There were two babes in the Tower of Joy.
Two babes tied so closely to their parents, Ned had to make the decision.
One with hair like raven feathers, eyes as grey as steel, and a face of a true Stark. The other, with hair like moonlight, eyes lik...
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In a small boat off the coast of Westeros, an elderly woman clutched a babe, wrinkled hands shaking as she held Rhaegar Targaryen's last heir. Her withered face was cautious, grey eyes holding suspicion as she glanced at any man that dared to step close to her. She was the only person who could know about this until she got to Dragonstone; she couldn't risk the safety of the baby under the sworn oath of Lord Eddard Stark.
Eddard Stark may not have been her Lord, but as a Lord, she would serve him. She was loyal to the Targaryens, and that loyalty would remain with her until death. Robert was nothing but a plague on the world, full of rage and thunderous strength with the possibility to have enough bastards to cause another civil war.
Eddard Stark was Robert's bannerman, but Rhaegar was her King - although not official, and the father of the future Queen of Westeros. The elderly woman pushed back the folds of muslin, eyes flickering across the silent face of the babe. She glanced up, deep violet eyes staring out through thick lashes; questioning in the mixed hues of blue and red.
This babe was beautiful, small in size but enough might inside of her that just by a glance of her, she held the otherworldly grace all the Targaryens seemed to have. She prayed this little one would survive, and hopefully being reunited with family, she would.
The knock came midday, the boat ready to set its anchor a small distance from the shore, those that needed to get to land would have to take a small rowing boat. The elderly woman smiled to the man, paying the exact fair and then some before slipping into a seat with the child. Those that mulled around her paid no attention, and that was how she preferred it. This child didn't need anymore attention than she was receiving already, one wrong look and someone may find out just how special she was - especially with those eyes.
Dragonstone was a towering fortress that rested on the cliff's edge; sculptured structures sat in the middle, almost pointing to the sky in a sharp point as huge jagged cliffs cut below it, rough waves catching the beach. The woman's eyes swept it as they hit the shore, sand dispersing beneath her shoes as she hopped off, hurried in her actions. The last few Targaryen guards were standing post at the bottom of the stairwell, swords attached to their sides, and a glinting red dragon wrapped across them. "Halt!" They called out, spotting the elderly woman and the bundle in her arms.
She stopped just metres away, already fishing through her satchel. "What is your business here?"
"I'm here on behalf of Eddard Stark, who wishes to let me give this to the Queen." A small rolled scroll was in hand, delicate writing strewn across the front. She held it for them to see, the grey Stark wax proving everything she needed.
