected, it was all the more welcome when the Female Mother Direwolf bonded with uncle Benjen, ghosting his side when she had fully healed from the childbearing, unless she was hunting or nipping at the ears of her children as they would roughhouse or cause mischief. She was especially respective and protective of her bonded's mate, laying in the nursing room as a guard for Dacey as she would rock one of the twins to sleep. 

Edwyle came to call his Direwolf companion after his favorite subject that he would talk for hours about with his father, the chivalry and honor of Knights, therefore he named his black furry companion Knight, a play on words for its rich dark fur. Uncle Benjen however, struck by the protective actions and similarity's of his Direwolf and his long dead sister, honored the She-wolf with the name of Lya, after his dearly beloved sister's nickname. Jon however new the name of his Direwolf companion since the moment he'd seen him in his dreams, the Great White furry beast that made the littlest of sounds, regardless if it was running over the crunchiest of underbrush or snow. Its unnerving ruby eye's catching the flickering's of detail and the intelligence of its mind showing the danger he held. Ghost, the Direwolf named for his characteristics, and the white haired brother he never got to know or see rise to the great man he'd have surely become. 

With the arrival of the Direwolves, so too did the short message order from his uncle Ned to his uncle Benjen, that hey too had found a pregnant Direwolf mother in the woods, this one with grey white fur and sky blue eyes, which his uncle had taken in under the protection of his home. The message of his vison was clear over the last few months too Jon, when the letter of great news arrived to the chair of the tall Grey Tree that sits on the hill overlooking the sea. A white Direwolf leaves its pack to travel to the great expanse of ice, where he will meet many beings, and creatures of old myth, until he drives his sword through the wicked and self-cursed heart, of the blood covered beaked white-raven that tore at the roots of the Massive Weirwood Tree. Knowing he'd need to say goodbye soon, Jon began to write his letters to his family, his most detailed one being to his uncle and aunt that had always treated him like their son, as he told them of the truth of his visons and his belief of being one of the Greenseers of old, sharing bits of proof that wouldn't hurt the overall timeline.

He had already gathered the materials he needed for his journey in preparation, crafting a larger and wider saddle to go over the back of Ghost with the leather workers in Green harbor, something he had drawn up plans for before the direwolves arrived, then gave the final sum measurements to have them finish it in time. The saddle was set to rest snuggly on the mid back of Ghost's body, the clasps running under his belly and over his shouldered forelegs to make an x-cross harness underneath, unable to cause him difficulty with running. The Saddle was purposefully built for the ridder to lean forward and grab the scruff of the animals neck with one or both hands to maintain saturability, moving with the flow of the creatures fast paced jaunt. He had packed himself a well maintained traveling leathers, and gear in a leather rucksack. Guard rations being easy to buy in bulk for his long journey, and his harp as well as his Valerian sword strapped to his hip.

Making it about two weeks since the arrival of the Direwolves, Jon snuck away under the darkness of the storm bellowing night to his uncle's private solar, finding the hidden alcove built into the wall behind the main desk just as his visions had showed him, as he snatched away the wooden letter box containing his heritage claim. Making sure not to make a sound he made his way to the various rooms of his cousins, slipping their letters underneath their doors, the one's for his uncle and aunt placed neatly on his uncles solar desk. Returning to his room, he got out his thick deer hide cloak, pulling the hood up over his head, and carried the travel equipment down to the stables, being carful not to be seen by the guard rotations, the thunder and lightning of the billowing rainstorm masking his loudness. When he reached the main stables he found Ghost, ever the unnerving White Monster with his red beady eyes, giving his hand a tender lick as he strode into his cell and secured the newly smithed harness to his back, the Male Direwolf uncaring to the newly added weight. 

When he made sure that all his traveling gear was tightly bound and stable, he clambered up onto the wolf saddle, Ghost easily taking his added weight, and being unencumbered with his thick hunting muscles that aloud him to run for days chasing prey. Reaching for the Warg like connection that he had formed very strongly with ghost, since the first day they met, he let himself drape over the saddle, his hands clung tightly to9 the wolfs fur, as he stared through Ghosts eyes and directed him with his night vision to the main gate. knowing that it be closed he watched the guard rotations for a few minutes over the booming storm, and finally had Ghost rush up the stone stairs to the wall that surround the castle, having him jump and take the full force of the landing with the grace of a dancer, totally unseen or unheard from the loud crash of the thunder as a lightning bolt had struck one of the trees a small distance from the castle, drawing the guards attention.

Letting Ghost lead by his instinct's the two ran off into the rainy night, his now dirt covered paws tearing up the underbrush of the wolfs wood forest as they made their way north under the cover of night. They made incredible time eventually breaking away too the the Kingsroad along the western mountains of the mountain clans by early sunrise, eating up a two days trip worth by horse easily within a single night. He let Ghost rest for a bit giving him a skinned rabbit that he had gather for his friend on the trip to avoid unnecessary hunting, letting him drink water from a mountain river stream. Having taken a break for two hours until the morning sun was high in the sky, Jon resaddled Ghost as they made their travel up the Kingsroad, passing the last hearth of the Umbers by skirting the small forest treelines, and resting for nightfall just on the boarder of their territory. Letting Ghost go hunt for a meal and water as he made camp and ate one of the many rations he carried, finally polishing his valerian sword to calm his fragile nerves at this out of nowhere adventure he was taking, he waited for Ghost to return, a spare deer leg for the morning clasped in his massive jaws, before heading to sleep by the campfire light. 

In the morning of the Second day he saddled up at first light, he and ghost making it to their destination by mid morn, the tall fortlike spires of Castle Black as it rested against the incredibly large and breath defying monument that was the Wall. His visions had shown him that this was to be the first task of his journey in life, meeting the first member of his fathers line that still remained alive and well on the Westeros continent. And the knowledge he would give him to further his journey and stop the unwelcomed future that would bring the downfall of his mother's bloodline. As he and Ghost approached the tall gates of Caste Black, the tell tale call of, "Who go thar!?!?" from the Black Brothers, he responded with two names that had branded him since his first breaths, only one now ringing true as he began his walking destiny.

"My Name is Jon Snow, and I seek to cross the beyond the Wall" 

'My name is Daemon Targaryen, and I seek the last remnants of my family' 

Lya and Winter, Direwolf mothers to the pups of the Amber and Stark children, bonded companions of Benjen Amber and Eddard Stark. Age 4 Years Human.  

Direwolf pups of She-Wolf Lya, From left to right, Knight, Nymeria, Unnamed, Unnamed. Bonded to Edwyle, Arya, Rickon, Lynara of House Amber.   

Direwolf Grown Male, Name Ghost, Bonded and Warg Companion of Daemon (Jon) Targaryen, Age 2 Year's Human. Size 2.74 Meters tall, 1.32 Meters Long.