Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at

http://download.archiveofourown.org/works/12434514.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Relationship: Arthur Dayne/Lyanna Stark
Character: Ned Stark, Jon Snow, Arthur Dayne, Lyanna Stark, Benjen Stark
Additional Tags: Canonical Character Death, POV Ned Stark, Alternate Universe -
Canon Divergence, Jon Snow is not a Targaryen, Introspection,
Dreams and Nightmares, Canon-Typical Sexism, Community: valar-
morekinks
Stats: Published: 2017-10-21 Words: 1000

Secrets and Promises

by priestessofdan

Summary

For the valar_morekinks prompt: "He's the son of a Stark and a Dayne, just not the ones
people think of."

Notes

I'm not thrilled with how this one came out, which is why it took me two and a half
months to de-anon, but what the hell, ao3 needs more Arthur/Lyanna stories. Even ones
where they're already dead. So I altered the title, fixed up some wording, and I hit
"publish" before I could think better of it.

Jon Snow was an object of curiosity to all the North. It was considered rude to pry into the origins
of a mans natural children, but Ned Stark had made it acceptable by bringing his bastard to his
seat and refusing to speak of the lady he had dishonored.

Initially the speculation consisted of no more than naming women whom he might have met, with
no evidence to support the rumors that shamed them, but as the years passed that changed.

Jon grew up, and as he did, his resemblance to his father lessened. He grew tall and slender, his
eyes changed color from a babes blue to violet instead of Stark grey, and his complexion
darkened to olive.

Now everyone in Winterfell whispered the name Ashara Dayne, not merely his wifes
handmaidens, and Ned could not send them all away, not even for slandering a dead woman who
had committed no wrong and yet suffered all the same.

Lyanna, what did you do?

Ned had reconciled himself to the fact that Lyanna had, with Benjens help, run away with a
married man in defiance of their father and the betrothal he had arranged for her a betrothal to
Neds dearest friend, a match finer than any made for a lady of House Stark since the daughter of
the King Who Knelt wed the King Who Flew. He had reconciled himself to what resulted from
that decision, and he did not blame her for it.

It was difficult to blame Lyanna when she was dead too. He could not hate her when she had not
meant for their father and brother, and so many others, to die.

He had taken in her son as his own out of love for her and to protect him from Roberts wrath, but
how wroth could Robert be when Jon was no more the son of Rhaegar Targaryen than he was the
son of Eddard Stark?

The evidence was before them. Even Benjen noted, He looks like Dayne more than one of us,
on his last visit to Winterfell, and he was as shocked as Ned by that discovery.

Ned had not thought it possible of Ser Arthur Dayne. All spoke well of the Sword of the Morning.
No one doubted his honor or his friendship with Prince Rhaegar, but they should have. How
could he have betrayed Rhaegar and shamed Lyanna? Perhaps Ser Arthur had fallen in love with
Lyanna in their time together as a war waged to the north, but a man truly in love would not
dishonor the lady in such a manner.

Ned could not ask Lyanna or Ser Arthur what they were thinking and Lyanna was surely as
complicit to the disgrace as Ser Arthur. She had begged her brother to bring Dawn back to Starfall
and to bury the knights of the Kingsguard with honor in the same breath she had used to plea for
Jon.

Perhaps he should have realized then.

He struggled to remember ever seeing Lyanna with Ser Arthur Dayne. They had spent nearly two
years in close quarters in that tower, but before that Had they danced together at Harrenhal?
Had Ser Arthur sought out the Knight of the Laughing Tree to praise her horsemanship? Had
Lyannas eyes grown soft whenever she looked at him as they never did when she gazed at
Robert?

Did you love him, Lya? I thought you loved Rhaegar, but perhaps you loved them both. Perhaps
you loved neither. You died before you could tell me anything, and now I can tell Jon nothing.

No one but Ned pondered these questions. They had come to their own conclusions when their
observations were met with silence.

Soon there was no hiding the false truth of Jons parentage. If Ned could not name another as his
bastards mother, all would assume that Ashara Dayne was she. Even Catelyn, who grew so cold
that a man could think her the Stark instead.

Jon heard the whispers too. People spoke carelessly in front of the Bastard of Winterfell.

Who is my mother? he asked Ned one day when he was fourteen, with a determined jut to his
jaw that revealed he knew.

Or so he thought.

Ned could no longer rely upon evasions and delays, but he could keep Lyannas most dangerous
secret still. Your lady mother is dead, Ned answered. It was the most he had ever said of
Lyanna to Jon, and Jon thought he spoke of another. She loved you, and she asked me to raise
you and care for you with her last breath.

Jons eyes were bright and damnably violet, not indigo like his other false fathers. Will you tell
me of her? he asked.

Another time, perhaps.

Jons shoulders slumped. He knew Ned would never speak of his mother again if he could help it.

Rhaegar or Arthur, it didnt matter. The circumstances of his birth were too dangerous to be
shared.

Robert and Lord Arryn would not believe that Lyanna had borne Arthur Dayne's son when she
was abducted by Rhaegar Targaryen, and his Dornish appearance would be excused in the name
of Rhaegars ancestors Mariah Martell and Dyanna Dayne, most probably the latter. Jon would be
slaughtered, like Rhaenys and Aegon, and Ned alone would know the truth while all the world
followed in assuming the obvious. Then he too would die for his treason.

Lyanna kept her secrets, and Ned kept his promises. Both would follow them to the grave.

And sometimes when Ned dreamed his old dream, the dream of the tower, it shifted and
shimmered until he saw Lyanna standing in a corner of the Hall of a Hundred Hearths with Ser
Arthur and one of Princess Elias ladies, a Blackmont in pink and black. Lyannas white gown
was covered in blood, and Ser Arthur bore the wounds that killed him, but they were both
laughing at the Blackmonts jests.

A dream, he thought when he woke.

A memory, he wished.

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!