Disclaimer: I own nothing but this plot. All rights belong to George R.R Martin.

Summary: Alyssa Snow is the younger twin of Jon and unlike him, bares striking resemblance to her father. After events that lead Robert to find out about Cersei and Jaime's affair, Jon Arryn suggests marrying the Kingslayer to Lord Starks bastard daughter, Alyssa. How will the young dragon cope in the lion pit? and what will she think of her husband?

The sweet smell of lifeblood was strong in the room, as was the smell of winter roses, the smell of both clung to the very chamber, thick and cloying. It was the smell of death and it clung to the young Stark girl like the babes at her side. Lyanna Stark was pale of face as her breath came in ragged breathes, weakening with each second. Her hair limp and wet from sweat and the once clean linen was now stained with blood and the fluids of childbirth.

Two babes swaddled in blankets squirmed at their mothers side, the one that had wailed as the fighting happened outside was a boy, the first born and a Prince. Aemon Targaryen, his father had named him in the womb. He looked like his mother, even as a babe. Northern his looks spoke and his eyes were so dark that one could hardly see the barest hint of the purple his fathers eyes favoured. The girl differed in every way; dragon her features said so much so that Lyanna feared her safety more than the boys. Her skin was pale, and what little hair she had even paler, as sliver as her fathers and her eyes were a deep vivid violet. She was smaller than her brother, fairer but just as strong-willed. While her brother had came red-faced and slient into the world, she had came the opposite; loud, sharp cries that had Lyanna fearing the whole of Westeros would hear and Robert Baratheon would surely smash his way up the Princes Pass towards them all, warhammer in tow and an army at his back.

She was a surprise, a gift from the Old Gods but her Gods weren't here in the south. North they lay, in thick dense woods and within the Heart trees. As the fever burned and her strength waned, the young mother thought of the white tree that lay in the Godswood in her home; at Winterfell. As a child she had thought its face a terrible thing, a face carved into the front, red sap leaking like blood. The heart tree loomed over an ice cold pool despite the hot springs that warmed the place. She had feared that place until her brother Eddard had told her it was a sacred place, a Stark place, their place. Brandon the Builder had built Winterfell around the grove thousands of years ago. When he had seen her glance at their brother Brandon, he had smiled his brother smile and told her Brandon was like to tear walls down than build them. He had the wolf blood, a ladle more than she and a kettle more than him as their lady mother said often.

She wished for her brother now, as the sounds of fighting raged outside in the sands just as the fever raged within her. Ser Arthur wouldn't fail her Prince, she was sure but the fever made her doubt. Only Eddard could save them now, her prince was gone, into battle or with the Gods, she wasn't sure which and her strength was failing.

Her wolf blood was no match for the dragon, the dragon was stronger, she thought as her eyes grew heavy and the Prince and Princess squirmed for mothers milk.

A sound broke through her fever, a movement at the entrance to her chambers. Weakly, Lyanna opened her eyes and looked for the sound, and for a second she believed herself mad. The fever. Its grip is tight on me, that must be the way of it. Her brother couldn't be here, with Brandon with the Gods, Eddard should be at Winterfell. He was the Lord of Winterfell now that her father and Brandon was gone. Killed by the dragon King not long after her Prince had stolen her away.

Eddard Stark had the same long face as her, grey eyes and brown hair. He was not as handsome as Brandon but his heart was gentler and honourable as the knight he should've been. Only northmen didn't become knights, for they followed the old Gods and Knights were the creatures of The Faith, the new gods, the gods of southerners.

He said not a word, but slowly came forward. He had been fighting, Lyanna realised dizzily, but who? Not her Princes sworn men.. who would protect them against even him. Her brother was no match for Ser Aurthur Dane but there he stood, battle warn and panting.

"Ned?" She weakly said and as if seeing a ghost he drifted forward. Leaving his sword leaning against the bed, he swept to her side in quick strides, hardly aware of his injuries. "Lyanna?"

"Is that you?" She wasn't sure. Could she be dreaming or mad with her fever? Her sweet brother should be leagues from here. His head bobbed an answer; yes, he was here. "Is that really you?"

Weakly she lifted her arm, stained red from her blood to touch his face. Her little dragon stirred beside her, whilst her brother stayed quiet. Ned took her hand and brushed her hair back out of her face. "Your not a dream."

"No, I'm not a dream." He whispered, he squeezed her hand softly and his usually blank face almost broke. A lords son, she thought finding the humour in such a thing just as she did as a child. His eyes were the windows of his soul, where his feelings hid away and she had never seen them look so pained. "I'm here. Right here."

"I've missed you, big brother." She was happy, her babes were fine, living and healthy for now and her brother was here by her side. How could Robert touch them? Ned was his friend.

"I've missed you, too." His voice sounded croaky, as if he were holding back tears and that made her sad. She knew this was going to be the last she ever saw of him and this world. She was feeling weaker, her arm a dead weight and the blood seemed to be all around her; a sweet scent of death her purfume.

"I want to be brave." She told him, crying now. He stroked her hair, with fingers as soft as feathers.

"You are." He said strongly, believing his words entirely. He had always said she was but she wasn't. How could she be? She ran, and hide whilst those she loved perished. She was no wolf. A wolf stayed with its pack.

"I'm not." She lifted her other arm, to show him the blood flowing like a river out of her. How long until she died? How long did she hav3 to look on his face and the faces of her children? Seconds? Minutes? "I don't want to die."

"You're not going to die." For once, Ned was defiant. She would not die but she would. She would. He looked at the helpless woman her Princes Knights had found to help her in the birthing room. They had helped, bringing water and towels and herbs she didn't know but they could do no more for her. They had no milk for her children, no Maester or true education but the herblore they had learned from their mothers. "Get her some water!"

"No water." He ignored her, looking like a lost wolf at the women. "Is there a Maester?"

"Listen to me, Ned." she begged, squeezing his hand feebly. She had to ask this of him, even after everything she did to him and their pack. Someone had to protect her children whilst she and her Prince couldn't. Her sweet brother would safe guard them. She pulled him close so his ear was at her lips and whispered her final request. For seconds, he stared at her, right and wrong fighting each other out and he looked at them. Looked hard.

"I will look after them," He said, his grey eyes on her now. "as if they are mine own as you ask. Robert will not have them. I swear it."

And she knew he would. Your pack was your pack and you didn't turn your back on them. Not like she did. Ned was stronger than she was.

When the snow falls and the white wind blows, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives...