Noble Blood

Targaryens

The Targaryens were not like the nobles of Westeros. They came from far away, where blood ran hot like lava. Where they came from, the dead never rose. The dead slumbered and the living ruled the living, warm blood leading warm blood.
Nobility was not theirs by accident, however. The Targaryens had not ruled through luck and coincidence. They had possessed their own power, not entirely dissimilar to the gifts wielded by the noble Houses of Westeros. They were strong; Ned had known that much before seeing Prince Rhaegar Targaryen withstand the first blow from Robert's Warhammer, swung in a blood-rage.
He had not withstood the second.
Westeros had warred with itself about the Targaryens when the strange creatures first arrived on their shores, carrying flame and fear. The Lannisters joined them almost immediately, seeing a kinship in the seductive wiles of their new tyrants. But even with their knowledge of glamours and guile, the Lannisters could not have anticipated the might of Targaryen majesty.
Some vampires possessed the gift to enthral their prey, persuading them to feel love or lust rather than fear. Ned found it distasteful and dishonest, but it was the only method some nobles had to avoid violent feedings. Targaryens were not vampires. They did not need to feed as vampires do. Why then, did they need the power to calm a crowd with a whisper? What possible need could a mortal have for such strength and speed? Was it a god's jape that they could carry fire in their palm, that natural destroyer so fearful to vampires? And why in that same god's name did they have to be so inhumanly beautiful?
It is with a heavy heart that Eddard Stark cradles his sister's son. Jon and Robb are both growing like weeds, though Robb has the advantage. Every day Ned lifts Jon from his crib and wonders if some strange marvel will suddenly present itself. The babe shows no sign of Lyanna's heritage in how he behaves. He will drink blood if it is given, just as Robb will, but it does not nourish him. Without milk, he sickens. He is like any mundane infant, as if plucked from a farm or market.
Jon's blood tells a very different story. It sings with power. Ned has not yet put his fangs to Jon's soft baby skin, but he often smells it on his wife's breath and tastes it on her lips. She only takes a smudge of blood each time, he knows. He has watched her dab a finger on the little cut. A part of him wants to ask her to stop, but Ned is no fool. He knows the role of a mostly-mortal bastard in a noble House. Jon might not be mortal, but it will be safer to raise him as though he is, even though he shows less vampirism than bastards of other noble houses. When he is old enough he can provide a service, letting blood to his family. Perhaps by then the Targaryen taint will have left him. After all, the royals were well-guarded and insular. They even married one another so as not to dilute the heat of their blood with vampire heritage.
Until Lyanna caught Rhaegar's eye, that is. Until the day he meets his final death Ned will blame himself for losing her. He will never forget her smile or her laughter.
How can he, when she lives on in the son he raises for her?