Three Heads

Chapter 1:May they be saved

Note:I have read some stories that had the pairing "Rhaejonerys". Jon, his aunt Daenerys, and his sister Rhaenys. The three heads of the dragon. There's a bunch of good stories on it. This is my take on it and I hope you like it!

He would never forget the smell.

Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North- even in his mind, reciting his titles made his heart clench in pain, knowing who deserved to hold them and who deserved to inherit them, neither being he- had been in many a battle. Thrust almost without warning from the peaceful life of a ward in Jon Arryn's court into the sucking morass of war. He had endured many smells. Fire, piss, shit, blood, brain...the scent of burnt flesh was the worst. Almost like...roast pork over a fire. Robert laughed like it was the height of folly when dinnter after Stony Sept made him void his stomach.

But the scent of King's Landing was the worst. Let alone butrnt flesh...the entire city smelled of such, the aftermath of the Sack by Tywin Lannister's banners still present. "Oh, the Rains of Castamere," Howland Reed had whispered to Ned when they first made the walk to the Red Keep. As true today as it was then, the smell remaining the same even though Ned had been gone for many moons.

Perhaps it was the smell as they rode, or perhaps the rattle of the wagon behind as it crossed over a patch of uneven cobblestones. In any case Ned felt the babe stir in his arms. Little hands shaking as he let out a cry. "Oh no...shhh, pup, shhh," he comforted, reaching with a gloved finger to stroke the raven-haired, grey-eyed babe nestled within his blanket. "You're safe in papa's arms, I promise." The cries turned to murmurs as little Jon Snow looked up at him. Eyes wide with an innate inquisitive nature.

Thank the gods he looks like her. In Riverrun, Ned knew he had a son of his own. A tureborn named Robb, one he couldn't wait to meet. He loved Robb just as his heart burst with love for the babe in his arms right now. My blood.

"Lord Stark, follow me," insisted a guard underneath several lion banners. He held a Manticore sigil, only hammering home the reality to Ned. Amory Lorch. Someone who deserved death, but untouchable. How did it come to this? A question Ned asked himself for days on end.

The Battle of the Bells was hard fought, while the Trident ran red with blood in the slaughterhouse that followed. He had thought that seeing Rhaegar's corpse would bring him satisfaction. Seven Hells, Robert proclaimed it would. The broken body instead elicited nothing.

And that was merly the time Ned believed in their cause...to save his sister and avenge his father and brother. The latter did come true, the Mad King dying at the hands of Jaime Lannister, but when he emerged in Dorne all preconceptions about the war he just fought and the friend he fought it with died with one phrase from his dying sister.

"Promise me, Ned. Promise me..."

Sometimes he felt like crying. Sometimes he didn't say a word at all. Only the bundle in his arms kept him going.

"Ned, my boy!"

Suddenly he was drawn out of his thoughts, gazing as he inexplicably had been guided into the Red Keep. Yet the voice drew him to a slightly stooped older figure draped in a thich cloak Ned immediately smiled. "Lord Arryn." Two servants darted forward to help him down, Ned gingerly holding Jon in his arms as he fell to the ground. He was getting used to this.

The thought was satisfying as Jon Arryn hugged him with paternal gusto. "My boy...your sister?"

The frown made its way to Ned's face. "Didn't make it." A flicker of his eyes to the wagon behind them made Jon sigh in sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Ned." The shifting bundle then drew his attention. "Is this the child you told me about?"

"Aye, my bastard son, Jon Snow."