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━━ . ⋆ ★˙ ° /
LORD EDDARD OF HOUSE STARK is the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. And while all of the North is known for their pride and loyalty, Ned, however, is recognized for his unwavering sense of honor and justice throughout the Westeros. But only Ned knows he is not all honorable as the world believed him to be. Because when the time came, Ned had chosen his love for his sister, Lyanna, over his honor. And he knew he would do it again, for he is fiercely protective of his family, both dead and alive. And he loves them all dearly, even if that family demands sacrifice sometimes.
He looks down at the pale blue roses in his hands as he stood in the darkness of the crypts. His eyes flicker back to the tombs before him, where his father slept, with his brother Brandon and his sister Lyanna beside him. Their likenesses were carved into the stones that sealed her tomb. He lays the flowers he brought for her sister in her lap, a look of melancholy in his eyes. His sister had always liked flowers.
Promise me, Ned, Lyanna had cried in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength, and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister's eyes. He takes in a ragged breath as he attempts not to remember the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. But it was easier said than done.
He hears a quiet rustle from behind him. He knows who it was, so he doesn't turn. "Why do you do this?" Leyla's voice asks, close at hand. "Why do you insist on coming down here, knowing it will only open the old wounds?"
This time, Ned turns around, a sad smile on his face. "The same reason you do," he says in a low, quiet tone. He turns around to stare at the three tombs, side by side. In long rows they sat, blind eyes staring out into eternal darkness, while great stone direwolves curled round their feet. The shifting shadows made the stone figures seem to stir as the living passed by. "Because they are family."
There was a moment of silence before Leyla breaks it once again. "You should tell him, Father," she says. Ned didn't have time to discern what his daughter was talking about as she continues. "Jon—" she says, hesitantly, "-about his mother." His breath catches in his throat when he hears what tumbles out of her mouth next, "—about Aunt Lyanna and the Tower of Joy."
Ned turns on his heels faster than lightning, stares at his sixteen-year-old daughter, wishing what he heard was just a trick played by his mind and ears. But the way Leyla looked at him expectantly, in the lantern light, without a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, he knew it was really happening. The secret that he had been harboring deep in his mind, not even entrusting his wife with it, had been spoken aloud freely like it was nothing.
