Dreaming as the Summers Die
Why him? Joni must have been special, with her miracles and the love of the smallfolk, but Jon had only ever been the bastard of Winterfell. He lived with the hope that his father might one day give him a castle of his own.
Either that or he went to the Watch. It was an honorable station for highborn bastards like him, and his uncle Benjen was there.
Joni hadn't had that option. Nor the first one, really. She’d been born a girl, and all father could do was find her a kind husband. He’d never tried. Jon had always thought father intended for him to go to the Wall, but now he wondered if there might be another cause. Mayhaps he'd feared losing him and sought to keep him safe behind Winterfell’s great walls.
That hadn't worked for Joni.
Jon scrubbed away his tears and straightened up. He needed to be strong. If he fell apart; if he gave into his despair…
“What happened?” asked Lyarra.
“I'm sorry,” Jon whispered, and watched the understanding dawn over her expression.
“No…”
“King Robert executed them at the gates of Winterfell.”
“You're lying!”
“And Edwyle…”
Her blue eyes flashed with alarm. “Edwyle?”
“He screamed at them. Tried to run for the gates. I don't know what happened after that.”
“Then he is dead too.”
Jon couldn't confirm it, but he couldn't deny it either. Instead, his stomach tied in knots, he folded his hands in his lap. “Robert… your Robert… too. He was…” He shook his head.
“Was he with my parents?”
“No.”
Lyarra nodded and wiped away her tears, crouching beside her precious basket. “Then it is just me and my sisters.”
“You are the heir to Winterfell now.”
“There's never been…”
“You and your sisters are the only heirs.”
Though from what Jon had seen of King Robert, he wasn't about to let Lyarra or her sisters claim their birthright. They would have to fight for it, both against the North and against the King. Had this been his Winterfell, Jon might have suggested he claim the Lordship; a bastard son was better than no son, after all. But no one here knew him as Eddard Stark's bastard. They thought he was a girl. None of them would support his claim.
“Then what do we do?” Lyarra laid a hand on the basket. “If Joni was here…”
But Joni wasn't here. Jon wouldn't say it to Lyarra, but if Joni had been, she would probably have died before that mirror in Winterfell. The only reason he had survived was because he took the King by surprise. Joni hadn't had that advantage.
“If we could get back into Winterfell…” Jon considered. It was a crazed thought, an insane one, but what if it was all they had.
“We can't,” said Lyarra.
“We could try. If we could get in, I could take you back through the mirror to my Winterfell.”
His Winterfell, which was not at war with the Baratheons, where King Robert hadn't executed Jon's father and Lady Catelyn, where they would be safe.
Jon didn't know if his siblings of this Winterfell could co-exist with those of his, but if they could, mayhaps it would be the best solution.
“Do you really think you could do that?” asked Lyarra.
“I don't know. This is all new to me too. But if we can do it, why shouldn't we try?”
“Because Winterfell is my home!” Lyarra snapped.
A stab of guilt pierced Jon’s chest. He was thinking of himself, and would practically be best for these Starks. But if this was Robb in this situation, or even Sansa, of course they would argue to stay. Winterfell was their home. They shouldn't be forced out of it.
“You're right. I'm sorry.”
Lyarra held her head high. “Thank you.”
“But I still ask of you to please consider it. You would be safe there, and I'm sure my father would welcome you.”
Jon supposed they'd have to be claimed as bastards, despite their Tully coloring. Bastard daughters were easier to bargain with and marry off than bastard sons. Not that the Eddard Stark of either Winterfell had considered that.
“And Joni? And… these?” Lyarra tapped the basket.
“I don't know,” Jon admitted. They would have to be hidden; should anyone catch a glimpse, the chances of his family ending up like Lyarra’s was too strong.
Lyarra nodded and wiped away the last of her tears. “I think we should meet with my sisters.”
It took them another two days to get the four of them moved into the same house, huddling in the attic of an older woman who had lost all her children many years ago. Lyarra hugged her sisters even as Minisa confirmed Edwyle’s fate.
“I saw him hanging above the gates,” she said quietly, her blue eyes brimming with tears.
Lyarra held her a little closer.
Jon bit back his own tears. He didn't have a right to cry. Edwyle would still be here if Jon had just tried a little harder to pull him back. His death was on Jon’s hands. Then his mind wandered to wonder whether a tuning such as this could happen in his own Winterfell. He hadn't performed a miracle, but if Joni could, surely he could too.
He stared at the basket. Lyarra had shown him only a scarce few glimpses of the contents, grey and white, shining when they caught the light.
“Jon?” Lyarra asked
Jon hadn't realized his thoughts were wandering.
“It was your suggestion.”
“My dictation… yes. It was. I thought… If we could get back into Winterfell, we might be able to get through the mirror to my Winterfell. Where Joni is,” he added, hoping that would make it sound more appealing.
“We’d be… running away?” asked Minisa hesitantly.
“You’d be safe and alive. And your parents are still alive in my world.”
“We could see Mother again,” whispered Berena.
“And Joni,” Jon said. In all the stories, it was the boys that were the heroes, and yet here they were in this Winterfell where only the girls had survived.
“Can we take her babies back?” asked Minisa.
“I shouldn't think so,” Jon admitted.
They might be able to sneak into Winterfell through one of the staff entrances, but they couldn't take a large, squeaking basket with them. He'd thought about it, and it was the only answer he could bring himself to.
“Do you really think we'd make it?” asked Minisa.
“I don't know.”
“And you can make the magic work?”
“I don’t know,” Jon said again. He didn't know how he'd made the magic work in the first place.
“We have a few other primary options,” said Lyarra. She was trying to sound confident, but her voice trembled. “We could take the hatchlings and go to Essos. We could free the hatchlings and find a village where we can live as smallfolk. We could go to the Wall and beg Uncle Benjen for help. Or we could take the hatchlings beyond the Wall and make a life there.”
“Old Nan says there's monsters beyond the Wall,” whimpered Minisa.
“I want Mother!” cried Berena.
“You'll never stop running, wherever you go,” said Jon.
It was that which made Lyarra look at him. “Then you think we should go with your plan?”
“I do,” replied Jon. It was selfish, but if it worked, it would save them too.
“Then we need to speak with the Winterfell staff. They'll know how to get us into the castle.” Lyarra laid a hand on the basket. “And we shall have to go to the Wolfswood to set them free. I shan’t leave them as confined prey for King Robert.”
Jon understood. He had pained himself trying to think of a way to take the little creatures with them. But not only would it be difficult, what were they meant to do with them in his Winterfell? They could only be risking facing the same fate as this Winterfell.
No; there was no other choice. Joni’s hatchling dragons, the wonders and miracles of the world, would have to be left behind.