Chapter Text
Promise me, Ned. Promise me…
The words rang in Ned's mind as he rode up the Kingsroad. Every time he heard the babe fuss and cry in the wagon three horses behind him, the words rang louder still.
In the quiet of the early mornings, before their fellows stirred, Howland had offered suggestion after suggestion. The babe could be taken in as a bastard of House Reed, given to the nursemaid they’d found for him to be raised as her own son, left at an inn that was known to take good care of lost children. But in all of these suggestions, Ned could hear whispers reaching Robert. A new Reed bastard could seem suspicious, the nursemaid was young and might go tattling, those at the inn would remember the lords that dropped off a babe.
The best suggestion by far was that Ned raise the boy as his own bastard, in Winterfell. Ned Stark was, after all, one of the only people Robert Baratheon fully trusted, and Winterfell was far enough from the south that Robert would rarely take an interest in the goings on there. The child would be out of sight.
But still, Ned worried.
The babe had the Stark look now, but what if his eyes darkened to purple or his hair grew in white? What if the midwives at the Tower that had held his sister as she died spoke about what had happened there?
And what of his new wife Catelyn? In truth, Ned barely knew her. Could she be trusted with the identity of this child? Would she send ravens in the night to her father, her brother? Perhaps he could tell her the same story he told everyone else; that the child was his, that he had fathered a bastard. But it seemed a heavy secret to keep for a lifetime. He was not sure he could do it.
He wished his father was here. He would have known what to do.
These thoughts were circling round and round Ned’s head, so that he barely heard the cry of “STOP!” when it came. Howland had to call for his attention, only then did he pull the reins.
A spoke on one of the wagon wheels had broken; the traveling party would be delayed nearly half a day while it was repaired.
This only added to Ned’s anxieties. The Kingsroad was heavily trafficked, and a stop potentially meant more encounters with others taking this path. The fewer travelers they met on their journey up the Kingsroad, the fewer people to see the babe, the better.
Ned’s fears were confirmed only three hours later when a band of men from the Night’s Watch passed by. They were taking new recruits to the Wall, and seemed friendly enough, but the sight of new people made Ned’s heart jump.
Yet when the Black Brothers asked Ned if they could join him on the rest of the journey and keep their party company, what else could he say but aye? The Starks had maintained a good relationship with the Watch for thousands of generations, and they were traveling in the same direction. To say no would seem suspicious, and dangerous.
So after the wagon wheel was repaired and they continued onward, Ned tried his best to seem at ease. He answered questions about the war he’d just fought and talked idly about rebuilding the countryside. He listened to their stories about the Wall and fights with vicious Wildling raiders. Sometimes the Brothers would glance curiously at the child, but none of them asked any questions.
Then one night about a week after the two parties had joined, one of the men in black began telling a tale of his own childhood, how he had been born and raised at the Wall. And a new idea began to form in Ned’s head.
The Night’s Watch did occasionally take children to raise as their own. The ancient order had minimal contact with the rest of Westeros. For most in the south, the Wall held no interest and few ever visited it.
There would be no prying eyes, no questions.
To be sure, it might be a bleak place to grow up, but it would be safe. And that was what Ned had promised Lyanna. He’d keep the boy safe.
Soon, they were only two days outside Winterfell, and the Night’s Watch was planning to split off and head for Castle Black the next morning. If Ned was going to make this choice, he had to make it now.
As they made camp for the evening, he steeled himself and approached the Black Brother who’d been raised in Castle Black. He was plucking at a lute, preparing for a night of bawdy songs.
“It’s a good evening, isn’t it?” Ned began in a voice he hoped was natural. The Black Brother nodded, said “Yes milord,” and returned to the work of tuning his instrument.
Ned cleared his throat and began again.
“I wonder if I might have your ear for a moment.”
The Brother stopped, stood, and looked Ned in the eye.
“What can I do for you milord?”
“Well,” Ned was rubbing his neck, hoping he didn’t look too nervous. “I was listening to you talk a fortnight ago about being raised by the Watch.”
“Yes, I was milord.”
“During the war, we found an orphaned babe in a village that had been destroyed. I've been trying to find a place for this poor child, and I think the Night's Watch might be a good solution.”
“Really milord? That’s a tragedy. Which village?”
The question was completely fair, but with horror Ned realized he’d not thought how to answer it. After a pregnant pause he stuttered, “A - a village in the Riverlands. I did not catch the name.”
The man looked doubtful, but still nodded. “Aye, we can take the babe. We’ve raised many over the years. Orphans, wildling children, bastard sons of lords…”
The man let this hang in the air, and Ned found himself fuming. So, it was still to be assumed that he had fathered a bastard and was dishonorably trying to pawn it off on the Watch. In normal times he would never have stood for the insult of this implication.
But these were not normal times. Ned needed the babe to be safe. Let this lowborn Brother think he’d ruined his honor. The gossip of the Night’s Watch never traveled far.
Ned let his anger go in a breath and asked, “You’ll take him then?”
“Of course. Can I see him?”
“I’ll take you to him now.”
Ned and the Brother traveled over to where Wylla, the nursemaid, cradled the child. The Brother took the babe in his arms and rocked him. His eyes were soft and he cooed at the tiny face, and Ned knew he’d made a sound choice.
“Does he have a name?”
“Jon.” Ned answered. Let the boy have that from him at least.
“We’ll bring Jon with us on our journey tomorrow.”
“Excellent. Thank you.” Ned turned to walk away, then paused and returned.
“If you ever need anything, anything at all for the babe, just call for House Stark. And…” Ned paused and wordlessly stared at the ground for a moment too long.
He took a pendant from his pocket. It was steel forged in the shape of a little wolf; their father had commissioned it for Lyanna on her 13th nameday. Ned had taken it from her body and intended to place it on her statue in the crypts.
But he couldn’t leave the child with nothing. Ned knew this was a stupid choice, it was a tie to Lyanna that could bring Robert’s wrath down on all of them if it was discovered. But the boy would grow up nameless, without any knowledge of who his family was. He at least deserved one tie to his House.
“Give him this. It was his mother’s.” Ned placed the necklace in the Black Brother’s hand, trying not to feel like a piece of him was being torn away.
The Brother took it gently. “I’ll give it to him milord.”
“Thank you. You’ve done me a great favor my boy-”
“It’s Mance, milord.”
“Mance then. Let me know if there is anything I can do to repay you.”
“Of course milord.” The Brother, Mance’s, eyes were too sympathetic, too knowing. Ned could not be here anymore.
Ned nodded tightly, then turned away and walked quickly so the man wouldn’t see the tears on his face.
The boy would be safe. It would be worth it if Lyanna’s boy was safe.
The next morning, Ned Stark hung back as the Night’s Watch set out. He watched the child leave from a distance.
After they were gone, he spent a long while looking at the mist in the hills, then turned his horse towards home.