8 Wolf and Stag

Grasshopper whizzing past his head, Jon heard the merry chirping of birds all around him. It hadn't been winter for years, but for him it always was a bit of a shock to see the north so vibrant and full of life. After listening to the tales and perceptions of many others from across the world, his home had the reputation of being rather bleak and lifeless. 'I wish Dany could have seen it.' Jon blinked back the urge to cry. No matter where his thought process shifted to, it always came back to the silver-haired princess. His love. His first. 'The wife of another.' He wouldn't cry, not again.

Another insect irritated his mount, causing her to neigh. "Easy girl,' Jon whispered, stroking the horse's head gently. A soft crunching drew his attention to Ghost, who was happily chewing on a grasshopper in his jaw. "Enjoy that snack boy. Nothing more till we get to Winterfell."

"Shouldn't be more than an hour away, I would think," his father stated, pointing to the sky. "Sun's directly above us, gonna be there right after lunch."

Jon nodded. "Hope so. All this riding is giving me aches."

"You'll get used to it, but not by much." The two of them shared chuckles, enjoying the quiet time together. 'He seems lighter, more confident underneath his sadness.' Ned would have been an idiot not to know why - they weren't being quite the masters at sneaking into each other's rooms. They had been lucky that only he noticed. 'Just like Lyanna,' he thought to himself. 'Can't resist the allure of a dragon.'

A commotion ahead of them drew their attention. Hoofbeats filled the air. "Father, something's ahead on the King's Road." Jon stilled his mount, Ghost starting to bark.

"I see that, son. Ride behind me." Urging the horse into a light gallop, Ned quickly approached the massive host. Eyes widened at the distinctive Stag and Lion sigels.

'Robert.'

It was always surreal for Ned Stark when he entered the Winterfell crypts. Nothing but a flickering light from the few torches to banish away the darkness, the dancing shadows that were cast on the sarcophagi of Starks long dead left him disconcerted most of the time - especially at the three youngest stone tombs. Added in not even two decades before. His brother and father, the latter's body too burned to be recognizable, and his beloved sister. The one King Robert Baratheon stood in front of, body stone still in grief still crippling. Lyanna.

"There's not a day that goes by where I don't miss her, Ned," the King ground out. A meaty hand rested on the dusty stone, almost reverently. As if a pilgrim touched an ancient relic.

Ned bit back the urge to draw his sword and sever the hand. 'You don't deserve to even speak about her.' Much as Robert was a friend to him, he was the cause of all of this - just as much as the Mad King. "She was an amazing woman," he finally said, voice heavy with sincere emotion. Ned did grieve for her, and wore it as a cloak against the bile. "Everyone loved her." Lyanna was the She Wolf of Winterfell, able to charm anyone into loving her. 'But she only loved one, a dragon.'

Tears welled in Robert's eyes. "The sad thing is, I barely even remember her face." He laughed half-heartedly, likely to keep from crying. "What could have been, Ned," the King announced, grasping the Warden of the North's shoulder. "The two of us, bound in blood as well as friendship. A stronger alliance emerging out of the ashes of the dragonspawn." Grief morphed quickly into anger. "I'll kill every single one of them. Every last Targaryen in this world, in her name. She deserves that justice."

'Even her child? The one she and her true husband loved?' The King's anger was still not tempered by time, burning white hot against the house that stole his beloved from him. Hiding Jon in plain sight only increased in importance, given what had happened in Essos. It were times like this that truly tested the famed honor of Lord Eddard Stark. Much as he loved Robert, he hated him just as much.

'Tell him, Ned.' Ned sighed, knowing there was going to be no better time. Robert was alone with him, and it was far less likely that he'd go into a homicidal rage when in Lyanna's presence. "Robert," Ned said, clasping both of the man's shoulders. "You do know that I would never betray you."

The king snorted, eyes narrowing in confusion. "Well of course, Ned. What in Seven Hells are you talking about?"

Best out with it. "Do you know who are the remaining Targaryens are?"

Rage crossed back on Robert's face. "Yeah, the last two of the Mad King's hellspawn. A son and daughter." His head tilted back as he roared in laughter. "Last I heard, they were living as beggars in Essos. Fitting life, before I have them killed."

Much as it pained Ned to allow Daenerys to essentially be sold to the Dothraki, she was safer with the Khal than anywhere near Robert Baratheon. "Robert, I… when I arrived in Pentos to secure the grain shipment, the merchant with whom I resided hat them as his guests."

Eyes widening, Robert, squeezed his upper arm. "Did you do it, Ned? Did you kill them, avenging your father and my bride?" He seemed almost gleeful at the possibility.

Grief, hate, and complete obliviousness had consumed the once great leader and warrior. 'All the drinking and whoring haven't helped.' What could have been a solid marriage with Cersei Lannister was tanked by Robert himself, killing what respect Ned had for the King. He steeled himself for what was to come. "I had no authority to carry out any sentence in Pentos, and I couldn't dishonor myself in such a way."

Silence reigned for the moment before a guttural snarl left Robert's throat. "TRAITOR! You dare leave the swine alive?!" Robert grabbed him by his cloak. "After all that has happened, you let the Targaryens escape to scheme against me, call me a usurper, and prepare to destroy the peace I have brought to the realm!" Steam almost left his ears, chubby face red as a tomato. "I should have you drawn and quartered for this!"

Ned allowed his anger to rise. Batting aside Robert's grasp - none of the great warrior remaining in the fat king - he roughly gripped the King's head and forced him to look at Rickard Stark's tomb. "Look at it. Look at it, Robert. That is my father, corpse having to be entombed in a closed coffin because there was barely anything left from when the Mad King burned him alive. If you think I'd side with the Targaryens then you don't deserve my friendship or loyalty!" Not a total lie - Ned hated the Mad King more than anyone in the known world.

Never confronted in this way by anyone other than Ned and Stannis, Robert's rage evaporated - the shock of Ned's response had blasted through it.

Taking advantage, the Warden of the North pressed on. "I didn't have a choice in my contact with them. To insult my host by trying to kill the exiled Prince would have jeopardized the grain shipment for Karhold, an action that I was not about to let happen."

A snort left the King's nostrils. "Lord Eddard Stark's famous honor." It seemed the ghost of a grin couldn't help but grace his lips. "Only one person could break it, and I have yet to meet her." His eyes softened, Ned's rationalizations seeming to work - he wondered if it was the presence of Lyanna, tempering his anger and boorishness. 'She did always do that, much as she hated him.'

"Prince Viserys, he couldn't be less of a threat to you if he tried. Don't worry about him, Robert." In this Ned was completely sincere, able to use his true feelings and divulge his real observations. "The boy is a stupid version of his father. Arrogant and entitled, without an ounce of sense." A grin appeared on his face, a rare laugh leaving his lips. "He once told everyone that the people of Westeros raised secret toasts to his health."

Robert's belly jostled as he chortled, laughing bombastically. "That little twerp. I will personally enjoy using my warhammer on him when the time comes." That Robert was likely too fat to go into battle anytime soon wasn't voiced by Ned. The King shifted his gaze back to Ned, wiping spittle off his beard. "And what of the girl?"

"The Targaryen princess was married off to the Dothraki Khal, she's just a child, Robert. Not a threat to you or anyone." At this point, it was true. "No self respecting horse tribesman would fight for her brother. He couldn't general a bun fight in a brothel."

"Bun fight in a brothel, I like that." His scowl returned. "I want them both dead, Ned, regardless of how incompetent one of them is. They stole Lyanna from me, and I vowed to her that I'd kill every last one of them!"

'And I vowed the exact opposite directly to her,' Ned thought, wishing he could slam his fists into the King. Knowing that to be a mistake, he triggered his final strategy. "I know you would, Robert. That is why I have a person I trust attached to them."

"Who?" Robert's eyes widened in curiosity.

"Jorah Mormont."

"The Lord of Bear Island? The one you sentenced to death?"

"No one would expect him to be my agent. I offered him a pardon to track her movements for me." As before, not a complete lie."

A wide smile stretched on the King's face. "Fucking good move! There's the great Eddard Stark, and he 'as a cunning side after all!" Robert smacked Ned on the back, anger forgotten. "Sorry bout that, Ned. I should've known you'd always be loyal. Being on that damn horse and having to deal with those goddamn gold-shitting Lannisters all the time messes up your head. By Gods, my own son can't even swing a sword properly. Getting him betrothed to a hearty Stark girl will get that right out of him." He gestured towards the exit. "Let's forget about Targaryens for a while. Time to drink and be merry just like the old days!"

Letting out a soft breath, Ned nodded. The conversation having gone far better than he expected, the Warden of the North knew that a hearty feast would get his mind off everything - at least till his brother came.

To say that the Stark family had been shocked to see Ned and Jon arrive with the royal procession was an understatement. Not a moment after the King and his father disappeared into the Crypts did Arya and Bran throw themselves at Jon, hugging him tightly. Little Rickon joined in, while Robb clasped his shoulder. The welcome warmed Jon's heart, having missed his siblings greatly - a quick look at Sansa expected her usual cold vestige. To Jon's surprise, she hugged him too. Though not as warm, perhaps she did have a soft spot in her heart for him. The way the young Prince Joffrey eyed her over disconcerted him, though.

Locked out of the feast as usual, the bastard of Winterfell too humiliating to be displayed to the King - such was normal among noble families, the disgustingly ignoble Walder Frey the exception. Under the twinkling stars of the night sky, Jon grabbed his training sword to practice. The habit had become even more habitual for him since leaving Dany, to get his mind off of the woman he still loved with all his heart. 'Dany.' Whom he would never see again, he but a lowly bastard pining for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

"The gods flip a coin for every Targaryen, one side for madness the other for greatness."

Remembering his father's words as he practiced fluid movements, Jon knew deep in his soul that she would be great. That she would be Queen. Needing to make alliances, secure victories through marriage - he would never shape up, never be more than the bastard son of a northern Lord. The most he could aspire to was the Night's Watch...

"The southern sun agrees with you, Jon," Robb chuckled, punching his brother's shoulder playfully. "Adds a nice tan to your skin."

"That's what happens on the open ocean," Theon Greyjoy said, combing his hair. "It's why the Iron Islands breed strong, virulent warriors. The majesty of the waves."

Jon rolled his eyes. A month away hadn't changed Theon worth a damn. "Is that right? Then why are you here? Or Stannis Baratheon alive?" Theon's smirk quickly changed into a scowl, deeper after Robb joined in the laughter. Enjoying putting the arrogant shit down, Jon winced as the barber gripped his chin in a vice of bony fingers. "I still don't see the point of this."

"All of us endured this, Jon," Robb responded. "Mother wants us pretty for the King and Queen, and I'm not going to let you weasel your way out of it like you did everything else while you were gone." There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Worked well for me, I got so much ass in Wintertown with this haircut." Strutting around the room, Theon's smugness was overbearing. "Wish you could have seen it, bastard." He winked and left the room.

Jon rolled his eyes, left alone with Robb after the barber left. "Well, Theon's just as much of an ass as he always was." The memory of the Iron Islander almost killing the pups came to mind.

"Aye, he is." Robb furrowed his brows. "You didn't brood and shy away when he bragged about his exaggerated prowess." 'Damn,' Jon thought, but his brother was already on the scent. "Did you meet a girl in Essos?" The raven-haired lad's silence said it all. Robb laughed merrily. "Well good for you," he said, slapping him on the back. "Who was it? The Targaryen princess?" Tone indicating it was a joke, the smile fell a bit at Jon's continued silence. "Was it?"

"It's a long story…"

He didn't know why he confided in Robb about Dany, but knew he could trust his half-brother. The two were thick as thieves, always getting into adventures and trouble together over their shared childhood and adolescence. The heir to Winterfell had no problems with it, and gave his word to keep it a secret from everyone, but the whole experience just brought memories of Dany back to his mind.

Hacking again at the target, the steady clopping of hoofbeats drew Jon's attention. "Is he dead yet?" The attention widened into a smile at the sight of the distinctive black cloak draped over the rider. Dismounting, the rider shot Jon a smile in return, striding up to him. "I was looking for my nephew, not a master swordsman in the making," he said merrily.

"Uncle Benjen," Jon replied, firmly encircling the man's shoulders with his arms in a manly embrace. His uncle was one of the few outside his siblings that showered affection on him, and they were always close - and the fact he was the Head Ranger of the Night's Watch didn't hurt Benjen's image. A bastard stuck in the middle of a sullen reception from the rest of Winterfell, the egalitarian nature of the Brotherhood appealed to Jon.

Now, all that he wished for was to be with Dany. To hold her in his arms and be her protector as she reclaimed her destiny, her birthright. But it was not to be. "Not inside?"

"Lady Stark…" resentment bubbled up, where only self-loathing would have been before. "Thought it would insult the Royal Family to seat a bastard in their midst."

Benjen blinked. "Well… there's always room for a bastard at the wall."

"And I would take no wife, and father no children…" Silver-hair flashed in front of his eyes.

"It's not like I have any other choice, uncle."

Once Jon was out of sight, Benjen's smile dropped into a pensive frown as he sought out Ned. As luck would hold, there he was, standing off to the side near the entrance to the great hall, seemingly getting some air. "Brother," he called out in a harsh whisper. After a quick greeting, the still unsmiling Ned led him to a secluded alcove. "Is it true? Did he meet the Targaryen princess?" Ned's letter didn't leave much doubt to Benjen, but it had to be asked.

Ned's nod told him everything. "Seems he can't resist falling for a dragon any more than she could."

Unable to resist chuckling, Benjen clutched the bridge of his nose. "While I'm happy for him, this does raise a massive problem for us. Did you tell anyone else about the truth?"

"I enlisted Jorah Mormont to protect Princess Daenerys in Essos." Ned winced at what she was likely enduring in the hands of her brother and the Dothraki. "It killed me to leave her there and not bring her to safety among her… family, but there was simply no other choice."

"Agreed." Benjen knew Ned barely handled having to endure the stigma from his great lie. This was likely even worse in his eyes. "Even if Robert wouldn't go into a homicidal rage and have her gutted, who's to say Tywin Lannister wouldn't sick the Mountain on her to protect Joffrey's claim." He ran a hand through his long hair. "And what about Jon?"

The Lord of Winterfell visibly sagged. "Does he still wish to join the Night's Watch?" It had been Jon's dream for years, the boy quite excited about it.

Benjen sighed and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "He used to want to, but just now his entire tone about it was that he seeks to use it to escape whatever demons ail him. It's not smart since the vows are for life. From the tone of your letter you intend on having him seek his birthright."

"From what has transpired in Essos, I believe it inevitable." Both brothers hushed up as a couple of drunk Lannister guards sauntered by, talking about the whores in wintertown. "He can't know now, but we have to get everything that he needs up to Castle Black. In the care of your Maester." Ned then spent the next few minutes discussing how exactly his plans would work.

"You've really thought of everything, haven't you Ned?" Benjen chuckled dryly. "I just have one addition. You need to tell Catelyn."

It was unavoidable. "Aye."

"Explain to me why we are heading into the crypts, Ned?" Pulling a light cloak tighter around herself to ward out the draft, Catelyn stuck close to her torch-wielding husband. She never went down here - while there was no real reason for her to, the pitch blackness didn't endear it to her. And to have Ned drag her from her hostess duties by literally sneaking out of the great hall while King Robert pawed at a serving girl and Queen Cersei consulted with her brother was only making it worse. Catching the determined set of his jaw, she merely folded her arms.

Ned glanced down at her, a sheen on his face illuminated by the flickering flames. "Trust me, Cat," he said in an oddly loving tone for the normally dour Warden of the North. "Would I lie to you?"

"You did, once," replied Catelyn, who immediately regretted it. The once loving look hardened once more. Ned turned away, and the Lady of Winterfell closed her eyes to block out the pain and tears. 'I love Ned, I truly due,' she told herself, but that moment sixteen years before truly hurt her to this day. The man she loved… betrayed her - it had been a stain on their relationship ever since, never truly being able to replicate the ardor that had characterized their early marriage bed.

Turning a corner, deeper into the labyrinth, Ned turned to her once again. "I never meant it to hurt you. Not once, Cat." A pained frown crossed his lips. "I do love you, wife."

This surprised Catelyn. They never discussed the elephant in the room, even if it brought so much pain to the household - not since that very day… the day Ned Stark returned to Winterfell. "Seventeen years ago you rode south with Robert Baratheon, leaving me pregnant with our son." Even the stoic, proud Catelyn Stark of House Tully couldn't stop the tear that cascaded down her cheek. "One year later, you returned with a baby in your arms - a baby you had with a southern harlot. I never expected the honorable Ned Stark to betray me this way." Her voice caught. "Never expected the husband that I loved and thought loved me to betray me."

A less gravelly, more jovial voice punctuated the din. "I know Ned loves you, Cat, and would never have found another to grace his bed. Not the Ned I knew." Blinking, Catelyn was finally made aware of a second torch hanging on one of the columns, directly in front of Lyanna Stark's grave - standing there with a crowbar in each hand, was Benjen. Nodding at Ned, he tossed him one of the metal bars. "What took ya so long?"

"Robert's easy to sneak by," Ned shrugged, walking beside his brother. "Cersei… not so much. Had to wait till she was talking with her brother."

Benjen laughed. "Lions my ass, I always said the Lannister house sigil should be a viper." Hefting the crowbar, he slid one of the ends inside a small crevice in the sarcophagus and began to push. "If you don't mind, brother?"

Watching the two of them try to wrench open a… panel in the sarcophagus baffled Catelyn to the core. A reason for them to hack at Lyanna Stark's grave - no reason came to mind. "Why are you two acting like fools?" she demanded, suddenly annoyed. "I did not consent to be snuck out of the most important feast I've ever put together just to peak at the bones of your long-dead…"

Cutting her off, the small stone panel dislodged, teetering over. It slammed into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. Catelyn smothered her mouth and nose with her cloak. "Damn it, Ned." But neither Stark listened to her, Benjen on his stomach and reaching into what seemed like an alcove underneath the tomb - something that was not usually present, if the funerals of Ned's father and brother were any indication.

Ned stood hunched over, holding the torch for Benjen's sake. He kept his eyes focused on her, however. "Forgive me Cat. I never wanted to lie to you, but I had no choice."

"What are you…?" Catelyn trailed off when she saw exactly what Benjen pulled out of the alcove. The nearly ossified round lumps. "What in the Gods?" Her jaw was dropped, completely shocked out of for the first time in her life.

Both brothers had the nerve to keep their eyes on the floor. "Cat, there's a story that you need to know…"

Running a gentle hand along her limp son's hair, Catelyn knew she looked like the worst of hells. Face pale, skin unwashed, eyes sunken… the tolls of staying by Bran's bedside had affected her greatly - yet she stayed. Refused offers to leave. Refused other nurses. Refused all but the very modest of meals in her dedication to her son. The only other with similar dedication was resting on the bed, Summer's snout perched on Bran's still form.

Everyone had been by to give their support or see Bran, Ned and Robb struggling to keep the tears from flowing while Sansa, Rickon, and even Arya failed at that venture. All gave their love and kindness to their brother's fight to stay alive… except one. 'Jon.'

With plenty of time to reflect, Bran having not woken since Hodor brought him back to Winterfell after his fall, Catelyn's mind kept revolving back to Jon Snow. Her husband's bastard. 'Not his bastard.' Memories of that day sixteen years ago kept repeating whenever she closed her eyes. How Ned came back from the South, a pink baby bundled in a blanket in his arms. How he carried him reverently, as much in love with him as he was with little Robb. Catelyn hated that child, hated Jon with every fiber of her being. Hated the reminder of how her beloved Ned was seduced by some southerner, and the love he had for the child stoked jealousy that he loved her as well.

'But it was all a lie.' The truth felt surreal. In all her life, she was in the company of the rightful…

A knock on the door startled her. Catelyn looked up, only to spot the object of her thoughts. "May I enter, my Lady?" Jon Snow asked, his face supplicant and tone respectful. Unable to come up with an answer, Catelyn just nodded.

Watching him stride towards Bran's bedside, Catelyn looked him over as if she had never seen him before. With his coal-black hair, grey eyes, and sturdy features Jon definitely took from his Stark side. And the way he loved his family, speaking words of affection and brotherly love for the still sleeping Bran… the lady saw much of Ned in him. 'Lyanna.' But there was an almost regal air… a martial prowess and innate confidence that was just starting to prop up. 'His other side.' The one that stunned her and disconcerted her the most. It hadn't been there before, before the Targaryen princess. Jon had been sullen, withdrawn, unsure of himself. Was that because of her? Regret pulsed in the back of her mind.

The contemplation was once again broken when Jon kissed Bran's brow, moving to head out. "Jon," she called, his name not tinged with bile for once. The lad stopped, glancing at her puzzled. He sensed it too. "Thank you, for coming. Bran would welcome it."

Modestly, Jon merely nodded his head. "It is no trouble. He is my brother." His response only made her pain worse, and his leaving left her alone with her thoughts.

Catelyn looked to the ceiling, as if her eyes centered on heaven itself. "You can count on me, Lyanna." For the first time in sixteen years, Catelyn Tully Stark let go of her anger.