Ashara's laugh was bitter as winter wind. "War. Of course. Because Brandon's death wasn't enough for the gods, was it? Now they'll have their thousands more."
"My lady," Harwyn said gently, his usual sarcasm replaced by genuine concern, "perhaps we should focus on more immediate matters. You've just given birth, you're grieving, and frankly, the realm's politics can wait a few hours while you recover."
"Recover?" Ashara's voice cracked. "Harwyn, the father of my child is dead. How exactly does one recover from that?"
Well, this is thoroughly depressing* thought baby Cregan. *Though I have to admire her spirit.
Even devastated, she's magnificent. Reminds me a bit of Hermione, actually-beautiful, brilliant, and absolutely terrifying when angry.*
As if responding to his mother's distress, baby Cregan reached up with one tiny fist, managing to grasp her finger with surprising strength. The gesture seemed to break through Ashara's despair, and she managed a tremulous smile.
"Look at that grip," she said softly. "Strong like his father. Determined to hold on, aren't you, little one?"
"He's got excellent timing, I'll give him that," Harwyn observed. "Nothing like a baby's touch to remind you that life goes on, even when the world's gone mad."
"What will you tell Dorne?" Ashara asked her brother. "About... about us? About Brandon and me?
About Cregan?"
Aurelius was quiet for a long moment, studying his nephew's face. "The truth, when the time is right. That you loved Brandon Stark with all your heart, and he loved you just as fiercely. That you were wed before the old gods with honor and witnessed by true friends. That this child is trueborn, no matter what whispers may follow."
"And House Stark?" Ashara's voice was barely above a whisper. "What of Ned? Will he want to know about his brother's son?"
"Ned Stark is said to be an honorable man," Aurelius replied carefully. "When this war ends-however it ends-I suspect he'll want to know his brother's legacy lives on. Though whether that's a blessing or a curse remains to be seen."
Ned Stark* mused baby Cregan. *My uncle, apparently. Let's hope he's more of the 'honorable family man' variety and less of the 'creative execution methods' type. Though given my luck, he's probably got some spectacular character flaw I haven't discovered yet.*
"If I may interrupt this touching family moment," Harwyn said with his characteristic tact, "the child will need a wet nurse, Lady Ashara needs rest, and I need a very large cup of wine. Also, the household is probably wondering why their lord came thundering back from King's Landing looking like he'd wrestled a bear."
"Several bears," Aurelius corrected. "Possibly while on fire."
"Right, well, that's what we'll tell them then," Harwyn said cheerfully. "Lord Aurelius fought several flaming bears on the King's Road. Much more interesting than the actual truth."
Despite everything, Ashara smiled. "You're terrible, Harwyn."
"It's why you pay me the big money, my lady. Well, that and my sparkling personality."
"We don't pay you big money," Aurelius pointed out.
"No, but you feed me well and let me insult the nobility without being flogged. That's worth more than gold in my book."
I really do like this old bastard* thought baby Cregan with appreciation. *He's got the right idea about priorities.*
"Shall I arrange for the household to be told about the birth?" Harwyn asked, becoming briefly serious. "They'll want to celebrate, and honestly, we could all use some good news after... well, after everything."
Ashara looked down at her son, who gazed back with those unsettling violet eyes that seemed far too knowing for someone who'd been breathing for less than an hour.
"Yes," she said softly. "Let them celebrate. Let there be some joy in this dark day. Let them toast to Cregan Stark, son of Brandon and Ashara, heir to Starfall and child of two great houses."
"And future heartbreaker," Aurelius added with the first genuine smile he'd managed since arriving.
"Oh, absolutely," Harwyn agreed. "With those looks and that grip? The serving girls won't stand a chance in about sixteen years. We'll have to invest in stronger doors just to keep the suitors out."
Sixteen years* mused baby Cregan. *Assuming I survive that long in this apparent medieval nightmare. Though judging by the conversation, I'll be lucky to make it through the next few years without being caught up in a war. Still, challenges are what make life interesting, aren't they?*
As the adults continued discussing practical matters-wet nurses and announcements and the political implications of his very existence-baby Cregan closed his eyes and tried to process his situation. He was in a new world, with a new family, and apparently about to be caught up in a massive war. His father was dead, murdered by a madman, his mother was grieving, and he had the combined memories of Harry Potter and Tom Riddle rattling around in his infant skull like competing radio stations.
Well* he thought with characteristic determination, *I've faced worse odds. Probably. Maybe. Oh, who am I kidding? This is going to be absolutely mental. But then again, when has my life ever been boring?*
Outside the chamber windows, the pale stone tower of Starfall caught the morning light, while in the distance, the Torrentine River wound its way toward the Summer Sea. It was a beautiful morning in Dorne-but across the narrow sea and in the halls of power throughout Westeros, the wheels of war and vengeance had already begun to turn.
The boy who had once defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort slept fitfully in his mother's arms, his dreams filled with flashes of green light, the echo of his mother's tears, and the whispered promises of power that drifted up from the darker corners of Tom Riddle's borrowed memories.
But for now, he was simply Cregan Stark-son of Brandon and Ashara, heir to Starfall, and the newest player in the great game that would reshape the Seven Kingdoms. The only question was whether he would be playing to win, or merely to survive.