Prologue

The air was hot, stale and carried the scent of blood. Around Ser Arthur, men lay dead or dying. Where there had been three of them now there was just one. Ser Oswell had taken a sword through the throat, not before he took two men to the grave with him. Ser Gerold was breathing his final breaths, the spear in his side made each breath a wet wheeze. Ser Arthur had avenged his Lord Commander and the spearman laid headless on the ground along with three of his companions. Dawn sang as it bit into the sword of his final opponent.

His shoulders ached from the ferocity of the morning's swordplay and each step he took reminded Ser Arthur of the landed blow from one of the northmen's Morningstar. Yet with each swing of his greatsword Ser Arthur drove Ned Stark backwards. In the beginning there had been confidence in the Northman's eyes. As his companions fell one by one that confidence had been replaced by fear.

High then low he directed Dawn. At the waist. At the thigh. Blood splattered on the ground as Dawn bit through leather and chainmail. Ned Stark's shield fell heavily to the dirt, the reinforced wood was made a ruin from Dawn's fierce bite. Ser Arthur's eyes narrowed as the Northman clutched his longsword with two hands.

In the brief recess they could clearly hear Lady Lyanna's screams. "Stop Please!"

Ser Arthur saw Ned Stark flinch at his sister's wail and he charged. The weight behind the swing staggered Ned Stark and the Northman barely recovered enough to block the blow meant for his hip. Lyanna's screams continued, providing a backdrop to the clash of steel.

The pale white surface of Dawn's blade was marred by blood and yet Ser Arthur never thought the sword looked more beautiful. It was thinner and lighter than any sword of its size had any right to be and with the blade in hand Ser Arthur never felt better a warrior than he did now. I will not fail you Rhaegar. Ser Arthur thought. Dawn slipped through the Stark's guard once again, but this time the Northmen's gambeson gave him enough time to slip away before his blood could be spilled.

Dust kicked up from Stark's shambling feet stung Ser Arthur's eyes and he had to step over a white armored body to pursue Stark's backpedal. Stark was skilled, but Ser Arthur had fought many better. But Ned Stark was determined. The young lord showed no signs of fleeing even as he was forced closer and closer to the pale red stone of the Tower of Joy.

Their blades clenched, and Ser Arthur abandoned his two-grip. His right hand shot forward to grip the pommel of Ned Stark's sword and then with a twist, Ser Arthur ripped the blade from Ned Stark's grip. Before he could swing for the killing blow, Ser Arthur heard the slightest shuffle of sand behind him. By instinct he turned, and his helm caught the blade of dagger meant for the back of his neck.

A shocked gasp left the short man's throat as Dawn opened his belly. Ned Stark slammed into Ser Arthur then. Dawn and the longsword skid across the dirt as the two men rolled. A choking cloud of dust rose in the air as they grappled.

Ser Arthur twisted away as Ned Stark pulled his dagger from his belt. The blade bit into Ser Arthur's gauntlet but the knight barely felt the pain. He bucked his hips, throwing Ned Stark from onto him. Stark pulled the dagger from Ser Arthur's hand, but the next thrust was useless against the plate armor. Ser Arthur caught Stark's wrist and slammed the hand down onto the hard-packed dirt.

Stark's gauntleted fist slamming into Ser Arthur's helm dazed him and the knight answered with a headbutt of his own. The action weakened Stark's grip on the dagger and Ser Arthur followed with a fist. The dagger slid away but Ned Stark still fought with an animalistic ferocity. They battered each other with fist and grappled for the upper hand. Ser Arthur's plate armor limited his mobility and Stark's padded armor and chainmail softened the blows to body.

Arthur's helm was ripped loose and Stark scrambled to grab a piece of brick that fell from the tower. As Ned Stark raised his arm to strike him, Ser Arthur ripped his dagger from his swordbelt and plunged the blade into Stark's armpit. The angle and padding of Ned Stark's armor prevented the blade from plunging deeper than an inch but the shock of the wound dropped the rock from Stark's grip. Arthur rolled Stark onto his back and tore away the Northmen's helm.

Blood spurted from Stark's nose. Arthur felt the man's cheek crack, but he did not stop until Stark grew still beneath him. "Now it ends." Ser Arthur said as he rose and gathered Dawn from the dirt. Even with all the punishment, Ned Stark's chest still rose and fell. The man deserved a clean death.

Sharp green eyes stared at Ser Arthur as he stalked towards Ned Stark. The small man that sought to surprise the knight was hardly a threat now. Like Valyrian steel, Dawn held an edge unlike any normal sword and never needed to be sharpened. Dark blood spilled from the wound on his gut. If the man tried to rise his insides would likely spill on the ground before him.

Stark was hardly in better shape. Blood ran heavy from his nose and the many cuts on his face. One eye was closed completely, the other stared at Ser Arthur in resigned acceptance.

Already the thrill of battle was leaving Ser Arthur. He felt no pleasure in his victory, only duty compelled him. I am sorry Ashara. Ser Arthur thought as he lifted the greatsword.

"Please Arthur stop!" Lady Lyanna shouted. The proximity of the scream stilled Ser Arthur's swing. He turned and was shocked to see Lady Lyanna at the steps. Her sleeping gown was wet with blood and sweat. Her brown hair clung limply to her face and her grey eyes looked fevered. Still the Stark girl walked down the steps of the tower with a single-minded determination.

For months Lyanna had been bedridden. Ever since Ser Gerold had brought the news of her father's burning and her brother's execution, Lyanna's laugh and smiles were much rarer. Prince Rhaegar had forbidden her departure after it was confirmed that she was with child. The news of the Prince's death had brought the fear that Lyanna would die and take her child with her. But as Lyanna struggled down the steps, Arthur heard a cry pierce the air.

Strong lungs was the Kingsguard's first thought. A king or a queen? Was his second.

"Ned?" Lyanna questioned as she caught sight of the fallen man. The sound of his sister's voice stirred the injured lord and he reached for his sister.

"Lya-" he gurgled.

Ser Arthur caught Lyanna before she stumbled. "Please he's my brother." Lyanna pleaded as Ser Arthur hesitated.

He is the enemy. But Ser Arthur brought the girl to her brother. She gasped at the mess of his face and collapsed to his side, cradling the head in her lap. Ned Stark mumbled an unintelligible greeting that brought fresh tears to Lyanna's eyes. "I'm so sorry Ned. I'm sorry-" She repeated.

Ser Arthur turned away from the exchange. He ascended the steps and made his way into the tower, guided by the infant's cries. The tower was a seven roomed, round tower that overlooked the northern edge of the Red Mountains of Dorne. Prince Rhaegar had furnished and restored the ancient military outpost to make it as comfortable as possible for first Princess Elia and then Lyanna. But for months the latter had likened the tower to a comfortable prison and Ser Arthur and his brothers as her goalers.

Wylla was in the sixth room, the room of the stranger, cleaning the newborn. She turned her head in alarm at the sound of Ser Arthur's entrance. Ser Arthur leaned his bleeding blade against the crib and took stock of the child. A boy. Silver hair. Dark blue eyes stared back at him. He wondered what color they would fade to when the boy grew older.

"Our prince." Wylla said. Ser Arthur caught the affection in her voice. The midwife had helped with the delivery of Allyria and was one of the few that Ser Arthur trusted.

He shook his head. "No. Our King."

"What will be his name?" Wylla asked.

Ser Arthur frowned. Rhaegar had been convinced that this child was the final head of the three-headed dragon. The first two children of the prince had been named Rhaenys and Aegon and the final name was obvious even if the Prince had not voiced it half a hundred times. Here lay a king, not a queen. News of the sack of King's Landing had only reached them weeks before and now both Rhaenys and Aegon were dead.

"Aegon?" Wylla asked when he did not answer. Ser Arthur considered the name. There had been five Aegons that sat the throne, the last had been Prince Rhaegar's great grandfather. Great men, terrible men and those barely noteworthy. The name had a storied but muddied legacy. Aegon had been Prince Rhaegar's first child and it felt wrong for it to be the name of his last.

"Gather the child." Arthur said. He helped Wylla gather enough supplies for their journey. The woman had been chosen for her long-term loyalty to Starfall and the recent birth of her own child. Arthur made her sit and feed the new king while he scanned the tower for anything necessary.

Prince Rhaegar had brought many books and scrolls to the tower. Maps of the Seven Kingdoms lined the walls adorned with the elegant handwriting of the prince. The prince had known that even with his victory over Robert, the submission of the Seven Kingdoms was far from guaranteed. The armies of the North, Riverlands and the Vale would need to be subdued before Rhaegar could turn his strength on his father. He had been so confident that he would return from the war but feared for the safety of his children. Aegon and Rhaenys have the walls of King's Landing and Maegor's holdfast to protect them and Ser Jaime would not let them come to harm. Lyanna needs the Kingsguard to keep her and the child safe.

There were other maps and recordings in the tower as well. Rhaegar had a near obsession with Valyrian steel. This daughter was meant to be a warrior and like her brother she would need a sword fitting of her legacy. Letters and maps of the far north tracked Brynden Rivers' journey to the wall, the last confirmed wielder of Dark Sister. Months of exchanges with Maester Aemon were there. The two had been in deep conversation for years, only paused when Rhaegar met with Lyanna a year after the tourney of Harrenhal. Thousands of documents detailing the Blackfyre rebellion were also in the tower's library. Both for military reasons and for hints on the location of the sword Blackfyre, Rhaegar had hoarded the documents. There were descriptions and detailed lineages of houses that could boast having stock of the rare blades. If he could not find his family's ancestral swords, then Rhaegar intended to bribe a minor house. There were two hundred and twenty-seven Valyrian steel blades in Westeros or so the Maesters claimed but most had been lost over the eons.

All this Ser Arthur knew for he had been Rhaegar's confidant. Still he spread the books and letters on the floor and poured candle oil on top of them. Caskets of the fluid had been left over from its days as a military outpost. Watchers once sat and alerted the armies of Dorne to the progress of Prince Daeron I's march. There would be enough.

Ser Arthur poured the oils on the sheets of the beds and even over Rhaegar's silver-stringed high harp. The elaborate instrument was too large and cumbersome to carry. Of the items in the tower, Ser Arthur only saved the black and red marriage cloak. There were no papers of any worth to save. Rhaegar had married the Stark girl on the isle of faces with the Kingsguard and Greenmen as witness. Even if Rhaegar had lived the faith would have protested, but now his son was little more than a bastard in the eyes of the south. The Bastard King.

Ser Arthur gathered Wylla who wrapped the babe in the cloak. A single strike of flint against the fire striker was enough to light the oil. By the time the three had descended the steps, dark smoke was rising from the roof of the tower. Ned Stark was leaned against the base. His face had been wiped clean and his sister rested against him. The girl was so still and pale that Ser Arthur had thought she passed until the girl stirred at the sound of their footsteps.

Lyanna's eyes locked on the babe in Wylla's arms. "Can I hold him?" She questioned.

Ser Arthur looked to Ned Stark. His face was bruised and swollen beyond recognition. Yet one eye stared at Ser Arthur with a challenge and an arm wrapped protectively around his sister's waist. The Kingsguard shook his head.

"Please." Lyanna pleaded.

Ser Arthur did not reply but his face was firm. If his brothers had lived, then Ser Arthur could have chanced bring Lyanna but Wylla had long ago warned them that Lyanna was not likely to survive. Even now she looked close to death. In her state she would only be a liability. Instead Ser Arthur looked to her brother. Ned Stark understood.

"Turn away Lya." He whispered.

The confusion on Lyanna's face was brief before horror replaced it. "Please Arthur. He's my brother. He's Jon's uncle."

Ser Arthur paused. "Jon?" He questioned.

Lyanna nodded. She was curled protectively around her wounded brother. "I named him for the man who raised Ned and for a King of Winter."

The name was not fitting for a king. "No. It will not work." He advanced once more.

Lyanna became nearly hysterical. She sobbed. Threw dirt and stone at Ser Arthur. "I beg you! Please he's my brother. Take me instead. Please." Her nails scratched at Ser Arthur's gauntlets as he gripped her arm to drag her away.

Ser Arthur's heart was in his throat. It is my duty. "He is the enemy Lyanna. He fought with the Usurper and his duty compels him to tell his king of our own. What do you think Robert Baratheon will do when he learns Rhaegar has another child? He killed the other two and won't rest until your own son is dead. I have my duty." Burning the tower and killing Ned Stark would bring questions but not answers. The bodies of his brothers and the Northmen told the tale of a fight but not the birth of a king. Mystery would be their armor.

Despite her poor health, Lyanna fought with surprising strength. Ser Arthur loathed to put my force in distancing himself from her and she used his concern to her advantage, gripping his ankle so that he dragged her in the dirt with every step he took. "Please Ser Arthur. I beg, spare him. I promise he won't tell. I promise."

The Kingsguard paused once again. He looked to Ned Stark. "I am Lord Commander of King Aemon Targaryen, first of his name. The boy will return to Westeros to reclaim his birth right and I will be there to put my sword into the belly of your false king. You fought to put the usurper on the throne and now you know of his greatest threat. What say you?"

Lyanna crawled on her hands and knees to her brother. She kissed his forehead and then his cheeks. "Promise him Ned. Promise him please. Promise that you won't tell Robert about Jon."

Aemon. Ser Arthur thought but he did not speak.

Ned stared at his sister for a long moment and then nodded.

"Say it." Ser Arthur pressed.

"I promise." Ned Stark mumbled through swollen lips.

Ser Arthur sighed and wiped the still bleeding Dawn on the cloak of one of the fallen Northmen. He knew killing Stark was the better option. The military leadership of Ned Stark had been one of the critical factors for the success of the rebellion and removing an enemy commander today for Aemon's conquest would be an easy victory. He thought of Ashara and the smile she had after dancing with Ned Stark at Harrenhal. His sister had talked of the quiet boy and the dashing brother of his for hours after. There has been enough killing today. He sheathed the greatsword.

Lyanna stared at him warily. "Can I see my son before you take him?" She asked. The tears were in her eyes again. Gone was the pretty girl that Rhaegar had crowned at the tourney. Only two years had passed but death was upon her. Her voice was soft. It was possible the request was her last.

Ser Arthur looked to Wylla and nodded. The midwife stepped towards Lyanna, knelt and pulled back the cloak covering Aemon's hair. Lyanna smiled weakly at her son. "I love you little one." Arthur allowed Lyanna a full minute to look but the smoke of the tower was growing thicker.

"We must go now." Ser Arthur said. Lyanna looked ready to protest but her brother's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Where will you go?" Lyanna asked.

Starfall. Ser Gerold came from the most prosperous family and they had planned for him to approach his nephew, Lord of House Hightower and Oldtown for an alliance. With Ser Gerold dead however, the only confirmed allies of Ser Arthur were his own family. He knew the move was obvious, but Ser Arthur did not plan to stay in Westeros for long. The port of Starfall lay on the Torretine river which opened to the sea beyond. From there he could charter a ship around the arm of Dorne to Essos. The queen on Dragonstone called to him but he was one man with an infant king. My duty is to the king. Ser Arthur remained quiet.

"Protect him please." Lyanna pleaded by now the adrenaline was leaving her and Ned Stark was supporting his sister from falling.

"With my life." Ser Arthur promised and then he, Wylla and Aemon departed. The Tower of Joy sat on a high cliff that provided unobstructed views for miles. At the base of the cliff, Arthur found the Northmen's seven mounts. They were sand steeds of a Dornish breed. Light boned, fast horses that could run for three days and nights without water. Ser Arthur stripped himself of his armor. The horse would be unable to bear the weight.

He helped Wylla into the saddle and then handed the midwife Aemon. Ser Arthur hesitated before mounting his own. If he freed the other horses, then Ned Stark's death would be assured. The Dornish sun was all but a death sentence to those unaccustomed. Stark would find nothing but bones and bandits in Vulture's Roost and it was a hard march through the mountains to Kingsgrave. He promised.

Ser Arthur sighed and mounted his horse. Perhaps he would meet Ned Stark on the battlefield. Until then his promise would protect him. Above a raven circled and cawed.

The king sucked greedily at Wylla's breast as they rode. Ser Arthur guided their horses down into the pass. Thick grass and desert trees covered the basin of the pass. Above the dark smoke from the tower stretched for a mile across the sky.

The boy needs a mother. Ser Arthur thought. Wylla would not do. She had her own child and it was too much to ask a woman to live in exile with no date of return. Ashara. Arthur thought. His little sister would do. Intelligent and highborn, Ashara would teach Aemon what it meant to be a king.

They rode on to Starfall.