A Father and A Daughter

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Chapter 52 (The Old Lion), Chapter 53 (A Princess's Dragon), Chapter 54 (Love in God's Wood), Chapter 55 (Dancing with Flames), Chapter 56 (The Cannibal), Chapter 57 (A Family with House Stark), Chapter 58 (The She-Bear and The Dragon), and Chapter 59 (The Regret of A Big Brother) are already available for Patrons.

Alyanna Dayne

As Maester Luwin meticulously examined Alyanna's arm, delicately feeling for any signs of injury, he issued a solemn decree, advising her to grant her arm a respite from excessive use for the forthcoming days and pondering the prospects of indulging in the company of Arya and Sansa. Lost in her thoughts, a gentle creak resonated through the air, capturing her attention as the wooden door gracefully swung open. To her astonishment, the figure that emerged through the threshold was Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.

"L-Lord Stark?!" Alyanna's voice echoed through the room, a mix of surprise and embarrassment evident in her tone. She had never anticipated a visit from him, and her initial reaction was to rise from her bed, a gesture of respect. However, as she attempted to stand, a sharp pang of pain shot through her body from her wounded arm. A stifled groan escaped her lips, betraying her discomfort. At that very moment, Lord Stark swiftly approached her, his footsteps resonating with purpose. The touch of his hand, warm and reassuring, settled upon her shoulder, gently urging her back onto the soft embrace of her bed.

"Don't move; you're wounded," Lord Stark's voice resonated with a tender, fatherly tone, his words laced with genuine concern. Alyanna's lips instinctively curled into an endearing smile, her eyes sparkling with a mix of gratitude and nostalgia. The way he spoke to her, mirroring the gentle cadence her mother had once used, tugged at the strings of her heart, enveloping her in a warm embrace of familiarity and love.

"T-thank you, Lord Stark," Alyanna murmured with a hint of hesitation, her voice trembling like the delicate flutter of a butterfly's wings. Her gaze averted from his piercing eyes, like a timid flower shyly turning away from the radiant sun.

She lay there, her delicate arms gently cradling the soft mattress of the bed as if seeking solace in its comforting embrace. Leaning against the sturdy backrest, she found a fleeting sense of security amidst the turbulent whirlwind of emotions that engulfed her.

Witnessing the vulnerability in her eyes, Lord Stark's heart swelled with empathy. He swiftly snatched a chair by its backside, the wooden legs scraping against the cold stone ground, creating a resonating symphony that reverberated through the hushed chamber. Placing it meticulously near Alyanna's bedside, he ensured that his presence would be a comforting anchor.

"It's good to see you alright, Lady Dayne. Lady Dacey wanted to come here herself, but her arm is quite numb," Lord Stark uttered with a gentle smile gracing his lips, his laughter resonating through the air. Alyanna couldn't suppress her own amusement, reminiscing about the playful spar she had engaged in with Lady Dacey. Yet, even as mirth danced in her eyes, her gaze remained averted from Lord Stark, her heart pounding with a rapid tempo. For years, she had yearned to encounter him, but now, an unforeseen trepidation clawed at her core as if she wished to be enveloped by the earth itself, longing for its sanctuary to consume her entirely.

An eerie stillness descended upon the chamber, enveloping the room in an enchanting silence. Within this hallowed space, the only audible symphony was that of the delicate flickering of flames dancing upon the candles, casting mesmerizing shadows upon the walls. The winter wind howled outside, its icy breath seeping through the cracks, causing the snowflakes to twirl and pirouette through the air like ethereal dancers. These glistening white gems gracefully descended upon the land, transforming it into a winter wonderland.

As Alyanna reclined on her bed, her thoughts swirled with the realization that she could no longer remain silent. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air, urging her to break free from the confines of her muteness. Summoning her courage, she mustered the strength to address Lord Stark, the esteemed figure who stood before her. With a barely audible voice laced with a subtle quiver, she uttered, "T-Thank you for coming here, Lord Stark." As her words trembled through the room, her gaze, like delicate petals, avoided his piercing grey eyes, opting instead to seek solace in the safety of her own violet orbs.

Alyanna didn't understand why she was making this so difficult; she was of House Dayne and Stark, and she was a Proud Wolf, yet, she was stuttering, her voice was meek, and she was acting like a child who was about to be disciplined for bad behavior.

Lord Stark leaned forward, his piercing gaze meeting the lady's eyes. A warm smile played upon his lips as he posed the question, his voice carrying across the room like a gentle breeze. "Do you like Winterfell, my lady?"

Alyanna slowly turned her head, her locks cascading over her shoulders, her violet eyes locking onto his grey orbs. As Lord Stark's gaze met hers, an inexplicable surge of longing and nostalgia washed over him, transporting him back to the very moment he had laid eyes on her for the first time. It was a distant memory, yet vividly etched in his mind, when she was but a delicate babe, radiating an ethereal beauty that captivated his heart. The sensation of cradling her in his arms, her tiny form nestled peacefully, still lingered in his thoughts, a cherished treasure that held a special place in his soul, forever etching her as a priceless gem in the depths of his adoring eyes.

Now, as the golden sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and dusky purple, she had grown beautiful. Time had been kind to her, gracefully sculpting her features and adorning her with an aura of radiant confidence. Lord Stark, his heart heavy with a bittersweet mix of melancholy and admiration, found himself fighting back a welling surge of emotions that threatened to spill from his eyes. He clenched his jaw, determined to maintain his composure, for he refused to let tears betray his stoic facade in the presence of his beloved daughter.

"It's beautiful, my lord. I love the snow, and Wintertown is quite stunning." A pang of nostalgia tugged at Alyanna's heartstrings, reminding her of her mother's cherished words. "My mother always spoke of Winterfell with such reverence," she confessed, her voice tinged with a bittersweet melancholy. At that moment, as Alyanna's words hung in the air, she couldn't help but feel a surge of sorrow welling up within her. It was as if the weight of her unshed tears threatened to spill over, causing her to avert her gaze, her eyes burning with unspoken emotions.

As the wind whistled through the halls of Winterfell, Lord Stark stood by the small square window, gazing out at the Courtyard below. With a voice filled with agreement, he spoke, "Your mother is right, Winterfell is indeed beautiful, but I found God's Wood to be the most beautiful," In the distance, amidst the training grounds, Jon Snow engaged in a spirited sparring session, his swordplay a testament to his determination and skill.

Lord Stark turned his head to look back at Alyanna as she turned to look at him; her eyes were red with unshed tears.

"Then I want to see it," Alyanna quickly decided, ignoring the sharp pang of agony that surged through her wounded arm; she valiantly attempted to rise from her seat, her body quivering with a mixture of anticipation and physical discomfort. Yet, as another wave of pain seared through her, she couldn't help but grimace, a fleeting expression of vulnerability betraying her steely resolve. Sensing her distress, Lord Stark reacted with haste, gently but firmly urging her to recline in the soft embrace of her bed, encouraging her to find solace and respite in its comforting confines.

"I want to see it, Lord Stark. You said it yourself 'The most beautiful place is the God's Wood of Winterfell, it's nothing special, but it feels like Home,' " she recalled, accompanied by a gentle smile that illuminated her features. As her words hung in the air, Lord Stark's eyes widened ever so subtly, a flicker of recognition flickering across his countenance, reminiscent of a long-forgotten conversation shared with Ashara. Gradually, a warm smile graced his otherwise solemn visage.

"Indeed, let me help you, my lady," Lord Stark offered, extending his hand toward Alyanna. Alyanna's gaze shifted from Lord Stark's extended hand to his grey eyes, where she unexpectedly caught sight of her own reflection. Alyanna mustered the strength to accept his outstretched hand, determined to rise from her bedridden state. Even though each movement sent a searing jolt of pain through her wounded arm, Alyanna chose to push through the discomfort, resolutely ignoring the physical agony as she triumphantly stood upright.

God's Wood

As Alyanna ventured through God's Wood, she relished in the ethereal sensation of the snow delicately crumbling beneath her feet. The snowflakes gracefully descended from the heavens, their descent mimicking the unhurried rhythm of a waltz. In this serene moment, time seemed to stretch, embracing Alyanna in its languid embrace as if the entire world conspired to slow its pace just for her.

Alyanna closed her eyes; she knew Spring was somewhere with Ghost. They were hunting together in Wolf's Wood; she had noticed how close Ghost was getting with Spring; it was his favorite companion.

As her eyes fluttered open, she gazed upon the sight of Lord Stark, his figure guiding her through the God's Wood. In the ethereal winter landscape, a delicate blanket of snow had gracefully settled upon Lord Stark's hair and broad shoulders, creating an enchanting tableau that seemed to come alive with each measured stride he took, the crystalline flakes playfully dancing and twirling in the air, as if bidding farewell to their temporary resting place.

As Alyanna strolled through the forest, she marveled at the ethereal beauty that surrounded her. The tall trees stood like guardians, their branches adorned with a delicate layer of glistening snow, casting an otherworldly aura. In awe of the serene scene, Alyanna's eyes were drawn to a flash of vibrant red amidst the wintry backdrop.

It was a magnificent red bird gracefully descending upon a dainty nest nestled within the branches, providing shelter for a brood of eager, hungry fledglings. With their tiny beaks agape, the baby birds eagerly awaited the arrival of their devoted father, the red bird, who had diligently hunted for nourishment. Perched delicately on a branch, the red bird's beak held a bounty of wriggling worms. With gentle precision, the red bird lovingly distributed a single worm to each of his precious offspring.

With a gleeful smile illuminating her face, Alyanna couldn't help but be captivated by the scene unfolding before her eyes: cheerful melodies filled the air with infectious joy. As her gaze lingered on this heartwarming sight, Alyanna's attention gracefully shifted towards Lord Stark, their footsteps echoing through the forest of God's Wood. Little did she realize that their leisurely stroll had inadvertently led them to the Weirwood Tree.

As Alyanna ventured deeper into the forest, her eyes were drawn to the Weirwood Tree. Its weathered trunk, as pure and white as freshly fallen snow, bore a mesmerizing face intricately carved into its surface. The eyes of the Weirwood Tree seemed to possess an otherworldly gaze, penetrating Alyanna's very soul. With each step she took, a tingling sensation crawled up her spine, as if the tree itself was attuned to her presence, silently observing her every move with an eerie and unwavering vigilance.

Her eyes fixed upon Lord Stark as he gracefully shed his weighty cloak, crafted from the supple pelts of fierce woodland creatures. With deliberate care, he positioned the garment upon the glistening expanse of pristine snow. As his gaze met hers, an unspoken invitation danced in his eyes, beckoning her to join him. With a gentle wave of his hand, he gestured for her to take respite beside him.

With a graceful stride, Alyanna approached him in utter silence, her footsteps barely disturbing the tranquil aura surrounding them. As she drew nearer, her gaze caught the sight of Lord Stark, seated upon a vein of the Weirwood Tree that stood proudly nearby, its gnarled roots intertwining with the earth like a lifeline to the gods. His piercing grey eyes, reminiscent of storm clouds on a wintry horizon, met Alyanna's with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. At that moment, amidst the sacred God's Wood, she could sense the ethereal presence of the winter wind. Delicate snowflakes, resembling a myriad of shimmering white jewels, danced and twirled through the air.

As she sat down, she and Lord Stark looked around the forest covered in snow in silence. The sight of the forest, dressed in its winter finery, stirred their souls while the soft whisper of the wind, like a delicate lullaby, caressed their ears. Overhead, the branches of the trees danced in a whimsical ballet, their rhythmic collisions producing a gentle symphony of nature's percussion. Alyanna found herself utterly entranced by the magnificence that unfolded before her wide, awe-stricken eyes.

"Lord Stark, this place..." As Alyanna's voice faded, she stood amidst the forest, her gaze sweeping across the majestic expanse that surrounded her. Her eyes, brimming with a mixture of joy and melancholy, returned to Lord Stark.

"It's Beautiful. I understand now why you told my mother that this place is the most beautiful place in Westeros," she whispered, her voice laden with awe and reverence. A tender smile graced Alyanna's lips, a delicate interplay of happiness and sorrow. Tears welled up in her eyes, shimmering.

As Lord Stark's gaze fixated upon his daughter, his once stoic eyes transformed into pools of crimson, shimmering with unshed tears. A surge of vulnerability overcame him, compelling him to break the silence that had lingered between them for far too long. With a tremor in his voice, he uttered her name, "A-Alyanna, I'm really sorry," abandoning the formality of her title as if shedding the weight of their strained relationship. Sadness and longing intertwined in his gaze.

Alyanna, her own eyes mirroring a mix of confusion and concern, met his gaze with a flicker of curiosity. "Why are you apologizing?"

With a heavy heart and a somber tone, Lord Stark mustered the courage to face his daughter, Alyanna. In a moment of vulnerability, he confessed, "I abandoned you, daughter. I abandoned you and your mother. I'm sorry." The words hung in the air as he struggled to contain his emotions, swallowing back tears that threatened to escape his weary eyes. Alyanna, her gaze locked with her father's, absorbed his every word, her heart aching with a mixture of pain and longing.

Regret washed over Lord Stark as he sat before them, his voice filled with remorse and his eyes reflecting the weight of his absence. "I wasn't there to see you grow up. I wasn't there to watch your first steps, to hear your first words, to be there when you were scared. I abandoned you both," he confessed, the sincerity of his apology resonating through the air. With every word, his heart broke a little more, the crack in his voice betraying the immense sadness he felt as he fought to maintain composure and conceal the depth of his emotions.

Ned knew he didn't deserve to ever be part of her life; he didn't deserve anything after abandoning her. Ned had dreamed of this day since the day he left Starfall. Since the day he left Ashara, He had dreamed of meeting his daughter.

With anxious anticipation, Ned's eyes fixated on her, bracing himself for a vehement onslaught that would curse his very existence. Yet, to his surprise, all he encountered was the stillness of her presence, seated there in profound silence. He longed for her to unleash her wrath upon him, to vocalize her vehement desire to sever all ties. He yearned for the piercing words that would encapsulate the extent of his transgressions, the suffering he had inadvertently inflicted upon her and Ashara, his heart heavy with remorse.

"My mother told me how you two met," Alyanna started with a small smile, showing her white teeth. "I want to hear it from you. How did you meet with my mother?" Ned smiled with melancholy once he heard his daughter's question.

Ashara Dayne

Prince Rhaegar had played his harp for the assembled crowd earlier in the evening, and it should have surprised no one that he sang of Summerhall and grief of Jenny of Oldstones for her dead Prince of Dragonflies. Ashara even saw Lady Olenna scribbling down lines that caught her attention, no doubt meaning to add them to the masque. Claiming a glass of Arbor gold from a passing servant, she perched on the edge of the high table and considered the room.

She would ask Princess Elia if she noticed anything odd during the Prince's song. Ashara had been too busy wincing at the words and eyeing the guests she knew had once been closest to the King. The Lannisters and their bannermen. The Tyrells and the lords of the Reach. The Starks she paid no mind; Winterfell to her seemed as distant as Old Valyria, and the northern lords had the sense to stay as far away from court as they could. However, most of the guests had drunk enough of Lord and Lady Whent's wine that they barely noticed the words, applauding the Prince as mightily as any famed musician from the Free Cities.

That much, at least, was a blessing. And by now, the dancing had indeed distracted them from even that memory. She herself was quickly losing track of her long string of partners.

"You seem far too serious for a feast, my lady," a man's voice said near her in a thick Northern burr. "If I may be so bold."

Ashara glanced up from her wine. The knight, clad in Stark colors, was her age or perhaps a bit younger, some childish roundness still in his cheeks. He was flushed with wine, his grey eyes alive with laughter, and his hair pretty as a girl's. Ashara refused to indulge her desire to twist one of those dark curls around her finger and steal a kiss. After all, he was a northern boy; he might faint from shock. "They say the lords of the north must need be bold to spare us all from the depths of winter. Are those not the Stark words?"

"Spare me from my family's words," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "I must confess, my lady, that I am here on a mission."

"A mission?" Ashara drained her wine and set the glass on the table behind her. "Pray do tell."

"I'm afraid you seem to have stunned my younger brother." He made an expansive gesture toward the table where the Starks and their allies gathered. There, beside the laughing figure of Robert Baratheon of Storm's End, was the young man she had seen earlier. "He's been staring at you all night, and it was all I could do to draw out of him that he'd encountered you earlier this evening and thought you were the fairest lady he'd ever seen."

"That must make you Lord Rickard's heir." Ashara held out her hand. "I am Ashara Dayne, and I serve Princess Elia."

"And the Sword of the Morning..."

"My elder brother," she confirmed, hiding her smile. So many young men, it seemed, blushed like maids for Arthur, though he wouldn't have noticed even if he weren't sworn to the Kingsguard. "Should I be insulted that the young men flock to him rather than me?"

The young Lord Stark kissed her hand. "They would flock to you, lady, if you would have them."

"But not you among them, surely. Or are the rumors of your betrothal false?" She could not recall who the lady was, but she was not in attendance.

"Nay, I am betrothed to Lady Catelyn Tully of Riverrun; that much is true." There was a trace of defiance beneath the words that gave Ashara pause. Something more lay beneath the words; that much she could tell. "But that is of no consequence tonight. I am here to beg a dance from you on my brother's behalf."

"Will he not ask me himself?" As she looked across the room at Ned Stark once more, he met her eyes, and his cheeks grew red. "I am not so frightening, surely."

"If Lord Robert were to know, poor Ned would never hear the end of it. Will you be my brother's savior, my lady Ashara?"

"Every woman longs to save a man," she finally said, giving him her hand. "Lead on, my Lord. Although, do tell me your name that I may remember you to my brother."

"I would prefer to be remembered to you, lady. Brandon Stark, at your service."

Ashara smiled at him and saw with satisfaction that a blush had begun to creep up his neck. "A builder like your namesake?"

"I fear not, my lady. Just the future Lord of Winterfell."

"Just the future lord of Winterfell," she mimicked, the northern consonants tripping her tongue. "I would speak more with you, Lord Brandon."

"And I with you."

"Some other night, perhaps," she said, curtsying. Then, dropping his arm, she advanced the final few steps to the contingent flying the blue and white eagle of the Eyrie. Brandon Stark's brother was seated beside the black-haired giant of Storm's End, one of the favorites of this tournament, and his eyes widened in shock at the sight of her. "I told you I would find you, Ned Stark," said Ashara, biting back a smile.

Robert Baratheon slapped him on the back. "Dance with her, you fool, before she changes her mind. Or, better yet," he turned to Ashara, blue eyes dancing with drunken laughter, "I'll go in his stead."

"Nay, Lord Robert, the invitation has yet to be refused." At this point, Ned Stark grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the center of the hall, Robert's laughter echoing behind them. Northmen were turning out to be far less boring than she had suspected.

At the last minute, she saw, from the corner of her eye, a slender young man in grey clothing clearly intended for someone much larger. Pinned at his throat was a badge of two lizards- one Ashara did not recognize. Her frown must have caught Ned Stark's attention, for he made a half-gesture toward the young man in the corner.

"Howland Reed, my lady, of Greywater Watch. The crannogmen do not normally venture this far south, but he said he'd had a dream of this tournament." As if suddenly realizing what he'd said, he stared down at the embroidered hem of her skirt. "Which sounds very foolish, I imagine..."

"Not at all, my lord," Ashara replied, only half in bemusement. The dragons may have died long ago, but the magic had not wholly died with them, and it was said the crannogmen of the neck could trace their blood back to the First Men. Ashara met Howland Reed's eyes- the green of moss and swamp trees- and it seemed for a half-second that she stood at the window of the Palestone Sword, gazing down at the ocean infinitely far below.

"Lady Ashara?" Ned's face swam back into her vision. "Are you all right?"

She tossed her head and smiled. "Of course. I was just miles away for a moment. By all means, let us dance and think no more of it."

When she glanced back over her shoulder, the crannogman had vanished. 

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' "You're not a bad dancer, my lord. Tell me, do all Wolves know how to dance like you?" Ashara asked with a beautiful smile stretching on her lips as she and Ned danced around the garden of Harrenhal. The enchanting melody of their footsteps intertwined with the soft rustling of leaves as they gracefully moved through the moonlit garden of Harrenhal, their bodies in perfect harmony. While the grand feast captivated the attention of the masses, Ned and Ashara found solace in each other's company, their playful banter filling the air with a sense of warmth and intimacy. As the sun bid its farewell to the day, painting the sky with a breathtaking palette of crimson and gold, Ashara couldn't help but feel a surge of joy coursing through her veins, for it had been ages since she had witnessed a sunset as captivating as the one unfolding before her very eyes.

Ned was trying hard not to step on her feet during their dancing. "I might be a wolf. But I like to do fun things. Dancing with a lady like you is something I quite enjoy." Ned didn't know where that came from, but he hoped his words hadn't offended the lady.

"Ohh," Ashara purred, her eyes sparkling with delight as she basked in the joy of his company, " I'm happy that you're enjoying spending your time with me, my lord" Her voice, dripping with a hint of seduction, resonated in his ears like the enchanting melody of a rare songbird, weaving a spellbinding tapestry of desire and allure. Leaning in closer to him, her proximity created an intoxicating intimacy, their breaths mingling harmoniously, a delicate dance of warmth and passion that sent shivers down his spine.

Ned swallowed, feeling like prey from her intense, beautiful violet eyes, which seemed to pierce through him. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful lady he had ever seen. He had seen many ladies in the South, even Queen Elia, but none held a candle to Ashara. Her long, flowing locks of dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing her delicate features, while her violet eyes shone with a brilliance that could rival the stars. The soft curves of her figure were accentuated by her elegant gown, and with every step she took, she seemed to glide effortlessly as if she were dancing on air.

After dancing until they got tired, Ned felt his legs burn a little, but it was all worth it. Dancing with Ashara had been something he wanted to do again and again. He offered to walk her back to her tent.

"Ohh, a strong lord like you wants to be alone with a maiden like me." Leaning closer, she whispered in his ear, "Perhaps you want more than just a walk." The sound of her voice sent shivers down his spine as he felt her soft lips brush against his neck. Her seductive touch was driving him mad, and he could barely resist the temptation of her alluring presence. 

Ned took a deep breath, trying to calm down his nerves. He had never been with a lady before, despite how many times Robert had tried to convince him to go with him to one of the many brothels he had been to. Ned had refused. He wanted to sleep only with the love of his life, no one else. Ned was tempted, but this was the first night he wanted to get to know her, and he wanted his father's permission to marry her before laying with her.

"It's tempting, my lady, but I would like to get to know you first," Ned spoke; Ashara's expression shifted, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she quickly composed herself and quirked a smile.

The cool night breeze was blowing softly, and the stars twinkled in the dark sky as he turned to her and said, "I would love it if you walked me back to my tent." Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him, and then she smiled and took his arm, feeling a warm tingling sensation in her fingertips as they began to walk together. The moon was full, and the garden was quiet as they strolled along, talking and laughing softly, enjoying each other's company as they made their way back to her campsite.

On their walk back to her tent, Ned would ask about Dorne, about the beautiful places in Dorne, and many other things. Ashara was quite pleased that he wanted to know more about her, and she could tell he was listening to her every word.

The moment they arrived at her tent, she extended her hand toward him, offering a warm and welcoming gesture. He took her hand in his, gently brushing his lips against her knuckles, causing a flutter of excitement to course through her veins. The touch of his lips sparked an intense fire within her. She licked her lips seductively, her eyes locking onto his as she felt her body ignite with passion and desire. 

"Have a Good Night, my Lady." His voice resonated with warmth, complemented by a gentle smile that illuminated his face. Just as he was about to pivot and make his way toward his awaiting tent, a delicate touch landed upon his shoulder, prompting him to halt in his tracks. In a spontaneous display of affection, her lips moved of their own accord, planting a tender peck upon his lips. The unexpected gesture caught Ned completely off guard, causing a blush to creep across his cheeks, adding a subtle hue to his countenance. Yet, his radiant smile persisted, a testament to the joy that filled his heart in that fleeting moment.

"Good Night, my Lord," Ashara said sweetly; Ned smiled at her before walking away, almost in haste. '

Now

"I Swore an oath to your mother. I promised your mother I would marry her, but I broke my promise. I gave her my word. Your mother was a bright star for me during the rebellion; she and Lyanna were the only ones I could think of when I was fighting in that War." Ned finished his story before he drew in a deep breath, the crisp winter air filling his lungs as he sought solace in nature's embrace. His gaze shifted to his daughter, her unwavering composure hiding the turmoil within.

Alyanna stood silent, she had heard all that from her mother, but she had wanted to hear it from her father too, to see how he felt about what happened; she could tell he genuinely regretted what happened and would genuinely have wanted for things to go differently, but she knew that sometimes the world doesn't care what you want.

"How was it like for you to grow in Starfall and Sunspear? Do you have any good friends, friends you can trust," Lord Stark asked with genuine interest.

"It's beautiful, it might be very warm, but is a very beautiful place to live and call home, and the people there are very friendly. I Have loyal friends, Nymeria, Obara, Tyene, Princess Arianne and Jae is all I will ever need, but I wouldn't mind getting to know my other siblings," As her words danced through the air, accompanied by a subtle undertone of admiration when she uttered the name "Jae," a flicker of curiosity ignited within Lord Stark's perceptive gaze, though he chose to temporally set it aside, for the moment at least.

Once again, a hush fell over the serene surroundings of God's Wood, enveloping the atmosphere in tranquil stillness. Alyanna's eyes attentively followed the graceful flight of the red bird as it gracefully departed from its nest, embarking on a quest to procure nourishment for its vulnerable offspring. Amidst this peaceful scene, the silence was finally broken as Alyanna mustered the courage.

As Alyanna mustered up the courage to rise from her seat, her voice quivered with a hint of unease as she posed a question that had been haunting her restless mind: "Lord Stark, do you still love my mother?" In that very moment, as if synchronized by an unspoken understanding, the noble Lord Stark, too, stood tall, his countenance adorned with an unwavering seriousness that mirrored the weight of his words. His piercing grey eyes met her own, violet orbs shimmering with anticipation.

With a voice as tender as a lullaby and eyes filled with paternal warmth, Ned made a vow that resonated through the air. "I will always love her as I love you." The words danced delicately upon his lips, carrying the weight of a thousand promises as Alyanna's emotions welled up within her like a tempestuous storm. A single tear, heavy with bittersweet nostalgia, escaped the confines of her eyelashes and cascaded down her flushed cheek.

As Ned began to utter the words, "That will never-" his sentence was abruptly cut off by the unexpected embrace of Alyanna. With a sudden surge of emotion, she flung her arms around him, clutching him tightly like a speeding arrow finding its mark, her heartfelt cries subdued by the soft fabric of his cloak.

In that poignant moment, overwhelmed by Alyanna's profound affection, Ned's initial words dissipated into the air. Instead, he found himself enveloped in a cocoon of love as his beloved daughter whispered, "I love you too, Papa," her tears cascading down and dampening his cloak. Without hesitation, Ned reciprocated the embrace, holding her with the utmost tenderness and planting a gentle kiss atop her head.

"H-how can you forgive me so easily?" Eddard Stark's voice cracked with emotion as he mustered the courage to voice his question. His heart ached with regret, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. Swallowing back a sob, he pulled his daughter into a tight embrace, feeling the warmth of her presence against his chest. At that moment, he couldn't help but feel a pang of fear, as if she might vanish from his arms like a fragile dream. Yet, as he held her close, he found solace in her forgiveness, a balm for his wounded soul.

As Alyanna's trembling voice escaped her lips, she mustered the strength to whisper, "T-there was nothing to forgive, Father." With her arms wrapped around him in an embrace, Ned felt a cascade of tears streaming down his weathered cheeks, each droplet an embodiment of his overwhelming emotions.

In a tender moment of unconditional love, he gently pressed his lips against her forehead, cherishing the bond they shared. Amidst the delicate exchange, Ned's voice resonated with heartfelt sincerity, "I love you too, my Daughter."

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