The Morning After
The sun rose over the Tower of Joy, casting long shadows across the red rocks. Inside the upper chamber, the air was calm for the first time in months.
Ned sat in a wooden chair by the bed, the newborn resting in the crook of his arm. Jon Stark—for that was his name in this room, if nowhere else—was awake, his dark grey eyes staring up at his uncle with solemn curiosity.
"He has a grip like the Greatjon," Ned murmured, wiggling his index finger which the baby was currently trying to crush with a surprisingly strong fist. "Look at that. He's trying to break my hand."
Lyanna laughed softly from the bed. She looked tired, her face pale against the pillows, but the haunted look was gone. She was a mother now, and the fierce protectiveness of the she-wolf had replaced the fear of the prisoner. "He's a wolf, Ned. He knows he has to be strong."
Ned smiled, a genuine, unguarded expression that he rarely wore. He tickled the baby's chin lightly with his thumb. Jon gurgled, a small bubble of spit forming on his lips.
"Hello, little wolf," Ned whispered, bringing the baby closer. "I'm going to teach you how to ride. And how to swing a sword. And how to ignore Benjen when he suggests stupid ideas."
The baby kicked his legs, seemingly in agreement. Ned chuckled, rocking him gently. The connection in the Force was bright and pure—a new star burning in the morning light.
It was hard to believe that this small, fragile thing was the center of so much death and prophecy. Right now, he was just a baby who needed his uncle.
Lyanna watched them, her eyes shining. "You're good with him."
"I think, I am a natural" Ned said, handing the baby back to her as Jon began to fuss.
He watched as Lyanna settled Jon against her chest. The domestic peace was beautiful, but fragile. Ned knew it couldn't last. The world outside was still waiting.
"We need a plan," Ned said softly, his tone shifting from uncle back to Lord.
Lyanna looked up, covering Jon with the sheet. "A plan?"
"For Robert," Ned said. The name hung in the air like a storm cloud. "We can't just ride into King's Landing. If he sees you... if he sees the boy..."
"He will kill him," Lyanna whispered. "And he will try to marry me."
"I won't let him do that, but I don't want to continue bloodshed." Ned agreed. "He thinks this was a kidnapping. He thinks you are waiting to be rescued so you can become his Queen. If you return to the capital alive, he will bind you to him. And he will look at Jon and see Rhaegar."
Ned leaned forward, his grey eyes serious.
"You have to die, Lya."
Lyanna flinched. "What?"
"To the world," Ned clarified quickly. "To Robert. To the realm. Lyanna Stark died in the Tower of Joy. She died of a fever, clutching a bed of blood and roses."
He reached out and took her hand.
"If you are dead, Robert mourns. He builds statues. He cries. And then... he moves on. He marries Cersei Lannister or someone else. He stops hunting. And you... you get to go home."
Lyanna processed this. "I go home? As a ghost?"
"As a widow," Ned improvised. "Or a distant cousin. Or we just keep you in Winterfell. The North is vast, Lya. We can hide you at Greywater Watch with Howland for a time, or in the Wolfswood. But if we want Jon to be safe, no one can ever know that Rhaegar's lover survived."
Lyanna looked down at her son. She traced the curve of his ear.
"It means I can never be Lady Stark," she said. "I can never claim my name outside of our walls."
"It means you get to raise your son," Ned countered. "Is the name worth more than his life?"
Lyanna shook her head immediately. "No. No, you're right. Let Lyanna Stark die. I just want to be his mother."
"Good," Ned said. "Here is the plan. Arthur and I will ride to Starfall. It's the seat of House Dayne, a few days ride from here. We will procure a ship—a fast one. We will sail it up the coast to King's Landing."
"And then?"
"I go to Robert. I tell him the tragedy. We'll work out the details. Then, I take the ship North. You, Wylla, Howland, and the baby will meet us at the coast. We smuggle you aboard. By the time Robert realizes I'm gone, we'll be passing the Neck."
Lyanna smiled, a weak, grateful expression. "You've thought of everything."
"I have to," Ned said. "I'm the big brother."
He stood up.
"Howland and Wylla will stay here. They will guard you. Arthur and I ride within the hour."
"Arthur," Lyanna mused. "He is going with you?"
"He has a sister to see," Ned said, a softness entering his voice. "And I a future wife."
---
The journey to Starfall was a descent from the furnace of the mountains into the paradise of the coast.
Ned and Arthur rode in silence for the first few hours, the rhythmic clatter of hooves the only sound in the pass. They were an odd pair—the Lord of Winterfell in his grey wool and the Sword of the Morning in his white cloak, stripped of his brothers but not his purpose.
Arthur seemed lighter. The burden of the Mad King was gone. The burden of the prophecy was gone. He was just a man riding home.
"You love her," Arthur said suddenly.
It wasn't a question.
Ned looked over. "Ashara?"
"My sister," Arthur nodded. "She spoke of you. After Harrenhal. She... she smiled more."
Ned felt a flush rise on his neck that had nothing to do with the Dornish sun. "We... connected. We danced."
"You did more than dance, Lord Stark," Arthur said, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips. "Ashara is not one for half-measures. If she gave you her favor, she gave you her heart."
"I promised I would return," Ned said, looking at the road ahead. "I promised I wouldn't leave her."
"And then the war came," Arthur sighed. "And I went into hiding. She must think us all dead."
"We'll fix it," Ned said. "We're going to fix everything."
As they descended toward the coast, the air changed. The dry dust was replaced by the scent of lemons, salt water, and blooming flowers. The Torrentine River rushed to meet the Summer Sea, its waters remarkably clear and blue.
And there, on an island at the mouth of the river, stood Starfall.
It was breathtaking.
Ned had seen the Red Keep, and he knew Winterfell, but Starfall was something else. It was built of pale stone that seemed to glow in the sunlight. High towers spiraled toward the sky, and the Palestone Sword tower—the seat of the family—looked like a beacon guiding ships home.
It didn't look like a fortress of war. It looked like a palace of dreams.
"Home," Arthur breathed.
They rode across the causeway that connected the castle to the mainland. The guards on the gatehouse saw them coming.
Ned sensed their reaction in the Force. Boredom... curiosity... then shock. And then, pure, unadulterated joy.
"It's him!" a guard shouted. "Ser Arthur! And Lord Stark! Open the gates! The Sword of the Morning returns!"
The heavy gates swung open.
Arthur rode through, head high, white cloak billowing. Ned followed, feeling the strange sensation of being welcomed in a land that should have been his enemy.
The courtyard was bustling. Servants, grooms, and soldiers stopped what they were doing to stare. But there was no fear, no hostility. They smiled. Some cheered.
A man descended the steps of the main keep. He was older, with silver hair thinning at the temples and the violet eyes of House Dayne. He walked with a cane, but his back was straight.
Lord Alaric Dayne. The Lord of Starfall.
Arthur dismounted. He walked to his father and knelt.
"Father," Arthur said.
Lord Alaric threw his cane aside and hauled his son to his feet, embracing him fiercely. "We heard you were dead," Alaric whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "They said you fell at the Trident. They said the dragons were gone."
"I was not at the Trident," Arthur said, pulling back. "I was doing my duty. And now... I am home."
Alaric looked past Arthur to Ned. His expression didn't harden. Instead, a warm, knowing smile spread across his face.
"Lord Stark," Alaric said, opening his arms as if welcoming a long-lost son. "We have been waiting for you."
Ned dismounted, slightly taken aback by the warmth. "Lord Dayne. I come in peace. The war is over."
"Peace is all we have ever wanted," Alaric said, grasping Ned's hand. "Ashara said you would come. She never doubted it, not for a moment. Even when the ravens brought dark words, she said, 'Ned will come.'"
"I promised her," Ned said.
"You did," Alaric agreed. "And a Stark keeps his promises. Come inside. You must be weary."
"Where is she?" Ned asked, his eyes scanning the windows of the keep.
"In the gardens," Alaric said, gesturing towards the sea-facing side of the castle. "She waits for you there. Go to her, son. We can talk of wars and kings later."
Arthur clapped Ned on the shoulder. "Go."
The Gardens of Starfall
The gardens were a maze of lemon trees, fountains, and marble benches. The air was perfumed with jasmine and sea salt. It was a place of impossible tranquility.
Ned walked the winding paths, his heart hammering against his ribs harder than it had when he faced the Mountain. He smoothed his tunic, wishing he had time to bathe, to shave the travel beard, to look less like a barbarian from the North.
He felt her.
A bright, melancholy light that suddenly flared into blinding hope.
He turned a corner.
She was standing by the balustrade, looking out over the Summer Sea. She wore a dress of violet silk that matched her eyes. Her dark hair was loose, blowing in the gentle breeze.
Ashara Dayne.
She looked thinner than he remembered, but the beauty that had captivated him at Harrenhal was undimmed.
She turned as his boot scraped on the stone.
"Ned?" she whispered.
"I promised," Ned said, stepping forward. "I promised I'd come back."
She let out a sob. She ran to him.
Ned caught her. She slammed into him, burying her face in his chest, her arms wrapping around his neck with desperate strength. He held her tight, lifting her off her feet, burying his face in her hair. She smelled of lemons and rain.
"You're alive," she cried. "You're real."
"I'm alive," Ned murmured. "I'm here. It's over, Ash. It's all over."
She pulled back, framing his face with her hands. She looked at him with a hunger that broke his heart.
"You look tired," she said softly.
"It was a long ride," Ned smiled.
"Mama?"