Chapter Text
The snow falls lightly outside my window. Wintertown lights up behind the double walls of Winterfell, claiming its existence in the night. Yet it clings to the very walls that bar it from the castle to which it belongs, for behind it; darkness. The thick snow reveals only bumps in the landscape and their power fades the farther you look. Winterfell Road becomes insignificant the closer it gets the distant Kingsroad. It’s 08:32 AM in the North and the dark is calm and kind as ever. The castle stays silent.
The dark doesn’t bring calm to anyone but the mould of the North and its slow snow. That continues to stay the same, just as the flowing wild rivers of the Reach and dry and sun-drenched plains of Dorne. The mountains of the Vale staunchly keep their strength while great winds blow across the Stormlands. They witness us and our minds flocking around, against the current of the rivers, deny the strength of stone and attempt to flood the desert. Thus is our condition and with what worry and entertainment must they not view us with.
Westeros changes and stays the same. Beyond the morning darkness, my articles have been widely read. Some think I’ve gone too far, some don’t think I’ve gone far enough. Rumours are spread over tables and pints all over Westeros, each with less credibility than the next. Every morning in King’s Landing is a new one and one can only expect one thing to stay the same; that the next is like a thousand others and like none at all. It’s been difficult to refrain from answering emails and not telling the editors what has been going on. Members of the family that hosts me have written to me, complaining they aren’t left alone any longer. The forgotten North has claimed its fame anew.
I write with responsibility and I have not been ordered to leave. The Old Gods know the truths - but they do not judge. You cannot escape either. The dark lightens as the snow grows in numbers and size; days are short and their daylight is sparse, we are not given much time. It’s all closing in, we find ourselves fumbling in the dark mess of our minds, grasping at whatever we can. The light shall help us one day, on the other side. Maybe it will then help us see more clearly. But for the Starks and Westeros, winter is coming.
His body is tense. He looks at the ground beside my chair as his strong body boasts sitting on its own. There is only a small table for my recorder, nothing else. We are both without assistance.
“I heard my son has written to you. Is that true?”
I nod.
He sighs. “I apologise, he can get somewhat riled up when a soft spot is hit. Don’t give it another moment’s thought. I’ll take care of him.”
It’s a soft spot for you, but for him? Why?
“He cares a lot for the family. Perhaps more than he should, at his age. He’s not even married and in his mid 20’s. I can’t fault a man for caring about his family but he goes about it in a protective way he shouldn’t. The Stark name is very close to him, which is good for his future as Lord Stark. But that’s still me, for some time, and he is not part of this interview. It is his business but not one that he should meddle with.”
In what way shouldn’t he be protective of the family?
“He can be overly protective of his siblings, they would all confirm that. He also doesn’t take any insult to him, the North or his family lightly, so he’s probably not too happy with you. Robb feels more responsible for the family than he is but that’ll be sorted out in due time. Making him president was part of distancing him from the family a bit. He tends to take me and Cat’s positions on a lot of things but he needs to be capable of making up his own mind, if he is to be the leader he wishes to be.”
The protective responsibility is yours instead?
“That’s any parent’s responsibility, so yes, of course. You take care of them in whatever way necessary. First, it’s very practical and later on, it’s much more emotionally oriented. The latter part is especially difficult for fathers, but we just have to put in the effort we can.”
Taking in three children that weren’t from your marriage is quite some effort.
“Thank you, but Jon is my son and thus my responsibility. Taking him in is not just a question of altruism. But we have plenty of resources at Winterfell compared to hundreds of millions of others, what would we be if we hadn’t done at least that?”
What do you think Winterfell means to them?
Lord Stark went to The Iron Islands in light of the recently defeated terrorist group, led by the now infamous Greyjoy family, to express his support for a new beginning. It was here that he took home the youngest member of the Greyjoy family, Theon.
“I know Theon views it as his home. His childhood may have been on the Iron Islands, to which he, of course, has a certain affection, but we have taken great care of him. His life and adolescence were established in the North. Who but a few from his family would open their doors to him in the Islands? He knows the Northern plains more than the straits of Ironman’s Bay.” His eyes reminisce. “I recall how little he understood, back then. His father was being imprisoned for terrorism and his brothers were dead. Suddenly, he had to be with us, a decision he was not involved in. So I expected a fair deal of unwillingness. When I went to the Islands to condole the endured losses and despair. But on the ship, I never saw him glance back at the Islands. His face was turned towards the North, a place that he had never been to, which would now become his home. Only once has he visited his childhood home since he left it.
“Daenerys is a different story. We were always very forward about telling her about her past; background, family, and her position in Westeros. This is her home, but she never embraced the place the same way Theon did, despite growing up here. She left without it weighing her down and rarely comes to visit, however that’s not to say she dislikes the North or Winterfell, but there isn’t the same connection.”
And what do you mean to them?
“I think you should ask them about that. I’m not qualified to answer that on their behalf.”
Then what are they to you?
“The closest thing would be to call them stepchildren. Until they reached 18, Cat and I were their legal guardians. It would be wrong for me to call them my children. It was easier with Theon but even though we had told Dany that she wasn’t our daughter, that she had different parents, she would often call us mum and dad. I cannot fault that. The children she grew up around did so. Was I going to refuse a child the world she was given? I have not the heart to do so. Now, she doesn’t call us that any longer, but what else was she supposed to do back then? But I suppose all that matters is that I… Well, love them.”
Has she suffered, been bullied, in any capacity, because of her Targaryen heritage?
“I would never allow that to happen. Neither to Theon because of his. In the beginning, there were whispers in the corners that painted her in a less than orderly way. I made sure to shut that down completely. Such things are completely unacceptable, unwarranted and pointless. Northerners were and are against the installation of a monarchy in King’s Landing, so that may produce some sentiment against Targaryens as an institution, but that doesn’t justify personal harassment of them.”
And how do you feel about Targaryens?
“They are gone from power and privilege. I see no reason to continue resentment but I would, of course, strongly oppose any reestablishing of their lordly or royal presence in Westeros. That many of the members of their family supported the inane insurgency proved to me that they clung onto deluded ideas of old. They were evidently unfit to sit upon a throne, even a ceremonial one. Rhaegar could have gone on to strongly denounce the actions of his father, but instead he supported him in the Revolt. He saw we wanted to dismantle the entirety of the monarchy while he wanted to be king. A man, a king, unable to accept the will of so many is not fit to be one.”
Do you resent Rhaegar?
“I resent him for dragging my sister away from safety and getting her involved in a war she should have stayed far away from. But I know what it is you are getting at. I read your previous article about my son, most of us did. That’s why Robb personally wrote to you. That’s why you haven’t seen us much the last couple of days. Your little interview has caused a stir, which I am sure you know. Maybe that was even your intention. But you knew what was going to happen when you interviewed Jon. Where the subject was headed. What you would turn his mind to. And showing him, my son, notes about theories you have plastered together? I’d have thought a highly regarded journalist would have better principles towards her subject than manipulating those involved. Now go ahead, state your claim.”
His face dissatisfied and accusing, I am taken by surprise. My fingers fumble with the pen and paper when it is my tongue that ought to act. His look is relentless. I thought it would be evident from the article.
“It is. But I want you to say it to me.”
I feel what the others were on about; he is not a man easily disobeyed. I believe that Rhaegar and Lyanna had a relationship. You went to get her back at the end of the Revolt, however, she died from childbirth complications. The child was her and Rhaegar’s and you took him with you North to take care of him. That is Jon. You didn’t want him to join the military because of the circumstances surrounding his birth. You kept the truth a secret because of shame and sorrow. You couldn’t bear that another sibling died because of a Targaryen. It was better to lie and tell that you’ve cheated on your wife than it was to admit how Targaryens spoiled your family further.
Lord Stark’s face remains unaltered throughout my statement. Not a single twitch, flick, anything. He puts his hands on the armrests and rises. “Come with me, there is something I’d like to show you.” I follow him from the Guest House to the connected Armory, going to its second floor. The room is a modern-day museum in old halls; equipment, armour and weapons of all sorts through Northern history on display against the backdrop of cold blue-grey stone walls. The greatsword is humongous, in both length and width, being taller than me. It hangs in the central glass display case, an altar to the past warrior lords of Winterfell. It is not hard to imagine Lord Eddard Stark wielding it.
“That sword belongs to the Lord of Winterfell. It is too large to handle on the battlefield, which leads you to ask - why did they have it? It was purely meant as a show-off piece, back when Valyrian steel was even rarer than it is today. They only used it for executions otherwise it was only there to revere its wielder. It was a sign of strength and honour for the Starks and it would remain as clean as possible. You were feared by your enemies and trusted by your friends with it. I’ve only ever held it twice. Both of the times felt wrong. I’m a lord and businessman, not a warrior. At least not any longer. But it continues to symbolise worth, as a man and me as Lord Stark. That is as powerful as any blow it could bring.
“After your article had been published, I spoke with Jon. I told him the truth about his mother and father. He was shocked, to be sure, and he immediately went back to Castle Black to prematurely continue his work. It didn’t appear to me as if he was as upset as he was when you spoke to him. I’ve also told the rest of my family and we agreed that I ought to be straightforward about it with you. And subsequently, with all of Westeros. I am not concerned with what the rest of Westeros will think of me, but rather how it would upset those in my family if it goes public. Now that you’ve made me tell it to Jon and gather my family, is there more to be done? Why should I tell you?”
Has Jon allowed you to tell?
“He has.”
What is it that you are afraid of?
“The stakes are raised if I go public with it. It would make them all vulnerable. To live with the fact that the general public will know what happened. That’s another burden on their shoulders that should only be on mine.”
Why keep it on your shoulders? Why let it be a burden at all? Will it not disappear from anyone’s shoulders once it’s been told? If not immediately, then shortly after.
“Is it that the ends justify the means? Do you think of yourself as some sort of hero for getting this to happen?”
I think that I’ve done my work to produce a story that aims at truth while entertaining - that is my job. The papers have sold like warm bread because of this, this article will too, so what does it mean to me now if you tell me or not? You are not obligated to tell it, no one in all of Westeros or the Free Cities of Essos can demand it of you. You have no one to help but yourself. And besides, whatever others will talk about will fade after a few years, at the very worst. It will be remembered, perhaps, but forgotten because it is not important to them. It’s important for you and your family. And I do think that honesty gets you the farthest in the long run.
Ned leads me upstairs to the third floor. It’s a masculine leisure room, with a pool table, musky colours, subtle lighting and an extensive bar on the right. He asks me if I want anything before pouring himself a Deepwood whisky on the rocks. We sit across from each other in hunched back and soft, large brown chairs.
“Do you believe your own theory?”
It’s the best I’ve got.
“I see the sense in your reasoning but it is incorrect. I’ve insisted on calling Jon my son because he is. At the Lords’ Ball (a biennial gathering of the lords of Westeros, often for charity, previously the King’s or the Royal Ball, edit.) at Harrenhal many years ago, I met Jon’s mother. It’s… Difficult to get myself to say the name. I’m sure you already know of whom I am speaking. It was nevertheless here that I met her, and my wife will get jealous of the way I speak of her, but I was enthralled. She was beautiful and I fell for her in an instant. We were both young, with next to no care in the world and free to do as we pleased. We did as young people do, but it was only for the duration of that ball. We then split, going in each our direction from Harrenhal, each to our homes, but with the promise of meeting again. That was to be under circumstances none of us had anticipated or wanted. The king was voted to be deposed and not long after, my father and older brother were killed, my sister seduced and taken from her home. I need not tell what all occurred until the pseudo king was dead, with me in the war. I was often at meetings, in a camp, and with my betrothal to Catelyn, all I wanted to do was to get things done. The pressure was immense, civilians dying each day, no knowledge of my sister’s location, a pregnant fiancée and an unhinged king that could go off like a bomb at any second. It was in these times that she visited me. She kept up my spirits every time she came by. I’m not proud of what I did. It was wrong of me to be with another woman, of course, it was. I cannot imagine the pain and feeling of powerlessness it must have brought to my wife, when I told her years later.
“The fighting got more frequent and when she was suddenly with my child, we knew it had to stop. She retreated to Dorne for peace and quiet during pregnancy. I promised her that I would meet her again, a vain promise. I think we both knew that. Jaime killed Aerys and I Arthur, her brother. That day will forever stay clear in my mind. I realise as I hold my dying sister what torture I’ve inflicted to a woman I love. That I’ve gotten pregnant. Lyanna dies in my arms… And I’ve never read the autopsy. I don’t know what killed her. But I know what killed…” Ned closes and rubs his eyes. Takes a quick swig. “I had to go to Starfall to tell her. That her brother was dead at my hands. She doesn’t know that it was me, as she presents me with MY. OWN. SON! And what do I tell her?! That I’ve killed her brother only 4 days prior. And the North lies so far away, a distant land she’s never been to. Did she think of it? Did she imagine Jon, herself and I living and flourishing in the North? Perhaps a tiny sliver of hope satisfied her mind with the dream of removing Catelyn from the picture, so that we could live a peaceful life and throw all that had happened to us away. I could, but not she. She could stay in Dorne with our son but knowing that I would rarely, if ever, come to visit, knowing that there was no way she could also be in Winterfell, she gave up. I have never seen a person so crushed. So utterly devastated. I was at Starfall for days and on the morning of the fourth, Jon had no mother to wake up to. He only has a father that cheats on the woman he loves and who takes him from where he was born. That was all I could do. I could not leave him there or pay someone to raise him. He is my child. But what man is supposed to present his wife with a child that she has never seen before, as she does the same to him? What man makes a woman he loves take her own life? One can hardly call it suicide. It was murder. Murder . I murdered Ashara Dayne.”
Have you seen your father cry? It’s a rare sight for most. Most uncomfortable, too. I remember when my father cried, the only time I’ve ever seen him do it. My mother was usually the sentimental one, the one who’d get the most emotionally worked up and quite easily so. Yet on the day that I left for Westeros, from one end of Planetos to the other, he cried. I didn’t know how to respond.
Lord Eddard Stark cries. With dignity, perhaps even honour - but cries nonetheless. There are few sounds to his tears, the way one would expect from a hardened Northerner. His membrane of steel softens as they break through its weak spot, unhindered, going down his cheeks. His hands refuse to remove them. I think he understands; removed only from the truth is the world outside these walls, outside this room. As I motion to cancel the recorder, his head shakes slightly.
How much did you tell your wife?
“She knew it was Ashara but no more than that. My wife is a brave and forgiving woman for not leaving me. Most others would have and rightly so. But she saw the pain I was in and even though she took so good care of me back then, I have not yet had the courage to tell her all. Because I was afraid she wouldn’t help me. I praise honesty and do not practice it myself. Still, I know where that leads you - perhaps that is exactly why I’ve taught my children to be so.”
Would it have hurt Jon to know?
“It’s not that I didn’t tell it to avoid him getting upset. That his mother is Ashara means nothing to him. It cannot. Knowing what led to his birth, to him being motherless, would. That his father was behind such a crime. Every day I miss her. When I look at him, when I know how he still does look up to me, how can I not be reminded of her? How can I not long for another reality? I know I have disappointed him. I saw it on his face when I told him. I told you nothing could combat a disappointed parent - what of a disappointed child? I stand powerless before him. I tell myself I see her in him when he is the one that looks like me the most.
“The others are bound to be disappointed as well. Where is my basis as a father to them? Fathers are more than your genes. They are a part of you, so what happens when they go wrong? I know them well enough to realise they view me as their role model. They will soon know I’ve killed with more than just a gun.”
You knew it would inevitably happen. He’d find out, perhaps after your death, but before his own. Does it feel better now that you’ve told him?
“That elk in the Wolfswood. I never could shoot it. I felt the disappointment from my father and we simply went on with our lives when we returned to Winterfell. Nor did my brother speak of it, having missed the shot himself. What is left of them lies in the crypts of Winterfell and since I never got to talk about it before they were put there, that’s where I can speak with them about that day. I’ve done that several times, but I never resurface feeling any better. Jon did not get to have a stable second parent. No one but me to tell him it was alright, to make him feel validated. He can only seek that in me and I’ve always feared that was never enough. How that could somehow lead to being disappointed in himself. I hope this has helped him. If it has, then yes, I will feel better.”
Feel better in what sense? About your relationship with him? Or what you did?
“My relationship with him could heal with honesty, but I can never be forgiven for what I did. She couldn’t forgive me but she couldn’t hate me either. That’s why she jumped. I put her in a situation where our love took away a possibility for a shared future. That should never have been done. I convince myself of this, but what then of Jon, my son? Should he not exist? Doesn’t he have a right to, no matter what I shame I feel?”
You talk about how you loved Ashara. Is that a feeling that you recall clearly?
“Yes, it is. I loved my wife at the time as well, let there be no doubt. A man, or woman, can love more than one person at the same time. What they decide to do with their love, that’s the question. That’s what makes a person. This only makes my mistakes worse as I betrayed both of those I loved and got away unscathed.”
You’re hardly unscathed. The Old Gods finally got their way with you. Now the judgement is your own.
“They always do, don’t they? They are deafeningly silent and make us scream what needs to be, to fill that void. Then the rest is in our hands.”
The following day, I say goodbye to the Starks. The days are already shorter than when I arrived two weeks ago, not leaving much light to assist them. Winterfell is rapidly disappearing behind me as I drive away and go on the train to White Harbour. The further I get, the stronger I feel its presence. I feel like an intruder, a manipulator who infiltrated an ancient and forbidden castle, fleeing. I got the loot - but they let me take it.
The usual buzz is pumping blood through the arteries that are the streets of the capital. A man buys coffee at a street shop in downtown King’s Landing. He gives me a short look before passing by me and entering the underground. What does the death of a woman 17 years ago matter to him? What does it matter to me? Or, dear reader, to you?
The office wants me to release the final interview and write this article. I cannot, I tell my chief editor. I promised Ned that I would wait until he had written to me, after a family meeting. When he finally writes, he thanks and invites me to the wedding of Robb and Margaery. Apparently, Jon and he have gone for a visit to Dorne.