Chapter 2

278 AC – Starfall, Dorne

"Push, my lady! Push!"

Ashara Dayne cried out, her body trembling with exhaustion as the midwife urged her forward. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her breath came in ragged gasps.

Pain. Loss. But also hope.

A wailing cry pierced the chamber. The midwife wrapped the newborn in soft linens, her face filled with relief. "It is a boy, my lady."

Ashara's violet eyes fluttered open as she reached for her child. The moment the boy was placed in her arms, her breath hitched.

Dark raven-black hair. She saw Stark and Dayne features intertwined.And when his eyes opened, they were violet—her eyes.

Tears burned as she traced a gentle finger across his tiny cheek. Brandon should have been here. They were supposed to raise him together.

But Brandon Stark was dead. Burned, strangled, and betrayed by the Mad King. She swallowed her grief and pressed a kiss to her son's forehead.

"His name is Aryan Stark."

And in that moment, a soul far older than hers stirred within the child.

Harry Potter was gone. Aryan Stark had been born.

282 AC – The Tower of Joy, Dorne

"Promise me, Ned," Lyanna whispered, her breath ragged and weak.

Ned Stark gripped his sister's hand tightly, his own eyes stinging with grief.

The child in his arms—her son was still and silent.

A stillborn.

Lyanna sobbed, her body shaking. "I thought… I thought…"

Ned swallowed back the grief clawing at his throat. This was not how it was meant to be.

Outside, Howland Reed and Ser William Dustin waited. The Kingsguard lay dead, their blood staining the sand.

His father. His brother. His men. All dead for a lie.

Lyanna's fingers tightened weakly around his.

"Promise me, Ned…"

Tears slipped down Ned's face. He did not know what she asked him to promise, but he whispered "I promise."

Her breath hitched and then, she was gone.

The last light of House Stark's rebellion faded.

Kingslanding

Across Westeros the Red Keep burned with screams.

Varys moved silently through the shadows. He cradled the bundled infant close to his chest—the last hope of House Targaryen. The Lanninsters have killed Prince Viserys Targaryen, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen and Princess Elia Martell.

He was carrying Aegon Targaryen. The trueborn son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen. The boy would have died. Gregor Clegane had smashed the skull of an infant against the wall—but it had not been Aegon. Varys had swapped the child. A sickly boy from the streets had died in Aegon's place.

Now, the real Aegon was leaving Westeros. Queen Rhaella awaited in Dragonstone, heavy with child. She would protect him. Raise him. One day, he would reclaim his throne. Till that day, he will work from shadows to weaken the Baratheon dynasty. Iron throne belongs to dragons, not stags.

Varys whispered in the babe's ear "Sleep now, little dragon. Fire and blood will come with you one day."

Then he handed the babe to one of his trusted men, and they slipped onto a waiting ship.

The ship vanished into the mist.

Starfall, Dorne

Ned arrived at Starfall, the weight of grief still heavy on his shoulders.

The Daynes allowed them entry, though their contempt was barely concealed.

Arthur Dayne was dead.

And Ned had returned with his sword.

Ashara stood apart from them, her violet eyes red-rimmed with mourning. She said nothing as her brother was laid to rest beneath the pale stone of Starfall.

That evening, she came to Ned's chambers, a small boy by her side.

Ned stared.

The child looked similar to Brandon's. But his most striking features were his violet eyes.

Ashara's voice was quiet but firm. "This is Aryan Stark. He is Brandon and my son."

Ned exhaled slowly. He had suspected, but hearing her words confirmed it.

Ashara continued "Brandon wed me in secret, before the war."

Ned closed his eyes for a moment. "Then… Aryan is the rightful heir to Winterfell."

"Yes," Ashara said softly. "But will you take him?"

Silence stretched between them.

Then, Ned looked at Aryan. The child watched him too sharply for a boy his age. Ned had seen men with that kind of stare—hardened warriors, not children.

Aryan's expression was unreadable.

"Yes," Ned finally said. "He will come with me to the North."

Ashara nodded.

"Then I am coming as well," she said.

Ned's brows furrowed. "Are you sure?"

Ashara lifted her chin. "My son belongs in the North. And I will not let him grow up alone."

Ned saw no hesitation in her gaze. She had already made her choice.

They set sail the next morning.

As Starfall faded into the distance, Ned watched Aryan standing at the ship's railing, his small hands gripping the wood tightly.

"You are leaving your home behind," Ned said carefully. "Do you not grieve?"

Aryan's violet eyes turned to him.

"Only my mother loved me there," he said simply. "So I will not be missing anything at Starfall."

The words were spoken calmly, emotionless.

Ned felt a shiver crawl down his spine. No child should speak like that.

He exchanged a glance with Howland Reed, who looked equally troubled.

Then, Ned exhaled and straightened.

Ned sat with Howland and William Dustin watching Aryan and Ashara stand silently at the railing.

Howland broke the silence. "And what of Brandon's son?"

Ned did not hesitate. "He will be the next Warden of the North." As he spoke, he felt something strange—relief.

Brandon had always been the heir. Ned was the spare. He had never been raised to rule, only to follow. Then the war had changed everything. Suddenly, he had become Lord Stark, married a woman he barely knew, and carried the weight of Winterfell.

This was how it should have been.

Ned sighed. "We will stay with Aryan for a few years. Then, we will move to another holding."

William Dustin smiled approvingly. He had been closer to Brandon than to Ned—and he already liked Aryan.

That night, as Ned drifted to sleep, a strange thought settled in his mind. That change was coming and Westeros would never be the same again.

He had no idea how right he was.

Under Ashara's influence Aryan would become something more.

Something darker.

Something Westeros would never see coming.