Chapter Text
The crypts are cold and dark, only lit by the candles burning in the stone hands of his ancestor’s statues and a few sparsely placed torches.
He hopes that if he stays down here long enough, the souls of his ancestors that haunt his dreams might finally change their minds and tell him that he does belong here.
In Winterfell.
In these crypts that will one day become his final resting place for all of eternity. If he’s lucky. If his body isn’t lost beyond the Wall when he dies as a brother of the Watch.
He might be a Snow, but the blood of the Wolfs, of Winter, of the North and the Starks, runs through his veins all the same.
He has lived and breathed the ways of the North for as long as he can remember. He prays to the same gods his ancestors believed in, kneels under the same Heart Tree, eats in the same halls, learns the ways of the blade in the same courtyard they were taught in. He walks the halls of the Winterfell Keep just like so many Starks before him have.
He might not have the name, but he has the blood of the Starks and follows their ways and their path.
Isn’t that enough?
Will his father’s mistakes forever keep him from belonging in the only place he’s ever considered to be his home?
Surely the Old Gods and the Ghosts of Starks long gone have seen how dedicated he is to the North?
Is the Night’s Watch truly the only way he will be able to prove himself worthy of this legacy he can’t seem to be able to claim as his own?
If so, he’ll gladly accept his fate and do his duty.
He would’ve expected the crypt to smell stale, but the only scent that he can register is winter roses as he tucks himself behind his aunt’s stone figure. Your aunt Lyanna loved winter roses, he remembers his father telling him. He hopes she is surrounded by them now, wherever she has ended up in the afterlife. She deserves nothing less, after all the horrors she had to endure.
He frowns when he notices that one the blocks of stone he’s sitting next to is discoloured. Upon a closer look he realizes that there is a winter rose carved into it.
It could be a coincidence. A way for his father to mourn properly, in his own way.
A part of him, a giddy part of him that has always wished for more out of life, hopes that this is something else. A mystery. A secret he’ll be able to show off to his siblings and gloat about.
He scrambles out from behind the statue and grabs a torch from the wall, using it to shed more light on the spot he was sitting on moments ago. Examining the area closely, he discovers a that he was previously sitting on a slab of stone that doesn’t have mortar around it. Curiosity getting the better of him, he tries to pry it out. It takes a lot of work and he can barely feel his arms by the time he manages it, but finally, the slab comes loose. He moves it aside with one last burst of strength, revealing a hole with a sturdy wooden chest at the bottom.
He hesitates, feeling awful for desecrating a grave like this, but in the end, curiosity once again wins. He pulls out the chest, and opens it. Gasping in awe at the sight of the dragon egg nestled inside, pale grey with swirls of blue and white. It takes a while before he’s able to tear his gaze from the beautiful egg. When he does, he notices that tucked next to it are letters and scrolls sealed with various sigils. He recognizes the sigils of House Stark and House Targaryen. There is also a leather bound journal in the chest, decorated with a painted winter rose.
Curiosity getting the best of him, he reaches for the letter resting on top of the pile, opening it carefully. The words it contains shatter his world.
Ned,
I apologize for leaving. I knew I would not survive being married to such a brute. Nor would my dignity, and my pride. I would have killed him, Ned. I could not do that to you, who sees him as a brother.
I made sure to send a letter to Brandon, informing him of the situation. How I was going to marry Rhaegar in secret so his father couldn’t oppose our union. It seems that the letter never reached him. Understand this, brother. Brandon was never meant to die. Father was never supposed to die. I’m sorry for everything. We should have been more careful. I should have told you and father. It was reckless of me, and it cost us everything. I will forever carry the weight of these sins I committed in the name of love. In the name of Freedom.
I am carrying Rhaegar’s child. We are both thrilled. I cannot wait to meet my child. My little prince.
I will not lie. The pregnancy has been hard on me. I do not know if I will make it. If I die on the birthing bed, and Rhaegar is killed because of this mess, please protect my child and raise them as your own.
Rhaegar thinks the babe will be a girl, but my maternal instincts tell me I will give birth to a boy. Either way, I cannot wait for my child to be born; I long for the day I get to finally hold him in my arms. I love the little bundle of joy growing inside me so much already. Rhaegar and I decided that if it’s a girl, we will name her Visenya. If he's a boy, his name will be Aeryon Targaryen, after our grandmother.
There is something else you should know, dear brother. Years ago I was exploring the hot springs when I found a dragon egg. I kept it hidden from everyone, scared that it would be taken away from me. I hid it behind Thorren Stark’s statue in the crypts. There is a loose stone behind his statue. Place the egg in my child’s crib in my stead if I can’t be there to do it myself.
With love,
Lyanna