Warden of The North

A woman, to Ned's surprise, dressed in trousers and wearing a heavy black dress with a thick scarf around her neck, took the lead in speaking.

"Er," she said gracefully. "Um. Well. Hello there" she greeted in reply, her voice sending the hairs on the back of Ned's neck standing, putting a hand on her chest and giving a slight bow of respect to the Northern lord. When she straightened, Ned got a good look at her face, and his stoic composure fled from him as ice filled his veins.

"Lord Stark..." came the guard's concerned call.

"Father?" He heard his sons ask.

Ned Stark looked on, eyes wide as he saw the face that had been in all his worst nightmares for the last decade and a half, that voice coming straight from a ghost in the past that he still mourned and missed.

With a slight crack in his voice, he uttered the name he had refused to speak for since that day in Dorne.

"Lyanna?"