Third Person POV
299 AC, Winterfell – Late Afternoon
The great gates of Winterfell creaked open, their iron-bound timbers groaning under the weight of history, as Eddard Stark rode into the courtyard, his grey cloak tattered but his back straight, the direwolf of House Stark snapping on banners above. Beside him rode Jon Snow, clad in black, his grey eyes vigilant yet warm. Sansa and Arya Stark followed, Sansa's auburn hair catching the fading sun, Arya's wild brown locks barely tamed, Needle glinting at her side. Behind them marched the Manderly host, their sea-green banners fluttering, tridents gleaming, led by Lord Wyman Manderly's knights. The air was sharp with winter's bite, the ground dusted with early frost, but Winterfell's walls radiated a fierce, unyielding warmth—the heart of the North.
Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, stood at the courtyard's center, his red-brown hair windswept, his blue eyes wide with disbelief and joy. Beside him, Bran Stark stood eagerly waiting, clutching Summer's fur. Rickon, wild and small, tugged at Shaggydog's scruff, his auburn curls bouncing, his green eyes sparkling. Theon Greyjoy, lean and smirking, stood apart, his Ironborn leathers out of place among the northerners, but his dark eyes softened at the sight of Ned.
"Father!" Robb's voice cracked, raw with emotion, as he surged forward, his boots crunching frost. Ned dismounted, his gaunt frame weary but alive, and Robb crashed into him, hugging him fiercely, his voice thick. "Gods, Father, we thought you were lost! The Lannisters, their lies of treason—we never believed them, not for a heartbeat. You're here, alive, home! I… I feared I'd failed you, leading the North without you."
Ned's calloused hands gripped Robb's shoulders, his grey eyes glistening, his voice rough but warm. "Robb, you've not failed me—you've made me proud. The North rises because of you, the Young Wolf, my heir. I'm home, and we'll face the Lannisters together." He pulled Robb close, his embrace fierce, a father's love unbroken by chains or distance.
Sansa, dismounting gracefully, ran to Robb, her blue eyes brimming, her voice trembling. "Robb! Oh, Robb, I thought I'd never see you again!" She hugged him, her composure crumbling, tears staining her cloak. "King's Landing was a nightmare—Joffrey, Cersei… I was so scared, but Jon saved us."
Robb hugged her back, his voice soft, protective. "Sansa, you're safe now, I swear it. No one will touch you here, not while Winterfell stands. You're a Stark, my sister, and the North shields its own."
Arya, grinning fiercely, barreled into Robb, nearly knocking him over, her voice sharp with joy. "Robb! I missed you!" She hugged him, then spun to Bran, ruffling his hair. "Bran! You're still dreaming, aren't you? Summer's huge!" She knelt by Rickon, laughing as Shaggydog licked her face. "Rickon, you little wolf, you're wilder than ever!"
Bran's voice was soft, his smile bright. "Arya, Sansa, Father, I'm happy you came back." He reached for Ned, who knelt, hugging him gently, his voice thick. "Bran, you're stronger than you know."
Rickon, tugging Ned's cloak, piped up, his voice high. "Father! You're back! I knew you'd come! Shaggydog said so!" Ned lifted him, chuckling despite his weariness, kissing his brow. "Aye, Rickon, I'm here, and I'll not leave you again."
Jon stood back, his grey eyes soft, until Robb pulled him into a fierce hug, his voice gruff. "Jon, you brought them back—Father, Sansa, Arya. Thank you," Jon hugged him, his voice low. "I'd do it again, Robb." Theon clapped Jon's shoulder, smirking. "Not bad, Snow. You're almost a hero, even by Ironborn standards."
The courtyard buzzed with cheers—bannermen, smallfolk, Manderly knights—all chanting "Stark! Stark!" Ned raised a hand, his voice carrying, weary but resolute. "Lords, men of the North, I thank you for your loyalty, for rallying to my son. We've much to discuss—war, justice, the Lannisters' treachery. But I've ridden hard from White Harbor, and my children need rest. We'll hold council tomorrow, after breaking our fast, in the Great Hall. For now, I ask your leave to recuperate."
Lord Umber's voice boomed, his beard bristling. "Aye, Lord Stark! Rest, regain your strength! The North waits for you, and we'll crush those southron snakes!" Lord Karstark nodded, his voice gruff. "Tomorrow, my lord. Winterfell's yours again." The lords dispersed, their voices low with respect, leaving the Starks to enter the castle, its stone walls a warm embrace.
Winterfell – Ned's Solar, That Night
The fire in Ned's solar crackled, casting shadows on the stone walls, the direwolf banner above the hearth fluttering. Eddard Stark sat in his high-backed chair, his face gaunt, his grey eyes heavy with a secret long buried. Jon Snow stood before him, summoned from his chambers, his black cloak still dusted with frost, his grey eyes curious but calm. The door was barred, the silence thick, broken only by the fire's snap.
Ned's voice was low, heavy, his hands were clasped tightly. "Jon, there's something I must tell you, something I've kept hidden your whole life, for your safety, for a promise I made to one I loved. I've dreaded this day, but you deserve the truth, especially after what you've done—saving me, your sisters, risking all. You're not my bastard, Jon. You're my nephew, son of my sister Lyanna Stark… and Rhaegar Targaryen. Your true name is Aemon Targaryen, born in Dorne, hidden from Robert's wrath. I claimed you as mine to shield you, to keep you from the Baratheons and Lannisters who'd have killed you for your blood."
Jon sat, his face still, his grey eyes meeting Ned's, and nodded slowly, his voice steady. "I know, Father."
Ned's breath caught, his eyes widening, his voice sharp with shock. "You… know? How? Who told you? I've guarded this secret with my life, Only Howland Reed and I know of this secret, I told no one—not Catelyn, not Robb, no one. How could you possibly know, Jon?"
Jon's lips twitched, a faint, sad smile, his voice low, measured. "Dom told me. The man who was with us during your rescue, the one who spirited us from the Red Keep—he's no ordinary man, Father. He's Dominic Augustus, King of Uruk, ruler of Slaver's Bay, a man with magic beyond this world's ken. Months ago, when I joined him. He told me I'm Aemon Targaryen, son of Lyanna and Rhaegar, heir to a throne. I didn't want to believe it, but the facts were there, undeniable."
Ned leaned back, his face pale, his voice trembling, a mix of relief and fear. "Dom… he knew? And you never confronted me, never asked? Why, Jon? You had every right to demand answers, to be angry, to hate me for the lie I lived, for raising you as a bastard when you're a prince by blood. Why did you stay silent all this time?"
Jon's grey eyes softened, his voice warm, resolute, thick with emotion. "Because it doesn't matter, Father. You didn't sire me, aye, but you're the one who raised me, who fed me, clothed me, taught me to swing a sword, to honor my word, to be a man. You gave me a home, brothers, sisters, a name—Snow or Stark, it's yours I bear in my heart. I don't care if my blood's dragon or wolf—you're my father, Ned Stark, till the day I die, and no truth changes that. I didn't confront you because I knew you lied to protect me, to keep me safe from Robert's hammer, from Lannister blades. I couldn't ask you to bear that pain again, not when you've given me everything."
Ned's eyes glistened, a sad smile breaking through his stoic mask, his voice rough with guilt and love. "Jon… I'm sorry, lad. I did what I had to, to keep you safe, to honor Lyanna's dying wish. She loved you so fiercely, begged me to protect you, and I swore I would. But it cost you—growing up a bastard, scorned, set apart. I feared you'd hate me, learning I hid your birthright, your name. You're a better man than I deserve, Jon, and I thank the gods for you."
Jon's own sad smile mirrored Ned's, his voice steady, forgiving. "I know, Father. I don't hate you—couldn't, not ever. You kept me alive, gave me a life worth living. Dom showed me the truth, but he also showed me why you hid it. Robert would've smashed my head against a wall, Lannisters would've poisoned my cradle. You carried that burden alone, and I'll not add to it."
Ned's brow furrowed, his voice curious, tinged with unease. "This Dom—why didn't you tell me he's a king? A man with such power, such titles, aiding us in King's Landing… why keep that from me?"
Jon leaned forward, his voice low, earnest. "He told me not to, Father. Dom's not like other kings—he wields power most can't fathom. He said revealing his title could complicate things. But he's with us, Father. He's pledged Uruk's support to the North—supplies for the war, grain, steel, maybe more. He's a friend."
Ned nodded slowly, his voice thoughtful. "A king's aid, freely given… it's a rare thing, Jon. We'll need every ally against the Lannisters, Tywin's gold, and Cersei's schemes. But tell me true, lad—Dom spoke of your birthright. The Iron Throne, it's yours by right, Aemon Targaryen's place. Do you want it? Will you claim it, when the time comes?"
Jon shook his head, his voice firm, his grey eyes unwavering. "No, Father. The Iron Throne's a cursed thing, forged in blood and betrayal. I've seen what it does—tore Rhaegar's family apart, killed my mother, set Robert against the world. I'm no king, no dragonlord. I'm Jon Snow, raised in Winterfell, sworn to protect my family, my home. Let the south keep their twisted chair—I want no part of it."
Ned's sad smile deepened, his voice soft, heavy with relief and sorrow. "But sometime we don't get what we wish for, lad. But Thank you, Jon, for not hating me, for not turning from the family that raised you. You're a Stark in all but name, and I'm proud to call you son, blood or no. You've given me peace I didn't dare hope for."
Jon nodded, his voice quiet, warm. "Always, Father. You're my family, now and forever."
Ned rose, his hand on Jon's shoulder, his voice firm despite the hour. "Go, lad, rest. Tomorrow we meet the lords, plan our war. The North needs you strong, and I need my son at my side."
Jon stood, his grey eyes shining, and left the solar, the fire's glow fading behind him. Ned stared into the flames, Lyanna's face flickering in his mind, a promise kept, a son saved.