"Is  there anything else, my Lords?" Lord Stark asked, his head in his hands as he sat in the chamber of the small council. He wanted nothing more than to go home to the north, especially now, after Jaime Lannister's man had put a spear through his leg and the kingslayer himself killed Jory, but duty called and the King wanted him to serve him, so he must stay.

Before anyone could reply, there was a clatter, as someone ran into a table, knocking a bunch of silverware off. The small, scruffy, dark haired person stopped, looked at what they'd done before continuing to run to the the table. Ned's head fell further into his hands as he tried to conceal his laughter as the others who surrounded him looked shocked; it was Arya.

"Arya, what is the meaning of this, you know-" he began but she cut him off, slamming her hands on the table. She looked like she'd ran from the other side of the castle.

"Father! It's Lyanna," she gasped out, out of breath from running. "She's having the baby," Ned rose from his seat quickly at her words, which made the wound in his leg twinge. He cursed Jaime Lannister to the Others.

"Are you serious, Arya?" he asked her, trying to keep his voice quiet. In the silence which fell in the room, a distant scream could be heard halfway across the castle, a scream which could only belong to Lyanna. Griping his cane he limped around the table to stand with his daughter. As they began to make their way out of the room, he heard Pycelle's voice.

"Lord Stark," he said. "If your daughter is truly giving birth, why was I not summoned?"

Instead of answering, Lord Stark nodded to him, unsure how to say that Lyanna didn't like the grand maester. He knew that the thought of giving birth had terrified her and the thought of Pycelle delivering made it so much worse for her. She had come to him one night, before he was attacked, telling him that she was riding to Winterfell, she didn't want Pycelle delivering her child. I took him all night to convince her not to go.

As he limped down the corridor to Lyanna's room, he heard a voice behind him. He turned to see Littlefinger, smirking like he'd seen something funny.

"Lord Baelish, is there something you wanted?" he said, turning to face him properly.

"I just wished to congratulate you, Lord Stark," he said, his usual cocky attitude on show. "It will be your first grandchild, after all. Is it yours though?"

At his words, he panicked slightly, but he didn't let it show. Did he know about Lyanna's mother? "I don't understand?"

"I heard a nasty rumor about your daughter, but she's not your daughter, is she?" he smirked at him, like he knew that he was pushing too far with his words.

"Lyanna is my bastard daughter, everyone knows that," he said, biting his lip.

"How noble of you, to spoil your honor for someone else's mistake," Lord Baelish said. "What do you think would happen if someone told the King? How many people do you think he'd kill just to get his hands on her? What do you think you'd do to her child? What do you think he'd do to you, his best friend, housing a Targaryen bastard as his own?"

Before Lord Stark could react, Littlefinger continued. "How do you think he'd kill her? Do you think he'd do it like Rhaegar, or longer, more drawn out? Imagine him, coming back from an unsuccessful hunt for someone to tell him there was a vulnerable Targaryen, in his keep, for him to kill,"

That was when Lord Stark forgot about his injury and the cane. He spun round, grabbing Littlefinger by the neck, slamming him against the stone wall. Littlefinger gasped, both of his hands grabbing at Ned's single hand holding him up, choking him.

"Cat's not here now to protect you," he spat at him, tightening his grip, remembering the last time he nearly choked him to death. "The next time you threaten Lyanna, will be the last time you have a throat. If you breath a word to what you just said to Robert, I will kill you, I'll do what Brandon should have done all those years ago,"He loosened his grip slightly, tossing him to the side. Litlefinger stumbled, glared at Ned slightly, before walking off in the other direction.

***

"How do you feel, Lyanna?" Alize asked gently, pushing a curly strand of dark hair out of Lyanna's eyes. She didn't know how to tell her handmaiden that she felt terrible. How could she say that her head was pounding like someone was punching her in her temples, that her child felt like it was cutting its way out with tiny knives, that every time she took a breath another bolt of pain ran through her stomach. She was in excruciating pain, and she wondered that if she was being stabbed to death, would it hurt as much as this? No, nothing could hurt this much.

"Does it hurt?" Sansa asked quietly, sat in the chair in the corner where the feathers had been swept under. She was sewing something, and it reminded her of being in Winterfell, where they had always sat in a little room, practicing stitches with the septa. Lyanna shook her head slightly before groaning out, another cramping pain running through her.

"Sansa... promise me... you will never have a child," she gasped out, hearing a howl come from the balcony. Winter was stood, her front paws on the stone wall.

At the pain, she remembered when she broke her wrist falling out of a tree in Winterfell. She thought about when she slipped whilst she was training with Robb and his blunt sword cut through her shirt, giving her a long, shallow gash across her ribs. This hurt way more than both of those put together.

"How far along is she?" A spiteful voice asked. Lyanna looked up to see Cersei had come in, a smirk on her face showing she was glad that Lyanna was in pain.

"Not far," Alize said calmly, sitting on the arm of Sansa's chair. "It'll be a few hours until she has to start pushing, your grace,"

"I'll stay with you then," Cersei said, pulling up another chair to Lyanna's bedside. Lyanna wanted to scream, not only at the pain, but at the fact Cersei was here. She noticed how Cersei didn't make eye contact with her; it was probably because she knew the large purple bruise on Lyanna's cheek had been made by her son. "It's only fair, seeing as your husband isn't here. Robert was never with me, I know how it feels,"

Instead of telling her how she was glad Joffrey wasn't here with her, she sighed, sitting up slightly, leaning against the great oak headboard. "Who was with you, your grace?" Lyanna asked, one hand stoking her belly.

"My brother Jaime," Cersei said, looking smug, as usual. "I'm sure you wish that your brothers were here,"

Cersei was right. The thought of Jon being with her made her want to cry. She imagined Jon here with her, squeezing her hand, trying to make her laugh. Jon would know what do do to make her feel like the pain was nothing. She thought of Jon holding her newborn child and it made her want to cry at the thought that it would never happen.  She missed him so much.

After a torturous two hours with Cersei saying nothing except for torments, Arya ran in, followed by Lyanna's father, who's injury made him limp. The sight of Lord Stark made Lyanna relax slightly, though not much, as not five seconds after he entered, she screamed out in pain. She watched as his eyes zoned in on her cheek and she looked away, embarrassed that she even had the bruise.

"Sansa, Arya, I want you out, you can come back later," her father said coolly. Her sisters protested, but he managed to usher them out. "An you, your grace, I do not think your services are needed here," Cersei smirked unkindly Lyanna one last time before leaving the room, saying nothing.

Lord Stark limped to Lyanna's bedside as she groaned,her stomach cramping again. "Father..." she gasped out, another contraction going through her. "I'm scared,"

"I know," he said, as calmly as before. She took hold of his hand, squeezing it through the pain. "Did he do that to you?" he asked her, pointing to the bruise. She looked down, before nodding. He went to speak again, but she shook her head, not wanting to discuss the fact she had become weak, not wanting to discuss the fact that she had let Joffrey beat her. Instead, she groaned in pain and squeezed down on his hand through the pain.

She saw his face wince as she heard a crack. "When Catelyn had Bran, she nearly broke every bone in my hand," he laughed slightly and she forced on a smile, though she felt too exhausted to do anything but scream through the sharp pains. She cursed herself to the Others; she was making herself seem weak.

"My Lady," Alize said quietly, touching her shoulder. "I think you're ready to start pushing,"

"No..." she said, almost desperately, shaking her head. "No, no, no, I'm not ready, please Alize!" she was almost at the extent of begging, in complete denial that in a few hours, she would be a mother.

She hated Alize in this moment, who merely smiled, told her everything was going to be fine and promised she would deliver the child safely. Though she trusted her handmaiden much more that the grand maester, she didn't want Alize delivering her child either. She didn't want anyone to deliver her child. She didn't even want a child. It wasn't even the thought of having a child which scared her. It was something else, something completely different.

"Father, what if it's blonde?" she said shakily through tears and sweat.

"Joffrey is blonde, there is a high chance that..." Alize began but Lyanna cut her off with a sharp scream of pain.

"Not that sort of blonde!" she shouted through the pain. She turned to her father, tears streaming down her face, both from fear and pain. "If its got silver hair... violet eyes... the king will kill us both,"

"You don't need to worry about that love," Lord Stark tried to reason with her, kissing her hand, but she shook her head.

"If it looks like my mother..." she sighed though her tears.

"It won't, you don't look anything like Ayrella," Ned tried to reason with her but she was beyonde reasoning.

"You said I do! It's going to die because of me!" she cried.

"No, don't think like that, love," he said calmly, but his calmness didn't help her.

"Robert is going to kill me, and he's going to kill my child and then he'll kill you," She gasped, feeling like she was having a panic attack.

"Lya," Alize said, her hand on Lyanna's shoulder. "I don't understand what you're talking about, but right now, all we need to focus on is getting that baby out of you. Now, calm down, take a deep breath and get into a proper position," Still crying, Lyanna did as she said, feeling like she was going to pass out.

It happened suddenly from there on. To the sounds of Winter's persistant howls, Lyanna held her breath on each push, refusing to scream anymore. It felt like someone was ripping her open. She kept telling herself it would be worth it, but the image in her mind of her baby with bright violet eyes and silver hair kept running though her mind, terrifying her. She made her mind up; 'if Robert kills my child,' she thought, 'I'll kill myself, or go to the wall,'

She had been so distracted by her fear that she didn't realise it was over until she heard the small cries. Closing her eyes, she finally relaxed, even though her heart began beating and she could feel the anxiety closing in. Her stomach tightened from the nerves of seeing her child, but all her worry disappeared when Alize, who was laughing, held up her child for her to see. If she hadn't been crying already, she started crying then.

Lord Stark, who was laughing also, leant down to kiss her forehead, before pulling out his dagger and cutting the cord. Alize, holding the babe in her arms, smirked before laying the child onto Lyanna's chest. The babe was still crying, except Winter had stopped crying. Straight away, Winter ran over, jumped onto the bed and began licking Lyanna's face, the wolf's tail wagging rapidly. She wined quietly, laying down, her head on Lyanna's knee. Lyanna wrapped her arms around her child as it lay on her chest, its cries quieting down. She didn't even care about its sex, or its eye colour; she had a baby and that was all that mattered.