The pact was sealed, and the seven companions spent a silent night beneath the Tower of Joy.
The next morning, it was time to part ways.
Euron turned to Ned, his voice cutting clearly through the hot wind. "The child needs a name. You are his closest blood in this world. It is only fitting that you name him."
Ned gazed for a long time at the infant sleeping peacefully in Ashara's arms. A storm of emotions churned in his grey eyes—grief for his sister, helplessness over the past, and the heavy responsibility for this new life's future. He was silent for a moment, then slowly shook his head. His voice was raspy but firm.
"No. He will be known to the world as your son with Ashara—a Greyjoy. His name... should be given by his 'parents.'"
Euron and Ashara exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. Euron looked back at Ned, then swept his gaze over everyone present, as if announcing it to the witnesses. He paused, then spoke slowly, each word seemingly weighed with care.
"He inherits the resilience of the Direwolf and the blood of the Dragon. He is the fruit of ice and fire interwoven. He was born on the red sands of Dorne, witnessing the end of an old era and the dawn of a new one..."
Euron paused, then continued, "He needs a new beginning. A name that can carry his extraordinary heritage without drawing suspicion. He will be our son, the union of the Iron Islands and Starfall. He is Daeron—Daeron Greyjoy."
"Daeron," Ashara repeated softly, looking down at the baby with gentle, determined eyes. "A name that carries history and power. It belongs to great kings and conquerors. May he be like the Daerons of history—possessing the courage and wisdom to forge the future, yet walking his own path of peace."
Ned looked deeply at Euron. Finally, heavily and slowly, he nodded.
Daeron Greyjoy. This name replaced "Jon Snow," a name that could have sparked a storm, and draped the first, vital layer of camouflage over the child's future. Euron had achieved at least half his goal. Jon, frankly, was too common—throw a rock in the Seven Kingdoms and you'd hit three Jons.
---
Eddard Stark used his own heavy cloak to wrap his sister Lyanna's body, carefully and solemnly, as if performing a silent farewell. (Ashara had already washed Lyanna and dressed her in clean clothes.) After placing a kiss on Daeron Greyjoy's forehead, he and Ser Oswell Whent embarked on their heavy journey north.
First, they had to return to King's Landing. There, Ned would face Robert personally and deliver the devastating news that would shatter all the King's hopes—Lyanna's death. It was destined to be a difficult and painful confrontation.
He also carried the white cloaks and silver armor set aside by the three Kingsguard—Gerold Hightower, Arthur Dayne, and Oswell Whent. These items, once symbols of supreme honor, would be returned to the Iron Throne as cold evidence of vows ended, silently testifying to what happened at the Tower of Joy and marking the total collapse of an era.
Once that heartbreaking mission was complete, Ned would take Lyanna's body alone to the far North, laying her to rest in the crypts of Winterfell, beneath the ice and snow of her homeland.
Ser Oswell Whent would diverge to Harrenhal, the castle scarred by fire and history. There, his niece Ariana—one of the last of House Whent—mourned the son she had just lost. As the oldest remaining male of his house, he had to return. He would use the remnants of his strength and life to guard his only remaining kin and shoulder the burden of rebuilding his family's future.
Two fast horses, carrying two different heavy burdens, galloped north into the dust.
---
Euron, Oberyn, Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower, and Ashara—cradling baby Daeron—turned south, heading for Sunspear, the capital of Dorne.
The scorching sun cast long shadows over them as they wound through the Prince's Pass.
In Sunspear, within the ancient palace of mud brick and stone that overlooked the Shadow City, a long-awaited wedding would take place. Euron Greyjoy and Ashara Dayne would fulfill their "three-year promise." This city, which had witnessed countless conquests and romances, would once again testify to an alliance binding the Iron Islands and Dorne.
At the wedding, a moment of great symbolic weight would occur: Ser Arthur Dayne would personally place the hand of his beloved sister, Ashara, into the hand of Euron Greyjoy.
Arthur had delayed his journey to the Wall specifically to witness this union. Gerold Hightower accompanied his brother-in-arms, hoping the joy and bustle of a wedding might wash away some of the grim mood that clung to them.
They traveled southeast from the Tower of Joy, following the eastern foothills of the Red Mountains until they reached the upper Greenblood, then followed the river down to Starfall. From there, they would travel south along the Greenblood's oasis belt across the Dornish desert. This route passed through several small oases like Planky Town and Yronwood. Compared to other paths, this one was crucial for supplies, making it easier to care for the infant.
Meanwhile, Euron's father, mother, brother, nephews, and nieces were already aboard the massive flagship christened The Grey King's Wrath, riding the waves toward Dorne.
---
Dust-stained and weary, Eddard Stark returned to the Red Keep. His heavy footsteps echoed in the stone corridors.
When he pushed open the doors to the Throne Room, Robert was seated high on the Iron Throne, discussing matters of state with Jon Arryn below.
"Ned!" Robert shoved aside a flagon of wine the moment he saw his friend. His bloodshot eyes lit up. "You're back! Where is Lyanna? Where is my Lyanna?"
Ned dropped to one knee, his dirty cloak pooling on the floor. He looked up, his grey eyes filled with a grief Robert had never seen before.
"Speak, Ned!" Robert slapped the iron armrest of the throne anxiously. "Where is she? I want to see her immediately!"
"Your Grace," Ned's voice was dry and raspy. "I brought Lyanna back. But... not alive."
A dead silence fell over the Throne Room.
The anticipation on Robert's face froze instantly. He stood up slowly, unaware that the barbs of the Iron Throne sliced his palm.
"We found her at the Tower of Joy," Ned continued, forcing every word out of his throat. "She... was imprisoned there by Rhaegar. When we arrived, her body had been broken by long confinement and grief. She had contracted a stubborn fever, and by the time we reached the tower... it was too late."
"No..." Robert stumbled down from the throne. "You're lying, Ned. You're fucking lying to me!"
Ned signaled the guards to bring in a coffin wrapped carefully in Northern furs. With his own hands, he peeled back a corner of the fur, revealing Lyanna's pale but still beautiful face—preserved by special methods Ned had begged a Dornish Maester to use.
"Before she passed," Ned's voice trembled, "she called out your name, and Brandon's. She said... she was sorry."
Ned felt the guilt gnaw at him. He was lying to Robert. He remembered the words Lyanna had actually repeated over and over on her deathbed: Promise me, Ned. Promise me. Promise me... His sister hadn't called for Robert, nor even Brandon. She had only begged Ned, endlessly, to let her child live!
Robert collapsed beside the coffin. The giant who had crushed Rhaegar's chest with a single blow now wailed like a child. His tears fell onto Lyanna's cold cheeks as his thick fingers traced the corner of her stiff mouth with immense care.
Ned remained kneeling on the cold stone. He solemnly placed three sets of folded white cloaks and polished silver armor at Robert's feet. The pure white cloth looked jarringly bright in the dim hall.
"These are the armor and cloaks of the three Kingsguard who were ordered to guard and protect Lyanna," Ned said, his voice steady but carrying undeniable weight.
Robert's bloodshot eyes stared at the white cloaks, as if seeing the shadow of his sister's imprisonment in them. "Where are they?" he squeezed the words through his teeth, a suppressed roar.
"Arthur Dayne and Gerold Hightower," Ned answered clearly, "will go north to the Wall. They will take the black and become men of the Night's Watch, guarding the realm for the rest of their days to atone for their sins. Oswell Whent will return to his last remaining kin, shouldering the duty of caring for and reviving his house."
"Too good for them!" Robert jerked his head up, eyes burning with mad rage. He roared like a wounded lion. "Too good for them! They guarded her! Imprisoned her! And in the end, they watched her wither and die! What right do they have to live?!"
He smashed his massive fist against the stone floor, the sound echoing like thunder.
Ned met his friend's consuming rage without flinching. His grey eyes were steady. He raised his voice, showing Robert the cool authority of the Lord of Winterfell for the first time.
"They guarded her, but they also protected her from the fires of war. They were not at the Trident, nor were they at King's Landing to defend their Mad King. They did not harm Lyanna; they did their duty to the end."
He paused, staring intently at Robert. "Robert, my love and grief for Lyanna are not a fraction less than yours. But she died of loneliness and grief, of sickness born of sorrow, not by the swords of the Kingsguard. They have paid the price for their loyalty—they lost the King they served, they lost the honor of the Kingsguard, and they will live the rest of their lives in duty and guilt. That punishment is enough. Their crime... does not warrant death."
Ned's words were like Northern ice—cold, solid, unbreakable. He was using his reputation and his bond with Robert to secure a path of survival for the three knights, and to place a heavy lock on the secret he now carried.
Robert turned and drew a warhammer from a guard, smashing it wildly against a stone pillar, sending chips flying. "I want to kill every Targaryen supporter! I want..."
"Robert!" Ned interrupted the King with a severity he had never used before. "Lyanna would not want to see you like this. Her dying wish was for you to be a wise and just King."
Jon Arryn stepped forward at the right moment, supporting the crumbling Robert and whispering words of comfort.
After a long time, Robert finally calmed down. He stared blankly at Lyanna in the coffin and whispered, "I will give her the grandest funeral in the history of the Seven Kingdoms."
"She deserves it," Ned replied softly. "But she wanted to go home to the North. I will bury her in the crypts of Winterfell, beside Brandon and Father."
"No, damn it, you want to take her away from me again... No, I won't allow it!"
Ned shook his head silently, but his mind was set, immovable as a boulder.
When Robert was finally helped away by his attendants, Ned stood alone in the empty Throne Room, his palms slick with cold sweat. He had just used a carefully woven lie to save a child's life and preserve his friend's heart.
In his heart, he made a silent vow: Sister, I promised to protect him. Even if I have to deceive the whole world. Even if I have to carry this lie for the rest of my life.