A dying Wish

With Lord Mace Tyrell and the other lords of the Reach dropping their banners at Storm's End, Lord Eddard Stark went further south with six companions: Howland Reed, Lord Willam Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, and Ser Mark Ryswell. He did not travel with his army as he was going to into Dorne territory and from what he knew, they had not joined any sides in the war and remained neutral.

Bringing his army with him would make it seem like he was invading their territory and invite unwanted attention to him while he tries to save his sister who was located at some tower.

Arriving at the tower, Lord Eddard and his party encountered three knights of the Kingsguard who were guarding the tower. The three knights, clad in their armor with the Targaryen sigil on the front, stood before the entrance to the tower.

Among them was Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, known for his unparalleled skill with his greatsword Dawn, forged from a fallen star. Beside him stood Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, commander of the Kingsguard.

Lord Eddard Stark and his companions halted their horses a few yards away from the knights. "Ser Arthur Dayne," Eddard called out, his voice steady. "I seek my sister, Lyanna Stark."

Ser Gerold Hightower's face remained impassive. "Then you have come too late," he replied, his voice carrying a weight that seemed more mournful than threatening. Yet he did not move aside, nor did his companions.

"You know I looked for you on the Trident," said Lord Stark.

"Well, weren't there, our prince wanted us here" replied Ser Arthur Dayne.

The tension between the gathered men was so noticeable that one could feel the impending conflict and the harsh desert winds that swept through the pass. Eddard stepped forward, his expression resolute. "And now I need you to let us pass. My sister's life may be in danger."

Ser Arthur Dayne shifted slightly, his hand resting on the hilt of Dawn. "Our orders are clear, Lord Stark. We cannot forsake our post," he said, his voice resonant and unwavering. Beside him, Ser Oswell Whent nodded slightly as this was what their Prince wanted.

"We swore to protect the king's secrets as well as his family," added Ser Gerold, his gaze locked onto Eddard's. "If you wish to proceed, you must do so over our cold bodies."

With that Ser Gerold, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Arthur Dayne put their helmets on and prepared to carry out their orders. Eddard Stark glanced back at his companions, a silent command passing between them. The air grew tense, a quiet before the storm, as both parties prepared to clash. Eddard's hand rested on the pommel of his sword, Ice, the ancestral blade of House Stark, forged from Valyrian steel.

Ser Arthur Dayne's eyes met Eddard's over the shimmering blade of Dawn. "Every knight must follow his oath," Dayne said solemnly. "Our loyalty lies with our prince and his commands. It is not about enmity, Lord Stark."

"Then we have no choice," Eddard said quietly. With a resigned sigh, he drew Ice from its scabbard, His companions followed suit, drawing their own weapons.

The knights of the Kingsguard did likewise, each movement meticulous and full of deadly intent. Eddard Stark faced Ser Arthur Dayne, their swords clashing against each other. Around them, their companions engaged with equal ferocity, each pair locked in their own deadly duel with the other two knights.

Ser Oswell Whent was swift and precise, pushing Martyn Cassel to his limits. Meanwhile, Howland Reed maneuvered nimbly against Ser Gerold Hightower, trying to exploit any opening in the knight's defense. But his efforts were useless, and he was the first to go down.

Following him was Lord William Dustin whose throat was cut by Ser Arthur Dayne leaving him to bleed out on the ground. At the same time, Ser Gerold had met his end leaving only Ser Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent to fight off the remaining Northmen.

They fought with all of their prowess and used all of their strength to win the battle, but in the end, the Northmen had won the battle. Ser Arthur Dayne, was stabbed in the neck by Howland Reed, ending the battle and allowing Eddard to rush up the tower stairs to his sister.

But what he found was not what he expected. Lyanna Stark lay on a bed of blood-soaked linens, her breath shallow and labored. The room was dimly lit by the flickering light of a single candle, casting long shadows on the stone walls. Eddard's heart sank as he approached her.

"Lyanna," Eddard whispered, kneeling beside her. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his with a mix of pain and relief.

"Ned," she rasped, her voice weak but filled with urgency. "Promise me, Ned."

"Anything," he replied solemnly, taking her cold hand into his.

"You have to promise me," she continued, the effort of speaking making her wince in pain. "Promise me you'll protect him. He's... he's Robert's son," she managed to say, her breath growing even more shallow. Eddard's brow furrowed in confusion.

"No, Lyanna, you don't understand. Robert doesn't have any children."

"Not Robert," she corrected with a weak smile, her eyes glinting with tears. "Rhaegar." Her words hit Eddard like a hammer in the chest. He felt his world tilt as the realization dawned on him.

"Rhaegar's child?" he murmured, disbelieving. "Lyanna, what are you saying?"

She squeezed his hand with the little strength she had left. "He's your nephew, Ned. Aegon… His name is Aegon Targaryen. You must protect him; they'll kill him if they find out who his father is."

The weight of her request settled heavy on his shoulders. Eddard looked down at Lyanna, seeing not just his sister but a dying woman entrusting him with her son's life, his nephew's life. The gravity of it all, the secrecy required, the potential consequences, was overwhelming.

"I promise," he said finally, every word a vow. "I promise you, Lyanna, I will protect him as my own."

Tears streamed down Lyanna's cheeks as she heard his promise. She tried to speak again, but the effort was too much, and she merely squeezed his hand once more before her eyes slowly closed. Her chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths, and then stilled completely. Lyanna Stark was gone.

Eddard Stark remained kneeling beside her for a long moment, his head bowed in grief. He gently laid her hand down by her side and stood up, turning to face the handmaiden who handed him his nephew. Here was innocence that needed protection from the ruthless ambitions that plagued Westeros. He looked at the child's tiny face and saw not just Lyanna's features but those of Rhaegar as well.

Howland Reed entered the room then, breathing heavily from the fight. His eyes widened upon seeing Lyanna's lifeless body and then softened as he noticed Eddard holding the baby.

"Howland," Eddard began grimly, "we must keep this child safe. His life depends on our secrecy."

Howland nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of their task. "We will protect him with our lives, Ned," he assured Eddard. The two men shared a look of mutual resolve, knowing the road ahead would be fraught with peril and sacrifice.

With Lyanna's last wish entrusted to them, Eddard carefully wrapped the newborn in a soft cloth. The child, unaware of the burdens already placed upon his small shoulders, slept peacefully.

They left the Tower of Joy, with Eddard decided they would travel separately to further conceal the baby's identity. Eddard looked down at the infant in his arms and thought of his own children waiting for him at Winterfell. He knew that bringing this child into his home was a risk, one that could endanger his own family if ever discovered. But he also knew he had no choice; Lyanna's dying wish was now his mission.