{1} Tower of Sorrow

                               { Eddard Stark }

                                  \ — — — — /

Seven riders crossed under the hot windswept sky as the blazing sun beat down on them. Even the air itself was dry in the barren mountains of Dorne around the Princes Pass. The riders ascended a rocky ridge that was clear of life and from atop it they could see the tower. It was a squat stone drum tower without a curtain wall or any form of defences. 'I'm nearly there Lyanna. I've come to save you.'

They were seven and they rode fast from Storms End after the Redwyne and Tyrell Lords dripped their banners and ended their siege. They spent only a single night in the castle being hosted by Stannis Baratheon before the seven departed with great haste rushing through the Dornish Marches and into the Red Mountains of Dorne.

From the ridge they could see the towers base and the three figures that stood in the towers shadow. The sun glinted off the silver of their armour and a breeze swept their pristine white cloaks up in a swirl of fabric. It was clear to the seven riders who it was that stood vigil outside the tower. The six followed their liege Lord down the dirt track until they stood close enough to make out the white cloaks faces.

Eddard Stark moved his horse slightly ahead of his companions and looked at the three waiting knights. Ser Gerold Hightower stood to the left, his white cloak swaying gently in the breeze as he calmly unsheathed his longsword from his side. He was old now nearing his fiftieth year but he was still strong as the bull which he derived his name. The White Bull they called him, old he maybe but he served for over thirty years and was as skilled a swordsman as any knight alive today, except for the man beside him.

To the left was Ser Oswell Whent he sat stooped in the dirt casually as he dragged a whetstone slowly down his naked blade in long strokes. The sound of stone on steel echoed through the silence as he stood, nodded to his brothers and put in his helmet. Only then did he look at the young Northern Lord and malice shone through the slits of his helmet and a magnificent helmet it was with the an obsidian black bat of House Whent adorning the top with its wings spread wide.

The third man stood between the two and he was the most dangerous of them all, the most dangerous man on Westeros and the most well respected. He was Ser Arthur Dayne, The Sword of the Morning. His white and silver armour was pristine where Ser Oswell's was sand dirtied and Ser Gerold's was battered. His famous greatsword Dawn jutted from the sand where it had been stabbed and hanging from the pommel was Ser Arthur's gilded whit helm. He nodded to Lord Stark respectfully which was more than his brothers had done and Eddard returned the gesture with a nod from his horse.

"Lord Stark." He said tonelessly

"Ser." Eddard said but there was a chill to his voice, despite being the greatest knight of the time and despite the fact he was only upholding his oath to his King this was still the man who had helped Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon, abduct his sister.

"I looked for you on the trident." He said to the knight, dropping from his horse to the sound of weapons being drawn by his companions behind him who remained in their saddles.

"We weren't there." Ser Arthur replied plainly.

"Woe to the Usurper and his dogs had we been." Ser Gerold sounded tired as he said it but he snarled the word Usurper and directed the word Dog pointedly at the Lord.

"Ser Barristan the Bold bent his knee to Robert after Rhaegar died. Ser Jamie bloodied his golden sword when he saw the throne was lost. I thought you might do the same." He said in a tone that suggested he knew it to be fruitless.

"Our wills are not so weak as our false brothers." Ser Oswell sneered as he clenched his left hand in an angry twitch.

"I thought to find you once Redwyne and Tyrell bent their knees and dipped their banners? You were not there." Lord Stark said, his eyes passing to each man before him, judging their faces.

"Our knees do not bend easily." Ser Arthur definitely responded.

"The Mad King is dead, your beloved Rhaegar lies beneath the ground, your brothers of White died in service of the Iron Throne. Where were you?" Eddard asked as a small man in green raiment spurred his horse forward beside his lord.

"Our prince wanted us here." Ser Oswell snarled with venom in his voice but the Quite Wolf did not respond except to rest his hand on the dirk at his belt.

"Willem Darry has fled to Dragonstone, with Prince Viserys and your pregnant Queen. I thought you might be with them." Eddard said lightly.

"Willem is a good man, and true." Ser Gerold acknowledged. "But not of the Kingsguard." He pointed out.

"The Kingsguard do not flee." Ser Arthur insisted.

Lord Stark glanced to the tower behind the three, there was a window at the tower, an expensive thing made of dyed glass that made slime pattern that was too far away to see clearly. "Where is my sister?" He asked them.

Ser Arthur did not reply instead he only lifted his helmet and secured it to his head, lowering the visor then pulling his greatsword from the sand. It was truly a beautiful blade, forged from a falling star. It's blade was pale as pale as milkglass and sharp as Valyrian steel. It's cross guard was studded with purple gems and a large star shaped amethyst was impeded in its pommel.

In response to the action Lord Stark unsheathed his own greatsword that Howland Reed held down to him from atop his horse. It was a Valyrian steel blade named ice and had been in the possession of House Stark since for an age. Grasping the large weapon pommel first he pulled it from its leather bound scabbard. Unlike Dawn it had no gems or gilded metal as it was a Stark blade and in their eyes only a tool to be used not jewellery to he displayed and flaunted.

Of the six companions, five of were Northern Lords and Eddards closest friends, and one was the squire for Brandon Stark. All of them sent their horses forward a pace as Ser Oswell and Lord Commander Gerold raised their blades but they moved no further than that.

"You followed your orders, I cannot fault you for that. Each of you are true knights but you are three, we are seven. You will not win." He spoke in a matter of fact tone that brokered no argument.

"Give me my sister and I will let you take the black and live your lives at the Wall." Lord Stark offered.

"No." Ser Oswell snarled.

"We swore a vow." The Lord Commander echoed his agreement.

"You against me Stark." The Sword of the Morning suggested and Eddard nearly turned it down knowing it to be a death sentence to fight Ser Arthur Dayne in single combat. That was until he heard a scream from the tower. "Ned!" The pained screamed echoed. As Eddard looked into Ser Arthur's eyes and saw the sorrow and pity in the purple pools of sadness the logic left him and he gave a curt nod.

"Now it begins." Ser Arthur said sadly.

"No. Now it ends." He responded just as with a sad tone but his soul was alight with fury.

They both erupted with flurries of sword strokes. The pale blade of Dawn against the dark rippling steel of Ice. A fallen star against Valyrian steel. For a moment they seemed evenly matched. Just a moment. A single fleeting moment when Lord Stark matched the Sword of the Morning, blow for blow. That moment ended. An overhead crash sent him back a pace. A swipe made him duck. A slash made him block. A stab at his chest was hastily avoided.

Then the painted window from the tower flew open and a woman leaned out. "M'lords! M'lords!" She bellowed but was ignored. "A BOY!" The word echoed and Ser Arthur hesitated. His world was shaken by the news, a boy just as Rhaegar had promised. Eddard however had been pushed to the edge of his ability and in the moment of respite he did not even realise the woman was shouting only that Ser Arthur had stopped. He did not question why he only moved. I slash and Ser Arthur's sword arm was severed at the elbow and he went crashing to the floor following closely behind his blade.

Ser Oswell raised his blade but was cowed by Ser Gerold who rushed to his downed brothers side. The six dismounted and approached, taking their weapons and seeing to Ser Arthur's wound but Ned had no eyes for any of the chaos happening around him. He rushed through the tower, up the stairs, passed the stained glass window and into a dark room that smelled of death. Women bustled around a bed where Lyanna lay.

Ice clattered to the ground with a crash as Ned rushed to his sisters side, ignoring the protest and comments of the panicked women. "Lyanna, sister I'm here. I'm here." He raised her hand to his lips and placed a kiss upon it. It tasted of blood. Why did it taste if blood. Her chest rose and fell softly as she slowly opened her eyes to see her brother.

"Ned. Sweet Ned. Quite Ned. Promise me you'll protect him. Keep him safe. Keep him away from Robert." She pleaded, raising her other hand from her stomach to his face. He didn't have time to think about who 'he' was that she asked him to protect because the hand that touched his face was wet with blood and her clumsy fingers left bright red streaks on his face.

"My son, keep him safe. Keep him safe." She pleaded.

"Son? Lya, darling sister. You have a son." Tears filled his eyes as he shouted for a Maester, no one came.

"Promise me Ned! Promise me." She pleaded again and he nodded because it was all he could do.

"He's my blood Lya, like your my blood and I will make sure he's safe, I promise you that." Tears began to fall then as the bustle of the room came back to him, a child was crying in the corner but Ned had not realised it "Aegor" she whispered. He glanced to the child for but a moment then back to his sister. When he looked back to his precious, darling, wild little sister her chest no longer rose or fell  and her grip on his hand felt looser.