Ned, despite himself, could barely manage to swallow down his sob when he stepped foot on Dragonstone and a pair of strong arms wrapped around his neck. Ned brought up his own arms and wrapped Jon in his embrace, held him tight. Gods, he never wanted to let the boy go, and judging by how tightly Jon was holding him, Ned could only imagine that the feeling was mutual. Ned let his hand smooth through the boy's tight curls, holding his head close against his own shoulder. He could not believe it had been nearly three years since he had last seen Lyanna's boy, could not believe how big and strong the lad had grown. Gods, he could barely believe it was little Jon in his arms, always smaller than his age, always deceptively fragile. Jon had shot up like a weed, broader and far taller than Ned remembered. "It is so good to see you again, lad," he managed.
"You too, Father," Jon replied, fingers digging into the back of Ned's neck. "I missed you so much."
Ned clutched him all the tighter at the words. Jon had never been meant to grow up apart from him. Ned had always meant to keep him close, keep him safe and loved. He would have, if circumstances had not conspired against him. And by the Gods, it was good to see how well Jon had thrived in spite of how little Ned had been able to give him for the past few years. "You too," Ned said. "You too."
It took Arya's near-frantic tugging on his breeches to make Ned finally step back and watch as little Arya launched herself at Jon, who caught her easily and twirled her around, laughing as he did so. Jon's voice broke mid-laugh, marking the fact that Ned's little boy was somehow already on the verge of manhood even as he clutched his little sister tight. He finally let Arya down so she could dart to their Uncle Benjen and Jon made his way back to Ned's side. "I had the papers made up," Jon said. His accent these days were a curious mixture of the North, the Crownlands and the Reach, and given who his wife to be was, Ned supposed he would have to get used to that. "Until I have a child of my own, Arya is my heir. She is far enough down the line of succession to Winterfell. It should not disturb anyone. And I... I would like to think she would take to these lands."
Ned nodded his assent, even though he knew Jon was wrong. Arya would never take to this craggy island like Jon had. She lacked everything Jon had that had made Jon thriving here so natural. Blood and history first of all. Jon wore black, white and red like he was born to it, which should be no surprise to anyone who knew the truth. And he seemed steady, settled, in a way he never had at Winterfell. Part of Ned almost wanted to laugh. Whatever he had done to make Jon feel wanted and loved, it could never compare to what Arthur and Robert had done, placing the boy on Dragonstone and giving him back the other half of his heritage, even if no one ever told him the truth. Here, he looked part of the land, looked natural, like he belonged, in a way he never had in the North, regardless of his looks. I was wrong, Lyanna, I was wrong, his soul whispered, and he blinked back a sudden sting in his eye. Jon, here, where he belonged, with his deepening voice and broadening shoulders, was flourishing in a way he never could have in Winterfell, especially with Catelyn there. Ned had always hated the enmity between them, and always accepted that it could not be different. Never had he realised what Jon might become if there was no weight holding him down, if he were surrounded only by people who meant to raise him up. "She misses you," he said. "You and Benjen both. Regardless of what happens, I think she might do well, spending a few years
here. She butts heads with her mother and sister more often than not, and I do not have leave to give her the freedom I may want her to have."
Jon nodded, swallowing. "She is always welcome here," he said. "For as long as she may wish to stay." With the he went on to hug Robb tightly and kiss Sansa's hand. Ned could have cried when he realised little Bran did not recognise his own brother, but Jon took it all in stride, grinning and joking, a golden-brown haired boy at his side who had to be his future goodbrother. Soon enough Bran was taken enough with the Lord of Dragonstone that Ned, for all that he missed her, was happy Catelyn had been left behind in with little Rickon. She had no place here, not for this. And for all that it might be Ned's own fault, even if Winterfell had not required a Stark to remain, he could not have subjected Jon to Catelyn on this of all occasions. He knew his own boy, and Jon was likely to be shaking enough with fear already, however well hidden, that adding Catelyn to the mix could have only spelled a disaster.