Chapter 1: Ned Stark's Lament

Note: This novel caught my eye online, and since the original author hardly writes anymore, I figured I would give it a shot. Anyway, now that's out of the way, let's start the journey.

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"Gods damn who ever raised this cursed tower to all the seven hells!" Ned snarled as he took the steps four at a time.

His foot missed a landing and he tripped forwards, barley managing to get his hands up in time before both of his forearms slammed onto the very edge of a set of stairs "Fuck!"

Scrambling up to gain purchase, he resumed his frenzied run. A distant part of his mind could acknowledge footsteps behind him, but he gave them no heed.

He almost tumbled forward again when a scream of pain cut through through the sound of his laboured breaths and pounding feet with almost physical force, before righting himself and leaping forwards again. "Lyanna!"

Please gods, let her be safe. Please, please, please

His head feels too heavy, his breaths too loud as he finally (Gods it's been a year) slams open the door that stands between him and his sister.

He doesn't know what he expected (that's a lie. He expected his sister. He expected vibrant, brave and fierce Lyanna, who rode a horse better than all of them put together, who picked up an arming sword and knocked Brandon on his ass when he laughed at her, the girl who was the face of everything that was good in the North.)

The girl on the bed before him is a pale shadow of the sister he remembered. Skin pale. Drenched in sweat, hair mattered with and stuck to her forehead, and white dress soaked with blood, so much blood, why is there so much -

Ned startles as a grip (weak, so weak, why why why) closes around his wrist. Grey eyes, so familiar and at the same time so different focus on him "Ned? Is that really you?"

It's the voice that convinces him, that tells him that this isn't a cruel jape but the cruel truth instead. Weaker, softer than he remembers it, but Lyanna voice is unmistakable.

Falling to his knees besides her bedside, he grips her hand firmly, and gives her a smile that was equal parts relief and dread. He tries to speak, but the words die in his throat and all that leaves his mouth is a shaky breath. He tightens his grip.

Lyanna's smile is heartbreaking, more so than the fresh tears that spring to her eyes "You're not a dream?"

"No I'm not a dream." Almost instinctively, his free hand brushes the hair from her eyes and rests on her head(she's here she's here she's here) "I'm here. Right here."

She laughs, and the sound is relief and grief given form "I've missed you, big brother"

Ned's expression crumples, and his tears are suddenly falling freely "Me too"

The words seem pathetic to him. incapable of summing up the tide of emotion that's washing over him.

"Gods" Lyanna cries freely "Ned I-"

"Hush" Ned tries (begs) gently " It's alright. They told-"

"Ned Ned Ned" She speaks his name like a mantra and he stops "I'm trying to be brave"

"You are!" Ned tries, because she is. Lyanna was nothing if not brave. "Yo-

She raises a bloodstained hand and Ned can feel something in his chest curl up and die, leaving a pit of hollowness in it's wake

"I'm not" she shakes her head "I don't want to die."

"You're not going to die." The lie tastes like ash in his mouth. And Ned knows his sister knows it too, from the way she shakes her head.

The grief suddenly ignites into fury, and he whirls on the woman behind him, who rears back in fear "Get her some water!" The words are garbled, and heavy, and Ned hates himself for it

Behind him, Lyanna starts "No, no water"

"Is there a measter?". The woman only shakes her head sadly. He chokes on a sob and turns to his sister once more

"Please listen to me" and Ned wants to scream when he realises that her voice is weaker than before (she's dying right in front of him). He leans towards her, so she can whisper in his ear "Protect him, Ned. If Robert finds out, he'll kill him. You know he will. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned. Promise me."

Ned thinks about Robert, how he sat on the iron throne and stared down at Rhaegar's butchered children and declared them dragon spawn

"I promise"

"Liar"

Ned starts, as Lyanna's sickly visage twists with rage and hate. He jumps back, but her hand shoots out and grasps his wrist, and this time her grip may as well be steel. Suddenly, they're not in the Tower of joy, but a place Ned knows with the same familiarity. Overhead, the vaulted ceiling of the crypts of Winterfell looms, the Dornish heat of the tower replaced with a more familiar, dry, cold air. Ned looks down, and fear grips his heart. Lyanna pale skin has turned mottled, and bloated, her face beastly. Half of her hair is gone, reveallng an equally horrifying scalp. Her hand is skeletal, and the nails on her fingers are gnarled and twisted. They tighten on his wrist and draw blood.\

"Liar" She snarled, and it's only as she draws herself up that Ned realises that her bed has been replaced with an open tomb. Her tomb "You promised me you would protect him"

"I did" Ned cries desperately "I am, Lyanna I swear-

"Liar!" She screams and her other hand wraps closes his throat "Bastard, they call him. My son, a trueborn son of Stark blood, shamed in his own home ! Because of you!"

"What was I to do?"

"Protect your kin from those who would seek to hurt them" Another voice calls out, and Ned's blood turns to ice once more "Protect him. Yet you failed him as you failed us"

You let your outsider whore of a wife shun him in our own halls" Brandons' face was purple, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, a noose wrapped around his throat "Coward"

Rickard Stark steps into view, his face a lump of charred, melted skin and exposed, blackened bone, his armour red hot and dripping with every step he takes "Failure!"

"Liar" Lyanna screamed

"Coward" Brandon snarled

"Failure" Rickard spat

"No I swear" He struggled to breathe, to speak and defend himself, but what could he say? And then their hands reached for him and he closed his eyes-

"Ned"

He shot up, a ragged scream cutting off abruptly. Blinking, he turned to stare at his wife's concerned look. The lord's chambers in WInterfell were always plenty warm, courtesy of the water that flowed through them from the underground hot springs and back again, but Ned had never found them more uncomfortable than he did now. Slipping from beneath the covers, he slipped his clothes on.

"Ned-'

"Just a dream, Catelyn" He assured her quietly. Wrapped in their covers, and staring at him, he could see he'd worried her greatly. These dreams were not a nightly occurrence, but nor were they few and far between. Eventually she nodded "Will you return to bed?"

He shook his head, and raised his hand when she went to argue "I just need a walk, Cat. To clear my head"

Else the grief and guilt would drown him once again.

"Gods forgive me"

...

A little while later, Ned stood on the ramparts of Winterfell, sighing deeply as he gazed at the wild expense of the North. The oldest, largest and harshest of all the seven kingdoms, but it had an enthralling beauty none the less.

"Jon Snow"

The thought of his bastard son (his true born nephew in truth) rose unbidden. The boy was every bit the stark in looks, and Ned's very image according to just about any Northerner who met him. But they weren't Ned. They couldn't see the slightly shorter face, the delicate features that his colouring disguised.

'They can't see the Targaryen in him' Ned thought grimly 'And he's all the better for it'

At four namedays old. the boy was, in Maester Luwin's own words, Brilliant. He was polite, courteous, mores than any child Ned had ever met. He took to his lessons like a duck to the water, and his skills with his numbers and letters were leaps and bounds beyond even Robb ( A fact that led to no small amount of anger on Catelyn's part). But the oddest thing about him was his intelligence.

Ned leaned forwards as he thought. The boy learned too quickly, and in the rare occasions he spoke, he did it with a good deal more eloquence than any child Ned had ever met (or heard of, in any case). Though Ned found no fault in it, he was well aware that the denizens of the castle were uncomfortable, and that rumours of Eddard Stark's bastard had spread to Winter town already. Though none dare speak infant of Ned, or the boy for the matter. Not since his unofficial sword shield, who went by Alaric of Pentos these days near killed a guardsman who'd taken it upon himself to teach the boy 'his place' for trying to sneak out after curfew. For what purpose, Ned couldn't fathom, but the fact of the matter was that it had ended with a man beat near death, and Ned himself had the man dismissed once he found out who had occurred. Since then, not a should had spoken out against Jon Snow where he Ned or Alaric could hear . Northerners may be stubborn and brash, but they weren't idiots.

No, it wasn't those rumours that bothered Ned. It was the rest. The ones that sprung when people looked at Jon Snow, with his quite nature and stark colouring, with his keen mind and courteous nature and compared him with his other(only) son Robb, who was yet a child, with all the manners that implied and his distinctive Tully colouring. Ned had yet to see Catelyn so wroth as when she first heard the rumours of "The heir that should have been"

Ned snorted derisively "If only they knew"

But they wouldn't. Not ever. That was a secret Ned had vowed to take straight to his grave. Perhaps, when Jon was older, he would tell him. By then, the boy will have found a place for himself in the world, perhaps as the master of arms at winter fell, a prestigious position for a bastard, or even as maester or man of the Knights watch. Though perhaps not the Watch. Benign had joined, (All to willing to leave him once the truth had come out, once neither could stand to face the other without hating the other for their sins) but he was not blind to it's pitiful state and the quality (or lack thereof) of it's men.

Regardless, He would find a place for his son to prosper. Robert's reign would be secure, and Jon would accept his position in life. Gods he hoped he would. Ned loved the boy as if he was truly his own, oddities and all, and he wouldn't stand see him toss his life away for a throne that he no longer had any claim to.

Perhaps he'd even tell Catelyn then. Gods know he hated having to lie to her, and hated himself all the more when she brought up sending the boy she was so cruel to away (her own nephew, if only by marriage) . But no matter what, Jon would stay, his secret would remain just that and he will never sit the iron throne.

"No matter what anyone thinks" he whispered softly into the night, mind drifting to Jon's protector.

Perhaps Ned could speak to Ser Rodrick about starting Jon's martial lessons early. The boy was nearing five name days, and far too young to lift even a wooden training sword, but he could begin to shadow Ser Rodrick, and learn in the coming years the responsibility of a master at arms. Yes, Yes. With any luck, Catelyn would mellow out, Jon would take his place at his brother's side in the future and everyone would (finally) be at peace.

...​

Not two moons later, Ned Stark would be found by his terrified wife, weeping in his demolished solar, cursing himself, the gods, and everything in between and begging the ghosts of the past for forgiveness.

Ravens would fly to every great keep in the North, and many beyond, bearing grim tidings.

Jon Snow, bastard son of Eddard Stark had been kidnapped by a man of Winterfell, Alaric of pentos.

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A/N: My first story ever, though not for lack of trying

Please leave any reviews and comments, I'm excited to hear what people think. If you don't like it, please be courteous about it.

Next Chapter: The Boy Who Would Be King