The Truth

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The Following EIGHT Chapters are avaliable for Patrons.

Chapter 28 (The Winter Dragon), Chapter 29 (Return to Winterfell), Chapter 30 (Dragon Dreams), Chapter 31 (Reunion with The Starks), Chapter 32 (Night at Winterfell), Chapter 33 (A Tourney), Chapter 34 (Ned's Regrets), and Chapter 35 (Direwolves of House Stark) are already available for Patrons.

Jon Snow

Darkness, that's all he could see, were his eyes closed, he couldn't tell, suddenly a crow's cry reached his ears.

"The time has come for you to learn the truth," a voice he hadn't heard in a long time, a voice he never thought he would hear again; the bastard couldn't see, yet he could speak and hear.

"Why should I believe you? For all I know, you will lead me to my death," Jon spoke with suspicion; he didn't know what Bloodraven wanted from him, but whatever it was, it wasn't for his benefit, while he doubted someone like him would truly try to send him to his death, Jon still didn't want to feel like he was doing the deeds he wanted him to do.

"You won't believe my words, but you might believe your eyes," the voice said; the darkness suddenly disappeared.

Jon looked around; he recognized the place, it looked a bit different, but he would never forget Winterfell. The servants and guards going about their day, the bastard closed and opened his eyes several times, was he truly back in Winterfell?

Jon turned around when he saw a horse fiercely riding towards him, he couldn't jump, yet he didn't need to; the bastard saw the horse pass through him as if he were a ghost.

Looking at the rider, she had long hair, but he couldn't see her face.

"Lyanna," a voice shouted a name; Jon recognized that voice, it sounded different, yet he knew him, he could never forget the voice of the man who is his father.

Turning, he saw Eddard Stark; he looked thinner and shorter, his hair was a bit longer, he didn't look as old, and his face reminded the bastard of Robb, a brother he missed every day.

"Father!" Jon said weakly, his hand extending to hug him perhaps, or maybe to see if he was real; the bastard didn't know; his father left out a disappointed sigh looking at the horse riding away, turning around towards the God's Wood.

"Father," Jon shouted, this time louder; this caused Ned to stop, his face slowly turning to face Jon, yet his brown eyes didn't linger on Jon; they were searching for something he couldn't see.

Jon wanted to call him again when everything was dark; Winterfell and his father were gone from his eyes as he shouted in anger and despair.

"NOOO," Jon shouted, falling to his knees, darkness surrounding him like a cold blanket.

"Why would you do that?" The bastard shouted in anger; again, he couldn't see anything.

"I know the truth. I can show you. A Crow will show the way; come and find me," the voice spoke again; this time, Jon felt as if his whole body was weightless; his soul felt like it was leaving his body.

Jon opened his eyes, and the first thing that hit him was the warm body of Val hugging him close; the bastard looked around the tent, reassuring himself that he was back in the tent beyond the wall.

His eyes turned to Val; she was smiling, something he liked more each time she did, moving away a strand of hair; she hummed at his touch in her sleep, another sound he found himself enjoying; leaning close, he kissed her cheek, Val stirred slightly before her blue eyes were looking back at him.

"Jon?!"

"Good Morning, Val," with another kiss on the cheek, she giggled in amusement; cupping his face, she kissed him on the lips; Jon returned it gladly, her lips parted, allowing his tongue to seek her mouth, moaning in pleasure, her soft hand traveled down to his erected cock, rubbing it up and down.

"I need you, Jon," she moaned, leading him to her moist womanhood, already wet for him; entering her felt like going to heaven, and they both moaned in ecstasy.

After hours of lovemaking, Jon exploded inside her; she sang his name as if life depended on it.

She was resting her head on his chest, her finger playing with his curly hair, earning a chuckle from Jon.

"Your hair is so pretty. I have yet to see a man or a woman with prettier hair than yours," she mused, giving butterfly kisses across his neck.

"Is that why you wanted to steal me? For my hair?" Jon questioned, amused.

"No, your hair is pretty but nothing compared to this arse," she spoke before squeezing his ass.

Jon laughed, and a comfortable silence fell over them; Val started giving kisses to his chest, slowly going lower. "Val," Jon groaned; it was working, and his cock was getting hard.

"What will the others think?" He asked, not really trying to stop her.

"They can go fuck themselves for all I care. Now, I want you one more time," she pleaded, her voice somehow sounding innocent.

Mounting him, Jon fucked Val two more times until she could no longer handle more. Humming to herself, she closed her eyes but knew something was bothering Jon; opening her mouth to ask...

"Val, I need to go meet Bloodraven," Jon finally spoke; she didn't say anything for a moment.

"Are you sure it is safe?" She questioned, from what Jon told her about his life in Winterfell, Lord Stark not telling him about his mother and Bloodraven guiding him in a place where he could have easily died.

Val felt her blood boil; in a way, she was thankful that Bloodraven had led Jon to her, but she understood he wasn't to be trusted. Someone like him was dangerous.

"He showed me a vision of my father when he was younger. I don't trust him, but if he has the power to show me the past. He could show me, my mother," He said, his voice cracking a little at the end; the thought of seeing the woman who gave birth to him sounded exciting, yet he was afraid, did she hated him for killing her when she gave birth to him, did she cursed his existence?

"I'm coming with you then," Val suddenly decided, forcing herself to stand, the sheet sliding down, showing her full naked breasts.

"Val?" He started, but she stopped him before he could continue.

"Wherever you go, I go with you. We are bonded now; we are husband and wife. I won't allow you to go to an unknown place without me whenever we both die, or maybe you will find your answers. I should be there for you," Val spoke, her voice and eyes burning like a fire.

Jon took a deep breath; he wasn't sure what to say; he was glad that she cared for him; but eventually, he decided to agree she wouldn't leave him alone.

"...Very well," Jon agreed after a short pause.

Days Later

They had been riding for two days now, Jon was riding Ghost, and Val was riding her elk Sōna.

A crow was showing them the way all the time; while Val couldn't tell, Jon knew the crow was leading them to the right place. Soon they reached the end of the forest; in front of them stood the largest weirwood tree he had ever seen in his life, her branches spreading out far and wide, taller than Winterfell itself, yet, the red leaves he had expected to see had long ago fallen in the snow, now forgotten.

"Old Gods," Val said in both amazement and horror. She had seen many weirwood trees in her life, but not one of this size.

Jon spoke nothing, his eyes quickly finding the hidden entrance in the weirwood tree, as large as the gates of Winterfell. Riding closer, he felt as if the tree would swallow him whole, the face carved on it the biggest he had seen, the eyes were looking at him; Jon felt a sudden chill of cold on his bones, his hands shaking, his nails feeling like they would fall off.

Jon swallowed a breath; it hurt; a sharp pain went through his entire neck; he felt like screaming, the pain unbearable, yet no words came out.

Jon rode inside; Ghost started bearing his teeth as they walked inside; Val's elk left out a sound of pain as if she was in pain.

Jon used his hoodie to cover his face; he was freezing, his nose, ears, and eyes were burning. "It's cold," he spoke with a heavy breath; Val rode beside him, her hand touching his reddened cheeks.

"You are freezing," she spoke in alarm, quickly hugging him close, hoping to warm him up. Jon felt a little better; Ghost kept walking deeper; inside the tree felt like walking through a long tunnel; Jon could hardly make out the movements around him.

The light slowly went away the deeper they got; just as they were about to be in absolute darkness, a fire spread across the rest of the tunnel; a red mineral attached to the wall of the Weirwood tree was burning, lighting the way, Jon couldn't understand why the whole tree wasn't burning from it.

Suddenly another fire kindled in front of them; a face showed itself; she had nut-brown skin, dappled like a deer's with paler spots. Her hands had only three fingers and a thumb, with sharp black claws instead of nails. She had large ears. She had large gold and green eyes slitted like those of a cat.

A fire was on her hand, yet she didn't scream in pain; she was holding fire in the palm of her hand.

"A Children of The Forest," Val spoke out, her voice sounding as if she couldn't believe her own eyes. The bastard couldn't really blame her; he himself couldn't believe what he was seeing, she looked small, yet a little voice told him not to underestimate her.

Jon was about to ask where Bloodraven was when she opened her mouth to speak; a melodic voice came out as if she was singing.

"Follow me, Prince," she spoke, leading them deeper into the cave; his eyes could hardly catch several others like her watching them with interest.

Soon they reached the end of the tunnel, a large opening in front of them, big enough to build a house; above them was a small opening that allowed the air and light to come inside.

Jon's eyes found the one man he had been searching for in the tree, his skin white like milk, vines around his body like a prisoner, his arms free, yet skinny like a stick, his hair grey, barely any left in his head, his face older than that of old nan, his red right eye looking back at Jon, only one, the other had vine sticking out of it, across his face, into his neck like wanting to strangle him. His chest was skinny; he could see the bones of his chest almost bursting out...

"Are you Bloodraven?" Jon questioned; he couldn't fathom how someone could live like that.

"...I am dear Prince, we have met," the man spoke, his voice hoarse and low from the lack of use, his lips moving strangely as if he had forgotten how to speak.

"You told me I could know the truth," Jon said as he walked closer to him; looking at him now, the bastard couldn't help but feel bad for him, to live like this! How could anyone live like this? Jon questioned himself, alone and with no one to talk with. But he was here for a reason.

"The Truth," Jon added, looking at his red eye. He had waited long years for this day.

"...Touch the Weirwood, my Prince. All will be shown," the man spoke. Jon glanced back at Val, who paused for a moment before nodding her head, encouraging him to continue.

After a short pause, he touched the Weirwood; he felt weightless as he slipped inside the tree, deep inside.

Lyanna Stark

The castle really was gigantic. Lyanna had ridden along the curtain wall for half an hour now, yet she had not circled Harrenhal completely even once. The people she met were all busy, tending to horses or armor, preparing food, washing clothes. The ruined castle was alive with sound.

Lyanna laid her head back and looked up to the closest tower, Kingspyre Tower. Though centuries had passed since Balerion, Vhagar and Meraxes had descended upon Harren's halls, spitting fire and claiming blood, the stones were as blackened as they had been the moment after the dragon flames had melted them. What was left of Harrenhal was eerie, haunted. A vast black beast was cowering by the shore of God's Lake, threatening to swallow anyone who came too close.

Nonetheless, Kingspyre Tower seemed to be of a chilling beauty to Lyanna. Looming tall above her, half-eaten by wind and weather, half-consumed and molten down by Dragonfire, the place where Black Harren and all his sons had died screaming was of solemn silence.

Passing it, Lyanna wondered what it had looked like before Aegon Targaryen and his dragons. Another thing to be added to the ever-growing heap of questions she had that she would never know the answer to.

As she rode past the armory, she heard a noise coming from the backyard. She halted her horse and listened attentively. There were laughter and young voices, three gleeful and cruel, one meek and begging. She heard groans as well and the hard thump of boots meeting ribs.

Someone was obviously being beaten up, and the three attackers sounded young. Whoever the victim was, he needed help. Without thinking, Lyanna vaulted down from her palfrey's back and stormed towards the noise, ripping a tourney sword from its scabbard as she passed the counter, where several of them lay orderly arranged to be taken up for training. She stopped before peering around the corner to see what was going on.

Three boys stood in a circle, sneering at something lying on the ground between them. None of them could have been older than fourteen, but they were all equally ugly and unwashed.

One of them was kicking the man on the ground – it was a man, Lyanna could see as one of the boys moved a bit to the side - with a boot. Again. And Again. Their victim let out a cry as the tip of the boot took him in the gut.

"P..please st..op-"

"What did the frog say?" one of the boys, the tallest one, with a large mole on his cheek, asked, his voice full of false innocence. "I couldn't quite get it."

The man on the ground seemed to cringe at the boy's words, but still, he made another attempt to speak.

"I...let m-me go. P..lease, Sers, I...ne'er did you a-any h..harm."

"Did you hear that?" the other boy let out an excited squeal "Sers! He thinks us to be knights!" the giggle he let out was both hysterical and irritating.

"Filthy stupid crannogman takes squires for knights. You should have stayed in your bogs."

The three of them howled with laughter. They sounded like a pack of ill-tempered hyenas. When the boy with the pug-nose and an enormous tooth gap lifted his leg to kick the poor man once more, Lyanna knew she had to act.

She stormed towards them, tourney sword in hand, screaming. Her first blow hit the mole-boy across the back, sending him to the ground with a cry of pain. She whirled around immediately to wag the pug-nose boy on his cheek with the broad side of the blade before striking him down with a hit in the guts. As she turned to face the third boy, a small excuse of a squire with watery eyes, unkempt brown hair, and prominent ears, he raised his hands and dropped to his knees, stammering begs and shaking.

Lyanna pushed her hair out of her reddened face and looked at the boys on the ground.

"This is my father's bannerman you are assaulting! Did you know that?" She growled angrily. The boys looked up at her with uncomprehending eyes. "Apparently, you did not. Harming someone's bannermen is a crime and can be punished with death, but I assume you did not know that either."

The boys looked at her in disbelief, with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes, but Lyanna could see the first glints of uncertainty as well. The mole-boy spoke up.

" 'cuse me, m'lady, but who's your sire?" he had wanted to make the question sound mocking, but sitting on his buttocks in a puddle of mud, it failed its intention. Lyanna looked down on him, contempt in her eyes, before moving over to the beaten-up man still lying on the ground to help him up.

When she had pulled the crannogman to his feet and brushed off the worst of the dirt on his surcoat, she turned around to the three boys who were now on their feet again as well to answer the question. Supporting the squire's victim, she straightened herself, brushed her hair back, and said:

"My father is Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North. I am his daughter, Lyanna Stark. This man is one of my father's bannermen, like his ancestors before him were for hundreds of years. I would think my father will not like to hear what you did to him."

Now there was no trace of uncertainty or defiance left on the boys faces anymore. They looked downright horrified, pale, and afraid, Lyanna was pleased to see. None of them said a word; they were frozen on the spot, staring at her with round eyes and gaping mouths. Eventually, the boy with zit-covered cheeks regained his voice.

"M'lady," he stuttered, "We..we didn't know...please forgive us we – we...t'was just some silly game we ne'er meant him no harm you have to see...we didn't know m'lady-"

Lyanna cut him off with a flick of her tourney sword. "Away with you. You and your silly games have caused enough trouble for a day."

"But-"

"Away!"

The three boys suddenly remembered how to use their legs and made good use of the regained ability. They turned on their heels and scurried off, and a moment later, they were gone.

The man she'd saved let out a grunt as he loosened his grip around her supportive arm and straightened himself. Only now did she saw how small he was. Barely her height, of slender built, his arms and legs nothing but skin and bone and sinew. Two eyes the color of moss looked her straight in the face from under a mop of tangled, brown hair. Genuine, those eyes were, and calm, though one was swollen and slowly taking on an angry shade of purple.

"I owe you my life, my lady," the crannogman said "it was very brave of you to...rescue me from these brutes. I...I would get down to one knee, but I fear I might not get up again." He grimaced. "A nice sword you have there. My name is Lord Howland Reed if it pleases you."

A Lord. From his look, one would have never guessed Howland to have anything lordly in him. He was very young, even though he tried to appear older by grooming a wispy beard—Six-and-ten, or probably one year more at most.

"I am pleased to meet you, Lord Reed. But may I ask, why did those three attack you?"

Howland made a face. "They have heard the stories about us crannogmen, frog-eaters, bog-inhabitants, poison-makers. They found an easy target in me. I did not provoke them if that is what the lady thinks. I just happened to be in their way.", he shrugged, "If not for you, they might have beaten me bloody. Broken a bone or two..."

Lyanna shook her head in disbelief. How could anyone be so cruel?

"Why weren't you at the feast yesterday?" She asked instead. "I did not see you."

The young Lord looked at his toes, frowning slightly.

"I...I do not feel suited for those feasts, my lady. They are for great lords and ladies and kings even, but not for the likes of me. I may style myself Lord, yet I am but a crannogman...besides, I do not own clothes befit such occasions."

Lyanna felt rage growing in her belly.

"That is not true! You are every inch as important as any of the other attendants! It would be best if you came to this night's feast; you will enjoy it, I am sure. And as to your clothes...I am sure one of my brothers has garments that will suit you well."

"But, My Lady...this is not necessary, this –" "I insist on it. I promise you; you will be treated as the Lord you are, and should anyone try to do otherwise, I still have this." She raised her blunted sword and smirked playfully. "You will see. It will be marvelous."

Howland did not look convinced at all, yet he nodded slowly. "What about those three squires, though? Will you tell your father?"

Lyanna looked at him, his bruised face, dirty clothes, and considered. Then, slowly, a smile crept over her face, a mischievous smile, eager and confident.

"They will get what they deserve, Lord Reed. I promise you, I will see to it."

After 3 Days

"It was you."

Grey eyes wide, Lyanna shook her head vehemently. "I don't know what you mean, my lord," she said, though the color draining from her face gave the lie to her words. "You've – You've made some mistake."

"I haven't. I almost never do, and I'm sure I haven't now." Rhaegar looked her up and down, measuring her height against what he remembered of the mystery knight; it fit. The knight had seemed so slight, so slender, nearly swallowed by his - her - rattling armor. "We had thought mayhap some stripling lad, another Barristan Selmy, but no... no, this makes far more..."

"You mistake," Lyanna insisted, though her legs felt weak beneath her, and she knew her hands were shaking. "No doubt you had the right of it before, some youth over-eager to prove himself-"

"You must have borrowed the armor from one of your brothers. You ride like a vision. You could unseat half the knights here, maybe more, and yet you chose those three, so deliberately. Why?"

Lyanna's jaw trembled; the truth welled up in her like a swollen river against a weak dam, too forceful to be denied. If Prince Rhaegar had guessed, her secret was already lost. "Because it was the right thing to do," she replied, managing to keep the fear out of the low timbre of her voice. "Their squires shamelessly beat and tormented one of my father's men, a crannogman of the marshes." Rhaegar stared at her, unreadable as ever, as though she were some wild thing new-crept out of the forest.

Feeling the suffocating pressure of the silence, Lyanna blurted out in continuation, "The squires received a fair reprimand at my hands, but I could not do enough to make them regret it directly; mayhap their liege knights will have better luck teaching them honor." Still more silence. "I had to defend him. It was my duty as a Stark, and- and it was right."

"You mad, reckless thing." There was no heat in his words, no anger, not even an expected note of censure - Rhaegar was stating a fact, like any he might have learned from a book. His hands descended heavily on her shoulders. Lyanna tried to draw away, but he held her fast. "My father's on the warpath, gods know why, but he's got it in his head this mystery knight means him harm."

"I never-"

"Of course you never, but my father is a very paranoid person." She looked up, and through her streaming dark hair, she met his eyes and saw there the emotion she had not been able to identify in his voice: wonder. Lyanna Stark had awed this great Prince, this noble Targaryen lord. Now it was his turn to shake his head, not in denial, but in utter disbelief.

"I meant no harm by my actions. I know the King sent you to find-"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Do not think of it. You speak true; you are no threat to him, no harm. I see of no reason he should know. Your secret is mine." Then, a sudden light came into his face, transforming him with the same brilliance as when he played at his harp.

Something had fallen into place for him, had suddenly made sense of a grey and murky world. Lyanna saw the change but had no notion what had caused it. There was a new intensity in his gaze upon her. "Extraordinary," he repeated. "I suppose no less should be expected from the Great House of Stark."

Lyanna lifted her chin slightly. "I hope I serve my House and my family faithfully and well," she said.

A smile answered her - a real one, not the ghostly imitations that so often crossed the Prince's face. "You have quite caught me off my guard, Lady."

"I have! That's quite an accomplishment, getting a prince off guard," Lyanna spoke through her sweet smile.

Rhaegar chuckled at her words. "If you want, I can walk you back to the camp; my father won't know of who you are, he still thinks is Jaime Lannister," Rhaegar said with a bitter taste on his mouth; the kid was still young and foolish and didn't know my father's true nature.

Lyanna thought of his words but wasn't sure whenever to accept, Lya thought the Prince would be more menacing, yet he looked like an ordinary man.

"Very well"

Rhaegar Targaryen

Rhaegar stood motionless on the tower of Joy; this morning, he would leave, his father had ordered him back to the Red Keep; the silver prince cursed himself mentally, how things could have gone so wrong.

He was supposed to be the King, one who healed the wounds left by his father, and yet he had made such a huge mistake.

Rhaegar knew it was his fault that Lya's brother and father had died, is my fault, Rhaegar told himself, and if that wasn't enough, he had put Elia and their children in danger.

And for What? For a Prophecy, Rhaegar swallowed and prepared to leave the tower, Lya had wanted to go as soon as word came that her brother and father had been burned and strangled, but sickness had caught her, the wet nurse warned them she wasn't in condition to go anywhere.

The door opened, Rhaegar turned to see his old friend walking inside; despite being friends for many years, Arthur not once had disagreed with his Prince, but when Rhaegar ordered him to stay and protect Lyanna and their unborn child, he had argued so much with him that at one point Ser Gerold had been afraid that Arthur might punch Prince Rhaegar.

Not able to handle the silence, Rhaegar turned fully at his brother in all but blood.

"Speak Arthur, you know I always let you all speak freely" Rhaegar spoke with a slightly hurt tone, despite being his kingsguard, despite what they thought might be against what he said, Rhaegar always let them speak; he didn't want them to feel with him like how they felt with his father. God forbid...

"I want to come with you," Arthur said, his purpose clear.

Rhaegar was about to deny it again when they heard the door opening, and it was Lya walking, her face pale and tired.

Rhaegar was about to help her walk when she raised her hand to stop him and glared at him.

"Ser Arthur is coming with you," she stated with a tone indicating that he could do nothing to change her mind and that he should accept it. Arthur smiled at Princess Lyanna, despite hating himself for doing it, he told her last night and asked for help to convince Rhaegar to let him come with him.

"You need him more than I do; no one will come here, everyone is busy with the Rebellion, not that many people even know this place even exists," Lyanna spoke.

Rhaegar looked at her eyes and saw she wouldn't change her mind; Rhaegar had never seen a Wolf in his life, but he was sure that Lya had the eyes of a Dire Wolf; she was stubborn like that.

Rhaegar took a deep breath and thought of it; the silence grew around the room, almost drowning them.

After what felt like forever, Rhaegar put his hands on the table; he gave his second wife a look before turning fully at Arthur.

"Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell will stay here, Arthur. You're coming with me."

That day Rhaegar Targaryen left the tower, followed by Arthur Dayne leaving behind Lyanna with Ser Gerold, Ser Oswell, and five loyal guards of House Targaryen.

Before he left, Rhaegar promised to meet again soon, with their child in King's Landing.

Days Later

Looking at the iron throne felt like the most bizarre thing to do, just the view of the throne, large enough that he felt like the throne would swallow him whole, he knew, at least had thought that one day this moment would come, he would sit in the iron throne and rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet in a way, he had felt himself not worthy of it.

He would rule and sit where Aegon The Conquer had sat, a true king of Westeros, with his dragon, Balerion The Black Dread, A Mighty Beast, he thought bitterly.

The dragons were gone; they would never return to this world; the only thing left were the bones of what once was.

A symbol of the past, a symbol of fear and pride, Rhaegar shut his eyes, it had taken only a few minutes, but both he and Elia had agreed to stop the marriage between brothers and sisters.

Keep the Bloodline pure, Rhaegar, though, for what? The Dragons are Gone.

It had been a month now that Lord Stark left for the tower of Joy; Elia had prepared Rhaenys about the arrival of Lyanna, telling her to act nicely with her, to treat Lyanna how she treated Elia.

A smile slowly erupted on his face, just the way Rhaenys shouted in happiness when Elia told her that she would soon have a little brother or a little sister.

Elia, of course, couldn't resist telling their wild daughter what Rhaegar thought about it.

"Your papa thinks will be a Visenja," Elia spoke with a smile fixing their daughter's hair, almost bursting out laughing from the face Rhaegar gave her.

Rhaenys suddenly stood up with a frown, shook her repeatedly, and gave Elia a look as what she just said was stupid.

"No, you are mistaken, I will have a little Brother," Rhaenys stated with a tone, indicating that she was speaking the truth.

Rhaegar chuckled at the memory of his little girl; perhaps she just wanted to have two little brothers; he wondered if he could ask Prince Doran to send his daughter Arianne here to be friends with Rhaenys.

The door suddenly opened, he turned around to see Ser Arthur followed by Elia, but with the look on their faces, he felt a gulp on his throat.

Their faces were pale, especially Elia, who was silent and not making eye contact with him.

"Lord Stark is coming here, he was spotted outside the gate," He informed him, but the way he spoke.

"What about Lyanna?" Rhaegar asked with dread, almost afraid to ask the question as his legs walked closer to them.

"I-I don't know, she wasn't spotted," Ser Arthur spoke, swallowing a breath, his eyes avoiding the eyes of King Rhaegar.

Elia was about to ask Rhaegar to talk with him alone...

Rhaegar rushed outside, his legs moving as fast as he could, he couldn't hear either Elia or Arthur calling him, or he just didn't want to.

We will meet with our child in King's Landing. I give you my word

Rhaegar avoided the voice on his head, his wife, his Lyanna. Nothing could do anything to her.

He didn't know how but he found himself in front of the door that leads inside the Red Keep.

His guards bowing, Soon Elia came to him, yet he hadn't seen or felt her grabbing his arm and trying to reassure him that everything would be alright.

The horses of House Stark visible, slowly riding towards them, Lord Stark was first to come, behind him rode a short man, he recognized him as Howland, Lyanna had mentioned him to Rhaegar about them having Strange Dreams about the Future.

The atmosphere around them was thick, almost drowning them; Rhaegar didn't notice and didn't ask where Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold were.

But Rhaegar froze when he saw horses carrying a large box, blue flowers on top of the box.

Rhaegar felt himself immobile; he couldn't believe it; no matter how many times he saw it, he just couldn't believe it; he felt like he was dreaming, a dream he couldn't wake up.

His heart beating on his throat, each heartbeat felt like a sword piercing him, his heart bleeding.

Lord Stark walked over to Rhaegar, his face void of emotions; he kneeled in front of him. Rhaegar found himself looking at the man, only now Rhaegar remembered about the baby, where is my child, he thought.

The last piece of Lyanna, he needed to see him or her, but the look on Lord Stark's face almost made him wish he had fallen in the Trident.

"I'm sorry your grace, but m-my S-sister died giving birth, she an-And the little Girl, she was S-stillborn,"

Rhaegar looked at him; he couldn't understand what he said; the words played on his mind over and over.

He felt a pain in his chest, his heart bleeding from the pain. His knees not holding him, he fell on his knees as Darkness took over him.

I'm Sorry, Lyanna...

Ned Stark

Reaching the tower, he felt his heart beating faster and faster, his body sweating, not sure if it was because of the heat or that his sister was there and needed his help.

Arriving there, he soon noticed who he assumed was Ser Gerold Hightower, with five guards wearing Targaryen armor; he and his men stopped their horses; Ser Gerold was standing in the front, stabbing his sword at the ground.

"What is your purpose here?" Ser Gerold questioned, his voice commanding; Ned dismounted his horse, and so did Howland Reed and four of his friends.

"We have a message from King Rhaegar Targaryen; Lyanna Stark is to be brought to King's Landing," Ned spoke firmly and convincingly, pulling out a scroll from his pocket and giving it to Ser Gerold.

Breaking the seal, he read the letter recognizing the writing of his king immediately; he turned to his men.

"Prepare everything; we are..." Ser Gerold's words died in his throat when a dagger pierced his neck.

"Traitor," one man shouted as Howland removed his dagger with a frown; Ned and his friends pulled out their swords, and Ser Gerold fell to the ground bleeding out.

The fight ended with only Ned and Howland Reed surviving; the Stark looked at his dead friends with pity. Like him, they were angry with House Targaryen for killing Brandon and Rickon Stark, but that wasn't the reason for Ned; No, he wouldn't allow Lyanna and her child... A scream caused Ned to look at the tower.

Running as fast as his legs could take him. He burst through the door, "Lyanna," he said, his nose blasted by the aroma of blood; he knew that aroma quite well.

His sister was lying in a bed of blood, a wet nurse holding something in her arms, but Ned didn't care right now.

"Ned is that you," her weak voice was heard as Lord Stark kneeled in front of her bed, holding her hand with his. "Yes, it is me, Lyanna," Lord Stark replied with a sad smile, looking at her.

"I'm sorry, Ned, it is all my fault," she said, tears in her eyes, her voice not strong anymore. Her face had lost all color, now looking like a Ghost of who she was before; her lips had lost their color and looked slightly darkened purple. "I want to live, Ned. I'm not brave," her voice weak like a whisper as she was panting.

Ned shooked his head and kissed her forehead, holding the tears in his eyes. "Is not your fault," he said weakly.

He turned to the wet nurse. "Give her some water," he begged her. His eyes held the sorrow he had felt for so long since his brother and father had died. He was trying hard not to break down in front of his sister.

She quickly put her other hand on his shoulder to stop the hopeless try to save her. "No, listen to me," she begged as her hands held no strength to hold his anymore.

Ned leaned closer, his heart feeling that this would be his sister's last words.

"His name is Aemon Targaryen. Please don't blame him. Bring him to Rhaegar and Elia. Promise me, Ned, promise me," she begged as her breathing slowed. Her tears had stopped.

Ned's words were stuck in his throat, and he was unable to say anything. A wet nurse holding the prince covered in white sheets moved close to Lord Stark and Princess Lyanna showing the child to them. Lyanna could look at her treasure, her eyes looking at his grey eyes. A weak smile spread across her face, and she murmured something as her chest stopped rising. The life in her eyes died like a fire from a candle.

Lord Stark moved her shoulders gently. As tears rolled down his cheek, he was still holding her hand tightly, almost expecting her to wake up again. He started sobbing as his forehead touched hers.

On that day, Lyanna Stark died, and Prince Aemon Targaryen was born into this World...

Fun Question: How come there are barely any stories with Sea Dragons? Like Nagga?