A Týrable idea (Patreon)

 Hey guys. Sorry for the near radio silence this past month.

Work has been kind of a nightmare lately. I won’t get into details, but I was so tired and demoralized every day that I didn’t so much as touch a word doc for about three to four weeks. It’s… it’s sucked really bad.

Even now, things aren’t fixed, but thankfully, at least the motivation to write returned.

With another new concept.

*headdesk

So, let’s just get this out of the way: This story is purely for fun and my own enjoyment. As such, no plans we die like season 8.

For another, you’ll notice I fucked with dates. Canonically for instance, the Greyjoy Rebellion happens in 289 AC, whereas it hasn’t yet here. If you see something “wrong” date-wise, you can point it out if you want, but you can also assume it’s intentional.

Also, I'll need a non-joke title for this story. Someone help me because I'm awful about things like that. LOL

-]|[-

From the moment Ned first laid eyes on his nephew, he had known something was different about the boy. He tried not to feel resentment, but it was quite obvious that a regular woman would have been ill-pressed to have survived birthing him. Even a very large woman likely would have had difficulties. His tiny, fierce waif of a sister had quite literally zero chance of surviving the birth of a monster like his nephew. The lad was twice the size of a regular baby, both in length and weight. Seven Hells, it was a miracle he survived the birth. His strong, proud sister had likely been torn apart bringing him into the world.

And Ned was left to promise to keep him safe at Lyanna’s deathbed. As he walked onto the rocky ground outside of the Tower of Joy, his beloved sister wrapped in her shroud, and the newly born Targaryen heir in his arms, he felt utterly defeated. Lyanna had been in so much pain and delirium she had not even been able to give him a name. And he just did not know what to do.

“Does he have a name?” Howland asked quietly.

“Not yet.” Ned sighed, “Lyanna was almost gone when I got up there. He was… too big.”

He was a quiet child too, and Ned had the unsettling feeling that the lad was more aware than he should have been. Even his eyes appeared abnormal. He didn’t know anyone in either of the boy’s parent’s families that had eyes so gold they seemed to glow. And they appeared so sad as well.

“You’ll have to give him one then.” Howland said quietly.

“I know.” Ned sighed, looking into the babe’s eyes. The obvious choice was to name him after Jon. He would name him Robb, but he knew his wife had already named their firstborn that. He opened his mouth, and yet the name that came out was not the one he had tried to make his tongue say. “Týr.”

What?

“Tear?” Howland looked equally confused, “Not a name I’ve ever heard, Eddard.”

It wasn’t one Ned had ever heard of either. Why in the Seven Hells had that name come out of his mouth? He opened his mouth to change it, and yet it was almost like something whispered directly into his mind. “Týr.” He said, feeling a stranger in his own body, “After Lya’s tears.” He finally blurted out, trying to find some explanation for the strange name that had come out of his mouth.

“I see.” Howland seemed to accept it, “A fine name, nonetheless. Let me take him, my Lord. I will keep him safe, and hidden.”

“No. I… I promised Lya that I would do it.” Ned replied immediately. “He is of my blood. He needs to be with family.”

Howland looked taken aback, “Eddard, you can’t possibly mean to reveal the truth!”

“Of course not!” Ned said, “I will claim him as my own.”

“A bastard?!” Howland looked infuriated, “You would name your sister’s son a bastard?! Especially with what we’ve learned?!”

“Enough.” Ned glared, “I will hear no more of it. Even if you were to take him to Greywater Watch, there is no guarantee. No one will be looking for a Prince if it is my word that he is my son.” He told Howland, “Everyone will trust my word.” He said bitterly.

“And you don’t think that someone will figure out the truth if you arrive with Lya’s body and a babe in tow?” Howland asked incredulously, “Robert will believe you, sure. I have little doubt of that. Jon Arryn will as well. But what of the rest? Surely someone will be smart enough to put the arrow and bow together.”

“It is Robert’s word that will count and no one else’s.” Ned snapped, starting to lose his cool, especially in this desert heat. He snorted, “He’d probably be ecstatic to know I finally broke and decided to ‘live a little.’ With his hate for the Targaryens so famous, when he laughs and holds the boy like he’s his own, no one will question it.”

“I think you’re making a mistake Eddard, but so be it.” Howland sighed.

-]|[-

The ploy had worked, with Robert laughing and slapping his back like he’d won a damned tourney upon seeing little Týr. “Knew you had it in you, Ned! What’s the tyke’s name?” He asked, holding Lyanna’s son gently in his arms. It both made Ned want to laugh and cry. “…Tyke might not be right though. The lad’s massive.”

“Týr, your grace.” Ned replied, smiling at a man he would once have not hesitated to call his brother in all but blood. At least one of them was smiling. Týr very much did not seem to like Robert very much.

“Týr?” Robert looked befuddled, “What a queer name. I’ve never heard that one come out of the North before. And quit that ‘your grace’ shit, Ned. We’re brothers.” And then Týr shocked them all when he reached up and grabbed Robert’s beard. “Yow!” Robert yelped as the babe pulled on his facial hairs. “Seven hells! He’s got a grip! What have you been feeding the lad?” Robert asked when he got his face free, rubbing his chin in surprised pain.

“It was the name he was given.” Ned took his son back. “And the lad drains his wetnurse every time he feeds.” He grumbled, “I might need a second one just for him.”

“Ha! Takes after his uncle Robert then! I do love me some fat, milky tits.” Robert grinned madly, and Ned nearly cringed at the thought, “If he’s your lad, then I’m sure it’ll be a name everyone will know before too long. Will you stay? I could use you here.”

“I cannot, Robert. You know that. I ache to return to the North, and I have much I’ll need to learn.” He sighed, “Winterfell was never meant for me.”

“Aye…” Robert looked solemn, “I suppose you do. Go then. I’m sure Cat is waiting for you.” He smirked, “Don’t think she’ll be too pleased by little Týr though. Southern ladies usually take that worse than northern ones unless they’re Dornish.”

Ned bowed as he took his leave. He was very much not looking forward to his wife’s reaction.

-]|[-

And he was right not to. Things started off well enough. The first time he’d held his little boy Robb in his arms, he felt some of the weight fall off his shoulders. Their boy was perfect.

Didn’t seem to have much of the north in him, truth be told. His hair was reddish-brown and his eyes blue. But that didn’t matter a bit to Ned. He still immediately fell in love with his son. His wife looked so proud and happy, especially when he greeted her with their first kiss in many moons.

She didn’t stay happy for long.

When he introduced Týr and placed him and Robb together, she nearly lost her damn mind. In the privacy of their rooms, she furiously argued with him and begged him to send the boy away. Send Lyanna’s son away. The way she had spoken had shocked him. He was prepared for anger. For hurt. But the sheer rage? The paranoia? The thought that the boy was sin wrapped in flesh who would try to steal their trueborn children’s birthrights?

That was so far beyond the pale that the two of them argued until he was forced to pull rank in his household for the first time. Their relationship grew frosty for a good, long while. She didn’t even speak to him for a full moon’s turn. She tried to separate the boys, but Ned absolutely would not allow it. The two were to be brothers, and that was that. She refused to even be in the same room as Týr for a long while after that.

So, she was caught by great surprise one day when she came into his solar and saw the two napping in a large crib by his feet. “What the?” She jerked to a stop, looking at the two sleeping babes.

“What is it, Catelyn?” Ned looked up from his studies.

“Why is he so much bigger?” She grimaced as she looked at the boy next to her son.

“He was born big.” Ned grunted, “He and Robb are around the same age. Probably give or take a moon’s turn.”

“Seven Hells.” Catelyn turned away momentarily, ashamed of the thought that ripped through her head. ‘A brat that big? I hope it hurt.’

“Am I needed, wife?” Ned asked her.

Cat shook her head, “No, I just wanted to see if Robb was hungry. Clearly not.”

Ned sighed, “I’ve been thinking of ways to make you more comfortable, Catelyn.” He said, and reached into his drawer.

‘Will you finally send this cursed child away?’ Was the only thought she had.

“I know you can’t be the most comfortable here. We of the North practice the Old Ways.” Ned continued. “Not your Seven.”

Oh yes, Catelyn was well aware of that, “I am happy, my lord.” Catelyn insisted, knowing that she was on pretty thin ice here in the North. Northerners weren’t the most welcoming. It was nothing like what she had dreamed about. It was now her fear that he wanted to set her aside and send her back to Riverrun.

Ned snorted, “I know that’s a lie, Catelyn. We both know it.” He looked at her, having put the documents away safely, “But I don’t want it to keep being a lie. I want what my parents had. What I know we can have.” He smiled at her, “My bannermen won’t be too happy, but as long as you do not try to proselytize, I will order a small Sept built for you.”

Cat let out a small gasp, “Oh, Eddard…” She came forward and wrapped her arms around him, “That would be…”

“I’m glad you like the idea.” He smiled as he pulled her close.

“Thank you.” She said, before gently kissing him. It was their first shared kiss in quite some time. She smiled at him, “Will I be able to teach our children?”

“We shall see.” Ned said, making her heart fall a little, “As I said, the North does not follow the New Gods. I was not meant to be Lord of Winterfell, so my relationships with the Northern Houses aren’t as strong as they should be.” Cat winced. It was true and they both knew it, “We will see how things go. If the children express interest, I will not deny them. But if that is the case, they will be raised with both the Old and the New.”

Catelyn finally smiled at him. Even his by-blow a few feet from her didn’t matter at that very moment. It was the first moment in a long time where she felt they could be more than just a man and a woman doing their duties.

That night, Catelyn came to him at night for the first time in nearly two years.

-]|[-

Ned was happy. His family had grown in the years since the Rebellion. Sansa, his redheaded Princess had come three years after Týr and Robb, and Arya three years after his first daughter. His wife had been so happy to see the Stark colors on their third child. He knew she had some doubts about whether Robb would be accepted due to his coloring. He had done his best to reassure his lady, and his relationship with Cat had grown into a love match he had hardly dreamed of. He adored her, and she him.

He had also grown into his role as Warden of the North. Despite the damnably long winter which had started in 280 AC, with help from the Crown, the North wasn’t suffering. They’d been able to store enough food and supplies to last them for years, and Robert hadn’t let him down. They’d been able to stretch even further than expected. But the six years that Winter stretched out had started to get on even his nerves. Blessedly, the white ravens had flown mere days after Sansa’s birth in 286 AC, and the whole of Winterfell had celebrated. Some had even started to claim his daughter had brought the Spring with her, much to Ned’s amusement and Cat’s pleasure.

If it had only not been for Týr, they would have been the perfect family.

Ned loved the boy. He truly did. Robb did. Even Sansa did. But Cat despised him, and truthfully, Ned did not understand the boy.

Týr was incredibly large, and incredibly advanced. When Robb had still been trying to focus on others, Týr had been sitting upright unassisted. When Robb had been sitting upright unassisted, Týr had been walking. The two were the same age practically, and yet his sister’s son beat every developmental milestone there was. He just couldn’t grasp it. Týr could speak sentences before Robb ever said his first word.

And his sheer size. Gods, by the time Arya had been born, Týr could use his brother’s head as an armrest if they were standing side-by-side. He was lucky the boy loved his cousins and doted on them. He got along with everyone.

Everyone, of course, except his wife.

He sighed every time he saw the glares, or the petty slights Cat would try to send his way. Ned had to put his foot down every time and give explicit instructions that no matter what orders his wife gave about Týr, they were to treat him as they treated his own children.

And then there was the way he avoided the training yards. Once he and Robb celebrated their fifth name days, it was time for them to start their training. Týr truthfully could have begun when he was two with his size and strength, but Ned hadn’t been sure that would be a good idea for his development and so had held off. Plus, he wanted his sons to learn together.

But Týr seemingly had no interest! Every lesson, he found some way to disappear. He’d only reappear once the physical lessons were done, chatting happily about some book or another he’d found. His non-martial lessons were fantastic. The lad loved history, crushed numbers as if he knew them better than his elders, and had an extreme gift for languages. He knew the common tongue, High Valyrian, various other languages, and had seemingly invented a couple as even Maester Luwin could not recognize them.   

But even with those positives (Which Cat hated as he proved Robb’s academic superior every time), Ned still worried. He’d had many conversations with the lad, worried that he’d be seen as a coward… or worse, was a coward. But even when ordered by his Lord Father, Týr still hadn’t followed directions. He was seven and had never swung a sword! He was happier playing with Sansa and then with Robb once his brother had finished for the day.

And Ned didn’t know what to do. It was what found him outside in the Godswood, long after the rest of his house had gone to bed. He was unable to sleep with his worry for Týr. Honestly, he should be happy. There was no way a coward would go for the Throne, and thus his promise to his sister to keep her son safe would be kept. That he wouldn’t have to choose between his nephew and the one who had once been the brother of his heart was another plus.

And yet he still worried. He still felt like he was failing his sister. Felt he was a failure as a father. And so, he found himself before the Godswood, sitting by a small fire, and sharpening his family’s ancestral blade, Ice. It was quiet and he could contemplate in peace.

“Copper for your thoughts, uncle?” Týr’s voice made him jump.

“Týr!” He gasped, “What are you doing out of bed?” He eyed his nephew, “And in those clothes! You’re going to get sick!”

Týr chuckled, despite the fact he was practically barefoot, “It would have to be much colder than this to make me sick. This feels nice!” Ned swallowed. Not more weirdness! “How come you can’t sleep?” His nephew asked.

“You.” Ned shot at him without any heat, smiling slightly, “Why do you refuse to learn your arms? The people are starting to whisper. Especially with your size and appearance, many are starting to think you’re a coward. I worry for you, son. You don’t even seem interested in learning to defend yourself! What will you do when I’m gone? What will you do once you’re of age and want to strike it out on your own?” Ned tilted his head, “The only thing I think you might be interested in is becoming a Maester yourself. Is that why you evade the yards at every turn?”

Týr chuckled, “No, in that, I have no interest.”

“Then what?” Ned asked, “There are not many good options in this world for a man who can’t fight and has no interest in being a Maester either.”

“Well, I have been learning blacksmithing.” Týr grinned.

“Blacksmithing.” Ned deadpanned. He hadn’t even known. Lyanna’s son a blacksmith? What in the Seven Hells? Who did he get that from?

“It’s fun learning something new.” Týr said, before looking at Ned in the eyes, “I know your worry, but perhaps I can set your mind at ease, uncle.”

This time, Ned did not miss the word. His blood froze, “Uncle?” He stood, “What are you talking about, Týr?”

Týr tilted his head, “Is that not what you call your mother’s brother?”

Ned choked, “Who has been filling your head with-”

“Lies?” Týr raised a bushy eyebrow, “Lord Reed was right, uncle. He told you it wasn’t particularly difficult to figure out.”

Ned stared at him in disbelief, his mind refusing to work. “H-How could you possibly know that?”

“I remember it.” Týr smiled at him despite the horror his words invoked in Ned, “I remember everything.”

No. no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. It could not. It was utterly impossible!

Týr sighed, “Uncle, take a deep breath. You worry too much.”

“Too much?” Ned choked out, “Týr, if Robert-”

“I have been discrete, have I not?” Týr asked him, “As have you. Your reputation means everyone believes your one lie. Even if someone figures it out, they have no proof.”

Ned sat heavily, “By the gods, you’re trying to put me in an early grave, Týr.”

“That’s the last thing I want, uncle.” Týr chuckled, “You’re too high-strung. You need to relax.” He eyed Ice, “How about we spar?”

Ned sputtered, “Spar? You want to spar?! Where was this interest every time you were called for your lessons?! Talk in the keep is that you’re a coward!”

“Lessons would be a waste of time.” Týr laughed, “I have other, much more rewarding things I could be doing.”

Ned shook his head, “I do not understand you, boy. You won’t learn with your brother but wish to spar with an adult? What goes on inside that head of yours?” He stood again, “Very well. And once I win, you will agree to take your lessons with no complaints, is that understood?”

Týr smiled again. It was one of those ‘I know something you don’t’ smiles. “Alright.”

Ned squinted, “To the yards, then?”

“No, this spot is fine.” Týr replied.

“Th-” Ned couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “Týr, you’re unarmed, and I don’t have a training blade either.”

Týr’s grin widened, “I’m never unarmed.” Glowing motes of light shimmered and stretched from his open palm, and before Ned’s shell-shocked eyes, a long, elaborate, deadly-looking spear formed. Týr grasped the shaft, and a dull thud echoed across the Godswood as he slammed the pommel into the dirt.

“Seven Hells! What was that?!” Ned backed away a step.

“I told you uncle.” Týr smiled, “I’m never unarmed.” He lifted his spear, “Enough talk.”

And then Ned had no more time to speak. Týr moved so fast he was almost an illusion. Ned could barely bring Ice up to parry his nephew’s blow, and then the pommel was on his throat. With wide eyes, he watched as Týr backed away, “Who-who-how?”

“All good questions.” Týr smiled, “But I know you’re capable of more than that, uncle. Put away the confusion for now and come at me.”

Ned growled, before advancing on the boy with a powerful overhand swipe. A large shield formed on Týr’s left arm, and a loud CLANG rang through the Godswood as the unnaturally strong boy rebuffed his uncle’s attack. With Ned off-balance, Týr thrust his spear, and again, Ned found his throat at risk, the point stopped just shy of cutting him.

“You are conflicted.” Týr said, “Torn between your promise to my mother and your other oaths and bonds of friendship.”

“Yes, damn it!” Ned said, “How can I not be! Treason against my family or treason against the realm, and a man I called brother for years!”

“And it puts a deficit on your focus.” Týr replied, coming again, slower now. “It weakens you when you can ill afford it. The truth shall have its day regardless of your wishes. It could be this year, or it could be twenty years from now. What will you do when that day comes?”

The two clashed, with Ned grinding his teeth in exertion as well as from the words he was hearing, “Is it your wish? To reclaim your father’s legacy?!” He swiped, and Týr dodged back with a small smile.

“Not by choice.” Týr chuckled, “I have no interest in such things. I wish to travel. To learn. To see everything this world has to offer and offer my own wisdom in return!” He thrust and Ned deflected, but before he could do anything else, Týr did so again. And again. Each time, a loud clang rang through the silent Godswood, “And yet it appears I may not get my wish. For me to be put on this earth with the events that surrounded my birth and the bloodline I possess… It appears that destiny cares not for my wishes and that I may end up having to at some point. For what purpose I am here, I do not know. But an accident, my birth was not.”

Ned shook his head, starting to pant from the exhaustion this fight was generating. “Who are you? No child acts like this! No child speaks like this!”

Týr smiled, backing off entirely, “I am Týr.” He chuckled, “And once, they named me the God of War.” Ned dropped to his knees in shock, “But that was a different time, and a different realm. Not one bit of this world matches the one I came from.” He allowed his spear and shield to vanish, “But I was put on this world with my memories and many of my abilities intact. That cannot be an accident.”

Ned choked on his own spittle, coughing for a moment as Týr came and patted him on the back, “Seven Hells…” Ned chortled, “No wonder you disdain the yards.”

“Yes, tell your grandmother how to suck eggs.” Týr let out a laugh of his own. He held out a hand, and Ned grabbed it.

“Is this… past of yours why you are so big?” Ned asked, and Týr grimaced lightly.

“Yes. I was Half- Jötunn in my past life. I was more than eight feet tall. If my current size is any indication, I will be again.” He explained.

Ned nodded shakily, “And this…magic of yours…” Ned said, still feeling wary, “I was always taught that magic is a sword without a hilt. The Seven of the South disdain it. Even we here in the North are wary of it.”

“Yes, primitive magic could certainly be called such.” Týr agreed, grimacing for the first time, “And from what few tales I have been able to find, the magic of this world is very primitive.”

“And what makes yours different?” Ned challenged him.

“The magic of my old world was much the same once, with several of the more primitive lands never moving past it and relying on things like blood sacrifices to their gods. They did not have the knowledge to advance the craft nor the wisdom to see beyond the power it granted them, ignoring the danger and the inhumanity required to use it. Knowledge and wisdom were needed to utilize it safely, and to create safer spells. Cultures that fear magic inherently and decry it never move past that hurdle. As do those that ignore norms and continue practicing it, but attribute all of its power to Gods that may or may not exist.”

Ned tried to move past the fear that the magic generated inside of him, remembering that whatever else, this was his nephew no matter who he had apparently been in a past life. “And what kinds of things can you do with it?”

“Oh, all kinds. All of the Nine Realms of my homeworld had magics of their own, and many shared their knowledge and secrets with me. For instance, the Dwarves of Niðavellir-” Ned’s brain twisted even following along with that sentence, “Were masters of craft, capable of capturing wind and lightning and imbuing it into their works.” Ned’s breath caught, his eyes dipping down to Ice as he remembered old, unproven theories of how Valyrian Steel was brought about. One of the leading ones being that the Valyrian Sorcerers bound dragonfire itself inside the metal. “They were a secretive lot though, so I never learned all they had to offer. The King of the Æsir wasn’t exactly a good man and took advantage of them for Ages.” He smiled thinly, “Though I learned enough from those I was able to call friends.”

“Gods, if even a portion of our arms and armor could be enhanced, we could keep our lands much safer.” Ned breathed out, imagining it.

“And make a few friends along the way.” Týr chuckled, clapping his uncle on the shoulder. “One of my favorite types of magic is the creation of Runes.” He said, “Written script holding spells inside. The people of our lands would often ink them on our bodies, granting us enhanced strength, healing, and even esoteric abilities such as poison detection.” Ned’s jaw dropped, “Once I traveled to a realm outside of the Nine, and their hieroglyphics were able to recreate the hand I had lost long ago in a battle.”

“Seven Hells!” Ned cursed, awed despite his wariness. “Surely a price had to be paid for that!”

Týr chortled, “Oh yes. Of that there is no doubt. Beyond the pain of regrowing a hand, of course.” He looked at Ned, “So what now, uncle?”

“What do you mean?” Ned looked at him in confusion.

“What will you do with the knowledge I have given you?” Týr asked, still smiling softly.

“I…” Ned breathed out, “You have given me much to consider. Much beyond even your magic. You are right. Something must be coming for someone of strength and knowledge that harkens back to the Age of Heroes to have been born in this time and place.” Týr nodded, much to his displeasure. He was certain there would be a prophecy thrown in somewhere too, no matter how he despised the things and what people did to try to either avoid their destinies or bring them about. Ned sighed, “I must think. For now…” He looked at Týr, “Your skills are far beyond mine and far beyond any I have ever known. Your age will make others frown, but once they see your skills, they will follow. Will you train our men?”

“Our family, yes.” Týr smiled, “All of our family, once the time comes.” Ned winced, knowing he meant Sansa and Arya too. Catelyn would not be pleased, “Tell me uncle…did being a woman matter during the Sack of Kings Landing? Did being a Queen? A Prince? A Princess?” Here, Týr’s eyes went hard for the very first time Ned had ever seen them. What he had learned about Elia Martell and her children, his brother, sister, and sister-mother had infuriated him like few things ever had in his old life. It was moments like those that made him despise his old Domain, and why he had become known as the God of Law, Justice, and Honor and not just of War.

“Ah.” The old anger engulfed Ned too, for a moment imagining Sansa, Arya, and Catelyn in the place of the three Royals. He looked at Týr, knowing there would be those who disagreed, but at that moment, Ned didn’t care. He had a way of protecting his family beyond what a normal man could standing right before him, and he would not let that go to waste. After all… Winter Was Coming. “Their mother will not be pleased. But my daughters are of the North, and she will have to accept it.”

“Offset it, then.” Týr said, “Tell her the truth about me. You love and trust her enough for that, do you not?”

Ned nodded, knowing after all these years, that it was true. “Are you certain? The fewer lips that possess a secret, the less likely it is to be shared.”

“As I said, the truth will have its day.” Týr said, “Your wife knowing will make you happy, uncle and go a long way in improving your relationship. Lady Catelyn will need to continue to treat me as she does in public, of course, but I am not a seven-year-old boy for her to hurt with words and actions.”

“You speak truth.” Ned said, sighing again. He had been doing that a whole lot lately, “Very well. I will impress on her not to change her actions in public.” He smiled as he had an idea, “Unless, of course, you find some way to earn it irrefutably.”

Týr nodded, “Good night, uncle. We should do this again. You’re a warrior. You’ll find your mind clearest in battle once you can put away your doubts.” He disappeared into the night.

“Good night, Týr.” Ned shook his head in bemusement, extinguishing the fire and following his lad home.

-]|[-

“You called for me, Ned?” Catelyn walked into the Godswood, wondering why there were guards posted at the entrance. She was confused as to why there would be, and even more so when told that she was the only one allowed in until she and Ned came out.

“I did, my love.” Ned smiled at her, and it warmed her breast. “I wished to speak to you in private.”

“Of what?” She walked closer to him, placing a kiss on her husband’s jawline.

He took a deep breath, “As you know, it is impossible to lie before a Heart Tree.”

Catelyn startled, “Ned?”

“I would have your oath, my love, that what I am about to tell you will be retold to absolutely no one without permission. Not your father, not your siblings… no one can know of this secret.” Ned looked at her solemnly.

“Ned…” She breathed out, looking shocked, “What is this about? Why would you ask this of me?”

“Because it is a dangerous secret should it fall in the wrong ears.” Ned said, “Your oath, Catelyn.”

She swallowed, “I swear.” She said, “Whatever you tell me now, Eddard, I will not share with anyone. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New.” She stated formally.

He smiled, “Today you learn the truth of Týr’s birth.”

She balked, “This is about him?” Already the feelings of anger rose.

“It is.” Ned said, “Týr is not my son.” Catelyn froze so completely that after a few moments, Ned grew worried, “Breathe, Cat! Breathe!”

She sucked in a gasp of air, panting, “What?” She managed to croak out.

“It is true.” Ned said, calming down, “Týr is not my son.”

“But… but why?” Catelyn let out a small yell, “Why would you lie and besmirch your name like that?! Why would you allow me to think the worst of you for years?! Why would you allow everyone to think the worst of you for years?!”

“Because he may not be my son, but he is my blood.” Ned said simply, and Cat damn near swallowed her tongue.

“…B-Brandon?” She asked, feeling slightly sick at the thought of her original intended doing so.

“No.” Ned drew a shaky breath, “The Rebellion was built on a lie. My father and brother died for a lie. We rose for a lie. My sister Lyanna hated the man my father had chosen for her. I suspect now she would rather have died than marry Robert Baratheon.”

Horror started to rise inside Catelyn, “No, no you can’t be saying-”

“I can.” Ned said, “Lyanna fell in love with Rhaegar and Elia at Harrenhall and beyond. She ran with him and married, with the High Septon at the time allowing Rhaegar a second wife as the Faith had done for the Conqueror and Targaryens past. They married and Lyanna gave birth to Týr.” A tear dropped from his cheek, “She didn’t even get to name him before she died. The only thing she had the strength to do was to beg me to protect him. I discovered the truth reading all of her letters and journals.” He growled, “She sent letters explaining long before Brandon and my father went to Kings Landing. She was broken when she learned of their deaths and could not explain why, with all of her attempts to make sure the truth was known. But from the way things went, every single letter was lost or destroyed.” He sighed… ‘Or ignored…’ A low voice in his head rumbled.

“Gods…” Catelyn sat down heavily, placing her face in her hands. An awful feeling rose in her. Anger at her husband for not telling her for seven years. Disgust at her treatment of an innocent boy. “Why did you not tell me?!” She finally asked, tears pouring down her face, “Why Ned? I…I treated him so poorly, for so long!”

“And you will continue to do so unless a very public opportunity to stop comes about.” Ned said firmly, and Cat choked on her words again. “Doing a full turn will just draw attention. Týr is a strong lad. Your treatment will affect him even less than it already does now as he knows it will just be for appearances. ”

Catelyn actually growled, more like a Direwolf than a Trout. “Seven Hells Ned!”

“As for why I chose to tell you now…” He sighed, “I could hardly tell you before him.” He knew she would not accept the thought of magic or prior lives so soon. Best to…ease her into it. “He took it far more calmly than I had ever dared to hope. And it was he who told me to tell you, and not so that you would treat him better either.”

“You expect me to continue to treat the literal true heir to the throne as a bastard?” Catelyn hissed.

“I do, as so does Týr. In public, at least. Until it is safe to do otherwise.”

“Does he have designs on the throne?” Catelyn asked, fear stirring.

Ned chuckled, “I’m fairly certain he would melt it, given the choice. Fate may have other plans.”

“We need to strengthen our house.” She declared abruptly, “And the North. I know you are an insular lot and prefer to keep to the North, but that cannot be. If one person discovers the truth and they have designs on the North, Robert will march.”

“Aye.” Ned said, “We need to keep our family safe.” He smiled, “And I…discovered something last night… prior to our conversation.”

“Which is?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Týr is…even stranger than we all believed.” Ned said slowly.

“How so?” She looked at him flatly. How much stranger could the boy be?

“Despite thinking he had never swung a sword in his life, we sparred here in the Godswood last night.” Ned snorted, “He put me on my arse several times, and I couldn’t even get close to nicking him.” Yet again, Catelyn stared at him in disbelief. “Yes.” Ned snorted, “That was about my look too.”

-]|[-

“I don’t know where I go, when I go.”

Týr chuckled, remembering the words he’d heard his father say so many times. Usually to trick people into helping him, or to justify his atrocities in the pursuit of that knowledge. He was laying in bed now, following his conversation with uncle in the Godswood, “Well, I suppose I have your answer now, don’t I, father?”

This new world he had been born into was something so unlike anything he had ever experienced. The entire world was at his fingertips. There were no Realms, no lands outside of those Realms, no Yggdrasil…

It was both terribly exciting and terribly annoying. He could still call up the Bifröst’s energies, something he hadn’t expected to be able to do, but could not use them for anything but his attacks. There were no other realms to travel to. And with no Yggdrasil, for the first time in his existence, he was truly and utterly bound to normal travel. He would have gone exploring the ruins of Valyria long ago if home had been a short walk on the World Tree away.

He wasn’t sure what had caused him to choose tonight to speak to his uncle, or why he had chosen to reveal all he had. The time had just felt right. The power he could feel in Ned and Robb’s blood was increasing, and Sansa and Arya both had been born with far more than the two males had at the start. ‘Magic was lost to this world from all the tales Maester Luwin has told. Lost with the dragons. And yet I can feel it. I can feel it in the water. I can feel it in the air. It’s returning to this world. Is it because of me?’ Likely, that was what had caused him to choose tonight to speak.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist travel for too long, and thus knew he had to get his cousins on the path. His curiosity and desire to explore other cultures and people was burning one. This completely different world he had been born into was fascinating. The seasons for one. He had been born in one of the longest winters in memory, and it had almost been like Fimbulwinter itself had engulfed the world. And this happened often, with the seasons lasting for years and not months regularly.

The stories too were fantastic. He definitely wished to see The Wall and Beyond at some point. A massive construction measuring a hundred leagues long, seven hundred feet tall, and made of mostly ice was such a novel concept. And for it to be made of ice of all things and having not melted for eight thousand years was astounding.

‘And…’ Týr mused to himself ruefully, ‘Likely was the reason I have been called to this world. These…Others that Old Nan tries to scare us about. Truth tends to get lost adrift the centuries, and this Wall has stood for millennia. I won’t put all my eggs in that basket without proof, but something tells me these Others will be revealed to not be quite as much a story as the people of this land wish.’

If that was the case, then perhaps he was here for his knowledge of war. His first life had ended long after Ragnarӧk, and long after he’d spent time in Valhalla with Kratos. He’d seen much of what humanity had come up with. They’d advanced so far, in all the wrong ways. Ways he was more than just hesitant to introduce to this planet, no matter the edge it would give them.

He snorted. Not that the people would accept some of the innovations he could bring. He outright laughed at the expression he could imagine on his uncle’s face at the idea of using a rifle in battle. No, best leave things like those far from this world unless things were truly desperate.

‘Musings for another time.’ He thought to himself. He could do more for this world than just bringing more ways for them to kill each other. The north was surprisingly vulnerable for all the defensive strength of its land. The North was too large for its sparse population to take advantage of some of its resources. But there was certainly a resource in the North that the Southerners would kill to have if they knew it was even available, and it was one that the North had never even thought to exploit for whatever reason.

He'd bring it up with his uncle in the morning. He was sure the people of Dorne would love to have cold on demand.

-]|[-

When he walked into the yard, Ser Rodrik Cassel did a doubletake. “Do my eyes deceive me?”

Týr chuckled, “Not today, Ser Rodrik.”

“Týr!” Robb looked excited. “Are you finally going to man up and join us?” He teased his older-not-older brother.

“Well, what’s gotten into you, lad?” Rodrik chortled, “Your father finally sit on you hard enough?”

“Not quite.” Ned showed up, smiling.

“Lord Stark!” Rodrik gasped as Robb smiled and hugged his father, “What’s this about?”

“There’s going to be some changes going on, and seeing is believing, Rodrik. You’ll be sparring with my son here.” He looked to Týr, “Go ahead, son. Show him what you can do.”

Týr walked over to one of the spears and lifted it out. “A spear? That’s no lordly weapon, young Týr.” Rodrik commented with a frown. He drew a training blade of his own.

“Any weapon will do, really. I just have a soft spot for this one.” Týr commented, standing upright with his spear at his side.

Rodrik frowned, wondering where in the hells this attitude was coming from. He didn’t realize that Týr was just stating a fact and not boasting.

“Give it your all, Ser Rodrik. As if you were fighting an enemy.” Ned said, and Robb gasped.

“What?” Rodrik’s sword dipped, “My Lord, he has no training!”

“That’s what I thought too.” Ned chortled, “But you’ll see. I suggest you ready yourself.”

Rodrik felt shamed by what his Lord was commanding of him. It was the first time Ned Stark had ever given him cause to feel that way. But he would do his duty and then give his Lord a piece of his mind later. With a yell, Rodrik attacked… And before he knew what had happened, his blade had been parried, his feet had been swept, and he found himself on the ground with the point of a spear at his throat. “What in the Hells?” He groaned, sitting up.

“Welcome to the ground, Ser Rodrik.” Ned chortled, “You are unfortunately in good company.” He made a show of rubbing his backside, much to Rodrik’s disbelief.

“That was so cool!” Robb gasped, bounding up to his brother, “How did you do that, Týr?!”

“Where in the Seven Hells did you learn how to do that?” Rodrik accepted Týr’s hand and allowed the unnaturally strong boy to pull him to his feet.

“Around.” Týr was much more circumspect than he’d been with his uncle.

“My Lord, what was the purpose of this?” Rodrik asked, “Beyond to show that apparently, young Týr avoided the yards because he has no need of them.”

“You had a quick bout. Last night, the two of us sparred in the Godswood for the first time, and I had many attempts end the same way.” He smiled mirthlessly, “I can’t let such talent go to waste. I’m afraid you’re going to find yourself with more time on your hands, as Týr will be taking over Robb and eventually his other sibling’s training. This is not an insult to you, my friend, but it has to happen all the same.”

“Hard not to feel insulted, my Lord, but I take your point. As you said, seeing was believing.” He said, “But why can they not just train here with the rest?”

Ned walked closer and lowered his voice, “Týr showed me much last night, and much that we both don’t want shared for now. Suffice it to say that what you just experienced was the tip of the iceberg, and we need to keep some secrets. That is why they will be training in private. You have other recruits that will need your teaching.”

“I see.” Rodrik wasn’t sure he did, but he put a smile on, “Well young Stark, I suppose this is where we part. If you ever want to join the rest of us, you know where to find us.”

“Thank you for your efforts, Ser Rodrik.” Rob inclined his head, before turning to Týr, “So where is this super-secret training ground, brother?”

Týr laughed, “Come along father, Robb.” He turned and walked away.

Both Ned and Robb’s eyes furrowed, “The crypts?” Ned looked at Týr, “Týr, there’s no space to train in there.”

“I dug up some of the collapsed areas. Found a nice, warm spot.” Týr replied, and led the two through a long trek through the crypts.

“You’ve been busy.” Ned said softly, “I recognize bits of this as nothing but rubble.”

“Didn’t really find anything interesting.” Týr chuckled, “Was kind of hoping to find the dragon egg Vermax was said to have laid here.” Ned chuckled (nervously) while Robb let out a bark of laughter. As they continued to descend, the stone became less polished and more natural. It was clear they were in a cave now, and they had to turn sideways to pass between some stalagmites to find the spot Týr had found.

It was a large, circular cavern that had glowing blue lights on the ceiling, all powered through Týr’s runes. The room was warm, almost uncomfortably so, and there were hot springs near, allowing them to take baths to soothe their worn muscles after Týr was done training them.

“Seven Hells, this was below Winterfell this whole time?” Robb exclaimed, looking around. He frowned, not seeing any torches, and wondering how the room had any light.

“It was. Perfect for us to do our training in secret.” Týr said, standing at the other end.

“It’s going to be a huge pain lugging all the equipment down here though.” Robb grimaced, “Why can’t we just train outside and keep this as a secret spot?”

“There will be no need to lug anything around.” Týr said, and Robb focused on him just as a spear appeared in Týr’s hand. Robb’s jaw dropped as Týr flung it at him, burying it in the stone right before his brother. “And we must keep the training secret for the magic that I will be teaching you.” He said, smirking at his brother.

Ned forgave his son for his next words, “What the fuck?”

“And just who taught you that word, my son?” Ned knocked Robb’s shoulders lightly. Robb flushed, “You now see why this must be secret. We Northmen are wary of magic. Your mother is fearful of it. We’ll have to ease her into it.”

“But how do you know magic, Týr?” Robb asked in bewilderment, trying, and failing to get the spear out of the stone with increasingly loud grunts of exertion.

“It is a long and complicated story, and one you will have to learn when you’re older, Robb.” Týr replied, “For now, suffice it to say that I do, and I will be teaching our family how to use it as well.”

“Seriously?” Robb beamed, giving up on lifting the spear, “You’re the best, Týr!” He hugged his brother, who hugged back with a small smile.

“I wish I had more time to learn with you, but as the Lord of Winterfell, I can’t be gone for hours each day.” Ned sighed.

“Don’t worry, father.” Týr used the ‘correct’ title for his uncle since Robb wasn’t to know yet, “You don’t need the training Robb does, and the power in your blood is slower to awaken than your children’s. You will do well with merely having the runes I know inked upon your skin.”

Robb blanched, “We’re getting tattoos?! DO you WANT mother to kill us?!”

“She will come around.” Týr said with a laugh, “Especially when she learns that one simple set of hieroglyphs can detect and therefore keep you safe from poisons. That is one of the more useful uses of it, admittedly.”

“Wow!” Robb’s eyes glittered, “What else can they do?”

Týr laughed, “Once Sansa is old enough, she will be joining us.” Robb blanched again, “And let me tell you brother, you will never laugh harder than the first time you see our cute little sister toss around a full-grown man.”

“…That is presuming mother lets us keep our heads.” Robb mumbled, which made Ned laugh.

“You’ll let me worry about that.” Ned said ruefully, “I just got out of the doghouse, so I suppose going right back in will be the price.” The two children laughed. “Now, how do I get back to Winterfell?”

Týr raised a hand, and a mote of Bifröst erupted, awing his cousin and uncle, “Just follow this and you’ll find your way.” He flicked his palm and the mote started floating at the stalagmites, waiting for Ned.

“Train hard, Robb. You’re going to be the greatest Stark head in generations.” Ned smiled at his son, and then made his way out of the cavern.

Robb sniffed emotionally, before looking at Týr, “Where do we start?”

“Where everyone starts, Robb.” Týr smiled as he summoned a training blade for his brother, “At the beginning.”

-]|[-

“What ideas?” Ned blinked as Týr came into his solar, having finished training with Robb for the day, “Sit, Týr. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Well, the primary thing we need is to be able to increase our food supplies. Our land is not very good for growing crops, so the glass gardens are important.”

“And expensive.” Ned deadpanned, “We’ve long wished to create more glass gardens, but glass is expensive and needs to be imported. The glassmakers of Myr don’t share their secrets.”

“You forget.” Týr smirked at him lightly, “You have a font of knowledge sitting in front of you, and while my domain may have been War, I traveled and learned far more than that throughout my life.”

Ned stilled, “D-do you know how to make glass?”

“I know how to make more than just that.” Týr chuckled, “And glass is fairly simple. It’s just fine sand and some other natural materials melted down at extremely high temperatures. It’ll probably take a few dozen attempts to get it right, but once we do…”

Ned was now looking at his nephew as if he had said he hung the sun in the sky. “If this is true. If it’s truly possible for our own craftsmen to create glass for our own use… Gods, the potential!”

“I will have to cheat a bit.” Týr said, “So it wouldn’t be able to spread as far as you’d like, but it will be far easier to create it in the amount we need if I use runes for the heat.”

Ned nodded, “We can figure out a replicable method for the rest of the North after we’ve proven it works.” He smiled at his nephew, “But you said that wasn’t your only idea.”

“Yes.” Týr chuckled, “And honestly uncle, how in the Seven Hells has no one in the North thought of this? We have a resource no other region in Westeros truly has, and we’re not making use of it.”

Ned frowned, “What resource is this?”

“You visited Dorne at the end of the Rebellion.” Týr crossed his arms, “You’ve felt the desert heat yourself. Tell me uncle, in that heat, what is something you would have killed to get your hands on that only the North has in great quantities at all times?”

Ned frowned, thinking hard, remembering the sweat, his dry mouth, how they were forced to find shade during the hottest days. At the time, it made him long for- He stopped, “Ice?” He looked queerly at Týr, “You want us to sell ice? Týr, it would melt long before it arrived at its destination!”

“Would it?” Týr chuckled, “Ice takes quite a bit more energy to fully melt than you think. It can be protected. Just as a forge can be built as to be able to withstand heat that would melt steel, a ship’s hold could be similarly reinforced to keep the cold in. Yes, it would melt. We’d lose some of the ice for sure. But not as much as you think. Even in Dorne, ships would arrive carrying a whole lot of it for sale. There would be a lot of interest, even if only for the novelty of something some of these people would have never experienced.”

And the money they could potentially make would allow them to build up the North like never before. They could repair and reconstruct many castles, improve their roads, perhaps even expand their holds… This plan of his nephew’s could be a boon for them.

If it worked. “Sailors…don’t tend to like having water inside their ships.” Ned said, smirking lightly.

“I suppose we’ll just have to build and operate our own, then.” Týr replied.

-]|[-

Something had changed in their family.

It wasn’t just what Ned had told her. Robb and Týr started to disappear for hours at a time each day, and all Ned would tell her was that they were training with one another. Then there was some of the weirdness that started happening. Týr and Ned left for sometimes days at a time, coming back with wagons of sand. It was just weird. And they started to build things in the currently abandoned Winter Town. When Cat asked, they just smiled and told her that they didn’t want to say anything until they were sure it would work. And then Cat found plans for ships in Ned’s office. She had no idea what to think, and it had distracted her from other things she would not initially admit she was avoiding.

It had taken over two months before Cat was both able to find the courage and able to actually catch Týr at a good time in order to apologize to him.

Týr chuckled, putting a hand on her shoulder, “Lady Catelyn, if your treatment of me truly bothered me, this would be a different conversation. I did not enjoy the way you treated me, nor do I agree with the reasons, but I at least understand them.”

Cat shuddered lightly, “Why is it you always appear to be a man far beyond your years, boy?”

“I am who I am.” Týr smiled at her, “And I’m happy you know the truth now. All I can say is perhaps you should look at base born with new eyes.”

“I…” She looked away, shame-faced, “It is what I was taught. Ever since the Dance, bastards have been thought of poorly. And even before that, they weren’t looked at too fondly.”

“I know.” Týr said, “But that is one of my issues with your religion, Lady Catelyn, and one of the reasons I have never shown any interest in learning more.” Despite herself, Cat’s ire rose, as it always did when some denigrated the Faith. “Each person is an individual. You’re going to get ones who are good and ones who are bad.” He looked at her seriously, “But what you can also get, is a good man who turns bad due to his circumstances. It is a self-fulfilling prophecy.” Catelyn looked confused. “Think of it like this: why would you give a child reason to want to covet what belongs to their siblings? If all a child knows is ill treatment, then that is all they will learn to give in turn once they are full grown. Who is more likely to want to usurp his own family? A well-treated, loved sibling, or a child that was treated like dirt who wants vengeance?”

“I…” Cat grimaced, understanding his logic. But the logic was warring with her Faith and her teaching.

“No child chooses to be born.” Týr chuckled, “But they are born nonetheless. Do they deserve to be hated for something they could never control?”

Cat’s grimace deepened, “I will… consider your words.” She said softly, “And if nothing else, I am sorry for how I treated you.”

“I welcome your apology.” Týr said simply, and tellingly.

Catelyn nodded and left, her feelings still unresolved.

-]|[-

And things continued to grow weirder. Three months after learning the truth, she was astounded when Ned and Týr revealed their first project. “You made glass?!” She shrieked, “Actual clear glass?! By the Seven, we’ll be able to create more glass gardens and feed more people! How did you discover this?!”

Ned smiled, clapping his hand on Týr’s shoulder. Soon he’d have to start reaching up to do this. “You can thank Týr here. He’s the one who came up with the idea and then figured out the correct ingredients.”

Týr shrugged, “I just had to consider what Essos would have in abundance.” He said modestly. They still hadn’t decided to share the truth of his origin with her. They knew they would have to at some point, but for now, they weren’t about to pull on that thread. Cat’s Faith was still too strong. “Sand was the obvious option, though I had to do more research and get Maester Luwin’s aid to find out what resources were around the cities that produced the most amount of glass.”

Catelyn shook her head, and for the first time, she embraced Ned’s ‘bastard.’ “This is a huge boon for House Stark and for the North.” She said, “You should be proud.”

“Thank you, Lady Catelyn.” Týr smiled at her once she let go of him.

She chuckled, “Well, you’ve already figured out glass. What’s next on the agenda?” She asked, surprising even herself with how playful her tone was.

The uncharacteristically ominous laughter from her husband and Týr made her wish she hadn’t asked.

-]|[-

Some weirdness was welcomed, especially after the glass they had managed to make and the construction that  soon began on the new glass gardens. Some weirdness, however, Cat needed to put her foot down on, “Eddard.” Cat said, her nostrils flaring like she was a dragon about to breathe fire herself, “Would you care to repeat that?”

Ned swallowed, but continued with a strong voice, “Sansa’s fifth nameday has passed. It’s time she begins to train with Robb and Týr.”

“Sansa is a young lady!” Catelyn kept herself from snarling through sheer force of will, “Womenfolk do not train with arms!”

“In the South, perhaps.” Ned allowed, “Though Dorne is an exception to even that. This is the North, my love. We are a hard folk, and women cannot be excluded just for their gender. They need to learn to defend themselves just the same.”

“It is the men’s duty to defend their women!” Catelyn held back from yelling.

“And what happens when the men are all at war and women are all that are left to defend the land?” Ned asked, and Cat ground her teeth. She opened her mouth, but Ned spoke over her, “And furthermore, I want to ask you a question.” He leaned forward, “Did being a woman save Elia Martell?” Cat deflated, her face paling to the color of milk, “Did being children save Rhaenys, or Aegon?”

Cat swallowed hard, “No, my Lord.” She said softly.

Ned sighed and hugged her, “I know this isn’t what you want for her. But this is not a new thing. My father made the mistake of trying to do away with it to appease the South and give Lyanna better prospects for marriage. I don’t have to tell you what became of that.” Tears started to leak from her eyes as she realized that she wasn’t going to be able to talk her husband out of this. She understood at a technical level that her husband spoke the truth after his comment on Elia and her children, but this was something that would never be spoken of in the South outside of Dorne. She feared for the futures of both her daughters.

Everything was going to change again.

-]|[-

There we go!

The God of War/Game of Thrones crossover no one really asked for, but we’re getting anyway. LOL

I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I’m already working on chapter two, so hopefully that won’t take too long.