Chapter 1: The Beginning

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Lord Stark's Bedchamber

Unlike other rooms in the castle, the former chambers of the Kings in the North, now occupied by the Lords, were more than luxurious. The central part of the room featured an elegant marble fireplace adorned with a fresco of the Direwolves, beside which stood a small mahogany table. Nearby was a comfortable sofa draped with various animal furs.

The spacious room, made of gray stone blocks with a high ceiling and harmonious design, was illuminated by a large chandelier hanging from the center, fully lighting the chamber.

The redwood interior seamlessly intertwined with the gray blocks and the costly, high-quality furniture crafted from the best materials the North could provide. Even though they were not entirely new, their beauty was undiminished.

Soft, long carpets covered the floor, and a grand royal bed with silk linens dominated the room. Although the Starks did not own a wealthy house at the time, it was only fitting that their quarters be commensurate with their status as Lords of one of the great Houses of Westeros.

Eddard Stark appeared to be around twenty-five years old. He had an elongated face with the typical Stark sharp features, black hair, a short beard, and cold gray eyes.

The Quiet Wolf, as he was called, was not known for his beauty compared to his elder brother Brandon. Yet, his appearance remained pleasant to the eye.

Lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, Eddard pondered the years since the rebellion, scenes he had witnessed in the Red Keep. Eddard and Robert had lost the close brotherly bond they once shared, except for some formalities.

Eddard was relieved he had not notified anyone or revealed his "bastard" in King's Landing. His appearance, with Valyrian features and indigo eyes, could have led to unwanted questions.

Especially after he had mysteriously appeared out of nowhere following his visit to the Tower of Joy and news of his sister's death with the Kingsguard, whose duty was, as known, to protect the royal family. Fortunately, no one paid much attention to the news of Lord Stark's bastard at that time.

Later, Eddard realized that the abduction of his sister was merely a tool of the rebellion to overthrow the Targaryen dynasty. It would have happened sooner or later.

He was overwhelmed with sorrow. His dear sister and House Stark had become pawns in someone's political intrigues. A letter about two lovers who had fallen for each other since the Harrenhal tourney should have reached the North.

It was reported that Lyanna had willingly fled with the prince only for their father to break the engagement with the detested Robert Baratheon. Somehow, the letter disappeared before it reached Lord Stark.

Moreover, someone intentionally spread rumors of Lyanna's abduction by a mad prince, which soon reached the hot-tempered brother and his father. In the end, they died at the hands of the mad king in King's Landing.

All this was told to him by his dying, weeping sister. At one point, Eddard even wanted to yell at her for her thoughtless actions that led to the current situation.

Yet, Lord Stark did not wish to bid her farewell on her deathbed. First and foremost, Lyanna was his beloved younger sister. The girl was young and did not understand all the consequences of her actions, for which she had already paid dearly.

For Lord Stark, family was everything. But the brotherly bond with Robert had completely blinded him. The Lord did not see how his sister abhorred the very thought of becoming the wife of a man who already had a bastard.

Rhaegar and Lyanna had an official marriage. She showed the papers confirming her status as Rhaegar's second legitimate wife. Consequently, the baby, the last reminder of her, was a legitimate prince of House Targaryen and a child of two great Houses, as well as a legitimate claimant to the Iron Throne.

Before his sister's last breath, Eddard promised her he would take care of his nephew, even if it meant claiming him as his own bastard and sacrificing his so-called honor.

For his family, he was willing to go even further. Eddard, of course, had some doubts about his own actions. Perhaps, at that time, there was another way to ensure his nephew did not live with the stigma of a bastard, but back then, it seemed the only solution.

He thanked the Old Gods for hearing his prayers and saving Jon's life. The fever that nearly took his life had come suddenly. It seemed to appear out of nowhere, with no initial signs of its onset.

But just yesterday, the exhausted Jon had regained consciousness. Eddard could not describe the immense joy and relief he felt along with Sansa and Robb.

The two of them loved their brother as he loved them, despite some attempts by the Septa to convince them that bastards were the products of lust and sin.

A few moons ago, Lord Stark had inadvertently witnessed her words about Jon's mother – a whore who seduced him with her unholy charms. The wolf's blood took over, followed by a quiet rage. The woman personally received twenty lashes from his hand and was permanently banished from the North.

Even Lord's wife, Catelyn, a devout follower of the Faith of the Seven, dared not say anything at that moment. After all, in her own opinion, her servant had too often not kept her tongue in check and deservedly paid the price.

Eddard felt guilty towards her. He had dishonored his wife with his bastard, as she and everyone else believed. Initially, Catelyn had been promised to Brandon, as the heir to the North and future Lord, but for obvious reasons, that did not happen. So, by tradition, she married the younger brother.

There was a moment when Lord Stark wanted to build a small Sept in Winterfell as a sign of goodwill and apology to improve their relationship since they would have to spend their lives together. But his brother, Benjen, dissuaded him from this idea. The Lords would never have taken such a move well in the heart of the North.

Over time, Catelyn and Eddard came to realize how genuinely they had come to love each other. The girl had grown accustomed to and adhered to Northern traditions, thus earning the approval of most Northerners.

Catelyn's attitude towards Jon was, in a word, utterly indifferent. But it should be noted that Catelyn never insulted the boy verbally or physically, as southerners often did with bastards. She preferred to ignore his very existence, even accepting the close relations of their children with Jon.

As a result, Eddard grew to love his wife even more. He could not make her regard Jon as her own child, but even such an attitude was somewhat acceptable compared to other southerners.

It was Catelyn's voice that pulled him from his many thoughts. Turning his face towards her, he asked.

"My love, have you had nightmares again?" Lady Stark's soft voice broke the absolute silence.

High, thin cheekbones, a straight nose, slightly full pink lips, beautiful blue eyes, and bright red hair. She was truly a beautiful woman with noble features.

"Really?" Lord Stark asked with a surprised face, thinking that he was having nightmares again, which had not occurred for two years.

"Yes, but this time your mumbling was clear," came the suddenly chilled voice.

"About what…" he started to ask in confusion before Catelyn interrupted him.

"You were talking about your sister, Lyanna, and the promise you made to her on her deathbed," the former Tully answered sharply with conflicting emotions.

All color drained from Eddard's face; he could not believe that his carefully guarded secret had surfaced in such a ridiculous manner. His heart raced, his hands shook nervously, and his body seemed to freeze. Had his hidden secret been exposed?

"We have a long conversation ahead of us…" came the hoarse voice of someone who appeared with an exhausted face, mentally preparing for what he had feared. Sooner or later, it would have to be addressed.

— Sansa, Maester Luwin said Jon still needs rest! Stop pestering him with your silly girl games, — the eldest Stark heir shouted.

Robb Stark inherited the appearance of his mother and her Tully relatives — red hair, blue eyes, and, evidently, the sharp Stark cheekbones.

— You're the foolish one. Jon likes playing with me. You're the one bothering him with your wild games and wooden swords, — Sansa retorted angrily.

She inherited her mother's high, delicate cheekbones, blue eyes, and thick bright red hair. But the Stark blood was still only noticeable in her if you looked closely.

— Stop arguing already. If you keep this up, you'll send me to the old Gods faster than the fever would, — Jon sighed wearily, interrupting yet another spat between his brother and sister.

In these days, he had started to feel like a stuffed toy being pulled in two directions. His cousins were giving him no rest.

The concern from his relatives was pleasant, but he was beginning to feel a bit morally exhausted. After all, Jon was no longer just a child whose only goal was to spend the day playing.

The suspicious behavior of his "stepmother" unsettled him. Since yesterday, something fundamental had changed in her gaze. Jon began to think he had somehow betrayed himself, and he would soon be branded a demon who had possessed a child's body.

Just the thought of his crazed family unsuccessfully trying to burn him at the stake brought a wry smile to Jon's face. Such was the harshness of the Middle Ages. In the Seven Kingdoms, they burned people for less. Although the North was more lenient towards "magic," they still wouldn't entertain such notions.

Over time, Jon came to realize that he would have to live without electricity and other modern comforts he had previously taken for granted. Sanitation in the Seven Kingdoms was not very advanced. And let's not even mention medicine and other conveniences that were commonplace in the twenty-first century.

Given that he could only wash properly thanks to the hot spring under the castle, as the local soap didn't help much.

There was also the problem with dental hygiene. Instead of toothpaste, they used certain plants chewed for "cleaning" and masking bad breath, which was not as effective as he would have liked.

There were many such nuances he would have to come to terms with. Especially lamentable was the local cuisine, which lacked variety.

The young dragon hadn't even had a chance to glance around before an entire day had flown by, and it was time for rest. All this was due to the attempts at reconciling the two little devils.

The young prince's quarters were not bad per se, but they were not as elaborate compared to Sansa's and Robb's chambers. No, he wasn't complaining, for not all bastards were given personal quarters. Even here, in the North, it was a significant indication of his father's care.

Thoughts about how to live on gnawed at Jon. What was his purpose in this world? Perhaps he was destined to fight for the Iron Throne? To become King…? It sounded, in reality, extremely stressful.

The best option at the moment was to go with the flow and deal with everything as it came. There was hope that his diverse knowledge from books on medieval development would finally come in handy somewhere.

Aegon fell asleep to the peaceful crackling of the burning logs in the fireplace, thinking about what awaited him the next day.