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WHO: Lyanna Stark
WHERE: By the Weirwood Tree
WHEN: 12/12
OPEN TO: Ned Stark
WARNINGS: Supreme Angst

She kept a number of her thoughts to herself over the course of her life in the village. When the initial glow of happiness at being reunited with her brother had worn away and the confusion of her place in the village faded, doubts and insecurities reared up in its wake. In the night, it was hardest to escape those thoughts as well as the gnawing feeling that something was missing in her life, something important that she had hoped for and needed. That emptiness had a way of tearing at her heart and weathering away her strength. Iron became brittle and broken, tested by so much loss and tragedy. Eventually, it began to feel as if she were wearing a face not her own, made to smile and tease when she didn't feel much need for it anymore.

Lyanna relied on the normal chores of the day, the routines that helped her through her thoughts. Seeing Ned daily was both a help and further difficulty. There was so much unsaid between them about the matter of Jon, her own thoughts as well as recent developments (though she had no idea what they were). The better place for such soul searching and confessions had always been in the presence of the Old Gods, but there was no Godsgrove here. There was only a place where a hopeful spring took root and struggled to grow.

She knew she would find him there alone, away from the eyes of the rest of the village. Kneeling beside him, she peered at the familiar white and red that colored so much of her childhood. "How is it faring?"

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Ned had caught a glimpse of Lyanna's unspoken turmoil at the feast weeks prior. Though she dared not give voice to it, it was obvious enough for a brother as close to his beloved sister as Ned was to Lyanna. It might've even been obvious to someone less connected, for all the sadness and melancholy she carried in her eyes, the downward turn of her lips. But he hadn't pushed her or pressed her for information or explanation; he knew there was no need, that she would find him and speak with him when she felt the time was right - or, as he suspected, when the burden grew far too heavy for her bear alone.

He knows it is her at the pattern of her gait before her voice cuts through the air like a bell. He turns to glance over at her before drawing his attention back to the Weirwood.

"Better than I'd dare let myself hope when I'd first been given it. More importantly," he begins, voice quiet and reverent, "How are you faring?"

She had hoped to spare Ned from the thoughts in her mind. He bore so much else for her, sacrificing his honor for her secret, but there didn't seem to be any removing her frustrations or dark thoughts. She carried the past with her and had hoped that would be the end of it. Let the guilt be her punishment and means of suffering the loss of so many years. But life wasn't so simple and it was clear that her mind refused to release its envy or disappointment easily. She was a weak, flawed woman.

Ned had always understood her and knew that she would come to him in her own time, no matter how unpleasant the conversation. She had the same uncertain look in her eyes that she always did when she was going to bring up a subject that was difficult for them both.

"Not so well." She murmured, kneeling beside him so that she could rest her head on his shoulder. "I thought I could manage everything well, but...I don't know that I can."

Even though he knew the topic and resulting conversation to come were not to be pleasant, he cannot help but take a quiet moment to thank whatever brought them back together, even if only temporarily. The weight of his sister's head on his shoulder, the light-hearted banter they shared, the trust he'd rediscovered with her - he'd never thought he'd know any of it again, in this lifetime or the next. It still astounds him, when he takes a moment to consider it, that she's here - and that, for whatever the reason, they are fortunate enough to be here together.

"Shall we go inside? Or would you rather stay out here with the Weirwood? Robb isn't expected to be home for some time, so we'll have privacy to speak."

She shook her head. Better this conversation happen before the Old Gods and someone a bit more isolated. Even if none of his children wouldn't be there, it felt wrong to confess her fears and pains to her brother where his family lived. It felt almost like an intrusion, tainting a place where he was happy and where he had a family. And she didn't want to risk Jon coming across them either, hearing what was on her mind.

"I feel better out here." She confessed. "If you don't mind the cold?"

"What Northerner minds the cold?" Ned asks, offering her the hint and glimpse of a smile. He nods to her, understanding her wanting to avoid the house. He knows that she and Robb have .. had a bit of a rough time, trying to see eye-to-eye on things. And, if the weight on his heart is any indication, he can understand her other motives as well, like not wanting to cast a shadow on what should otherwise be a happy dwelling.

"We'll stay out here, then."

She nodded and bit her lower lip, trying to sort through the thoughts that muddled her mind. She crossed and uncrossed her arms, pacing through the snow as she considered where to begin. The wind was cold against her cheeks, causing her to shiver beneath her cloak. She didn't want to appear weak, but her fears and pain made her feel younger than she was, a child searching for comfort and reassurance from the only father she had known.

"You know how grateful I am to you for all you did for me." She cleared her throat, simply charging into it. "You sacrificed your honor for me and I know what that means to you. You lived a lie for years, shutting everyone out from the truth. You kept Jon safe and you shielded him from Robert. You raised him into a good man and that is all I could have asked."

She let out a deep sigh. "But that's the problem. When I look at Jon, I think about the child I carried, the last part of me and my last link to Rhaegar. I hoped that after I was gone, he would always have that. But I don't see that. He's not my son, he's your son and I think that's how he prefers it."

Hesitantly, she met Ned's eyes, pained at having to say this. "I lost everything and now I don't know what to do with myself or how to go forward. I'm stuck in that time when I died, but I never thought that in giving Jon into your care, I'd lose the last person left to me. I lost my lover, my family, my life and my son and I don't know what to do anymore."

Ned brings the bulk of his attention the tree in front of them, keeping careful watch of her in his peripheral vision. He knows that it can often be daunting or nigh impossible to speak when someone's eyes are boring into one's face, so he does his best to provide her solidarity. To assure that he's listening and is attentive and is here for her, but that he isn't going to put any added pressure or stress on her. He knows she will speak when she's ready and in a manner that best suits her.

He simply waits, and then listens, hands loosely clasped in front of him.

It's only when he feels and notices her looking at him that he turns his head, catches and holds her gaze.

All of the information is .. a lot for him to consider, so he takes a few silent moments to process and formulate a response. He can understand her feelings, as he tries to imagine if things were reversed, and he had given his child up for safekeeping in his sister's care. How .. difficult it would be, to know that the child had been borne from his seed, but how little else tethered them together.

"First, you needn't thank me for what I did. You know I could never deny you anything, and I'd've never denied you your last request." It hadn't been easy, coming back to Winterfell, telling his wife that he'd been unfaithful and fathered a child with a woman he'd never speak of. It had been the talk of the North - and much of Westeros - that the Honorable Ned Stark had fathered a bastard, but all of that waned in light of his promise, in light of keeping his nephew safe. His last link to his sister. But he'd done it, and he'd do it again, if given the chance.

"Second, he'll always be your son. I might've raised him, and he might've called me Father all his life, but I'd had no part in making him. There's more than one way to be a mother. Neither of us can expect him to suddenly have a relationship with you that he'd not had all his life. It's the sort of thing that takes time to create and cultivate, but I think you can have that, if you're both willing to try." He turns towards her, fully facing her, lifting one hand to gently touch her cheek. "You haven't lost us. We're right here. I'm here, your son is here, your nephew and your niece are here. It - it isn't going to be as it was back home, or what it could've been had things been different." He sighs, taking her hand in his free one, glancing down towards them. "We both wound up here after our time had ended, for whatever reason. I can't explain it, and I won't attempt to. And I won't attempt to scorn it, either. We've been given second chances, for all of the madness that goes on in this village, we've been given second chances to - make right our wrongs, to forgive wrongdoings, or to seek forgiveness from others. We've a second chance at something we'd had taken away prematurely. You've not lost your family or your son. If anything, you've ... a chance to know us now. All of us."

"I know I don't need to thank you, but what I asked wasn't a small promise. It meant you had to lie to everyone, even to your wife and children. Westeros knew you to be an honorable man and that was tarnished because of me." She wasn't blind, she knew what the costs were and how much Ned had sacrificed. "You betrayed your friend. I know what Robert has meant to you and that after everything, he was the only family you had left." Whatever she thought of Robert, Ned didn't feel the same way. Lying to him was more painful than it would have been for her.

"I know," she said with a sigh, lowering her head as she stared down at the ground. She toed a nearby stone, rolling it under her foot. "He said the same and I know that no relationship can be forced. It's not the act of forging it or working towards it, it's the fact that no matter how much I try, you will always be his father. You shared all of his firsts, I didn't. I'm more of a stranger than a mother. I don't think that will ever completely change."

And a part of her was tired, uncertain if she should try. "Second chances? Maybe it would be better if I hadn't been brought here. Jon wouldn't have had to know the truth and could have lived thinking that he was truly your son, not the product of two foolish people that let love override reason."

Ned falls silent, both out of respect for what she must say and out of having nothing to contribute of his own. He was chattiest with his sister, save for his wife, but even so - he is the quiet wolf, after all.

Mention of Robert tightens the muscles of his jaw, teeth clenching against each other in a battle of will and strength. Prior to his sister's arrival, mention of her had elicited the same sort of response from her. Now, however, it's mention of Robert that seems to drive the dagger deeper into his chest. He thinks of the last time he'd seen him, the wrenching in his gut as he realized it would be the final moments for them to be together. He'd no longer laugh and snark his way through their friendship, brothers in arms and almost by blood. He loved Robert, for all of his faults and shortcomings. Mention of him now - and Ned's betrayal surrounding Lyanna, Jon, and Rhaegar - hurt him in a way he can't quite vocalize.

He'd much rather speak of Jon, even if the topic is painful in its own way.

"I can tell you all about his life, if you'd allow it. I can't give you those years back, or allow you to bear witness first-hand, but I can tell the stories as best I can. It won't be the same, but it can be the next best thing." He turns towards her and, after a second's hesitation, tugs her to him and wraps her in an embrace. "I'd told him the truth shortly after I arrived. He wanted to know, and there was no point in me hiding it from him anymore. Even so -" he starts, pulling back to look at her, a hand on each of her shoulders. His expression is stern, but warm and loving. "- Please allow me to be selfish. Please - allow me to have you here, in my life again. Please don't speak those words; they -" He clears his throat, shaking his head. "Don't say such things. For my sake."

She can see that she has hurt him, both by mentioning Robert and the petulant comment about never being brought here. It was never her intention to wound her brother in this way, but having kept it all to herself for so long, the pressure in her chest seemed to lessen. It had needed to be said, no matter the result, if only for the sake of honesty.

Lyanna leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, allowing him to comfort her by proximity. "Maybe in time. Hearing about it now might make it all worse." All of it reminding her of what she had missed, unable to really picture it, relying on this second hand account. When she found a way to accept it all, she would take the offer as the treasure it was meant to be.

"Do your children know?" She asked, wondering how many were aware of this secret.

She glanced down at the Weirwood sapling, wishing she could find comfort in it, but the Godswood had never been as soothing to her as it was for Ned. The quiet left her uneasy, at odds with her usual active nature. "I feel as if I am severing your family. Your children have only known him to be your son."

"Whenever you find yourself ready," Ned vows, silently agreeing to drop the topic for the time being. He doesn't want to bring about any extra grief to his sister, not if he can help it. He thinks to himself that perhaps he might inquire about getting some paper; he knows there are villagers who have such a luxury. Perhaps he'll start scribbling things down, memories to eventually share with her whenever her heart and mind are fortified enough to read them or listen to them like a story.

"I left it up to him to tell whomever he wishes. As it wasn't then, it isn't my secret to tell, not even now." He gently cradles her in his arms, grateful for these moments, even if there is pain shared between them. "Robb knows." His tone suggests that it was not a pleasant revelation, but he will not speak ill of his son. His outrage and anger was, to Ned, justified, and only out of love for the man he'd called brother. "They are learning the truth; such things will not sever anything, least of all the Starks."

The torture of this place was that it allowed her the peace and freedom to think about the past, to consider what she could have done different or what she should have done for her son. Perhaps she should have left him a letter or Rhaegar should have? A simple connection to his parents and the life they never would be able to give him. They could have at least shared their hopes, their good intentions. However small that was, it might mean something.

"Robb?" She flinched, her mind trailing back to their argument. While they had managed the feast far better, she couldn't shake the feeling that Robb wasn't fond of her. Either for this or for her own wild behavior. "He is a lot like you." The honor, the grim expression and heavy burden carried on his shoulders. But that temper, it wasn't Ned's. It belonged to his mother, most likely. "I haven't made a good impression on him."

"Aye, such is the burden of the eldest born," Ned agrees, pulling back to look at her inquisitively, having felt her flinch and heard the inflection of her voice. Robb's not said much in regards to his aunt, though perhaps that should have been a big enough clue for Ned to discern his deeper feelings about her. Arya had taken to Lyanna rather quickly and had said as much, but Robb has remained tight-lipped and quiet on the matter.

He doesn't have to wonder much longer with Lyanna's revelation, and the truth of it surprises him, lifting both his brows. He studies his sister's face for a few moments before removing his hands from her shoulders to hold her hands in his.

"Why do you think such a thing?"

"Brandon was the oldest and he was nothing like father." She loved her brother, but there was no denying that he was hot tempered and had several habits that were far from honorable. How many lovers did he have? How much virtue had he stolen in his life? Ned was a better man than their brother ever could be, something she could admit, even with her affection for him. He was not the sort of man she would want for a father or husband. Even as a brother, there were days when he made her feel ashamed.

She shrugged her shoulders, turning away to look down at the sapling. Idly, she found a fallen branch from a nearby tree, picked it up and swung it around like a sword. It wasn't something she wanted to trouble her brother with, but he had asked.

"We had an argument."

'He was like him in a way that brought about his end,' Ned thinks to himself, allowing the briefest of recollections of news of their deaths. He can't say he wouldn't have done the same, strangling himself to death in a vain attempt to save their father, nor does he doubt that, had the situations been reversed, that his father would've done the same for any of his children.

He releases the tension in his jaw as he drives these memories away again, letting them slink back into the shadows.

Ned gently lowers his hands back down to his sides, watching her swing around the branch. It reminded him so much of when they were young. Tentatively, he searched the ground before locating a similar sort of branch, grabbing hold of it and holding it out as though to challenge her, the way they had when they were small.

"What sort of argument?"

She smiled softly as he held up the branch. The action was familiar and sweet, something they shared before he had left for the Vale. It was the only way she could practice sparring with her brothers. Old Nan followed their father's instructions and kept a tight watch on Lyanna, trying to teach her ladylike comportment, even if it was a losing battle.

She had become skilled enough that she could knock Benjen to the ground, but Ned was always a bit more difficult.

Lyanna tapped her branch against his before giving it a full whack. It wouldn't be enough for him to lose his grip. He always managed to keep a hold on his sword while Benjen held it too loosely. It was easy to fall back into the familiar position, holding out her branch in front of her.

Her face darkened, glancing away and giving him an opening. "About the choices I made when I ran away with Rhaegar."

Ned is prepared and ready for the whack, knowing she would more than likely try to test his grip and his strength from the start. He doesn't falter, nor does he seem to even acknowledge the strength of her hit against his makeshift sword. He allows a quiet, subdued smile to grace his face as she falls into position, once again thanking the Old Gods for the chance for them to be together like this again. For however long either of them stayed in this place, he reminds himself to never take these moments for granted, and to commit them to memory as best he can.

He's now torn, however, between offering the kind of kind and sympathetic support she seeks, while also helping to keep her mind off of darker topics with their play sword-fighting. It's a delicate balance, and he gently shuffles forward to attempt a light poke of her ribs while still showing his attentiveness.

"He was cross with you for having done so," he states, not in a way to suggest he already knows this but to suggest he understands where this conversation is leading.

It's a balance she's not certain she can keep. Already, she is drifting back into her guilt and sense of responsibility for the turn of the world. But with a simple poke of his stick, she is pushed back into the present. She gave a small, playful "Ow" before striking at Ned's stick again, this time with a bit more force. Benjen would lose his grip and stance, the Benjen she remembered at least. But Ned had always been more steady.

Both in life and in play.

"He said I was selfish." Which, yes, she knew she was. Because she had run away without a word, swept up in her first love and the excitement of a shared adventure, so many people lost their lives. "I told him I didn't regret leaving with Rhaegar." Which was true. She could have managed everything better, but she would never feel guilty about loving him or wanting to be with him.

"He thinks that's selfish too."

"You forget that Robb is young, despite his being older than when I saw him last," Ned offers, voice quiet. His son's age is not a slight against him, but he knew few men (and women) of a similar age who carried the world's wisdom with them. Come to think of it, he knew few men and women who carried the world's wisdom with them even when pushing the higher boundaries of age.

It does give Ned pause, however, to think about the situation. He knows that Robb broke his oath to Frey, in order to pursue a relationship in which he had been in love, caught up in the whirlwind of romance and other fanciful emotions. Funny, then, that he'd be accusing his aunt of the exact behaviors he'd exhibited when still in Westeros, and still alive. (The latter, of course, is a fact Ned would rather not remember).

"It is easy," he continues, attempting a light but not pitying whack at his sister's stick, "For one to point fingers and accuse others of the same faults that lie within ourselves." He won't speak ill of his son, not even to his sister; it's simply not in his nature to do so. Nor will he reveal the tales from his son's life as they are not his stories to tell, but he will allow Lyanna to come to her own conclusions. Ned knows she's quick-witted and sharp; he needn't explain much for her to understand.

"I don't mean any slight against your son by telling you this." She murmured. He had reason to be angry. The whole realm had reason to be angry. She had made a decision that had cost thousands of lives and she refused to believe that it was the wrong one. Anyone who heard that would believe she was selfish and perhaps she was?

Her head shot up at that, uncertain at first of Ned's meaning. Same faults? She wouldn't press for details, knowing that her brother wouldn't give them. That was Robb's secret to tell and she doubted it would ever be shared with her. Still, knowing this much lessened the sharp pangs of anxiety. "He isn't wrong though. The things he said, he has a point."

She lowered her arm, exhausted and lacking the drive for their game. "You have never blamed me. Why weren't you angry with me?"

"I hadn't thought you did," Ned replies matter-of-factly. Despite their conflicting relationship, they are still family, still bound together by blood and by ties that can never (at least, ideally) be broken. He also knows that the two of them know that, and so long as they can be acceptably civil around one another when in each other's company, Ned will not ask for more. If, by some stroke of luck and work, they are able to be closer to one another, he'd very much prefer it, but he'll take diplomatic civility for now.

Ned takes his cues from his sister, lowering his stick, as well. He doesn't quite drop it from his grip, but it's clear his fingers have gone lax.

With a quiet sigh, he allows the stick to drop to the ground, closing the distance between them to take her hands in his.

"I was so focused on finding you, on saving you from what I thought was a terror for you. All I could think about was bringing you home, safe, keeping you near as one of the last members of our brood. I was angry at Rhaegar, as I'd not known the truth then. But at the first sight of you in that bed, hearing the sound of your voice, all of that .. was stripped away." He shakes his head, remembering it all with such vivid detail. "I was angry at the world for having taken you from me. I was angry at the world in which your son would have to grow in, knowing I couldn't protect him from his fate and from the scorn he'd receive from my wife. I was angry at Robert for having to put me in such a position in the first place.

"And, after I settled back into life at Winterfell, I .. was angry with you, for a time. But then I saw your son, I saw you in him, in his smile, in his eyes, in his very way of being, and I realized I could never hold onto such dark feelings. They'd only impede my ability to raise Jon as the best father I could manage to be for him, and I'd not wanted that for him. He didn't deserve it." He holds her gaze for a few quiet breaths. "And neither did you."

She wouldn't stop trying to find some means of reconciling with Robb. He was family, Ned's eldest son and the one that Jon seemed to be closest too. Whatever might have been said or however Robb looked at her, she would at least try to be a friend to him. So far they could at least speak civilly, having sat together during one of the Observer's feasts. It had gone well enough and there hadn't been anymore fighting, but she still felt uncertain about her nephew's feelings.

It likely didn't help that Lyanna avoided the woman that Robb seemed to fancy every opportunity she got.

Ned's hands were as rough as she remembered, now more weathered and scarred from rough years that she had not shared with him. She would have to memorize every scar and commit it to memory. Every detail of her beloved brother was important.

"I don't blame you for being angry with me, Ned. I know I was selfish and I know that I should have tried to contact you. By the time the war started, we had reached Dorne. I didn't know about father or Brandon until long after it happened. Neither of us knew how drastically things would escalate. We didn't have word or news for so long." They had been in their own world, happy for the first time. She should have known or suspected, but outside intrusion wasn't something that was often accounted for in new love. "Will you hate me if I tell you that I don't regret leaving with Rhaegar?"

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