A/N 1: My speculation about what happened at the Tower of Joy. This used to be the first of a planned multi-chapter series of drabbles, but I decided they work better as one-shots, so now this is a standalone.

A/N 2: In ASOS Dany I, Jorah says, "Rhaenys and Visenya were Aegon's wives as well as his sisters. You have no brothers, but you can take husbands." So I assume polygamy was never explicitly outlawed in Westeros.

Ser Arthur Dayne rode out with his Sworn Brothers to meet Stark and his men. The two parties converged on a rocky outcrop a small distance from the tower.

"Lord Stark," Ser Gerold greeted him.

"Ser Gerold. I am here for my sister. Do you hold her?"

"I'm afraid that is no concern of yours, my lord," Ser Gerold replied. "Lady Lyanna no longer belongs to House Stark. She is now Prince Rhaegar's own wedded wife."

The young lord's face twitched. "I thought that was the Princess Elia of Dorne. Or has Rhaegar become a new Maegor the Cruel? Tell me, ser, how is it that my sister was wedded without her father's knowledge or approval?"

"The lady married Prince Rhaegar of her own will," Ser Oswell spoke up, eliding the question. There was no point in trying to defend Rhaegar's part to the girl's brother. "Ser Arthur and I witnessed it ourselves. There was no sword at her throat, or the threat of one, when she spoke her vows."

"But what business is this of yours, Lord Stark?" said Ser Gerold. "You betrayed the royal house, you rebelled against the king to whom you swore fealty, and you seated a usurper upon the Iron Throne. The price of treason is death."

"What true king would allow his son to dishonor a maid and then burn her father and her brother in a farce of a trial for daring to protest?" said Stark bitterly. "Your king is dead. Your crown prince as well, and his son and heir. The boy Viserys is fled to Dragonstone." He left the final part unspoken, though it must have been on his mind the entire journey. Why are you here? Is there a babe? Is it a boy?

"There was no dishonor," Ser Oswell said again. "The maid came willingly with the prince, and wedded him willingly."

"A bigamous marriage of dubious validity," Stark dismissed. "In the eyes of the realm, she is only his mistress." And any child she bears him a bastard.

"Aegon the Conqueror wedded two wives as well," Ser Arthur reminded him. The first for duty, the second for love. Oh, Rhaegar… "We are loyal to the true king."

Stark's cold, grey gaze turned to him. "What true king? Robert Baratheon sits the Iron Throne. Even the Lords Lannister and Tyrell have bent the knee to him. Ser Barristan has accepted Robert's pardon. Prince Viserys and Queen Rhaella have only Ser Willem Darry to protect them on Dragonstone. Join one or the other, or join the Wall, but give my sister into my protection, before Robert comes with an army to claim her!"

Ser Arthur could only shake his head. "The Usurper is not the rightful king. Neither is Prince Viserys. Rhaegar's son comes before Rhaegar's brother."

The northman's long face fell. "Rhaegar's son is dead," he whispered, desperately.

"His firstborn son is," Ser Arthur agreed. "But now there is another. We who are loyal will seat the true king on the Iron Throne. Or die in the attempt."

"Then you will die!"

"Then we will die, with honor."

"You will die with my nephew! The war is over. Robert has won. If you persist in defying him, you would only doom yourselves, and Lyanna's babe. I say it again, give my sister and her child into my protection!"

"So that you may do what with the babe?" Ser Oswell demanded. "Hide him away, while you serve a usurper?"

"I would protect my nephew's life!"

"You would betray your true king."

"You would kill your true king! I tell you, the realm is lost to House Targaryen. To king the babe is to kill him, and your precious prince's second son will soon join his first. You would sacrifice my nephew's life, for your honor!" Stark spat out the final word as if it were a curse.

Oh, Stark, you know nothing. Lord Eddard could not imagine how this very question had been tormenting them, ever since they had received news of House Targaryen's downfall. The babe is doomed, they had all known then. Honor demanded that they remain faithful, even in the face of certain defeat… but that path led to the babe's death as well as their own. Rhaegar's last surviving child. Only Lord Eddard Stark could save him now, and only by hiding him away, keeping the true king far away from the throne that was rightfully his. What was worth more, a crown or a child? The boy's right, or his life? Would you have us do, Rhaegar? But of course, Rhaegar had never thought of defeat. He had been certain, so certain, that his destiny awaited him…

"What do you intend to do with the babe?" Stark demanded. "How do you propose to protect him from Robert's wrath?"

Who knows? Ser Arthur felt lost, lost without his prince. He was so certain that his fate had been writ in prophecy. Now they had nothing to guide them.

"Will you flee to Essos?" Stark pressed. "In exile, your king will have no more legitimacy than a Blackfyre pretender. You will have to sell your swords to survive, just as Bittersteel did, until your white cloaks are soaked through with the blood of petty conflicts. And you will never return to seat your king on the Iron Throne, no more than the Golden Company ever will. It is over. This babe will never wear a crown. At least allow me to save his life!"

Ser Arthur was tempted, sorely tempted…

"We will not break our vows," said Ser Gerold. "We swore a holy oath to guard the king, the rightful king. We will not surrender him to a traitor."

"What will you do?" Stark demanded.

"We will see… if they are any true men left in the realm." Ser Gerold spoke slowly, uncertainly, as if he already knew the answer.

Stark groaned in exasperation. "Any true man would hand over your princeling to King Robert, as they have all taken him as their liege. The only man who would not is the babe's uncle. I ask you one more time, sers. Give me my sister and her babe."

"No," said Ser Gerold. "And I must ask you one more time, my lord, will you not render service to your rightful king and help us to restore him to his throne? You may atone for your treason yet, Lord Stark."

Stark shook his head. "There is nothing more to say. I cannot allow you to leave this tower with my nephew, sers. And if you will not allow us to enter…"

"We will not," said Ser Gerold, and they all reached for their swords.

After that there was nothing to do but to settle the matter by force of arms. The battle was quick and brutal. Stark only had six men with him. One was the little crannogman. Ashara's mudman. The frogeater. She had noticed him at the Tourney of Harrenhal, sitting at the Starks' table, staring fixedly at her through the entire feast, without ever presuming to ask for a dance. But he had hardly been the only man in the hall looking at her. What on earth possessed her to choose him?

The crannogman hung back from the fighting, unsurprisingly, as he did not look to be much of a fighter. That left Stark and the rest of his men to face the Kingsguard two-on-one, but honor made the northmen hesitate to attack the white cloaks simultaneously. How foolish, thought Arthur. That would improve your chances of actually getting past us.

Arthur fended off Stark and one of his men, with little difficulty. The wolf lord is brave, to face me himself. Not that his men were having any better luck with Arthur's brothers. Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, were not knights of the Kingsguard for nothing. Arthur heard a sword tip find a weak point in someone's armor, followed by an agonized scream. He also heard the crannogman shouting at him… something about prophecies, about how Rhaegar's son could yet fulfill some great destiny, if only he survived. Fuck prophecies. Fuck destiny. Seven hells, fuck Rhaegar, too. The fool was dead, and his father, and his wife and daughter and son. And soon his second wife would join them, and perhaps his secondborn son as well. How many more must die?

Stark was right.

Ser Arthur swung Dawn away from Stark and his man, just in time to block Ser Oswell, who had finished off his own opponents, from joining in. Oswell's eyes widened in shock.

"We must save the boy!" Arthur pleaded.

Oswell looked too surprised to say anything.

"Are you a traitor too, ser?" Ser Gerold strode up to them, his sword dripping red, his armor spattered with blood, but his voice sounded more sad than angry.

Stark saw his men on the ground, in pools of blood. With a shout, he rushed toward Ser Arthur's Sworn Brothers.

"Wait!" Ser Arthur cried, and heard the crannogman's voice echo his. But Stark's other remaining man was right on his lord's heels. He was cut down, too. Ser Gerold raised his sword to strike at Stark—and Ser Arthur raised Dawn to block him.

"Please, my lord, let us save the boy!" said Arthur again.

"So, you have turned traitor as well." Ser Gerold's voice was heavy with sorrow and grief.

He knows it's over. Ser Gerold was injured from his own battle, yet he pressed Arthur so hard that Arthur could not show him mercy. Make a clean end of it, Arthur knew. Their king was dead, his throne was lost to his line, and there was nothing any of them could do about it. Only two paths lay before them. At the end of one path lay their own deaths and the babe's, and at the end of the other… the babe could live, if they broke their vows. Between death and dishonor, there is only one choice. Arthur cut down his Lord Commander, and then Ser Oswell was upon him. You as well, my friend, may die defending your king. There was no need for all of them to break their vows. Arthur's dishonor would suffice for them all. Ser Oswell smiled in relief as he died on Dawn, his honor intact, his vows unbroken. Thank you, his smile seemed to say.

Arthur turned back to see Stark, staring at him, stunned. The crannogman was beside him, helping him to his feet.

"Your sister is gravely ill," Arthur told Lord Eddard. "Come with me, quickly."

Stark did not need to be told twice. In short order they were galloping to the tower as quick as their horses would carry them. When they reached it, Arthur led Stark and Reed up the steps at a run, two or three at a time. When they burst into the chamber at the top, the maids gasped at their sudden appearance, but Stark only saw the girl.

Lyanna Stark lay in a bed of blood, dying.

Eddard rushed to her side and gently took her hand. "Lya!" He could see and feel that she was burning up with fever.

"Ned! Oh, Ned, is that really you?" She looked up at him with red, glassy eyes. The girl looked all of her sixteen years… so few, too few to be ending here.

"Yes, yes, Lya, I'm here now. You'll be all right, I promise, you'll be all right. We'll go home, as soon as you're better…"

She smiled. "That would be wonderful. How I yearn to be home again! Have you seen the babe?" She let out a giggle. "You're an uncle now, Eddard. Where's my sweet babe?" She looked around for her maids. "Let me see my babe again, let me hold her!"

Eddard's head whipped around as he turned to gape at Arthur. Her?!

Arthur only shook his head sadly. He nodded toward the maid stepping forward with a wrapped bundle in her arms. Eddard Stark took it and held it in his arms, carefully, anxiously, like a man who had never held a newborn babe before.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Lyanna cooed. "Silver-gold hair and amethyst eyes, just as he promised."

Arthur watched her brother's face. He saw Stark trying to control his emotions, to show no sign of shock or horror as he realized that his sister was not only dying of childbed fever but completely delirious.

"Lya…" he whispered.

"He promised," the girl babbled on. "He knew this babe would be born. They told him he would have no more children, but he knew he would. He must. The dragon has three heads. Even when little Aegon was born and they told him poor Elia would bear no more children, he saw her. He saw her in a vision, our sweet babe, our princess Visenya. All grown up, and beautiful. Her hair was bright, not dark, so he knew it was not Rhaenys. But she was a dragon, so he knew she had to be the third head, our Visenya, destined to be born! It is just as he said. Oh, let me hold her again!"

Stark's panic-stricken gaze darted to Arthur. Arthur nodded in reassurance. She has already seen the babe. Or, rather, not seen.

Eddard carefully held the babe out toward his sister. The girl turned her head to look at it. The smile that spread across her face then was more beautiful than the sweetest winter rose. Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to reach up and touch the babe's face, but she had no strength left to even lift her arm. She only continued gazing at her babe, her face filled with joy.

"My Visenya… my sweet princess Visenya," she murmured. She did not see her brother squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, as if that could block out the pain. "Ned… please…"

"Yes, Lya?"

"Please… you have to protect her," she begged. "Protect her from Robert… raise her to be a good princess… with her brother and her sister… the three heads of the dragon… Rhaegar said…" The girl's words tumbled out, ever more urgently and less coherently, between her labored breaths.

"I will," Stark promised hastily. "I will, Lya, I promise. I… I shall guard your babe as if it were my own."

Relief spread across the girl's face, and she smiled again. "Thank you. Oh, thank you, dear, sweet Ned…" As she caught her breath, her eyes closed for a moment… and did not open again. Nor did her chest rise and fall again after that final breath. She was still smiling, ever so peacefully.

Eddard Stark knelt beside her bed and wept.

To give Stark a moment alone with his grief, Ser Arthur pulled Howland Reed aside. You trust him, Ashara, and so I will too. I have no choice. Arthur also gestured to one of the maids to fetch him a quill, ink, and parchment.

"My lord," said Arthur quickly, as he wrote. "I have two documents to entrust to you. The first, you must speak of to Lord Stark when he is himself again. It is a record of Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna's marriage, written in Ser Gerold's hand, witnessed and signed by Ser Oswell and myself. It affirms that the lady was never dishonored, that she was no mistress but a wedded wife. She kept it close in life, and I believe she would have wanted to keep it close in death."

Reed nodded. "I will ask Lord Stark to bury it with her, ser."

"The second is the one I write now. It will serve as a record of the birth of Prince Rhaegar's second trueborn son… and that I have entrusted the boy's life to Lord Eddard Stark." The words tasted bitter on his tongue. My dishonor, confessed in my own hand, so that none can deny it. "Hide this yourself, Lord Reed. Let it stay hidden in the marshes of the Neck. Do not even tell Lord Stark of it. There is no need to lie to him. Simply do not mention it."

The crannogman opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur cut him off.

"Let me believe that I have protected my king as best I could, without stripping him of his rights. Let me believe that there is a chance he may yet claim his rightful throne one day, and that I will have a part in it."

Howland Reed bowed his head solemnly. "As you wish, good ser."

After that, they went out to bury their comrades, putting stones over each body to mark the spot. There would be time later to build proper cairns. After a long while, Eddard Stark came out to join them. When the grim task was done, there was only one thing left to do.

"What will you do now, ser?" Stark asked Arthur.

You know what must happen, what you must do. "There is nothing more for me to do," Arthur replied. "I am a traitor, and the price of treason is death. I will not shrink from my fate."

Stark's face froze in horror. "No."

"You have deprived me of an honorable death, Stark. At least give me a just one."

"No," said Stark again, backing away. "I am not your king's sworn man. I will not execute traitors in his name."

"Then, do it as his uncle and guardian. He should do it himself, were he not a babe. You must stand in his stead."

"No. I do not serve your king."

"You know me to be an oathbreaker. I swore a sacred oath, and I broke it. I swore to defend the true king, both his life and his kingship, and instead I yielded him up to a traitor who will keep him from his rightful seat. You cannot deny that."

Stark only shook his head again. "No. No, I cannot do it. I will not."

"Gods be good, man!" Arthur burst out. "Will you give me a clean death, or must I fall upon my own sword?"

Stark looked anguished. He glanced at Howland Reed, whose face was even paler.

"You do not have to this," Reed pleaded. "Flee to Essos, or join the Wall. No one needs to know of the babe's existence. Say simply that you yielded and wish to continue serving the realm…"

Stop. Just stop. "I am an oathbreaker. I slew my own Sworn Brothers, including my Lord Commander. I am beyond pardoning, ever. This was my own choice, and I must pay the price."

"I will not do it," Stark insisted.

Ser Arthur sighed. He had stripped off his armor before digging the graves, though he still carried Dawn, as he always did. He had kept a dagger on him as well… for this very moment. He drew it now from his sheath. You shall have your vengeance very shortly, my brothers. He imagined plunging the blade into his own heart. Will it hurt? Will it be over quickly? Is this the cleanest, least agonizing way to die? He looked up at Stark. "Will you have no mercy on me, my lord?"

Stark looked as reluctant as ever. "Is there no other way?"

"None," said Arthur. Do not ask me to live with my dishonor any longer. Only the knowledge that his death was imminent had given him the courage to do what had to be done.

Finally, Stark nodded.

Relief washed over Arthur. "Thank you, my lord." Stark's Valyrian blade would strike true, he knew. It will be over immediately. There will be no pain. He removed his sword belt and handed it to Howland Reed. "Please, return this to Starfall."

The crannogman nodded, his eyes wet with tears.

Arthur knelt before the northern lord. "Keep the boy safe, Lord Stark. And… don't raise him to hate his father."

"I will do as you ask, ser."

It is over, at last. I have done all I can. Arthur bowed his head. Don't hesitate, Stark. Make it fast.

"I, Eddard Stark, on behalf of my nephew, the trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, do sentence you to die for oathbreaking."

Ser Arthur felt at peace as he closed his eyes. Over the years he had killed many men and seen many more die. Lord Stark would give him a quicker and cleaner death than most. He felt a gentle nick on his neck, as Stark marked the place where the stroke would fall. Mother have mercy on my soul. Ser Arthur Dayne tried to think of the longest prayer he could remember, but the only thing that came to mind was the lullaby. The Father's face is stern and strong… But already he heard the whistle of Stark's Valyrian blade, and his mind flashed to how it ended.

…and loves the little children.