1-His Will Be The Song

"Some men believe they have reached their conclusion, only for the winds of change to blow away all they thought they knew." - Unknown, 342 AC

"Emrys Pinbacker, for the crimes of capital murder against the United States of America and its people, you have been sentenced to death by lethal injection. Do you have any last words?" The prison guard asked.

"People may say I speak from a place of delusion or ignorance. I served the men who hold their hand over this world, my daughter gave her life for them. If the world hasn't learned yet, then it never will. They hold the teeth to your neck but don't realize it's you who give them the means to sharpen them!"

Tower of Joy, Dorne, 283 AC

A group of seven riders had brought their journey to the halfway point upon their arrival in the arid, desert lands of Dorne. Dismounting, they made their way towards three men adorned in armor that glistened like each their own fine gemstone, appearing to not have a single scratch upon them. One among these men carried a blade that was as pale as milk glass, but upon reflecting sunlight, shone with brilliance only equaled by the stars themselves. This blade was Dawn, the ancestral sword of House Dayne of Starfall crafted from a meteorite. The knight carrying it was none other than Ser Arthur Dayne, the 'Sword of the Morning,' commonly stated to have been the greatest fighter the kingdoms have ever seen.

"Lord Stark," Dayne greeted with a subtle head bow.

"I looked for you on the Trident. Why weren't you there to protect your prince?" Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North inquired.

"We weren't there. Our Prince wanted us here, and for me to hand you this letter, unbroken," Arthur replied before he pulled a letter bearing the Stark sigil from his person. As he approached Ned, only for the men accompanying the Lord of Winterfell to slightly drawing their blades from their sheaths, leaving Dayne's approach unhindered in the face men he regarded as no greater threat then pups.

Raising a hand to calm his men, Ned accepted the letter with both a puzzled and cautious look. Looking back at the well-respected knight before breaking and reading the letter, Ned recognized the writing to have undoubtedly come from his sister's hand, a rugged and rushed text that knew all too well was characteristic of her back from they're lessons with the Maesters. Reading the letter's contents top to bottom, tension built between the two groups by the second, only then to be broken by two words.

"Show me!" Ned demanded, getting an accepting nod from Dayne who escorted him up the tower's steps and to a door.

"I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come. If fate ordains it, we shall meet again. Lord Stark," Dayne excused himself with a nod before making his way back down the stairs.

Slowly opening the door, Ned was met with a sight he wasn't expecting. A wet nurse feeding a babe of no older than a few months. Slowly approaching, the servant made herself decent before handing the child over to him. Looking into the child's eyes, Ned was met with purple and blue ones staring right back. Waiting until the nurse had excused herself from the room to break down into the child's blanketed embrace, a word from the letter rang over in his mind over and over again. "Jon."

Two Weeks Later, King's Landing

Long had been the travel back to the capital. The Lord of Winterfell made no delay once entering its gates, pushing back the daunting exhaustion that had persisted for many days and nights. Riding through the still bleeding city streets that Tywin Lannister had raped, pillaged, and put to the sword. His nephew in hand, he pushed the doors of the throne open. Robert Baratheon, now Lord of the Seven Kingdoms but whose eyes were far from them, suddenly snapped his attention towards his best friend.

"CLEAR THE ROOM!" The towering man shouted from the mountain of melted blades that was the Iron Throne, his new seat of power. Finally allowing himself reprieve, Ned collapsed to his knees at the feet of the throne with something wrapped in his embrace that he appeared ready to face the kingdoms to protect.

"Ned, you bastard, you look like fresh battered shit. Your sister... where is she!"

Robert spoke as he practically ran down the throne and to the man he considered his true brother's side.

"Y-Your grace. I present Jon, son of Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell and Robert Baratheon, King of the Rhoynar, Andals, and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!" Ned huffed, pushing through the exhaustion that felt comparable to death.

Utterly speechless, Robert took the boy into his arms, who slept soundly, appearing unfazed by the long and arduous journey. Looking back at Ned, he read the truth from his friend's eyes, Lyanna was... gone, but he refused it with every fiber of his being, they were to be together, to once and for all call him his true brother. Releasing a wail of grief, Robert gripped the child to his chest, taking many long minutes to eventually calm to the reality that this boy was the only thing left of the woman he loved.

Two Days Later

Having mostly recovered from his journey, Ned slowly made his way into Robert's study, who at that moment was sitting out on the balcony, Jon in hand, pitcher of wine in the other as he looked over the Blackwater. Despite the man having a reputation for unquenchable rage countless would corroborate, he held the babe in his embrace with a subtle sway as he mumbled a lullaby, a peaceful scene that even the soul of the man dwelling within the child found soothing despite his equally dark past.

"Your grace..." Ned spoke with not even a twitch from the King.

"Not a single soul knew. It was a secret she begged me to keep, and so I did, without question. I thought she confided in me. Did she truly not care, or was she truly taken against her will... I wonder... if in her last moments, her love waned for him because of me..."

Robert spoke as he looked down to his son, who slept as soundly as he believed him to be innocent, despite Baratheon babes being known for having fiery wills and healthy lungs from the beginning.

"Love is an undeniable constant, your grace, especially for one's children. What you feel toward him now was unparalleled to what she felt," Ned replied as knelt to his King's level.

"If only she could be here, to prove my simple, foolish mind wrong..."

What followed the next day was a grand ceremony. It was decreed that Jon Sand, son of Lyanna Stark and Robert Baratheon, would be hereby proclaimed Jon Baratheon, Heir to Robert Baratheon and Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

One Year Later

The hour was late as the typical crypt-like silence fell over the Red Keep, aside from the occasional tapping of the servants' shoes as they took to their duties.

"Open it," a feminine but orderly voice commanded Ser Barristan Selmy himself.

"Your grace," Barristan bowed as he recognized her before opening the door, allowing the mysterious woman past. Removing her hood, she created with the blanket she wrapped around herself, she reached into the infant Prince's cot, bringing him into her embrace as she then took a seat nearby. Cradling the infant softly and slowly, she began to lightly sob into his embrace. Opening his eyes, the mind, the man contained within instantly recognized her as Cersei Lannister, the woman who had previously never given him the time of day.

It then occurred to him. She had days prior given birth to hers and Robert's son, Orys Baratheon, but the child must have finally been taken by the fever that plagued him. Despite her narcissism, despite her cursing the child daily for him being a reminder of Robert's undying love to a dead woman, he couldn't help but feel pity for the woman. One of the few things she could love, if this wasn't some sort of twisted display of post-Filicide guilt, was now gone.

Barging into the room, Robert was met with the sight that confused him. Despite his ways, we wasn't oblivious to the fact that she hated the boy, but there he was, coddled in her arms. Slowly making his way over, he slid against the stone wall opposite to her, thudding his fist many times into the ground as sorrow filled his heart. Torchlight flickered off their eyes as they looked into each other's, wondering if the sick gods were laughing at them.