Chapter Text
283 A.C.
Tower of Joy
Eddard "Ned" Stark
Ned had reached the tower, his friends beside him. Proud Martyn Cassel; the crannogman, Howland Reed; Willem Dustin, upon his red stallion, faithful Theo Wull; Ethan Glover, who had been Brandon’s squire; and Ser Mark Ryswell, of soft speech and of gentle heart. Each of these men bled and suffered losses alongside him, and for that, he had nothing but complete respect for and trust in them. When Ned planned to travel south, they gladly volunteered without question.
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They were seven against three.
The three whitecloaks, were no ordinary three. There was Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning; Ser Oswell Whent, the Black Bat clad in white; and between them stood Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull. Their cloaks bellowed in the wind fiercely, as they stood, motionless and staring at Ned and his friends.
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“I looked for you on the trident,” Ned said to them.
“None of them were,” a woman’s voice boomed from inside of the tower. Out of the darkness, emerged a woman; slender and flat-chested with sun-kissed brown skin, golden eyes that could pierce armor, and ivory white hair shorter than Ned’s own. She was dressed in a form-fitted bodysuit of black scales with cutouts for her fingers and shoulders. A burning heart embroidered on her chest area. She had two swords holstered at her sides; their pommels shaped like dragon heads, mouths agape with ruby eyes. Around her waist was a transparent, scarlet cloth that dragged behind her. Next to her was another man, lean, tall and orange haired in simple olive green tunic, wielding a greatsword. “Although, I will admit that I myself came here from there.”
“Who are you?” Ned asked the woman.
“Only the Starks that peak my interest get to know my name.” she looks at Ned and cackles like a hen. “And you are no such Stark. But I will say that you may address me simply as… Fyreheart.”
She walks forward, partially closing the gap between them, but not enough to be arm’s length. “What brings you around these parts, Ned? Shouldn't you and your foster family be celebrating. You’ve avenged your father and brother, and the Targaryen children are-”
“Tywin Lannister had them killed, not me,” Ned grunted. The memory of their bloody corpses clung to him still. No child should have to answer for their father’s misdeeds, he thought silently to himself. “I told Robert that the Lannisters should be punished for their actions. What they did, only dishonored Robert’s cause. I wanted no part of that murder.”
“Yet Tywin, his men and his oathbreaker-of-a-son all still have their heads, and reside south of Castle Black. Why is that, Ned? Had your ancestor the old man of the North, Cregan Stark been in your position, the Lannisters, sure-as-all-7-hell, would’ve been put to death or swearing their black-brother vows as we speak. You’ve have proven that you have enough backbone to go to war for justice and your family’s sake, yet you won’t bring justice for the innocent who were wrongfully killed in the fray. Or were their lives forfeit in your eyes? Is that why you didn't take actions into your own hands and let harsh words be all you’re good for? It would seem I’ve overestimated you; a most common of mistakes on my part-”
“Enough of this hogwash chatter, return my lord’s sister, the Lady Lyanna, you bitch.” Ethan Glover was as hotheaded as Brandon. Now Ned saw why Brandon had chosen him as a squire.
Fyreheart laughs again. “Bitch? Is that the best you can do? Even Brandon knew the fundamentals of swearing. Did he not teach you them, boy? I’ve been called a witch, a cunt, a monster, even a demon of the seventh hell. But bitch? You’ll have to do much better than that.”
“Mayhaps you’ll prefer my steel instead,” Ethan draws his sword and charges at Fyreheart who crosses her arms and smirks. Ned reaches out to grab Ethan’s shoulder, only to have Ethan shove his hand away. Ser Arthur was ready to rush to aid, but she simply held her hand up, stopping him in his tracks. Ethan raises his sword above his head, and brings it down with his full force, only to have Fyreheart block it with her own sword. Ned gasps at the fact that he didn't even see her do so. With some degree of force, Fyreheart throws Ethan on his arse and playful smirks as she swings the blade in one hand.
She laughs hysterically then. “Arthur, Oswell, Gerold, Duck, stay back. These men are all mine for the taking.”
The White Bull looks distraught by this. “You can’t possibly mean to fight them all by yourself.”
“I do,” she replied. “I was trained to fight worse odds than this. And it’s been a long time since I put my father’s teachings to use.” She wields her sword with both hands; the blade itself was black and curved slightly, with a series of ripples in it.
“I always wanted Valyrian Steel,” mocked Ethan.
“Then you shall have it,” she widens her stance and bends her knees greatly as she brings the sword closer to her body. “Dance with me Northmen, since you’re all so eager to die and meet your gods. Be sure to tell them who sent you, since there aren’t any Weirwood trees here in Dorne.”
Ned and the others drew their swords as well, spreading out to surround Fyreheart. “Listen, we don't have to fight, if you surrender, I’m sure Robert will be merciful like he has to Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime.”
“These knights aren’t scum like Barristan, or Jaime. Unlike Barristan and Jaime, these men take pride in the oaths they swore, and don't turncloak under any circumstances.” Fyreheart spat. “Barristan is a traitor. May he rot in hell for it. Oh, I nearly forgot…”
“What…?” Ned asked.
“Lyanna asked me not to hurt you, so I suggest you stand back, I’m sure she’d want to speak to you in one piece.”
“Ned don't listen to her,” spoke Howland. “She’s just lying because she knows she can’t beat us.”
She glares at Howland then. Ned noticed that Fyreheart was taller than Howland by a hair. “You will fall first, crannogman.” she hissed at him. “And so it begins.” She turned back to Ned and smirked.
“No,” Ned said with sadness in his voice. “Now it ends.” He draws his, wielding it with both hands. Lya, I be there soon, looked up at the tower.
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They were seven facing one.
Ethan throws himself back on his feet, his face red with anger. “I won’t be bested by some whore.” He rushes towards her again.
“New dog, but the same old tricks,” she swung her blade, and locked it together with his sword. She grabbed hold of the collar of his tunic, and knocked her head against his before using her knee to ram his crotch, and throwing him over herself and pinning him to ground. Ethan remains motionless on the ground after Fyreheart removes her grip on him. “Guess I was wrong, crannogman. You’re next…”
Ned tensed up in fear after watching Ethan Glover get subdued without much effort. Fyreheart then turns to face Howland. She casually walks towards him, but he stands his ground, despite his shaking. “Leave him be,” Willem Dustin and Martyn Cassel both charge towards her, only to her counter-charge towards them, drawing her second sword and blocking both of their swords, her arms hoisted into the air over her head. Willem and Martyn put their full force into keeping her that stance. Fyreheart soon got down on both knees with her swords holding up theirs.
“Hurry and pin her down,” Martyn Cassel groaned. Ned and the other four inch closer. But before they could grab her, Fyreheart released her swords from her grip.
Fyreheart wraps her arms around Willem’s torso, tackling him to the ground. She draws Willem’s own dagger and jabs it into his thigh. Willem Dustin hollers in pain. She takes the same dagger and slashes at Martyn Cassel’s thigh, forcing him to the ground as well.
Before getting back on her feet, Theo Wull tackles her. “Ned… Go to Lyanna!!!”
“I can’t just leave the rest of you to fight her alone.” Ned said to the man.
“We’ll hold her off.” Mark assured him.
Ned approaches the tower, only to see Ser Arthur bar his way.
“Arthur, let him go,” Fyreheart said. The Sword of the Morning stands aside, and Ned rushes up the stairs.
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Upon opening the door, Ned sees Lyanna, lying in a bed stained in her own blood and wilted rose petals everywhere. Ned dashes to his sister's bedside, falling to his knees and cupping her hand in his own.
"Lya...Lya," Ned cried out wholeheartedly with tears on verge of gliding down his face.
"Ned...is...is that...you..." Lyanna weakly opened her eyes, cracking a sad smile at the sight of him. "I am… sorry Ned, for everything. For running away and not telling you. I thought that I couldn't truly be honest with you or trust you, especially since Robert’s your friend.”
“To hells with Robert,” Ned said to her. “You can always trust me with the truth. I’m your brother for Gods’ sake Lya. Robert is the last person I’m gonna let hurt you. Let’s go home to Winterfell. I know it won’t be the same without father or Brandon, but you have to come home, Benjen is waiting for us. And I want you to get to know Cat and our son Robb. Please…”
Lyanna shakes her head with what little strength she had left. “I cannot go back with you to Winterfell… please Ned… please promise me… that you will… protect... my son… If Robert finds out about him, he’ll kill him. You have to protect him, promise me Ned…”
"I… promise." Ned said. “Lya… I promise…”
Lyanna smiles before closing her eyes. “I’m glad… s-she… didn't… hurt… you-” her breathing slows down before stopping altogether. Ned holds his sister for a long time after that, his grief overwhelming him, until a baby starts crying.
“Is that… is that her son?” he asks. The girl nervously nods her head. “May I hold him?” Wylla hands the child over to him, and he gasps in exasperation, the babe had Lyanna's brown hair and Rhaegar's indigo eyes. Those indigo eyes were looking at Ned now, wondering who he was no doubt. “What did she name him?” he asks Wylla, his voice soft.
"J-Jon," Wylla says.
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“What will be your next course of actions now, Eddard Stark?” Ned couldn’t even see Fyreheart’s face, the darkness outside the chamber shrouded her face completely. The only part of her he could see, were her fiery golden eyes that illuminated like embers. “How do you intend to keep your promise to Lyanna? Will you forsake the bonds of friendship to Robert and fight to put Jon on the throne? Or will you bide your time and build up support over the years?”
Ned looks up at her, meeting her menacing, luminescent, golden gaze, before looking back at Jon’s innocent eyes. “No I won’t. No one needs to know where it is that he came from. My companions will take the truth of his parentage to their graves if I asked them to do so. I promised Lya I’d protect her son, so I'll claim him as my bastard.”
“That’s It!!!!?” Her voice flared up with anger. Jon started crying again, before Fyreheart took him out of Ned’s arm, swaying him back and forth until he stopped. She hands him off to Wylla before whispering to Ned. “Raise him on the belief that he was a mistake born from you missing your wife’s bed; born of lust and shame. That he's worth nothing. You would have him grow up in the shadow of your son Robb, and have your wife Cat would despise him because she can’t stand the idea that you fucked another woman. And for what!!? Because you don't trust her with the truth? Are you that fearful that she’ll sell Jon out to Robert? I hope you realize this idea is terrible, even for you.”
“You’re wrong...” he said. “Cat is a good woman and she will do her duty. As for my son Robb, and any other children the Old Gods may grace me with, Jon will be raised alongside them. They'll eat their meals at the same table, warm themselves in the same hearth, learn from the same maester and be trained by the same master-at-arms. Jon and Robb will grow up as brothers, with nothing but love between them.”
“First of all, no Westerosi highborn lady willingly raises their husband’s bastard by another woman. Secondly, Cat will despise Jon, she’s that kind of woman, her mother Minisa was that kind of woman as well. Cat’s hatred for Jon will see her seat him as far away from her and your children at any time meals are given. Cat will also tell your children to have no sense of trust in him, saying bastards are treacherous by nature, to which Daemon Blackfyre has credited that statement to be true. Jon will always have that feeling like he doesn't belong in Winterfell, and then he’ll do something stupid like join the Night’s Watch, with the naivest and childish notion that he’ll find some form of fulfillment and personal glory in a place where such things could never exist. The worst part, he’ll live by your moral code, to which you yourself are a slave to. The outside world is a terrible place, and I want Jon to live a long and happy life, until he’s old and grey, with an abundance of children and grandchildren. Which means that your sense of morality will get him killed, long before his time. If I were to give him to you, I shall do him wrong, and Lyanna wrong. I will not do them wrong, I’d rather wrong those still dead and rotting on the Trident, wrong myself, and you before I wrong this child. You would have him be like most people; living and dying in the same hovels they started life in. I don't want him to be most people.”
"What would you have me do then?" Ned asked. “I can’t fight Robert. Not after we fought and bled alongside each other.”
“Right, cause your honor compels you to stay loyal to a man who would see your nephew killed to pacify his bloodlust towards his own father’s kin. I would have you prove that your love and loyalty for your family is stronger than your friendship to Robert. Set right the wrongs that you allowed to go unpunished.” Fyreheart gestures for Wylla to leave the room with the baby. Fyreheart turns to leave as well but Ned stops her. She looks over her shoulder towards him.
Ned feels his anger grow at Fyreheart’s words. “You may insult me and my honor, but you will never ever question my loyalty to my sister or my family, because my love for my sister and my family is real.” She turns around completely, sarcastically clapping her hands together and smirking.
“I never said it wasn't real, I said I need some convincing.” She coldly declares. She renters the chamber and plops down on the bedside next Lyanna’s corpse. “Forgive me Lya,” she mumbles as she reaches over her and sticks her hands under the pillow that Lyanna’s head rested on. Fyreheart pulls out a number of folded up papers and a book. She remained on her knees at Lya’s bedside, clasping her hands together, lowering her head and closing her eyes. She mumbled in completely different tongue; the only thing he heard that made sense was Tiababylo, as she said multiple times. Is it a name? he thought.
“What are you doing with those?” Ned asked. “And what did you just mumble?”
“Proof that Lyanna wasn't kidnapped or raped as so many believe.” She responded. All Ned wanted to do was lash out at her, but his body wouldn't obey, which is why he didn't stop her as she desecrated Lya’s body. “And for your information, I was praying for your sister’s soul, because some of us feel better knowing that the soul is beyond suffering.”
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“I just want to protect Jon,” he said as she tried to leave again. “Fighting Robert won’t accomplish that.”
“I want to protect Jon too, but I’m not going to ever stoop so low as to lie to him. And I thought men-of-honor always told the truth. I’m disappointed.” She turns to leave again. “I suggest you take your companions to Nightsong for medical attention. Since you fought alongside Robert, you’ll find no hospitality here in Dorne. I’m not threatening, I’m simply being ‘honest’.”
Like the wind, Fyreheart disappeared out of the room, she made no sounds going down the steps. Ned went over to his sister's bedside, only to notice a box poking out from under the bed. He turned to look over his shoulder and see if Fyreheart had noticed it too and planned to return. She didn't. Pulling the box out, he sees the three headed dragon of House Targaryen imprinted on it. Ned lifts the latches and opens the box, revealing something extraordinary, dragon eggs, three in all. One was Onyx, another Crimson, and the third was pale Silver.