[When she pauses, says his name, he gives her a little frown, a questioning look. Had she not dropped her hand, he would have leaned in to kiss her, but it breaks the mood. Instead, he laughs.]
I had it from the maester who taught us. Luwin, his name was. A good man -- kindly. He liked all these old stories. I don't think a man becomes a maester if he does not, though some attend more to their potions.
[He gestures down the wall: unfilled tombs, no statues.]
The rest of the tombs are empty, for the rest of the Starks. I knew my bones had no place here -- I'm not a Stark. Bastards don't get buried down here. I thought I'd lie in the lichyard at Castle Black someday; now I don't think I'll be half so lucky.
I remember once, my brother Robb and I played a prank on the others. He brought them down to show them where their bones would lie one day. Only I had hidden in the tomb, covered in flour --
[All those years of wondering who his mother might be -- it has never occurred to him, not once, that he ought to have been wondering who his father was. That he might not be a Stark at all, but a Targaryen. That there was no reason for there to be three Kingsguard protecting the mere mistress of a dead prince, rather than his bride, who carried in her belly what might be the last Targaryen king. That it was never Ned Stark's way to betray his own new bride, no matter how much of a stranger she might have been, but that it was his way to protect his sister's son, particularly once he had seen what Tywin Lannister had had done to Rhaegar Targaryen's other children. What Lyanna had wanted was a life with Rhaegar, and when she couldn't have it, a chance for her son to grow and live.
Everything is there in the story, but Jon has always believed in Ned too much to question it. Everyone did. Ned was too honest, too honorable, to have lied about it. Having a bastard son was almost the only scandalous thing he had ever done; everything else was upright to the end.
Ned, whose statue he has barely shown her. Ned, who, in stone, looks a little like Jon might.]
no subject
I had it from the maester who taught us. Luwin, his name was. A good man -- kindly. He liked all these old stories. I don't think a man becomes a maester if he does not, though some attend more to their potions.
[He gestures down the wall: unfilled tombs, no statues.]
The rest of the tombs are empty, for the rest of the Starks. I knew my bones had no place here -- I'm not a Stark. Bastards don't get buried down here. I thought I'd lie in the lichyard at Castle Black someday; now I don't think I'll be half so lucky.
I remember once, my brother Robb and I played a prank on the others. He brought them down to show them where their bones would lie one day. Only I had hidden in the tomb, covered in flour --
[All those years of wondering who his mother might be -- it has never occurred to him, not once, that he ought to have been wondering who his father was. That he might not be a Stark at all, but a Targaryen. That there was no reason for there to be three Kingsguard protecting the mere mistress of a dead prince, rather than his bride, who carried in her belly what might be the last Targaryen king. That it was never Ned Stark's way to betray his own new bride, no matter how much of a stranger she might have been, but that it was his way to protect his sister's son, particularly once he had seen what Tywin Lannister had had done to Rhaegar Targaryen's other children. What Lyanna had wanted was a life with Rhaegar, and when she couldn't have it, a chance for her son to grow and live.
Everything is there in the story, but Jon has always believed in Ned too much to question it. Everyone did. Ned was too honest, too honorable, to have lied about it. Having a bastard son was almost the only scandalous thing he had ever done; everything else was upright to the end.
Ned, whose statue he has barely shown her. Ned, who, in stone, looks a little like Jon might.]