283 AC, Dorne, the Tower of Joy.
On a patch of withered grass and dirt lay the bodies of Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and two Kingsguard.
Ned Stark and Howland Reed, the fighting behind them now, dragged their wounded bodies to the tower door.
Both men were covered in wounds, but there was no time to tend to them, because Lyanna’s screams from within the tower had gone silent, no one knew when.
Ned, his heart full of dread, rushed into the tower as fast as he could, running up the narrow stone steps all the way to the top.
The moment he pushed open the door, a thick smell of blood struck him.
On the bed before him, Lyanna lay still.
His once lively, spirited sister was now weak beyond measure, her damp black hair plastered to her pale forehead, like a flower on the verge of wilting.
Seeing his sister like this, his heart sank at once.
He had seen enough dying men on the battlefield to know what the end looked like.
Ned Stark could hardly believe what lay before him.
Forcing down the dread and unease in his chest, he walked step by step to the bedside.
At that moment, Lyanna, hearing footsteps, slowly opened her eyes.
Seeing it was her brother, tears slid from the corners of her eyes.
“Ned…”
“You came…”
Her voice was barely audible.
Ned strode forward and half-knelt by the bed, gently taking his sister’s hand.
“Lyanna…”
His voice would not stop shaking.
“I’ll take you home.”
Lyanna shook her head faintly, feeling her breath grow more and more difficult, already sensing death closing in.
She struggled to look away from Ned, her gaze drifting to the side.
A handmaiden stood there, cradling a swaddled bundle.
Seeing Lyanna’s gaze fall on her, the handmaiden hesitated a moment, then stepped forward timidly and handed the infant in her arms to Ned.
“Lord Stark.”
Ned carefully released his sister’s hand and stood, looking down at the child in the handmaiden’s arms.
It was a newborn infant, its skin still flushed red, its eyes shut tight.
Ned reached out and took the child, then laid it gently beside his sister.
Lyanna looked at her child, tears sliding silently down her pale cheeks.
Trembling, she tried to reach out and touch the child’s face, but her hand, lifted only halfway, fell back, too weak to go further.
She could only gaze at her child, her eyes full of a longing she could not act on.
Ned took his sister’s hand and pressed it gently against the child’s cheek.
Lyanna’s fingers brushed against the infant’s small face.
“Ned… promise me… whatever happens, protect them.”
“Them?”
Ned froze at the word.
He looked down at the infant on the bed, then glanced around the room, but found no second child.
At that moment, a sharp cracking sound came from the fireplace.
Ned started violently, his hand already on the hilt of the sword at his waist.
Crack.
He rose at once, watching the fireplace warily.
The once-faint flames suddenly leapt and thrashed, sparks bursting from between the logs, the firelight growing brighter and brighter.
As though something were struggling deep within the flames.
Crack!
The logs shifted and scattered, sparks flying in every direction.
Then, a milk-white, massive egg slowly emerged from the flames.
Its shell was covered in fine cracks, giving off a faint sheen in the firelight.
Ned slowly drew his longsword, its point aimed at the great egg.
He stared at the strange sight before him, his grip on the sword tightening.
The next moment—
Snap!
The shell split open completely.
A slender, white shape struggled out from the ashes.
It was soaked through, its scales shimmering faintly in the firelight, only its two hind legs holding up its body.
It had taken only a few steps when its feet slipped, and it nearly fell.
The little creature shook its head, steadied itself with effort, and then lifted its gaze.
“Hiss—!”
A sharp shriek echoed through the room.
Hearing it, the Dornish handmaidens and wet nurses went pale.
They stared in terror at the white creature crawling out of the flames, then turned and fled screaming toward the door.
Howland Reed glanced at the creature on the ground, his face darkening, and hurried out after them.
A few short cries of pain soon came from beyond the door.
Then, silence, complete and final.
Ned did not notice what had happened beyond the door.
His eyes remained fixed on the small creature before him.
White scales, a long slender neck, two wings not yet fully unfurled, and a pair of eyes like amethyst.
He stared at it, transfixed.
A dragon.
The name, forgotten by the world for so long, surfaced again in his mind.
As a boy, he had heard his father tell stories of the Targaryens.
Aegon the Conqueror, riding his dragon across the narrow sea.
The shadows of three dragons falling over the Seven Kingdoms.
Castles and armies turned to ash beneath dragonfire.
Those were stories from the history books, not real.
That was what he had always believed.
But what was this thing, just crawled from an egg?
Hadn’t dragons been extinct for over a hundred years?
Ned’s grip on the sword slowly tightened.
He hesitated over whether to kill the newly hatched dragon, but thinking of what Lyanna had just said, in the end he did not move.
Countless rumors of dragons and Targaryens flashed through his mind.
A dragon, here.
Once word of this got out, what would the lords who had once bowed before dragonfire choose to do?
What would Robert do?
Would the Seven Kingdoms fall into war again?
Thought after thought raced through his mind, and Ned’s face grew darker and darker.
The little dragon on the ground only watched him quietly.
After a moment, it seemed to lose interest, slowly turning its head, its gaze falling on the bed.
Ned followed its gaze.
There lay the newborn infant.
The dragon seemed to sense something.
It tilted its head, then, on unsteady legs, began to make its way slowly toward the bed.
Ned watched the dragon closely.
Remembering Lyanna’s words, he did not stop it, wanting only to see what the creature meant to do.
At that moment, the infant on the bed slowly opened its eyes.
A pair of grey eyes gazed quietly at the approaching dragon.
The dragon stopped as well.
Man and dragon, regarding one another like that.
Ned’s hand still rested on the sword’s hilt.
The instant the dragon showed any sign of attacking, he would draw at once.
But the dragon did not attack.
It paced back and forth a few steps by the bed, then tried to climb up onto it.
The first attempt failed.
The second time, it managed to climb up.
The dragon approached the infant carefully, extending its head, brushing its warm snout gently against the infant’s tiny hand.
The tension in Ned’s arm slowly eased.
He looked at the infant on the bed, then at the dragon beside it.
Only now did he truly understand what Lyanna had meant by “them.”
Not only the child.
But also the dragon born alongside him.
Lyanna, watching the scene before her, finally let a faint smile touch her pale face.
Tears slid slowly from the corners of her eyes.
“Ned…”
Her voice was so faint it could barely be heard.
“His name… Jaehaerys Targaryen.”
Ned’s body went rigid.
Though he had already guessed it in his heart, hearing the name actually spoken from his sister’s lips still left a tightness in his chest.
Rhaegar’s blood.
The last heir of House Targaryen.
Ned looked down at the infant who had just opened its eyes, and for a long moment said nothing.
“Protect him…”
Lyanna’s voice grew fainter and fainter.
“Don’t let anyone know…”
Ned tightened his grip on her hand and said quietly:
“I swear it on my life. I will protect him.”
Lyanna looked once more, with longing, at the infant and the white dragon.
The next moment, her fingers loosened, little by little, and finally slipped from Ned’s hand.
“Lyanna?”
Ned called out softly.
No answer.
He called again.
Still, there was no answer from the bed.
The fire in the hearth still burned, giving off the occasional soft crackle.
The white dragon lay curled beside the infant, quietly watching over its companion.