The Daughter of Winterfell | S̶n̶o̶w̶&̶T̶a̶r̶g̶a̶r̶y̶e̶n̶ Snow OC

Prologue: Sand and Blood

The wind howled through the rocky crags of the Red Mountains as Eddard Stark approached the looming ruin of the Tower of Joy. The sun was setting, casting the landscape in long shadows that stretched across the bare earth, and the air was thick with the smell of blood and dust. Nearly all of his men had fallen, each of them cut down by Ser Arthur Dayne, who lay nearby in a pool of his own blood. All that remained was Ned and Howland Reed, who without, Ned surely would have also been felled by the Sword of the Morning.

"Ned?" Howland began, his eyes wide, a gash across his forehead from a well placed punch. He seemed dazed, being the one responsible for killing one of the greatest fighters in Westeros. "Are you alright?"

Ned took a steadying breath, barely able to believe carnage before him. Good men lay dead at his feet, the weight of grief heavy on his shoulders. Good men like William Dustin, Ethan Glover, and Martyn Cassel. Men, good men, that he had once laughed with and had been around him his entire life.

He shook the thought from his head, knowing that if he dwelt with these thoughts, he would never leave. He was here in this damned place, a place of sand and sun, for a reason.

The inside of the tower was cool and dim, the light barely reaching past the stone walls. As he climbed the narrow spiral staircase, each step brought with it an increasing sense of dread. He could still hear the faintest echoes of Lyanna's screams, her voice rasping and fragile. It had been weeks and an age since he last heard it. When their father Rickon Stark, and their brother Brandon Stark had been alive and there was no war and all see. When war had been a worry of another age.

At last, he reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the chamber door, hoping and praying that his sister lay unharmed beyond.

Lyanna lay on a narrow bed, pale and weak, her face glistening with sweat. Dark hair clung to her cheeks and forehead, but it was her grey eyes that held his attention. They were tired, ringed with shadows, but they softened when they saw him.

"Ned..." she murmured, her voice a shadow of what it once had been.

"Lyanna," he breathed, crossing the room in swift strides to kneel beside her. The sight of her, fragile and fading, tore something deep inside him. It felt wrong. Lyanna was the most vital and hardy person he knew.

A woman was in the room with them, a young enough woman who wore a bloodstained apron, her expression one of panic. Ned thought her to be a nurse. Perhaps Lyanna had gotten sick from the Dornish air?

Only when he looked properly, did his see that the bed Lyanna lay in was soaked in blood, dark and red and everywhere. The iron smell of the blood mingled with the scent of the blue Winter Roses in a vase next to Lyanna's bed in a sickly perfume that made his stomach roil.

"Lyanna, what happened? Lyanna, what did he do?" Ned stammered out, trying and failing to think of ways to help her. Some part of him already knew what had happened to her, though he wished that he was wrong.

Lyanna managed a weak smile, her hand reaching out to him. He took it, feeling the delicate bones beneath her skin. Her hand was so cold.

"I knew you would come," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

Before he could respond, the softest of whimpers filled the air. Ned looked past her, his heart stopping as he realized what he was seeing. Just behind her, nestled in a woven cradle, lay two newborns, small and pink, with tufts of dark hair.

He glanced back at Lyanna, who nodded, her expression pained and yet fiercely protective. Her face was contorted in pain, but her eyes, grey Stark eyes, were clear and full of iron strength.

"Pass them to me." Lyanna said to the nursemaid, who scooped up both of the swaddled babes and placed them carefully, one in each of Lyanna's arms.

Ned could see from close that these babies would have the Stark look, despite them being no more than minutes old. One already had a stern expression in it's dark eyes, while the other looked around in wonder.

"My son," Lyanna said, voice thin but proud, "and my daughter." She held Ned's gaze, her dark grey eyes pleading. "Promise me, Ned," she whispered, voice cracking. "Promise me you'll protect them."

Ned could only nod, a hollow ache growing in his chest as he watched her. "I swear it," he said, his voice breaking. "By the Old Gods and the New, I swear. We will protect them together. You will be alright."

He looked over at the nursemaid or midwife or whatever the woman was. Silently, the woman shook her head, telling Ned all that needed to be said.

An empty sob left Ned's throat. "Oh Lyanna. What did he do to you?"

Lyanna did not answer his question, instead focusing on her twin babies, her gaze softening. "Their names are Jaehaerys and Visenya Targaryen," she murmured, the words barely more than a breath, "Jaehaerys for the Good King. Visenya for the Conqueror."

The names washed over Ned, answering so many questions he had carried, but asking many more. He looked down at the tiny children in Lyanna's arms. So peaceful, so innocent, unaware of the world that had been shattered around them.

"Jaehaerys and Visenya." Was all that he could say, words failing in his throat.

"Let me hold them, please." Lyanna said, voice beginning to fail and flicker. "Let me hold them as long as I can."

"Lyanna..." Ned tried to say without breaking. He suddenly felt very young and very scared. "What should I do? What do you need me to do?"

Lyanna's eyes fluttered, her voice trailing into the barest whisper. "Ned... protect them. Promise me, Ned. "

"I promise, Lyanna. I promise. I swear it on the Old Gods, the Seven, and by my oath as your brother. I promise." Ned vowed, feeling the tears truly begin to fall down his face.

A smile fluttered across Lyanna's face. "Good."

And that was all.

Ned waited.

Her breathing faded and became little more than a rattle. Her hand where he held it grew cold, the pulse under his fingers beginning to slow. A tinge of blue began creeping in at her lips and fingers, and the light in her eyes, once a blaze, had begun to flicker like a candle.

Finally, with one last expulsion of air, Lyanna died.

Ned's throat tightened, tears slipping down his cheeks as he whispered her name, the weight of grief pressing down on him. The silence in the room was deafening. The smell of blood iron and flowers made him want to be sick, but he found that he did not have the energy in him to do so.

Until a small snuffling noise brought his attention back into the room. Both of the babies were cradled on either side of Lyanna, neither of them aware that their mother lay dead between them.

The air left Ned's lungs like it had been punched out. Without thinking, he took the babies into his arms, not entirely sure how to hold them. He was not used to holding babes, and briefly panicked, worrying that he would drop them. The last babe he had really known was Benjen, and he was long since a boy grown.

No anger could be sparked in his chest at the sight of the babes faces, though he knew others would be quick to hatred. Quick to hate the children of the man who had led to so much destruction. But he found that only love dwelled in his heart at the sight of these infants. For they were Lyanna's, as well. It was not their faults that Lyanna had died.

"Come, little ones," he murmured softly, wrapping them close to his chest. "I'll keep you safe. I swear it. "

And so, his Watch began.