Chapter 1: Prologue - 283 AC
Chapter Text
“You have a healthy son, my Lady.”
Exhausted, Astrid grunted but smiled at hearing the Maester’s words. She had just gone through her 3rd childbirth, and for the 3rd time she had birthed a son. She was coated with sweat, her body aching, her black hair sticking to the pillow on which it had been sprawled at the start of her labour.
“Your lord husband and brother will both be pleased.” the midwife said.
“Please, do not remind me of my brother while I lay here like this.” the 18-year-old said.
Her brother, Roose Bolton, had gone to war. Just like every other Northern bannerman, he had answered the call of the Lord of Winterfell to rise in rebellion against King Aerys II and his cruel paranoia. It helped that the new Lord of Winterfell was his sister’s husband of 4 years. But he was known for his ruthless streak, something that had been inherited by Bolton men just like the sense of honour was inherited by Stark men.
The young mother of 3 had married her husband before he was suddenly thrust into lordship. She had not expected to become the Lady of Winterfell, but with the deaths of Lord Rickard Stark and his direct heir, Brandon, at the hands of a mad King, the duty fell in Eddard’s lap.
“How do you want to name your child?” Luwin then asked.
“Ned wants to name him Robb, for his foster brother.” the blue-eyed woman replied. She would not have chosen it, mainly because she preferred to give her children names of their ancestors.
Both House Bolton and House Stark had ancient histories due to their descent from the First Men. House Bolton descended from the Red Kings of the Dreadfort, and House Stark descended from the Kings of Winter. Their Houses may have been at war before the Andal Invasion, but that was thousands of years ago.
The Southron man wrote down the name while the midwife handed the boy to his mother.
“He has the Bolton eyes, m’lady.” the middle-aged woman said. “Blue, like sapphire.”
‘Like the jewels of the caves near the Last River.’ Lady Stark thought.
Despite her marriage to a Stark and living in Winterfell, Bolton had not stopped visiting her brother’s dominion and finding resources there to aid the North.
Finding sapphires there had been an accident, as they had been trying to mine iron ore. It had been a welcome find, however, as it had enabled them to start trade with Braavos, the most northern city of Essos, and establish a large trade port at Ramsgate.
But the war had temporarily stopped further development. They would have to pick up once the men came back from the South, and begin expanding expeditions into their mountain ranges to find more iron ore and perhaps stumble on even more surprises that they could exploit in the years to come.
Astrid brought her son to her breast, smiling as the boy began to suckle.
Luwin laughed. “He’s going to be a strong one. A good warrior.”
“Of course my children will be strong. They are both Stark and Bolton, descendants of the Red Kings and the Kings of Winter.” the noblewoman stated. “Would you please get my family in here?”
The Maester nodded. “Of course, my Lady.” and he went towards the door.
Her goodbrother, Benjen, looked relieved to see his brother’s wife alive and well. He was holding her other sons, 3-year-old Alaric and almost 2-year-old Cregan. Her brother’s only surviving trueborn son, 5-year-old Domeric, was clutching the older man’s leg. “Ned will be relieved to hear you are well.”
“I hope he will be home soon.” the Lady of Winterfell said. She had fallen pregnant from their last coupling before her husband went south towards the Riverlands, where the Battle of the Trident had taken place, then further south to King’s Landing, then to Storm’s End, and his most recent message had him return from northern Dorne.
“I am glad he survived all of that.” the 16-year-old whispered. “If not, I would have been regent for your sons. I was never prepared for such a role.”
The mother of 3 boys smiled. “Yes, we should be happy with the outcome. How is your wife settling in?”
The youngest child of Rickard and Lyarra Stark grunted. “Not well. She hates the North, constantly complaining about the lack of a ‘big beautiful Sept’ and whatnot.”
Bolton rolled her eyes. “Southron girls, can’t handle shit.”
Her goodbrother had been forced to marry Lady Catelyn Tully, the eldest daughter of Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun, because of the betrothal contract that had been signed between Rickard Stark and Hoster Tully several years ago. Originally, it should have been Brandon, but he died in King’s Landing. And with the second brother already married for 3 years by that point, it left the youngest to fulfil that contract.
“Can you imagine her as Brandon’s wife? She would’ve made him go crazy.” Benjen stated. “I hope she’ll be more reasonable once our child is born, but I doubt it.”
The 18-year-old placed her hand on her goodbrother’s hand. “I hope your life will get better. If not, you’ll always have a bed up here if it gets too much at Moat Cailin.”
“I’ll gladly visit my nephews a few times a year.”
Domeric then climbed onto the bed his aunt laid in, his blue eyes staring at the newborn.
“That’s your new cousin, Domeric.” the only woman in the room said. “His name is Robb.”
“When will he be able to play with me?” the child asked.
Roose Bolton’s sister smiled and ruffled the boy’s black hair. “Perhaps in a couple of years. But Alaric will be able to play with you much sooner. But Auntie Astrid has to rest now. So be nice to your mama, your papa will return soon.”
The 5-year-old smiled at his aunt and soon left the room.
The Lord of Moat Cailin left as well, after the recovering woman had cuddled her other sons.
Astrid was waiting in the courtyard for her husband to arrive. She was holding her newborn tightly, and her other children stood on either side of her. Her goodbrother and his wife stood to her left with their newborn, Brandon.
The Stark banners had been spotted from the battlements, so they would be home soon.
There were bound to be fallen warriors among the Northern forces. No armies came out of war unscathed, not even rugged Northmen who were not easily killed by measly Southron knights.
Footsoldiers entered first, looking tired and worn out. Riders on horseback came through the gates next, the carts carrying the dead remaining outside the gates due to the stench of rotting flesh.
The Lady of Winterfell was glad to see both her husband and her brother alive and well. She knew there might be a few scars here and there, but no wound had killed them. Her husband came to her first, embracing her and her 3-moons-old first before giving their older sons some attention.
“I’m glad you’re back. I’ve missed you.” she whispered.
“As I have missed you.” Ned said, his voice sounding worn.
The blue-eyed woman placed a hand on his cheek. “You require some rest, I take it?”
The 2nd born son of Rickard and Lyarra Stark nodded. “I do. But our sons need my attention first.” he picked up his 2 walking sons, both of whom squealed that they could finally hug their father again. He placed a kiss on either boy’s forehead. “I’m glad to be back.” his eyes then wandered over to the babe, a smile growing onto his face. “He is beautiful, Astrid. He has your eyes.”
“I named him Robb, as you desired.” the mother of 3 said. “I think I would desire a daughter for our next child, a proper Northern girl for your family, my lord husband.”
Eddard chuckled. “We’ll try again soon enough.” and he kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you later? I must perform my duties as lord and Warden first, I fear.”
“My brother can keep me company in the meantime. Domeric will be glad to see his father.”
The 21-year-old nodded and put his sons down before entering the Keep, requiring the Lord’s solar to send out death notifications and arrange logistics surrounding the bodies of fallen brothers.
“Glad to see another nephew.” Roose said, looking upon the little boy. “You seem to have much less trouble bearing strong sons than Beth did. Your husband should worship you.”
The Bolton woman chuckled. ‘You have no idea about his talents in the bedroom, my dear brother.’ she thought. “Did anything interesting happen while you were in the South?”
“Apart from seeing a Targaryen’s armour being rendered useless by a single swing of a hammer, a Royal wedding, more dead Targaryens, and the stench of King’s Landing?” the Lord of the Dreadfort raised an eyebrow. “Your husband carrying a dead woman’s child around.”
That did make the noblewoman’s eyebrows rise. “A war orphan?”
“Claimed the babe was his bastard.” the warrior leaned closer to his sister. “He had it with him when he returned from Dorne with his sister’s bones. You think he gave in during Harrenhal?”
The 18-year-old sighed. She knew there had been rumours about Ned fancying Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall, and that he had bedded her. “No, Roose. Ned was in my bed during that entire week. I did not spend a night alone.”
The elder sibling narrowed his eyes. “The babe has the Stark look. Grey eyes and dark hair. Even the broad nose your husband has.”
“You do realise that Ned was not the only Stark man old enough to sire children two years ago? That child could just as easily be Brandon’s bastard.” two pairs of stale blue eyes met. “Get some food from the hall and catch up on sleep. Your son needs you. I will set the record straight with my lord husband.”
The 28-year-old grunted but did not say another word. He turned to go towards the mess hall, picking his babbling son up on his way with a bigger smile than he had ever shown to the outside world.
Astrid took a deep breath and led her children into the Keep. She placed Robb in the nursery and made sure her other children were well entertained with their toys before letting the nanny take over so she could join her husband in his solar.
When she laid eyes on her husband again, she noticed he looked much older than his 21 years.
His grey eyes looked more sombre, his chestnut brown hair somewhat unkept, and a small scar along his jaw.
“Are you alright, my dear?” the black-haired woman asked, stepping further inside after closing the door.
The Warden looked at his wife with tired eyes. “No. I am heavily unwell, Astrid. I saw a man I regarded as my brother laugh at the corpses of children and reward their murderers, I watched my sister draw her last breath, and I killed men because I was told a lie.” his eyes filled with tears, his sadness written all over him.
The blue-eyed noblewoman took a chair from elsewhere in the room and carried it over to sit next to her husband. Once she sat, she took his hand. “Talk to me about what happened. All of it, even the gory details. You know I can handle that, I’m a Bolton after all.”
Ned chuckled for just a moment, the light awakening in his eyes, before he began his tales.
He told of his trip to Riverrun, Benjen’s wedding, Jon Arryn’s wedding, the Battle of the Trident, everything he saw when he was in King’s Landing, the broken and unrecognizable bodies of Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen, the brutalised body of Elia Martell, the horror he felt about Robert awarding their murderer, Gregor Clegane, with a knighthood, his trip to the Stormlands to enter the Siege on Storm’s End, and his final trip south to Dorne, where Lyanna had been hidden.
The 18-year-old held her husband’s hand through all of it, drying his tears with a handkerchief she had embroidered with direwolves during her second pregnancy. She did not interrupt him.
“I brought dishonour on my name, Astrid.” the grey-eyed man stated to her at the end. “I may as well be named a kinslayer. I did not consider Lyanna’s feelings about her betrothal to Robert, I did not think she would run away voluntarily. I failed her, I failed my brothers, I failed my father. I may not have been the man who stabbed them, but their deaths are my fault.”
The Lady of Winterfell clutched the hand she was holding even tighter. “You are no kinslayer, Eddard Stark. You simply had your loyalties mixed up, as you believed the word of a man you had grown close to during your youth. Perhaps it was your mistake to believe the word of a Southron man, but you are not to blame for all that came after. Lyanna made the decision to run away, and Brandon made the decision to ride South. You did not make those for them.”
Eddard gripped his wife’s hand tighter. “I could not have asked for a better wife. I should be better to you than this. I should be taking care of you in every way you need. Instead you’re here, listening to my sobs.”
“You just came back from war, Ned. The first real war since the Dance of the Dragons. This was not a mere skirmish to our south.” the mother of 3 said. She took a deep breath. “One thing I do need to know, about the child my brother says you’ve brought home…”
“He is of my blood.” the brown-haired man quickly said. “I promised his mother to keep him safe.”
The Bolton woman simply nodded. “I will find you later. Do not blame yourself for it all.” and she left.
She went back to her children, as she knew her husband would find her once he was ready to talk.
In the nursery, her older two children were playing nicely with their nanny. However, her 3rd born had been joined by another baby who was not much older.
Where her own son had the Bolton blue eyes and his father’s chestnut brown hair, the other baby boy had raven hair and deep grey eyes. He did have the typical appearance of a Stark, just like Alaric and Cregan. He was indeed undeniably of Stark blood.
A Southron woman would have smothered the boy or gotten him thrown out of the window, but the noblewoman from the Dreadfort was not a Southron. Instead, she sat down next to the crib to look at them both. ‘They will grow up as brothers. Twins, even.’ she closed her eyes. ‘I will be a mother to him. Though I may not have given life to him, if my husband calls him his then he is mine too.’
She had made many vows during her wedding day under the heart tree of Winterfell. Vows that included protecting her husband’s kin, upholding the values of her new family, and upholding the values and customs of the North.
Bastard children were not spat on as they would be below The Neck. In the North, bastards were taken care of by the man who sired them or those who were kin to the child’s father. A Lord’s bastards were often raised alongside the trueborn children if there were plenty, or at a keep nearby.
Astrid had already given her lord husband 3 strong sons. A bastard son would not pose a danger to them, especially because she planned to have more children in the near future.
‘He does resemble my Cregan.’ the 18-year-old thought to herself.
------
Ned had written letters to the families of his fallen soldiers, like he had promised himself he would. He was tired, the horrors of war still playing behind his eyelids. He was still trying to cope with the truth that his foster brother’s rebellion had been based on a lie.
Although it was perhaps for the best that the Mad King was gone, none of the other Targaryens should have had to die for the crimes of one paranoid man. Those two small children should not have been murdered so brutally, Elia Martell should not have had to go through what she had before her murder, and Rhaegar should not have been killed either.
But all were dead, except those who were in exile on Dragonstone.
Queen Rhaella still lived with her only surviving son and a new baby growing in her belly. Yet they would likely be slaughtered too if Robert got his way.
‘I need to be able to do something.’ the Lord of Winterfell thought. ‘They are innocent children, no matter what everybody believes. Madness is not inherited, it is created through life experiences.’
As he thought about the Targaryens, his nephew popped into his mind.
The small dark-haired boy Lyanna had given birth to, a son sired by Rhaegar in wedlock. A child who held the Targaryen claim firmly, a boy who should be King now his elder half-siblings had been murdered.
Lyanna had named the boy Jacaerys, after the firstborn son of Queen Rhaenyra, who came to Winterfell to meet with Lord Cregan Stark and had been his secret lover. And now the trueborn King of Westeros would be raised in Winterfell among his mother’s kin, far away from King’s Landing.
The Warden of the North had claimed the boy as his own bastard. It would give him unrestricted authority on the boy’s education, send him to Greywater Watch for a couple of years, or even all the way to Dorne. He knew he had to tell Astrid eventually that the boy was his nephew.
He had re-named the boy Jon, hiding his real name behind a name he would have given to a son of his own.
His goodbrother Roose Bolton had already looked at him as if he were filth when he had presented the boy to his fellow Northmen, as if Eddard was unworthy of his sister. And honestly, he did sometimes feel like he did not deserve Astrid.
Eddard had met the daughter of Lord Rogar Bolton and Lady Jeyne Stout after he returned from the Vale, when his father sent him on an errand in the Bolton lands. He had only been 14 at the time, but he had immediately fallen in love with the 11-year-old. He loved her because she was a true Northern woman, devoted to their old ways of life. When he told his lord father, Rickard had immediately seen an opportunity to forever bind House Bolton to House Stark, eliminating a threat from within.
Their betrothal was soon arranged, and they were wed after Lady Astrid’s 14th name day.
In their courtship of 3 years, they had been able to truly get to know each other. They had travelled often to each other’s ancestral seat, sharing numerous dinners with companions in the room to make sure nothing untoward happened between them, and they had both wanted this marriage despite its political nature.
Through Astrid, the blood of House Bolton would enter the Stark lineage. It would make them kin.
The secondborn son of Rickard and Lyarra Stark left his solar, choosing to seek out his beloved children. He knew they were most likely in the nursery with their nanny, with Robb and Jon in their shared crib.
Yet what he found there stunned him.
His wife, his beloved wife and mother of his 3 sons, was feeding her husband’s ‘bastard’ from her own breast as if she had given him life. She was singing softly to him as her blue eyes connected with the boy’s grey ones, Lyanna’s eyes.
‘What did I do to deserve this woman?’ the 21-year-old asked himself. He leaned against the doorframe, watching the peaceful scene before him with a smile on his face.
The woman of House Bolton looked up at her husband, offering him a smile in return.
The young warrior let his shoulders slouch a little as he entered the room. His oldest son immediately flocked to him, so he picked the boy up. “Hello Alaric.”
“I’m glad you’re back, daddy.” the innocent little 3-year-old said, hugging his father’s chest. “Missed you.”
“I missed you too. All of you. I hope you have been taking care of your little brothers for me?”
Alaric nodded. “As I promised, daddy.”
The grey-eyed man kissed his firstborn’s forehead. “Good. Now, daddy will need some alone time with mommy and the babies. Why don’t you take your little brother and find your cousin to play with?”
The oldest of 3 nodded. When he was put on the ground, he went with his nanny and Cregan.
“They did miss you terribly.” the 18-year-old whispered to her husband. “As did I. Though for different reasons. I was terribly horny during the fourth month of my pregnancy.”
Ned kissed his wife’s forehead. “I sincerely hope I will not have to leave you again in such a state.” he then knelt on one knee in front of her. “I hope you can forgive me for my dishonourable behaviour.”
“I can forgive many things, but I want the full truth.” the sister to the Lord of the Dreadfort said.
The Warden of the North closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Will you promise me to not tell another soul unless I agree that it should be told?”
The young woman raised an eyebrow but did not comment. “I do, I swear it on our children’s lives.”
Eddard gave her a brief smile before drawing a deep breath. “Jon, as I named him for now, is my nephew.” he looked into her sapphire blue eyes. “He’s Lyanna’s.”
For a moment, the black-haired woman blinked, and her calculating gaze betrayed her thought. Horror dawned on her face as she realised who the father of the baby was. “Was it… is he…” she could not speak the words, but her husband knew what she was implying.
“There was no rape involved.” the Lord of Winterfell whispered to her. “They were willingly wed.”
Relief dawned on his Lady’s face. “I am grateful for that part.” she crinkled her nose. “Not that I blame your sister. Baratheon was a manwhore and at least Rhaegar had a pretty face.”
Grey eyes went wide as she said those words.
“Don’t look at me like that!” Astrid slapped her beloved’s arm. “Women all around the realm agreed that Rhaegar had good looks. They said the same about Brandon.”
The 21-year-old let out a deep breath, looking relieved. “Thank you for accepting this so quickly.”
The mother of 3 kissed her husband’s lips. “I vowed to protect your kin. So I will.” she looked down at her nephew, who had let go of her nipple and was squirming like a happy baby. “Let’s be glad he does not have his father’s looks, though you may have been able to disguise that by claiming his mother was a Dayne. I heard the heir of Starfall has silver hair and purple eyes.”
The Quiet Wolf gave his beloved a thankful look. He should probably give his wife all of his attention tonight, both mentally and physically. There was much to catch up on, including their intimate life. “Shall I escort you to your chambers, my Lady?”
“In a little bit. Why don’t you hold your sons for a bit? They need to be physically close to their father too.”
------
That evening, Astrid was thoroughly pleasured by her husband.
His mouth had been everywhere on her, he had fucked her cunt numerous times and sucked her teats until she was well and truly exhausted to the point of falling asleep in his arms.
It was during her sleep, as she was held tight by her warrior husband, that she received a vision.
She saw Harrenhal, the Isle of Faces, a Green Man with glowing emerald eyes whispering for her to come. She saw the ancestor of House Stark, Brandon of the Bloody Blade, repent for his sins against the Children. She saw how the Northmen, by alliance of House Stark and House Bolton, defeated Argos Sevenstar at the Battle of the Weeping Water. She saw Maesters of the Citadel whispering the word ‘abomination’ when talking about Northmen and Valyrians.
The vision startled her, waking her up with a shock.
Apparently, her awakening was so violent that her husband also woke.
“Did you have a nightmare?” the Warden immediately asked.
The young woman shook her head. “No. It was a vision.” she slowly lay her head back down on the soft pillow. “A Green dream. I saw flashes of the past.”
Ned kissed his wife’s shoulder. He was fully aware of the sanctity of such an ability. It was why he had hesitated to take Lord Howland Reed with him to Dorne, as the crannogman was known to have Greensight and would need to pass it on to another generation.
His own bloodline was filled with powerful skinchangers. His ancestors had had direwolf companions through whose eyes they could see to scout prior to battle. He himself had seen the Trident through the eyes of a raven, though that was more accident than anything else.
“The Green Men on the Isle of Faces are calling to me.” the blue-eyed woman stated.
“Are you sure you should travel? You did recently give birth.”
The Lady of Winterfell rolled her eyes. “Over three moons ago now. I am well enough to travel. And if it soothes your worry, I will travel to Moat Cailin with Benjen.”
“It only soothes me partially.” the grey-eyed man said. “At the very least take someone with you.”
“I’ll ask one of the crannogmen to accompany me then. But I will go to the Isle of Faces.”
Chapter Text
Ned let out a deep sigh.
It had been over 8 moons since his beloved wife departed for the Isle of Faces, and he had received messages from Lord Reed when she passed through The Neck.
He had been running Winterfell almost on his own. He had been able to rely on his goodbrother Roose and his wife Bethany during their extended stay. However, they had recently gone back to the Dreadfort to run their own keep.
For 3 months, he had been doing most duties alone.
And he really could not understand how his wife had juggled most of it for a year, albeit with Benjen’s help, who had temporarily been the Castellan.
So when Lord Reed sent him a raven with the message that his beloved was returning to Winterfell, the Warden of the North was both relieved and excited. Relieved that she was alive and well, and excited to see her again. He could not wait to have his wife in his arms again and make love to her all night.
Astrid returned to their home in the dead of night, suddenly standing in her husband’s solar as he was working late to make sure all was for the upcoming days.
“My love, you’re back.” Eddard smiled at her fondly. He did not know how, but his wife looked even more attractive to him than before. He noticed that her eyes seemed brighter and her skin less pale. “How was it in the riverlands? Did you find what you were looking for?”
The Bolton woman chuckled. “I found it, and more.” she slid onto her husband’s lap, forcing his back against the backrest of the chair. “There will be a war of succession for the Iron Throne, no matter what people decide to do. So we will have to position ourselves to have the best outcome possible for our nephew. Stark blood will sit on the Iron Throne, no matter how the game is played. But we can play it so our children face minimal grief in life.”
The Lord of Winterfell nodded. “I will submit to your wisdom, my Lady.”
“And I have got much more to show you, my Lord. Accompany me to the bedroom, and you may find out.”
Jory Cassel, Captain of Lord Stark’s guards, had barely slept that night.
Though he was used to his Lord and Lady being loud in bed, that night had been particularly loud.
He had not even received a warning when, during the hour of the wolf, the married couple’s lovemaking began. He had heard their voices spewing profanities as they fucked for hours. He had heard many love declarations pass his Lord’s lips as he made his Lady moan in pleasure.
Everyone in Winterfell had heard their liege lord profess his love for his wife at least once, and every household guard had most certainly gotten an ear full. Everyone knew that, despite the political aspect of their betrothal, they had married for love. It made for a peaceful household and a happy family despite the hardships House Stark had faced since that incident at Harrenhal 3 years ago that kicked off a whole slew of events.
Currently, Lord Stark was seated at the main table with his beloved wife, their 3 young sons, and the young Jon Snow. He looked relieved to have her back, the stormcloud grey in his eyes lighter than it had ever been. He could look terrifying when provoked, like he had been on the battlefield, but now he looked like a sap.
‘At least their marriage won’t be over for quite some time.’ the Captain remarked to himself. ‘I’ll get an ear full of their lovemaking again, but fights are worse.’
Fights between married couples were the worst.
The Lord and Lady of Moat Cailin fought often, and their household guard had complained about it during their entire stay in Winterfell. There was definitely no love between the Lord and his political wife, even though they now had a son just as old as little Robb.
Cassel loved those boys like they were his own sons, and he would protect them with his life. Even his Lord’s bastard was under the protection of the household guard.
Roose Bolton had been called back to Winterfell by his sister.
He had begrudgingly ridden there, leaving his ailing wife and son back at the Dreadfort. He had not exactly been happy when his sister suddenly left Winterfell, but that had at least bettered his relationship with his goodbrother as he’d been able to see Ned Stark’s devotion to Astrid and their children.
Not once had the man been tempted to take a whore to bed, though many had tried to seduce the Lord of Winterfell now his wife was not available. Like he had learned from the moment his bastard had been put into his arms to never bring dishonour to his wife again.
‘Perhaps that’s why he keeps that boy around. A reminder to stay loyal to the woman he pledged himself to before the Gods.’ the Lord of the Dreadfort had thought to himself.
Once he arrived at Winterfell, he was escorted to his sister’s solar.
“Hello brother, it has been too long.” the married woman said with a smirk.
“Never run off like that again.” the father of 1 surviving trueborn huffed.
The Lady of Winterfell just smirked. “My dear brother, would you say that again if I tell you that I find out how we can raise our House back to its original prominence?”
The Bolton man narrowed his eyes, but smirked. “I am listening, sister.”
“The boy he brought home as his bastard, Jon Snow.” Astrid began. “The boy is not actually his.”
At that, the 29-year-old frowned. “Then why the fuck didn’t he say so?”
The Warden’s wife rolled her eyes before she continued. “Jon was born to my goodsister Lyanna. She gave him a different name, Jacaerys, befitting of his paternal lineage. He is trueborn, and the current King’s rival for the Iron Throne.”
“Do you want to get the kid and your husband killed or something?” Roose asked.
“No.” the 19-year-old firmly replied. “I want Jon on the throne. I want to be known as a woman who raised a King. And I am going to need your help to set a few things in motion while I convince my stubborn husband that there is honour in this.”
The only son of Lord Rogar Bolton and Lady Jeyne Stout hummed as his own brain kicked in motion. At least now he understood why his goodbrother had claimed the boy to be his own, and the boy’s pure Stark look made the lie convincing. It was not in Ned Stark’s nature to murder children, as he had looked on in horror and gone pale when he saw the mutilated bodies of the Targaryen children.
But the thought of becoming known as one of the men who engineered the re-emergence of the Targaryen dynasty and an increased status did make him feel a certain way.
“My dearest sister, how could I ever refuse more power than I already have?” Lord Bolton questioned, a grin plastered on his face. “What do you have in store for me?”
“A prominent spot in King’s Landing in my nephew’s court. After all, he will need the advice of someone with a mind for these games and a woman cannot be Hand of the King.” Lady Stark replied. “Plus, I need you to round up any bastards you may have. I know you are a fan of the first night. I can use any sons you may have to set up a Kingsguard, and your daughters could be used as spies.”
The Lord of the Dreadfort hummed. “Hand of the King, eh?” he scratched his chin. “That sounds even better than Warden of the North. How about your husband?”
“Ned would not want such a position. He despises southern court politics and wishes to have as little to do with it as possible. He’ll just want to remain Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. He has no ambition beyond that, very characteristic for a second son I might add.”
“Guess I am in luck then. I’m glad his quiet nature is at least good for something.”
Notes:
Until the remainder of this fic is done, only the prologues will be published.
Clausewitz1990 on Chapter 1 Sun 14 Dec 2025 09:07PM UTC
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hypnos45 on Chapter 1 Mon 15 Dec 2025 06:14PM UTC
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