WARS TO COME, game of thrones

𝐗. joy

"How can we trust Ashara?"

"Why shouldn't we? What does she gain by luring us to Dorne?"

"Hm," Anrir said quietly in agreement, making Howland Reed laugh. "Doubt is a lifesaver," Anrir remarked pointedly and Reed grinned. "Sure."

Ned made a gesture before Anrir could throw another remark at the man riding next to him. "Enough for now. The main thing is to find Lyanna and we must take every chance we have," Ned interrupted them and both Anrir and Reed fell silent.

The eight of them rode towards the Red Mountains after the siege of Storm's End, Ashara Dayne having revealed to Ned that her brother had been stationed there by Rhaegar to protect a tower. And that was the best track they had at the moment.

Anrir had been supposed to travel back to Kings Landing after the siege, but when Ned had told him about Ashara's hint, he couldn't be stopped from accompanying him. He would bring his best friend home safely.

He cleared his throat and his horse caught up to Ned's. He still had the bandage on his face and neck, his vision was still limited and his throat ached with every word. Still, he had to smile a little when he saw the hope on Ned's face. It wouldn't all be fine and back to the way it used to be. But they would at least fix part of all this chaos.

It was warm here so close to the border of Dorne and Anrir could feel sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades. He grimaced slightly. He couldn't imagine that his mother had really been dornish. He didn't want to imagine it either, especially because he had killed so many Dornish at the Trident. He hadn't fought on the wrong side, he knew that. But...

"There," Ned called calmly, nodding at the tower that rose out of the landscape before them. A barren behemoth of brown stone guarded by three men in the armor of a dead king's guard. Anrir recognized only Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and swallowed hard. This man was possibly an even greater foe than Barristan Selmy. Eddard led them straight towards the three knights.

"I was expecting you at the Trident," Ned said as he dismounted his horse and faced the knights.

"We weren't there," replied one of the knights, an older but muscular man. "The Ursuper wouldn't be sitting on the throne if we had been," snorted the man to Arthur Dayne's left.

"Your king was murdered and you weren't there. I was wondering where you were hiding. I expected you to be with those who knelt before me in the Storm's End or with those who fled to Dragonstone," Eddard continued, looking at Dayne urgently. "The Kingsguard does not flee. Not before and not today. We swore that," Dayne smiled calmly and drew the legendary sword of his house, the milky blade gleaming in the light of the sun. Three against eight. His gaze slid over Eddard's companions, lingering briefly on Anrir before settling on Beast, whom Anrir had already drawn. The black blade seemed to swallow any light.

"I wish you good luck in the wars to come. And now it begins," Dayne's voice came to Anrir almost solemnly, the reflection of his sword mirrored in his violet eyes.

Eddard crossed blades with Dayne and Anrir followed his friend.

The older knight was faster and not haggard from countless days without rest. But Anrir and Eddard were a unit. For years they had trained together and now it was as if they were one being, one mind with two bodies executing his orders. The world around them disappeared and suddenly there was only Ned, Anrir and their common opponent, who had blurred into a faceless monster.

Anrir's bandage slipped from his face and he sucked in a sharp breath as the breeze from the blades hit his unprotected wounds and the light hit his sensitive eye. A moment of carelessness and Dayne's sword sliced through his thigh. He lost his footing and collapsed. Suddenly the world came back to him and he realized that Ned and Dayne were the only ones left standing. Panting, he pressed his hands to the wound while Ned charged at the knight with an almost animalistic howl of rage. The swords sang their song and horror gripped Anrir. He would see Ned die. They were still half children and Dayne was a man with decades of experience. This would be their last war.

Dayne pushed Ned back further and further, and Anrir feared that each blow might be the last. But then a blade broke through Arthur Dayne's chest. Gasping, Dayne stared at the sword Howland Reed had driven into his back. The young man was bleeding from many wounds, but stood upright behind the knight. Then Dayne fell.

Ned gasped and Reed sank to the ground beside Dayne.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Reed gasped as Ned tried to help him up. "Go to the tower..."

By now, Anrir had also pulled himself to his feet. Clenching his teeth, he stared at the tower. "I'll stay with him... Go Ned. Bring Lyanna back," Anrir whispered and knelt beside Reed, tending to his wounds as best he could.

"You saved his life," Anrir murmured softly to Reed, his voice rough and unruly in his throat, "I will be forever grateful for that." Reed looked at him with tired eyes and for a moment Anrir feared he had revealed his true self. But Reed just smiled wanly and nodded. Then he laughed softly and Anrir looked at him in confusion. "I killed Arthur Dayne... No one will believe me..." Anrir had to laugh now too and he was aware that they both sounded hysterical. But who cared? It was over. They had won.

They just sat there for a while, breathing in the warm air and enjoying the peace and quiet. Anrir almost fell asleep, but Howland's labored breathing kept him awake. He was unsure how much time had passed when he suddenly realized that Ned was still gone. "We need to check on him," he muttered, suddenly startled, "Maybe there was another guard in the tower..." Reed picked himself up with his help and together they began the climb.

It was deathly quiet and panic tugged at Anrir's heart with an icy grip. They reached the tower room and then...

"Oh no..." Reed whispered.

Lyanna lay on bloody sheets, motionless and pale. A pale wet nurse stood beside the bed, holding a tiny newborn in her arms and soothing it with gentle rocking. Lyanna had died in childbirth. She was sixteen years old and she was dead.

Anrir rushed to Ned, who sat beside the bed holding his sister's hand. Tears dripped from his cheeks and as Anrir gently took him in his arms, Ned leaned weakly against him. His quiet sobs were muffled by Anrir's chest. He stroked Ned's back with clammy hands, but his eyes lingered on Lyanna's glassy, dead gaze.

Howland came to them and carefully removed Ned's fingers from Lyanna's hand. He placed one of the blankets over her body and Anrir swallowed the tears that burned in his throat. Lyanna was so young... She had wanted to be a knight. Rhaegar Targaryen's child had killed her. His gaze slid to the newborn and a chill went to his heart.

"If Robert finds out, he'll kill the child, Ned," he whispered hollowly, "This is Lyanna's child, we can't let that happen..."

The silence returned until the baby began to whimper softly.

"He's not her son," Ned muttered suddenly, breaking away from Anrir, "He's my bastard. Men do that in war. I'm taking him to Winterfell. He's my son..."

"Ned?" Reed asked quietly, but Ned interrupted him. "No one will want to know more. He'll be the bastard of Winterfell. That's enough." He stood up and took the boy, love and determination shining in his eyes.

"What is his name?" Anrir asked the nurse quietly, but she just shook her head. The boy had not yet been given one. "Jon," Ned took the floor and Anrir had to smile a little against his will.

Lyanna was dead and the old world had fallen. A new king sat on the iron throne.

"That's a good name," he whispered and stood by Ned, looking down at the baby in his arms, "Jon Snow."