16 days since arrival in Westeros
Tower of Joy
"ARGHHH...!"
It was the hour of the wolf. Cold winds snapped at the tent's canvas, reminding everyone how chilly the desert nights could get. Inside, glowing crystal spheres hung in mid-air, casting shadows that danced like spirits on the taut linen walls. The scent of herbs, sweat and blood filled the air - a sacred harrowing aroma only ever found at the edge of life and death.
The midwife hovered at the foot of the bed, hands steady, lips tight. Nearby Maester Caleotte prepared a tonic while two maidservants mopped Lyanna's brow with cool clothes and whispered reassurances in low tones.
"ARGH..." Lyanna screamed again, her voice raw, body trembling from exertion.
"Lyanna, look at me. Look at me." Elia whispered, kneeling beside her. "It's almost over," she said soothingly as Lyanna turned to look at her. "One more push."
"I can't!" Lyanna cried, her long dark hair clinging to her cheeks, lips drawn back in pain.
"Yes, you can. I am right here with you." Elia took Lyanna's hand in hers and gently moved the strands of hair back from her face. "On the count of three, okay? One, two, three. Push!"
Lyanna cried out once more - and then like the stillness after a thunderclap, the air shifted.
A cry pierced the chamber - tiny, vibrant and alive.
The midwife's face cracked into a grin as she lifted the newborn. "A boy," she announced. "A strong one."
Tears welled up in Lyanna's eyes as Elia gently took the baby, swaddling him in soft cloths. The babe had black hair and eyes as grey as mist - like a Stark. Elia laid him in Lyanna's arms, and for a moment the world paused.
But only for a moment.
"She's lost too much blood," Maester Caleotte muttered under his breath.
Those words made Elia turn her gaze to the birthing bed where a worrying amount of blood had turned the white sheets deep red. Remembering what Ben had told her before, she moved past the maester and made her way to the door.
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I was waiting with the others when the door opened halfway and a harried-looking Elia poked out her head.
"It's time," was all she said.
I gave her a brief nod and followed her into the birthing suite. Lyanna was lying on the bed, skin pale as snow, her hair plastered to her forehead. Yet, despite looking completely worn out, there was a relieved smile on her face as she looked down at the little bundle of pink flesh and dark hair nestled in her arms.
"Congratulations," I smiled at the northern girl. "But it isn't over yet. You've lost quite a bit of blood, I'm afraid." I saw a little bit of fear trickle back into her eyes. "You'll need to drink these, now." I produced two phials from my ring - one filled with thick red fluid, the other glowing blue like moonlight over a frozen lake.
"What are those?" asked Lyanna, eyeing the bottles.
"Blood Replenishing Potion and Wiggenweld Potion," I answered as Elia gently took the newborn from Lyanna. "I was wary about giving them to you earlier, as I was not sure whether they would interfere with the process of childbirth or not. It should be quite safe now. They will heal your body and regenerate the vital blood you have lost."
"Fair warning though, it tastes foul," I added, before handing the red potion to Lyanna. "So don't go retching it up. You need to drink at all."
Lyanna looked at the potion, then at me, before raising it to her lips. She gagged once, then swallowed it.
"Bring her some water," I said to the room at large. Maester Caleotte brought over a cup of water and coaxed Lyanna to drink it.
"Good, very good," I said to Lyanna, her face looking less pale already. "Now just drink this, and you will be all better."
"Do I have to?" she said with a bitter face, looking at the blue potion which was sure to taste just as horrible as the one before.
"Do you want to lie in bed for weeks?" I asked sweetly.
"No," she groused.
"Then, yes. You have to." I thrust the potion into her hands.
The Wiggenweld potion glowed as it seeped into her mouth. Her breath steadied, her complexion slowly turned back from death's door as the magic of the potions settled over her like a warm blanket.
"Thank you," Lyanna whispered hoarsely, her eyes meeting mine. "You saved me. I can feel it...you saved my life."
"You are welcome," I smiled. "No child should have to grow up without their mother," I said, looking at the infant in Elia's arms.
"Do you want to hold him?" she said, bringing him up in front of me.
I briefly hesitated, then shrugged. "Sure," I said, taking the baby from her.
I am not gonna lie - it felt really cool holding little Jon Snow in my arms. This young boy would one day grow up to be such a manly man, that he wouldn't falter even when facing a cavalry charge all by his lonesome. My man!
"What are you going to call him?" I asked Lyanna, while gently rocking the baby.
She kept watching her baby boy, before her eyes travelled up to look at me.
"What would you call him?" she asked.
I raised an eyebrow. "Me?" I said, surprised.
"Yes," she replied earnestly.
My eyes drifted to the dozing infant. "Are you sure?" I asked, uncertain.
"You saved my life," she said simply. "Without you, my son would have never known his mother... never known who she was... how much she loved him," she smiled, looking at her son with tears in her eyes. "You saved me, you saved Elia and her children. You saved all of us." She looked at me resolutely. "My son would be lucky to have you name him."
I held her gaze for a moment, before my eyes went down to the baby. What to call him? It was surprisingly difficult. I knew he would probably end up being called Jon Snow for quite a while to hide his identity. As for a proper name...
I smiled as I recalled what became of Jon Snow after he left Game of Thrones.
"There is a legend in my country," I began. "Long ago, a great king named Arthur formed the city of Camelot, the greatest Kingdom in the world. His knights, known as the knights of the Round Table, ushered an era of chivalry and valor in an otherwise dark age. Among those knights, none was greater than the Black Knight. Brave and just, he would pretend to be a clumsy fop in front of others, hiding in plain sight so that he could protect his king and serve the realm from the shadows. His name was Sir Percival."
"Percival," uttered Lyanna. She looked at Elia, who smiled. She nodded. "It's a good name," she said with a light smile.
"Very well." I looked at the fast asleep baby and smiled. "I name you... Percival Targaryen Stark."
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Night gave way to dawn. The twinkling stars vacated their heavenly abode as the sun arrived, shining its golden light upon the world. The clear morning sky promised a bright, sunny day - something reflected in the disposition of the people surrounding the tower. The Kingsguard especially were in great spirits as both mother and child were safe, that they hadn't failed their Prince in the last task he appointed them.
Tensions rose again when a few hours later, seven riders were spotted approaching from the north. The Farsight spell in my glasses activated and the identities of the horsemen were laid bare: Eddard Stark (who surprisingly, or not so surprisingly didn't resemble the young actor who played his part. Rather he looked like a young Sean Bean); Martyn Cassel, the Captain of his guards; Ethan Glover of Deepwood Motte, the only member of Brandon Stark's party to survive the Black cells; Willam Dustin of Barrowtown, Theo Wull of the Mountain clans, Mark Ryswell of the Rills and Howland Reed of Greywater Watch.
Only two were originally destined to survive. Thanks to me, all of them will get to ride away with their lives.
"Alright gents, look alive. Our guests are here," I said to the Kingsguard, who were donning their armour. I went inside the canopy and called Elia. She extricated herself from Lyanna's side and came over to stand with me outside the tent. There we waited, hidden from view by the same spells that rendered our temporary residence invisible.
As the northmen came closer to the tower, they dismounted their horses and approached cautiously. Everyone stopped a few paces away from the Targaryen knights standing in front of the tower.
"Lord Stark." Ser Arthur greeted Eddard.
"Where is my sister?" was the first thing Eddard said.
"Safe," answered Ser Arthur.
Some of the tension seemed to bleed away from Eddard's shoulders on hearing that. "I looked for you on the Trident," he said to them.
"We were not there," answered Ser Gerold.
"Woe to the usurper if we had been," said Ser Oswell.
"When King's Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were," said Eddard, more to himself than to the others.
"Far away," said Ser Gerold, "or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells."
"I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege," said Eddard. "And the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them."
"Our knees do not bend easily," said Ser Arthur.
"Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your Queen and Prince Viserys," said Eddard. "I thought you might have sailed with them."
"Ser Willem is a good man and true," said Ser Oswell.
"But not of the Kingsguard," Ser Gerold pointed out. "The Kingsguard does not flee."
"Then or now," said Ser Arthur.
"We swore a vow," said Ser Gerold.
Eddard's companions moved up beside him, swords in hand. They were seven against three.
"Now it ends," Eddard said with sadness in his voice.
"No, Lord Stark," I interjected. "Now it begins."
Eddard flinched at the sound coming from what had been empty space moments before. Said space now contained a small tent with two people standing in front of it. Any thoughts on how he could have missed such an obvious detail fled his mind however, when he looked at the woman's face.
"Princess Elia?" he uttered dazedly. For a moment, Eddard wondered if the desert heat had finally gotten to his head. "How can it be?" He shook his head in confusion. "I saw... I saw your corpse!"
Dragonspawn.
That was the only word Robert Baratheon, the new king of the seven kingdoms, had uttered with vicious satisfaction upon laying eyes on the butcherd remains of the Targaryen Royal family. Eddard on the other hand, had been rightfully appalled at the inhumane treatment meted out to the innocent woman and her children.
He had called for justice. However, Tywin Lannister had shirked responsibility saying that the perpetrator, Gregor Clegane had fled and couldn't be found. Hah, a likely story! Robert's lack of concern over this heinous atrocity, as well as the absence of punishment for the barbaric actions of the Lannister armies against the people of King's Landing disgusted him so much that he had left the burning Capital without another word, choosing instead to search for his sister.
Since that day, every time he closed his eyes at night he would see the broken bodies of Elia and her children in his dreams. Her tragically beautiful face, with eyes open even in death haunted him, tormenting him as if foretelling a similar fate for his sister. To see that same woman standing before him looking hale and hearty, left him mighty befuddled.
"All your questions will be answered, Lord Stark," Elia said with a gentle smile. "But first, don't you wish to see your sister? You came all this way to find her, didn't you?" She turned around and entered the tent.
Her sudden disappearance caused a big stir among our guests, many of whom were now looking at the tent with frightened eyes.
"Do not be alarmed," I said. "It's just a magic tent - much bigger on the inside than it looks from the outside."
My words didn't seem to have the desired effect. Eddard and his companions remained where they were, watching the mysterious canopy with wary gazes.
"Rest assured, Lord Stark. There is no treachery afoot here," said Ser Gerold. "Lady Lyanna awaits you inside."
Fortunately, Eddard chose to have faith in Ser Gerold's words. He and his men sheathed their swords and made for the tent.
"Just you, Lord Stark," I requested. "Your sister is still recovering."
"Recovering from what?" asked Eddard, perplexed.
"You'll see." I gestured to the tent.
With one hand on the hilt of his sword as precaution, Eddard walked into the tent. The usual look of amazement dawned on his face as he entered the living room, before it was swiftly replaced with confusion as he beheld the sight of Prince Doran, Oberyn, Areo and Maester Caleotte. I went ahead and opened the door to the room Lyanna was resting in.
"Everything will be explained soon," I promised.
Eddard held my gaze for a moment, before walking through the door to find his sister in bed. She was wearing a clean dress and looking like the very picture of health, with no traces left to show the ordeal she had undergone just a few hours prior. Such was the power of magic.
"Lya," Eddard whispered, rushing to his sister's side and embracing her warmly. Tears ran down her cheeks as Lyanna hugged her brother after what seemed like ages.
"Thank the gods. I thought you dead," Eddard said as they came apart. "How are you?"
"I am well, Ned." Lyanna smiled weakly at her brother's concerned tone. She looked at Elia, who came forward carrying her son.
"Ned, there's someone I'd like you to meet," she said, taking the babe into her arms.
"Who's this?" said Eddard, his gaze drawn to the bright grey eyes of the little boy.
"This is your nephew, Percival," she smiled at her son. "Percival Targaryen Stark."