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Blood Of The Dragon

Before

Eddard Stark studied the two baskets before him, searching the faces of the infants within their wicker confines, trying to trace any traitorous Targaryen resemblance that would betray their true origins. But the only hint was in the girl's gaze, flecks of violet edging her irises, making the grey border blue, whilst her brother's eyes were so dark they almost appeared to be onyx. Otherwise, the twins carried the characteristic Stark features, although they were more prominent in the boy, who was already starting to show he had the long Stark face, his sister less so; the boy's dark hair already inclined to curl whilst his sister's threatened to be poker straight.

"Promise me, Ned."

He sat down, staring into the middle distance before suddenly burying his head in his hands at the burden he was now forced to bear, wondering if he was strong enough to carry it. The war may have been won, but for Eddard, the battle was just beginning. He would have to fight his first conflict with Catelyn, making the mother of his trueborn son accept his bastard offspring, pretending to dishonour his wife in order to protect his sister's children.

"Promise me, Ned."

Already he had borne the slurs cast on him by Robert's soldiers, slandering his sins, heckling him for his hypocrisy, that Ned Stark wasn't the man of honour he purported to be. Yet he endured their insults, hiring the services of a wet nurse, neither denying nor confirming the babies were his bastards, letting the world infer what it would from their unexpected appearance. It was better to be damned by disparagement than death, Eddard flinching from the fate the infants would suffer if the truth was known, remembering what had happened to Rhaegar Targaryen's true heirs. Eddard and Robert had almost come to blows over the slaughter of Rhaegar's wife and children, the men's mutual grief over Lyanna reluctantly reconciling them.

"Ned."

Eddard's head snapped up at the sound of Robert's querulous voice, grey eyes almost battling blue as they looked upon one another, Robert now returned from his ruinous revelry, having been gone for days. To Eddard's uneasiness, Robert seemed sober, which would make it harder to deceive him over Eddard's apparent infidelity to Catelyn. Robert and Eddard were as close as brothers, and Robert had seen firsthand Eddard avoid the embraces of the many whores and wenches they'd encountered on the way to war.

In two quick strides, Robert was beside him, clasping his shoulder with a strong hand, both men bowing their heads, bound by grief. Both men had loved Lyanna, but their love hadn't been enough to stop Lyanna from passing through the gates of death. Robert had exacted his revenge on Rhaegar, and again, Eddard knew Robert would not refrain from slaying the babes Lyanna had borne, keeping his vow to wipe out those who carried Targaryen blood in their veins.

Robert released Eddard, before drifting over to where the baskets were precariously perched, his brow furrowing. Confusion was swiftly replaced by realization, the girl's dark hair and indigo eyes mistakenly marking her out as his. "Why did you bring it back here?" he demanded, face suddenly filled with fury, startling Eddard to his feet, having not foreseen that Robert would think the baby was his bastard. But as he stood there, ready to wage war, Eddard suddenly saw a glimmer of a way to save Lyanna's children, the idea insane, almost impossible. It would mean separation, dividing Eddard from all he held dear, but Robert would not slay his own supposed seed, illegitimate or not.

Several long moments passed, the wind howling outside, Eddard still standing there, Robert turning away from him, his gaze becoming drawn back to the baby's dimpled face. As he studied the baby almost sorrowfully, Eddard's hand discreetly came to a deliberate rest on his sword hilt, praying to the Mother he would not have to shed blood to protect his blood. "Who was it?" Robert said dully, holding his finger out to the child, who just regarded him with wide eyes. "A tavern wench, perchance?"

"Which one?" Eddard said, careful to keep his voice careless, almost jocular, his fingers flexing involuntarily. So far his secret seemed safe, but he didn't let down his guard, even as the idea continued to entice him, his grief blurring the boundaries of his usual stern judgment. He was being backed against a wall, Eddard ready to seize the slightest chance of saving his sister's children. But Robert was proving unpredictable at times, saying one thing, whilst doing another, Eddard observing the unfolding events with dour disapproval.

Robert let out a sudden roar of amusement, throwing back his black head, startling Eddard. "How should I know?" he said, eyes crinkling up at the corners, briefly becoming the boy Eddard had first known so long ago. "They all look the same in the dark."

Eddard exhaled sharply. "It was the one with the grey eyes," he admitted with the air of a man reluctantly revealing a sin, "the one who wept like a child when you left."

"Just after we left Winterfell?" Robert hazarded, brow furrowing. Eddard knew all too well that Robert wouldn't remember, one weeping woman fading into the other. The war had lasted close to a year, many a maid warming the Baretheon bed, and the baby before him was no newborn, arriving some time before the end of the conflict.

"Yes," Eddard agreed, holding Robert's gaze, his own clear and honest as befitting a Stark, possessing no cunning or guile, hiding the lie in plain sight. He had sent the wench who had been Lyanna's companion during her last days into hiding, along with the children, saying he would send word when it was safe, providing her with the prerequisite funds. He had then left the Tower of Joy with Lyanna's body, her corpse is his only companion, nobody knowing that he was being shadowed, followed by Lyanna's legacy.

Upon reuniting with Robert and the remnants of the army they had led against Rhaegar, Eddard had still kept the wench and the children at a safe distance, only finally daring to draw them out into the open after Robert had disappeared for several days of whoring and carousing, feasting until he threw up and drinking until he didn't know who or where he was, burying his grief in gluttony. Eddard had anticipated Robert's absence to last longer, giving him the chance to acclimatise himself to the infants, as well as time to weave a credible tale of their sudden appearance in his existence.

"What happened to the mother?" Robert asked without real interest, Eddard fighting the urge to flinch, remembering Lyanna lying on her deathbed, the fear in her eyes.

"She died in childbed," Eddard said brutally. "Her people pressed the babe on me; that they couldn't afford to keep her but that a king could instead."

"I would be a poor man if I supported every bastard I spawned," Robert said irritably. "What about you? How are you going to explain that offshoot there to Catelyn?" He jerked his chin at the child in the basket before Eddard, the sight seeming to annoy him even further, another reminder of responsibility.

"By telling the truth," Eddard said through gritted teeth, "that I dishonoured her by laying with another woman."

"I seem to remember you evading the embrace of every willing woman who flung herself at your feet," Robert said, raising an eyebrow. "Obviously you changed your mind one evening."

"I was intoxicated," Eddard said stiffly, "and have since seen the error of my ways. The boy will serve as a stark warning to stay sober."

"Stark by sire, if not in name," Robert said lightly, taking the chubby finger of what he believed to be his own bastard, "it will be a harsh existence, even under your protection, Ned."

"I made a promise," Eddard said, his voice cracking. "and I intend to keep it." Promise me, Ned...

"I suppose I'll have to keep this one, too, then," Robert said, exhaling sharply, "although what Cersei will have to say on the subject, I do not know, even as I can well imagine."

Eddard tensed up, refusing to be sidetracked by the mention of Robert's supposed intended. "You'll keep her, then?" he said, struggling to keep his voice steady, reality suddenly crashing down on him like waves, realising too late what he had done.

"She's mine," Robert said abruptly, "and I won't let her starve. But that is the best I can do for her, you have my word. She might be a bastard, but she is a Baratheon bastard."

No, Eddard thought, feeling his heart fracture in his chest, knowing there was no way back now, she is a Targaryen, blood of the dragon.