When Eddard finished speaking, his wife and children were brimming with excitement—especially Sansa, whose entire body trembled with delight.
Eddard himself couldn't help admiring the elegance of Aedric's strategy, though he still hesitated after a long moment of silent thought. "But I promised Robert I'd help him keep his throne," he said uncertainly. "If I do this…"
"Father!" Sansa couldn't hold back any longer. She rushed forward, clasping her father's hands as she pleaded, "Please, Father! Please agree with Jon's plan! This is my lifelong wish! I beg you!"
"Uncle, it's true you made that promise to King Robert," Aedric said, pressing his advantage. "But didn't Robert also promise you that the two of you would rule the realm together—and join your houses by marriage?"
"And besides," he added smoothly, "you can't be completely certain Tommen Baratheon isn't Robert's son. Hair color alone isn't proof. After all, I'm a Targaryen—and I'm not silver-haired, am I?"
That shut Ned up completely. With his family staring at him with pleading eyes, the poor man could take no more. "I… I need to think," he muttered, getting up and striding quickly toward the door. "Let me think about this. We'll talk later…"
"Father!" Sansa called after him, half frantic, wanting to chase him down and argue further—but Aedric caught her arm, shaking his head gently.
"Let him think," he said. "He'll come around. This is, after all, the best path for House Stark."
"You have to believe in your father, Sansa—he'll make the right choice."
"Jon, thank you—thank you so much for all of this!" Sansa threw her arms around him, eyes shining. "I'll never forget what you've done. Someday, I swear I'll repay you!"
"Alright, alright, calm down." Aedric gently pried her off. "If you really intend to become a queen with real power, you have to start preparing now. Being a proper lady isn't enough."
"When your father decides," he continued seriously, "House Stark should move quickly to confirm the alliance with Highgarden. You can also be honest with the 'Queen of Thorns,' Olenna Tyrell—she's a master strategist. If she's willing to mentor you in court politics, it'll help you enormously in the years ahead."
(And it'll also let us share interests—only shared benefit makes an alliance last.)
He didn't bother saying that part aloud; these Starks wouldn't understand such Eastern pragmatism anyway.
"Jon, truly… thank you for everything," Catelyn said softly. Having calmed her overjoyed daughter, she looked at him with genuine remorse. "I was… terribly wrong about you before. I treated you unfairly, and I'm deeply sorry."
"No need to apologize, Aunt," Aedric said with a shrug. "For an unknown bastard, the fact that you didn't drown me when I was little—I'm already very grateful, honestly."
Catelyn could only give a strained smile, unsure whether to laugh or scold him.
"Now," Aedric said, his tone turning quiet, "could someone take me to the crypts? It's time I paid my respects to my mother."
"I'll take you," Catelyn said after stopping her eager children. "I knew Lyanna. It's only right that I take her son to see her."
Moments later, under Lady Catelyn's guidance, Aedric stepped for the first time into the Stark family crypt beneath Winterfell—and came face to face with the statue of his true mother: Lyanna Stark.
"I remember the first thing I saw after opening my eyes," he said softly, touching the worn stone face. "A dying woman, lying on a bed soaked in red. Then a man burst in, holding a bloodstained sword. The woman called him Eddard, called him Brother. She handed me to him and told him I was her son—her and a man named Rhaegar's child—and begged him to protect me."
"That man promised her. And then… she smiled, and took her last breath. Back then, I didn't understand what that meant."
"It meant I'd never see her again."
His voice was calm, but the loneliness behind it was heavy as snowfall.
Catelyn's maternal heart ached. She stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm. "Your mother was a great woman," she said softly. "She and your father truly loved each other. You are the proof of that love."
"Yes," Aedric murmured. "But the cost was enormous. So many died because of their love. Sometimes I wonder—was it worth it?"
"At least Lyanna never regretted it."
The voice came from behind. Eddard had followed them in, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone. He stopped beside his sister's statue, eyes full of sorrow. "She died with a smile on her face."
"What kind of person was my mother, Uncle?"
"Lyanna…" Ned's voice grew distant with memory. "She was beautiful—dark gray hair, gray eyes, and a smile brighter than any rose. She loved Winter Roses most of all, but when she smiled, even the flowers looked dull."
"But unlike her gentle looks, her spirit was fierce. She wanted to learn swordsmanship, but Father forbade it, so she threw herself into riding instead. She refused to be the quiet lady he wanted."
"She sounds… a lot like Arya," Aedric said softly.
Ned chuckled bitterly. "Father used to say Lyanna had 'the wolf's blood.' I think Arya has it too. They even look alike. But Starks with the wolf's blood…" His voice faltered. "They never seem to live long. Lyanna, my brother Brandon… I only hope Arya…"
"Eddard!" Catelyn's sharp tone cut him off.
Aedric sighed and gave Lyanna's statue a respectful bow. "The dead are gone, and the past can't be changed," he said quietly. "But the living still have to move forward. I won't let Arya suffer the same fate as her mother."
"I'll be leaving Winterfell for a while," he continued, straightening. "When I return, I'll take Arya with me—across the sea, to the eastern continent. I'll make her strong, Uncle. So strong that no one in this world will ever be able to hurt her."
"I promise."
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