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Chapter Text

Arya

She had only been sailing for a month before she reached land. She had thought it would be much longer than that; after all, nobody had ever found what was west of Westeros before. But she soon realized it was only an island. A small one, and one that made her feel strange as they approached. When the boat docked, she found herself on a beach of the whitest sand she had ever seen, but it was covered by a sheer cliff face that blocked off the rest of the island. The only way she could see off the beach was a tunnel that seemed to go through the cliff.

"Stay here," she said to her men. "It might not be safe."

"We're here to protect you, princess."

"Don't call me that."

"Your sister is Queen of the North."

"And I'm not."

"Well anyway, she instructed us to keep you safe."

"I'll be fine."

Before they could argue, she headed into the tunnel, eager to see the rest of the island. But something along the edge of the tunnel caught her eye. A cave, and it was glowing. She turned into it, and saw a strange box. Next to it was a dusty scroll that looked like it hadn't been read in hundreds, maybe thousands, of years. She picked the scroll up and opened it.

Sansa

Sansa stood by the gate, hardly able to contain her excitement. She had been unsure if she would ever see Arya again, and now here she was, coming home, after just two months! What could she possibly have found that had halted her in her quest? The letter had been oh-so-vague. But she didn't care; she was going to see her sister again. She wished she hadn't left. Arya had longed for adventure since they were children, but after everything they had been through, she had hoped they would stick together. With Jon up in the north, and visits from him likely quite rare, and Bran busy in King's Landing, Sansa was getting lonely in Winterfell, surrounded by memories of a childhood long gone.

"Arya Stark has arrived," said a voice, and the gates opened.

When she saw her sister standing there, she couldn't stop herself, and ran to hug her before she could realize how un-queenly that probably looked.

"Your Grace."

"How was the journey? You must tell me everything."

"I will. But I need to speak with you alone."

"Of course." Now Sansa was starting to get worried. She walked with Arya into her chambers and shut the door. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too."

"Why'd you have to leave?"

"I'm glad I did. Because you'll never believe what I found."

"What could possibly be so important you came all the way home just to show me?"

Arya reached into her bag and pulled out a wooden box. "This."

Sansa frowned. "What is it?"

"According to the scroll I found, it's a device that lets you travel through time."

"What?"

"It says that it will bring you back to a previous point in your life, but with all the memories of what's to come. Says that you can change the past."

"That can't be real."

"Can't it?"

"Magic is dangerous, risky, rarely works well, from what I hear..."

"Magic brought Jon back to life."

"It also turned Bran into... well he's not really Bran anymore, is he?"

"Not fully, no. And wouldn't it be nice if we could change that? And imagine what else. We could save Father, we could save Mother, and Robb, and Rickon."

"Or we could kill everyone. Are you really suggesting this?" It was taking almost everything in her power not to jump immediately on board with Arya's plan; the thought of having her family back was enough to overpower her. But she also knew the dangers must be severe.

"I am. It says the magic will work on two people."

"So... what, the two of us?"

"Yes. We go back to when it all began. The day King Robert arrived at Winterfell."

"And what's the cost of this magic?"

"Only one drop of blood from each of us."

"Oh, is that all?"

"A single drop of blood."

"Blood magic has consequences."

"I'll pay that price."

"Where did you find this box?"

"In a cave on a mysterious island."

"Arya!"

"I know, it sounds stupid and risky. But sometimes you have to take risks to get a reward that's worth it. And our family is worth it."

"Do you really think we could save them?"

"I don't know. But I think it's worth trying."

"I'll think about it. I'll let you know tomorrow."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Arya

The next day, Arya went to breakfast with her breath held. Sansa just had to say yes, didn't she? She had come all the way back here for this opportunity, and it was worth it, no matter the cost. She loved Sansa, and Jon, and Bran, even with his strange magic ways, but their family was broken, wrong, without all the people they had lost, and the chance to bring them back made her not care to contemplate the risk. But when she walked in, Sansa was holding a raven scroll. "Sansa?"

"It's from Bran. He saw us talking yesterday."

"That's creepy."

"Yes. Well, he advises us not to do it."

"What?"

"He says everything happened for a reason. Says that the white walkers are gone, the kingdoms are safe, and we shouldn't mess with it. Says time travel has consequences, bad things could happen, we could leave things worse than they are now, we could all be dead."

"But it isn't up to him, Sansa. It's your call. We're in the North. What do you say?" She couldn't make out her sister's expression.

"I say that King Three-Eyed Raven might feel that way, but Bran Stark would never say that. He's not Bran anymore, Arya, Bran is dead. I didn't want to believe it, but it's true." She looked on the verge of tears, but her expression was one of steely resolve. "And I want him back. And Robb, and Rickon, and Mother, and Father."

"I want them back too."

"So let's do it. Let's go back and save them."

Arya smiled. "It won't be easy, you know."

"Family never is, is it? But it's worth it."

"Alright. Let's perform that spell."

She placed the box on the table and opened it to reveal a crystal of some kind. Pulling out her blade, she sliced her palm and dripped the blood over the crystal, then handed the blade to Sansa, who did the same. Unrolling the scroll, she read the words at the bottom, and suddenly everything turned to darkness, like she was falling into a void...

...and then her eyes snapped open. She felt immediately different, smaller, slighter. Looking down, she saw herself at eleven years old, and almost screamed for joy. It had worked. They had made it back, or at least she had.

"Arya?" said a voice she hadn't heard in years, and tears sprang to her eyes.

"Yes, Mother?"

She walked into the room, and Arya felt suddenly unable to speak. She wanted to run up and embrace her mother, but she couldn't give herself away. Not yet, at least.

"Get ready. The king arrives today!"

"Of course, Mother."

Catelyn turned and left the room, and Arya sat down on the bed, her head spinning. They had done it. They had completed the easy part. Now they had to save everyone.

Chapter Text

Sansa

Immediately, Sansa could tell things were different. She was a child again, pre-Joffrey and pre-Ramsay and yet to "become a woman." It felt strange, to have the mind of an adult in the body of a child; she could still remember the things that had been done to her, but she could no longer feel them. And that meant that Arya's plan had worked. She was back in her childhood bedroom, and the king would be arriving today. And her family was here. Alive, and intact. The thought of it threatened to overwhelm her, and when she heard a knock at her door, her voice shook slightly as she said, "Come in!"

When Arya opened the door, though Sansa knew it was Arya from years in the future, seeing her as a little girl again was enough to bring tears to Sansa's eyes. "You're so little."

"Don't call me little," she said, pouting. But she clearly wasn't angry, the way Arya at age eleven actually would have been. "It worked," she said as she looked around. "It really worked."

Sansa nodded. "I can't believe we're back here."

"I know."

"Your plan really worked."

"Not yet, it hasn't. That was the easy part. And I think I underestimated how difficult this was going to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Mother came into my room and I-well, I could hardly keep it together. I barely remember how to act like I used to. And I don't think we should be telling people the truth. They'll think us crazy, and besides, they don't need to know all those horrible things."

"We need to tell someone," said Sansa. "We need people on our side. But I agree we shouldn't tell Mother and Father. They probably won't believe us."

"Jon would," said Arya. "He'd believe me."

Sansa shook her head. "If you tell Jon what happens to our family he'll refuse to go to the Wall. And the information he gathered from being on the other side of the wall was crucial in the fight, I don't know if that can be replaced, as much as I may not want him to go."

Arya sighed. "You're right, I suppose."

"Bran and Rickon are far too young to be involved in any plans," said Sansa. "So that leaves Robb. And Theon, I suppose."

"We can decide who to tell later," said Arya. "First we have to figure out how to stop Father from agreeing to go to King's Landing."

"Do you think we can?"

"You wanted to go the first time. You were so eager to marry Joffrey-"

"Oh, don't remind me." Remembering the way she had fancied Joffrey as a child made her feel sick to the stomach. How could she have been such a fool?

"The point is, if you tell him how much you don't want to go, maybe that'll do it."

"Maybe. But it wasn't me that convinced him. It was the note from Aunt Lysa."

"Then... we intercept the note from Aunt Lysa?"

"How? It's meant for Mother, we'll draw suspicion to ourselves. And we can't tell him the truth about Jon Arryn, either, because he'll never believe us. Nobody will believe us while we're little girls."

"Well at the very least you can try the 'I don't want to go' angle, and we'll see how well that works."

"Alright."

"I suppose we're to go out there and get ready to meet the king." Arya looked as nervous as she felt.

"I don't know if I can do this."

"We'll do it together."

They walked out of the room side by side, and Sansa felt like something was going to burst inside of her.

Arya

They walked out to the courtyard, where preparations were being made in earnest. Arya felt her breath catch in her throat. There, across the courtyard, was Robb, talking to Jon and Theon. When she saw him, her mind flashed to the last time she had seen him... his body, with Grey Wind's head sewn onto it, being paraded around after the Red Wedding. The image had stuck in her mind for months, until she had finally managed to stop seeing it every time she closed her eyes, but now that she was here, seeing Robb again, she couldn't shake it.

"You alright?" Sansa whispered. She had never told her sister she had been at the Red Wedding, and now didn't seem like the time.

"I, I just..."

"I know. It's like seeing ghosts."

"They'll never become ghosts if we have anything to say about it." She walked over to the group, figuring the best way to shake the image of death was to remind herself that right here, right now, her brother was very much alive.

Robb looked over and grinned, and Arya realized how much she had missed his smile. "Is that my sisters, actually talking to each other? And nobody's started shouting yet? Must be a special occasion."

"Well, the king is coming," said Sansa.

"Aye, that he is," said Jon. "You excited to meet him?"

"Of course," said Sansa. "He's the king."

"I want to see the Imp," said Theon with a chuckle.

"You mean Lord Tyrion? I hear he's very well-read," said Sansa.

"I hear he's really ugly," said Arya. She didn't want to insult Lord Tyrion, he had been kind to Sansa when nobody else was, after all. But she had to act like she had at age eleven, and that's what she would have said.

"They say the queen's beautiful," said Theon.

"She's taken, Theon," said Robb.

"Oh, shut up."

"Is Mother still talking to the staff?" Robb asked.

"No idea," Arya answered truthfully. She couldn't remember the exact details of this day too well, not with everything that had come after.

"Given how much time she's been spending with them, I bet you'll all be having the best party Winterfell's seen in years," said Jon.

"Are you certain you don't want me to talk to her about letting you come?" Robb asked.

"I'm certain. She feels that it's for the best I don't attend, better not to argue with her." His tone suggested he wanted the subject changed, and Arya realized she had forgotten how much her mother hated Jon. And it was all for no reason. He wasn't even their father's son, not by blood, anyway. And he had no idea. No idea that he was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. What would happen if she told him, right now? Nothing good, probably.

"Are you all ready to present yourselves to the king?" asked a voice, and as Arya turned to see her father standing in front of her, she felt like she might simply fall apart right where she stood. She exchanged a look with Sansa, whose glistening eyes showed that she felt the same way.

"Yes, Father," said Robb.

"Good. People are gathering by the gates. His carriage approaches."

Arya followed Sansa, Robb, Jon, Theon, and her father to the gates of Winterfell, and realized with a cold feeling in her stomach that this was it. Now, right now, was when everything began, everything that ended with her and Sansa the only Starks left and the world torn apart by violent war. And it was up to her and her sister to stop it all.

Chapter Text

Sansa

She felt her hand shaking slightly as she walked out to greet the king. She had held strong against the Lannisters in King's Landing, against the Boltons in Winterfell, against Daenerys and even Jon, when she had had to. But this-to keep herself from showing a reaction to seeing her family alive again? This might be the hardest thing she had ever done. When she had seen Theon, she had remembered how he had saved her from Ramsay, how he had died for their family. And Robb... this was the last time she had seen him. Just days from now they had left Winterfell and she had never seen him again. But the worst had been when her father came over to them, and she had gone right back to the Sept of Baelor and Ilyn Payne cutting off his head. And as they walked to take their places, they passed Mother and Rickon, and Sansa had to look away.

They were surrounded by dead people, and Sansa wanted more than anything to run into her parents' arms and never let go. But she couldn't. Not here, for certain. People couldn't be trusted, she had learned that well enough. If the wrong people got word about her and Arya's future knowledge, they could torture them for information, or kill them to prevent others getting it. And while she knew they could trust their parents, she didn't feel that their parents would believe them. Father might, if she told him the truth about Jon, but did she want to open that door? He'd want information about the future, and Sansa didn't think she could bear to tell him about what happened to his family. His own death might not bother him, but Mother's, Robb's, Rickon's... he didn't need to know. That might convince him not to go to King's Landing, but unlike Arya, Sansa didn't know if that was the best plan. If he said no to being King Robert's hand, King Robert would pick someone else. Perhaps Jaime Lannister. What would befall their family then? But if Father went to King's Landing, went and never learned the truth about Cersei's children, they'd be protected under King Robert. The Freys could never turn on them, the Boltons wouldn't dare...

She was taken out of her thoughts when the horses rode up. She ignored Joffrey; last time she had met his gaze, but she had no interest in doing so now. In fact, she more wanted to run up and knock him off his horse and strangle him until he died. But that wouldn't end well for anybody. Behind him was the carriage carrying Cersei and her other two children. And behind them rode King Robert, here to make her father his hand. She would still try to convince him otherwise. He was certainly safer here. But if she couldn't, there were other things she and Arya could do in King's Landing. They all bowed to the king, and he walked over to Father. She remembered the next part as it happened-the exchange about whether Father had gotten fat, the king hugging Mother, greeting Robb, calling her pretty. She smiled, as she had done before, but she was much less charmed by royalty nowadays. She was a queen, after all. When Cersei stepped out of her carriage, Sansa had to force a smile, and resist the urge to run at her. Beside her, she felt Arya tense up, no doubt thinking the same. But she held her ground. Then Robert asked Father to take them down to the crypts, and Sansa could only exchange a glance with Arya. He was going there to pay tribute to their aunt Lyanna, without knowing the truth. That she had never loved him, that her love had been for the man he killed, that their son stood behind Sansa now.

When they left, Catelyn turned to her daughters and said, "Alright, girls, time to get ready for tonight," and Sansa was speechless for a moment.

Coming to her senses, she said, "Yes, Mother," and followed her.

"Is Father really planning on betrothing me to Joffrey?" she asked as her mother did her hair.

"I do believe that is the plan," she replied.

"Please, Mother, don't let him."

She paused her hair-styling. "I would think you'd love to be the future queen."

"But I've heard awful things about Joffrey, mother, they say he's cruel. And-and I don't want to go to King's Landing, it's so far away, I want to stay here, in Winterfell, with you."

Catelyn walked around to look Sansa in the eye. "I'd love nothing more than to hold onto you forever, my dear. But you'll be a woman soon. You know you won't live in Winterfell forever?"

Won't I?, she thought. "I know. But I'm scared. The capital's a dangerous place, and my uncle and grandfather went to the capital and they died."

At the look on her mother's face, she thought that perhaps bringing that up hadn't been the best choice. Her mother had been betrothed to her uncle Brandon first, after all. "Your uncle and grandfather rode to the Mad King. Robert Baratheon is not Aerys Targaryen."

"I know."

"If it matters that much to you, Sansa, I'll speak with your father."

"Thank you, Mother." She was just as Sansa remembered her; kind but prideful, loving but dutiful, the way Sansa tried to be as queen. Her eyes started to fill with tears; luckily, her mother had returned to doing her hair.

Arya

At the feast, Arya couldn't help but be distinctly uninterested in the proceedings. The first time this party had happened she had thrown dirt at Sansa, but that seemed so petty now. She really had taken everything she had for granted. Her parents, her brothers, their relative peace and security, and probably her sister the most. She had always thought Sansa ridiculous for wanting to be a lady, but that was what she had trained for all her life. She had been good, as Lady of Winterfell, and no doubt as Queen of the North, as well. And she had shed her more ridiculous childhood delusions. Arya, on the other hand... acting like her childhood self had made her wonder if she had been better then. Happier, certainly, but also less murderous. She was glad to have been able to avenge her family, and to protect the realms from the Night King, but she wasn't happy about how happy killing made her. She had become something terrifying, even to herself, and someone she didn't think her parents would be proud of. It was why she had tried to remove those violent tendencies by sailing west, going on adventures as she had always dreamed of; she wanted to remember who she had been. Then she had found that box, and now she was here, and was glad to find that saving her family was a more appealing prospect to her than avenging them. It was a lot more difficult, though.

When her uncle Benjen entered the hall, Arya wondered how she and Sansa were supposed to save him. He had disappeared north of the wall, what could they do about that? They could tell him not to go, but he wouldn't listen. He was First Ranger of the Night's Watch, no amount of danger would stop him from trying to protect the realms. Then Arya thought, he had saved Jon. Whatever undead thing he had become had saved Jon, and Bran. If the plan worked Bran would never go north of the wall, but Jon... did Benjen have to become what he had in order to save Jon, and indeed, in turn, the entire realm? It was too far in the future to tell how things would go once this timeline diverged from the original one, but it would be useful to have him gain those powers. She shook her head. What was she saying? She was going to let her uncle die to save her brother? She had grown used to making difficult choices, but now, with all the knowledge of future events, she didn't have to anymore... hopefully. She still had no clue how she was going to save her uncle, though. So many people had died in the years since this day, she couldn't remember them all, didn't know them all... but she was going to save as many as she could, not just her family.

"Not enjoying the festivities?" Robb asked, walking over to her.

"They're boring," she said. "King Robert's supposed to be a legendary fighter, I'd rather see some of that."

"I doubt he gets up to much fighting these days," he said, and they both laughed, and it hit Arya stronger than before that the first time around, they had never seen each other again after she left for King's Landing. But the first time around, they hadn't had this conversation, so things were already starting to change. That was good.

"Do you think Father will do it?" she asked. "Go to King's Landing."

"I think he'll feel honor-bound to," Robb replied. "Father always does the honorable thing."

"Even when it might be wiser not to."

"I think Father knows what he's doing."

"His father and brother died in King's Landing."

"He knows that too."

"He's too good for them."

"I'm sure there's good people in the capital."

"In the capital, sure. But not in the Red Keep."

"When did you become so cynical?"

He's suspicious. That's not good. "I'm just scared."

"There's no need. Everything will be alright."

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"Because Father is good. And when you are good, the gods reward you for it."

Arya had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing out loud.

The next morning, Arya kept a close eye on Bran. Just as he was about to start climbing the tower, she said, "Bet I can race you to the godswood and win."

"Oh, really?"

"Really." She took off running, making sure that he followed her. She even let him win. All that mattered was that he wasn't climbing that tower. And as they raced back to the castle (she won this time), she smiled. She had saved her brother. This plan of theirs could really work.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Sansa

As they rode down the Kingsroad, Sansa did her best to push all thoughts of the horrors to come from her mind. She had been so focused on how to save their family, she hadn't taken the time to actually spend time with them. If they didn't manage to save them, this was all the time she would get with them, but even assuming they did, she had been robbed of so many years, and now was her chance to get them back.

When they stopped for the evening, she walked over to Bran, who was holding a stick. "What are you doing?"

He looked up at her. "What does it look like I'm doing? Practicing my sword-fighting. The actual swords are all packed away, so I'm using this stick."

"Practicing on the air, are you?"

"Well, Jon, Robb, and Ser Rodrik are all back at Winterfell, so who am I supposed to practice with?"

"I'll practice with you."

"You're a girl."

"And?"

"Well-I can't-"

"Can't what? Fight me? It's a stick."

He shrugged. "Alright."

She grinned and picked up a nearby stick. She was awful at sword-fighting, but then, it wasn't as though Bran was very good, and it was only for fun, anyway. As they swung their sticks at each other, Father walked up to them. "Sansa? Are you fighting?"

She stopped and turned to him. "Bran needed a partner. And I wasn't busy."

"Very well." His eyes were narrowed, and Sansa thought she knew why. Thirteen-year-old Sansa would never have practiced sword-fighting with her brother. She wasn't acting like her old self. But she didn't want to. She had been an awful sister then. Dismissive of Bran and Rickon, petty with Arya, and cold to Jon. She and Robb had gotten along well, but it wasn't as though they had really spent much time together. It had been her biggest regret before, when she had believed them all to be dead. She hadn't spent much time with Father, either, when she thought about it. And she had learned her lesson. She couldn't go back to that girl who didn't value family enough. They were everything that mattered, far more than the castles and crowns she had dreamed of as a girl. And she was going to make sure they knew that, even if it raised her father's suspicion.

Bran hit her with his stick, bringing her back to the present. "Bran!"

He shrugged. "Don't get distracted during a swordfight."

"Oh?" She reached over his head and poked him in the back with the stick. "Don't fight somebody taller than you."

Arya

Arya stirred her food around her plate with a fork, bored out of her mind. Everything had been so eventful when they first arrived back, but in the week since the king's departure, she had settled into the daily routine at Winterfell, and she had run out of things to distract herself with. One part of her wanted to spend every single moment with her family, but another part of her didn't dare. The more time she spent with them, the more alive they became in her mind, and then if they still died... then she'd lose them all over again. If she kept herself distant, then they stayed memories, and she was protected from them dying again because they were already dead. They won't die, the voice inside her head told her. You're going to save them. But then the other voice said, You can't save them. You can't save anyone. All you do is kill. She clenched her fist around the fork, trying to get the last thought out of her head. But was that all she did? She had saved the realm from the army of the dead... by killing. Every time she had saved a person, she had killed another. She was an instrument of destruction-or at least, she had been. Mother still refused to let her practice with Needle. Well, with a sword; she hadn't told Mother about Needle. She would hate the idea of Arya having a sword, and hate Jon even more for giving it to her. She hoped Jon was doing alright at the wall; when he had given her Needle, she had asked him to keep an eye on Uncle Benjen, but she doubted that he was going to be able to save him. Maybe if the events later never happened, though, he could at least live as the undead creature he had been turned into. It wasn't an ideal life, but it was probably better than being dead.

As she finished her meal, Rickon came into the room, clutching a toy. "Are you by yourself?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "I have Shaggydog."

As if on cue, the direwolf entered behind him. "Why aren't you with Mother?"

"She's in her room."

"Doing what?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask her."

Arya couldn't help but smile. He was so sweet, so innocent. He had always been innocent, right up until the moment Ramsay Bolton had put an arrow through his back. At that thought, her smile faded. Ramsay was out there, right now, what if she just... Just what? asked the voice. Ride up to the Dreadfort and kill him? As an eleven year old girl? And even if you succeeded, what then? House Stark and House Bolton would go to war, war's what you have to avoid.

She sighed. She couldn't do anything here. She had stayed to protect her mother and brothers, but maybe she should have gone to King's Landing. After all, there was no danger at Winterfell without Bran's fall from the window, assuming Father didn't get arrested, at least. But she had to be here, just in case. And somehow, she had to be allowed to train.

Rickon left the room, and Arya followed with reluctance. She had to go to sewing practice.

Sansa

After two weeks on the road, Sansa was growing restless. As awful as all her experiences there had been, she almost wanted to get to King's Landing; there, she could put the plan in motion, could start on the tangible path towards saving her father. Here she was just wasting time. And doing her best to avoid Joffrey, which didn't work very well, as he kept bringing his horse up right beside her. "My lady."

"Prince Joffrey."

"So, I still haven't heard anything about why they're waiting to announce our betrothal. Do you know anything?"

"No." She had to do her best to avoid being sick just at his presence. Hopefully he still died. If the general course of events didn't make it happen, she would.

"Well, I hope for your sake they do. I bet a girl like you has been waiting her whole life to be queen."

"I will do as my father wishes," Sansa replied. "I wish only to be a good daughter."

"And a good wife."

"And a good wife to whoever Father chooses to wed me to." The words didn't sit right. Once upon a time that had been all she wanted, but now? She was more than a daughter, more than a wife, and not Father's property. Not that she believed Father saw her as property. He wasn't like that. He would never marry her to somebody she didn't want to be married to, that's why he had turned down the marriage proposal when she had told Mother how she didn't want it. He was a good father, and a good man, the best man she had ever known. And he had died for it. At first, when Father and Robb had died, she had figured it meant that in this world good people died and evil people didn't. And to an extent that was true; good people couldn't cheat the way evil people did. But Joffrey had died too, and Tywin Lannister, and Cersei. Eventually she had realized that it wasn't about good or evil. Smart people survived, and everyone else died. So she had become smart. And she had survived. She had to teach Father that, too.

When she had been silent long enough, Joffrey rode away from her, and she smiled slightly. He wasn't smart, not at all. So he would die in any world.

Arya

As her second week drew to a close, another week spent mostly on ladylike pursuits she didn't need, Arya felt like she was starting to go mad. She was wasting her time here. No matter what they did, how many crises they averted, war was sure to come in some form, even if only against the whitewalkers. And she had to be ready for it. Which meant she needed to be learning how to fight in this body, and she needed the North to be preparing for the fight against the dead. And as a girl of eleven there wasn't much she could do towards that goal. Which meant that Sansa had been right; they needed allies.

She took a deep breath one morning and walked into the courtyard as Robb was finishing his practice with Theon. "Robb. Can I speak to you, in private?"

He frowned and looked around at the other men in the yard. "Why?"

"Because there's something really important I need to tell you."

Chapter Text

Arya

"What's this about?" Robb asked as they walked into his room. "What do you have to say that you can't tell me in front of Theon and the others?"

"A really big secret," Arya said. "You might want to sit down for this."

He sat down on his bed, now looking concerned. "Alright then. Tell me."

Arya took a deep breath. "Sansa and I are from the future."

His concern changed to confusion. "What?"

"A few years from now, I found a magic box that could bring two people backwards in time to an earlier moment in their lives. Sansa and I used it. We're not ourselves, not-not child us, I suppose is the best way to say it, we're ourselves but with memories of several more years."

Robb blinked, and Arya stopped speaking, allowing him to process what she had said. "Why?"

"Why... what?"

"Why would you come back?"

Of all the questions, that was the worst one he could possibly ask. She had expected him to request some sort of proof. "So you believe me, then?"

"I don't know. Tell me why."

She sighed. "Some pretty bad things happened during those years. Things... things Sansa and I wanted to make sure didn't happen." She couldn't tell him too much. He wouldn't be able to handle it all, not all at once. Or maybe it was her that wouldn't be able to handle it.

"How long have you been... these future versions of yourself?"

"Since the day the king arrived in Winterfell. We've already changed things. The first time around, Bran never went to King's Landing, because he fell from a tower and nearly died. When he woke, he could never walk again."

Robb turned slightly pale at that, but nodded. "I believe you."

That hadn't been as hard as she thought. "You do?"

"You've seemed different since that day. Older, more mature. I hadn't thought much of it, but it makes sense. And the way you talk about what's coming... how bad is it?"

"Bad," she said, and again the image of his body at the Red Wedding flashed in her mind, and she felt a bit dizzy.

"You don't just seem older," he said after a brief pause. "You seem... I don't know how to describe it... hardened, I suppose."

"I've seen and done things you wouldn't believe," she said. "I've killed."

At that, he gave her a long look. "My little sister's killed people?" There was something in his eyes she couldn't quite place.

She nodded. "Bad people. People who hurt our family, or were going to." And even though they had been bad, she had taken too much pleasure in killing them, more than most people did, to the point that she wasn't entirely sure who she was anymore. But she couldn't tell Robb all that. That was her burden to bear.

"I don't doubt it. So you know how to fight, then?"

"I had a lot of training. But it's different in this body, as a little girl, I trained when I was older. I need to learn how to fight again, that's part of why I told you. I need you to convince Mother to allow me to train. You're acting as Lord of Winterfell, she can't really say no to you."

"I don't think even the Lord of Winterfell can overrule a mother about her own daughter."

"It's important. I already have a sword, Jon gave me one. Maybe don't tell her that part."

"Jon gave you a sword?"

"A little one. I call it Needle."

"Is it with you?"

"In my room. I'll show you later."

"I'll talk to Mother, but I can't make any promises. You know how protective she is. I'm surprised she would have let you train the first time."

"She didn't," said Arya. She was treading in dangerous territory now. "I went to King's Landing last time. Father hired a man from Braavos to teach me a little bit. Said if I was going to have a sword, I needed to know how to use it."

"Then why didn't you go with Father?"

"Sansa went with Father. They're headed for the capital, and nobody's better at dealing with the politics than Sansa. She spent years learning how to be the very best. But somebody needed to be here, in case things go bad there... you and Mother both made some rash decisions last time, and I'm here to try and stop bad things from happening."

"You can't be any more specific?"

"I'm telling you as little as I can, because... well, a number of reasons, really. Partially I don't want you to have to know all the horrible things that happen. I wish I could forget, and I know Sansa does, too."

"I can handle it," said Robb. "I'm not a child."

"Yes you are. We all were. That's why we all did stupid things." She sat down beside him and looked him in the eye. "Robb, I need you to promise me something."

"What?"

"Unless I say it's alright, no matter what, do not leave Winterfell."

He frowned. "Well of course not, I'm the acting Lord of Winterfell."

"Didn't stop you last time."

"What did I do?"

She sighed. There was no avoiding it. "You called your banners and went to war."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because Father was imprisoned for treason."

"What!" He stood up now, his face showing anger she had never seen before. "Why would King Robert do that to his best friend?"

"He didn't. King Joffrey did."

He paused, weighing that information. "Are you saying the king is going to die?"

"If Sansa doesn't stop it."

"That's a lot to ask of Sansa."

"She's more than capable, trust me."

He sat back down. "I promise not to leave Winterfell without asking you first." It looked like it pained him to say the words. But he'd said them.

"Thank you."

"You said me talking to Mother about your training was one reason you told me. Were there others?"

"Two more."

"Go on, then."

"Another is the whitewalkers," she said. "I know Father doesn't believe in them, but they're real. And they're coming. Not for years, at least last time, but they're coming. And the North needs to be ready to fight them. Dragonglass kills them. Otherwise known as obsidian. There's a mountain of it at Dragonstone, where Stannis Baratheon is. You should write to them. They might not believe in the whitewalkers, but they have no need for the stone."

"That's a lot of information," said Robb. "They're really coming? The whitewalkers are real?"

She nodded. "Old Nan knew what she was talking about after all."

"And the army of the dead?"

She nodded. "They raised all the dead in the crypt when we fought them at Winterfell."

He turned white. "They reached all the way to Winterfell?"

She nodded.

"But they didn't kill everyone?"

"Killing the Night King killed all the rest. It was his magic that turned them all."

"How'd we kill the Night King?"

"I stabbed him with a Valyrian steel dagger."

His eyes widened. "You killed him? You killed all the whitewalkers and their whole army?"

"Yep."

"That's amazing." Now his eyes shone with pride, which made her proud, too, though at the time she hadn't thought much of it.

"It's why I need to train."

He nodded. "I'll find a way to convince Mother."

"I suppose while we're talking, you should also maybe know... Daenerys Targaryen has three dragon eggs, and pretty soon they're going to be three dragons."

He seemed to freeze for a moment. "What?"

"Her dragons helped us fight the army of the dead. Fire kills them. She crossed over from Essos to take the Iron Throne."

"And did she?"

"It gets complicated."

"Was that the third reason?"

"No, just a fact." She looked down at her feet, slightly embarrassed. "The third reason was just that I couldn't stand keeping this all to myself. I had to tell somebody."

"I'm glad you trust me," he said.

"Of course I do. You're my brother." And if he listened to her, he would stay alive. Maybe she could really do this.

Sansa

"What's it going to be like in the capital?" Sansa asked her father, riding up beside him.

"I'm not really the right person to ask," he replied. "I've only been a few times, and not in years. I don't remember it too well. I suppose it's a fairly nice city, and the Red Keep is lovely, you'll like it there."

"But what about the people?"

"Oh," he said. "Well, they're not like Northerners. People in the south aren't as straightforward. They like to play games."

"Do you know how to play those games?"

"I have no interest in playing their games," he replied, and she sighed. That attitude would get him killed. "I wish only to aid Robert in ruling the country as well as possible." Sansa knew that meant running the country himself, but it was disrespectful to say so out loud.

"Doesn't that involve knowing how the country is run? Knowing the game?"

"Maybe," he replied. "Or maybe an honest, straightforward Northman will change the political scene for the better."

Or maybe not. "So, we'll be there in a few days, yes?"

"That's right."

"Are you looking forward to being Hand of the King?"

He was silent for a moment. "I look forward to being able to serve my king, and my friend. But I would have liked to stay at home with your mother and your siblings, if I'm being fully honest."

"But you always do the right thing," said Sansa.

"I try to."

"If you had to choose between doing what was right and what was best for your family, what would you do?"

He looked at her, frowning. "What brought that question on?"

"I don't know."

"And I don't know the answer." But she did. He would always do what was right, of course. And that would cause their family trouble. She tried to do what was right, but she still valued her family more. She supposed she aligned more closely with her mother's family words-Family, Duty, Honor. In that order. For Father, while he loved his family, he would always do what he believed was right. And that was going to make it very difficult to save him.

Chapter Text

Sansa

The gates to the city opened, and Sansa drew in a breath. No more delaying on the Kingsroad. It was time to begin her plans in earnest. Already things were different, and that was an encouraging sign. Bran was here, and able to walk still. Lady still walked by her side. Arya wasn't here, which she didn't feel great about, but was still a sign of their plans having an impact.

"I was starting to think we'd never get here," said Bran.

"Are you excited?" Father asked.

Bran nodded. "I want to see the dragon skulls."

Father's face seemed to darken for a moment, but he replied, "That can probably be arranged."

"Sansa, aren't you excited?" Bran asked.

She nodded. "I've heard the palace gardens are beautiful." She was already suspicious enough, she couldn't act entirely different. And the gardens were pretty. She hadn't thought too much of it when they had been her prison, but they were.

When they reached the Red Keep, they were welcomed inside, and Sansa and Bran were taken to their rooms. When she was shown into the room where she had been held captive, she involuntarily drew in a breath.

"Is the room to your liking, my lady?" asked the servant who had shown her the way.

"How close is it to my father's room?" she asked.

"Down that hallway, turn left, down the end of that hall there."

"Is there any chance I could be closer to him?"

"I can probably arrange for that to happen."

"Thank you." That was probably an innocent enough reason to ask to change rooms, wasn't it? She probably came off as a scared little girl who wanted to be near her father in a strange new city, not someone who had spent years in that room while the Lannisters tormented her.

"Are you alright staying here for now?" the servant asked.

"Yes."

She bowed her head and left the room, and Sansa sat down by the mirror, staring back at the eyes of a child. She was in the lion's den now, and she had to keep her father and brother out of harm's way. The first step would be to stop him from investigating Jon Arryn's death; if he never looked into it, he would never learn the truth about Cersei's children. But even if she did that, there were a million dangers in the capital that she had to steer him clear of. Perhaps the greatest threat was Littlefinger; he had convinced Aunt Lysa to poison Jon Arryn in order to pit the Starks and Lannisters against each other, to create a conflict he could use to rise to the top. If that plan failed, he would find another conflict, another way to manipulate everyone. She needed him to be on her father's side, in as much as he was on anybody's side. Which meant that she had to get in his good graces. He had transferred his affection for her mother onto her. Perhaps if she could charm him, he would do so again, and she could convince him not to betray her father. The thought of getting involved with Littlefinger again made her stomach squirm, but what else could she do? Let him play the game without knowing what he was up to?

She got up and walked out of the room, deciding she needed to asses the situation. If anybody asked her what she was doing, she would simply tell them she was exploring the castle.

Bran seemed to have the same idea. "Sansa! Do you know where the dragon skulls are?"

"Somewhere underground, I think?" she replied. "I'm not sure exactly where." In the time she had spent here, she had never gone below the palace; it wasn't a ladylike thing to do, after all. And even if she had, telling Bran she knew where the dragon bones were would be suspicious.

"Let's go find them!"

"That's dangerous, Bran. Father said he could get someone to bring you down there, can't you be patient?"

"I suppose." He pouted. "But what am I supposed to do until then?"

"Look around the palace. Do you want to come with me to the gardens?"

"That sounds boring."

"But looking at old bones doesn't sound boring?"

"Dragon bones! It's the closest we'll ever get to seeing a real dragon."

Well, not necessarily. Not if Daenerys Targaryen makes it across the narrow sea again. She still didn't know what they were supposed to do about Daenerys. On the one hand, she was clearly untrustworthy, unstable, and murderous. On the other hand, how many more would have died at Winterfell without her dragons killing thousands of the dead? But would the whitewalkers even have breached the wall without her dragon having headed north? It might have taken them longer, at least. They certainly didn't want her as an enemy, but she wasn't very good as an ally. But that was a problem for the future.

"Hello? Sansa?" Bran broke her out of her thoughts.

"Sorry. Anyway, I don't think the gardens are boring, but if you don't want to come then don't."

He shrugged. "I don't really have anything better to do."

He followed her outside, where she wandered around as though slightly lost.

"Do you even know how to get to the gardens?"

"Obviously not, I've never been here before!"

Bran rolled his eyes and stopped someone walking nearby. "Where are the gardens?"

"That way," the man replied, pointing.

Sansa followed his directions, Bran dragging his feet behind her. When she reached the garden, she looked around. No doubt some of Lord Varys's little birds were here. If she could say just the right thing, she might be able to get him to take an interest in her. He knew what was going on with the Targaryens better than anybody else did. "Isn't it fascinating to be in the Red Keep?" she asked. "There's so much history here."

"I know," said Bran. "This is where Aegon Targaryen came with his dragons to unite the Seven Kingdoms."

"You're really fascinated by the dragons, aren't you?"

"I don't see how you're not. They breathe fire!"

"And they burn cities to ash."

"Why do you have to see the bad in everything?"

"I'm just saying. Not everything about dragons is good."

"Dragons are just animals," said Bran. "It's the people who are bad or good."

Sansa raised her eyebrows; that was a surprising level of understanding from him. "I suppose you're right."

"If I had a dragon, I'd use it for good. I'd defend people."

"I'm sure you would," said Sansa.

"Too bad all the dragons are dead."

"Yes, too bad," she replied. Was that enough to get the spymaster's attention? She didn't dare discuss actual politics, not with Bran. But 'dragons' was a metaphor for Targaryens, just as wolves were a metaphor for Starks. And if she managed to stop Father, and King Robert lived, she had to plan for a very different outcome whenever the dragons did come.

"There you two are!" Septa Mordane said, walking up to them. "Sansa, come, it's time for your lesson. And Bran, your father wants to speak with you."

As they followed her back to the palace, Sansa wondered what it was Father planned to say to Bran. Probably something he wouldn't say to her, as a girl. He would never talk about politics with her. She couldn't talk him out of investigating Jon Arryn's death unless he told her he was looking into it. She needed to find some way to get him to confide in her. But something about that didn't sit right. Manipulating Littlefinger, she could do with no moral hesitation. But manipulating her father? If it was what she had to do to save his life, of course she would do it. But she didn't like it.

Arya

Arya looked up at the knock on her door. "Come in."

Her mother pushed the door open and entered the room, and Arya frowned at the disappointed look on her face. "I've just spoken to Robb."

Arya sat up straighter in her bed; this was it. "And?"

"He's told me I should allow you to train to fight."

"I agree with him."

"Well, I didn't think it was his idea." She sounded annoyed.

"I know you don't want me to, but it's not fair that I shouldn't be allowed just because I'm a girl!"

"Even if I allowed you to train, what would you do with that training?"

"Protect my family."

Her mother sighed. "Robb told me that there was a reason you had to train, that it was important. He wouldn't say what that reason was. What did you tell him?"

"Nothing."

She looked into her mother's eyes; she had expected anger, but instead she saw sadness. "Whatever it is that you told your brother, why couldn't you just come to me?"

There were a million excuses she could have given, but for once she decided to settle on the truth. "I didn't want you to be disappointed in me. I thought-I thought maybe you'd not accept me anymore if I told you what I told him." She felt tears springing to her eyes; what would her mother think of a daughter who had killed people, who had joined a group of people devout to the god of death?

"Listen to me, Arya," Catelyn said, and Arya met her mother's eyes again. "You are my daughter. You might do things I don't approve of, and you might anger me, at times, but you will still be my daughter. And there is nothing you could say or do that would make me not accept you."

She'd been waiting years to hear those words. For the first time since arriving back in time, she didn't hold herself back; she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her mother. Her mother hugged her back, and the wall she had been keeping up broke. She hadn't cried in years; she had closed herself off so she didn't show anybody her emotions. But now, breathing in the scent of her mother's perfume, the weight of all the things she had seen and done overwhelmed her, and she cried in her mother's arms like the little girl whose body she was in, the little girl she hadn't been in years.

When she had cried out all her tears, she looked up at her mother. "I'm sorry, I must seem ridiculous."

She shook her head. "Not at all. I'm your mother. Even if I don't understand what troubles you, it is my job to ease those troubles." She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "And if the only way that I can do that is to allow you to train with weapons, then I will speak to Ser Rodrik in the morning."

For a moment Arya could only stare. "Thank you, Mother," she said finally.

Her mother smiled faintly. "And if you ever decide you want to tell me this secret of yours, I'll listen."

She nodded as her mother got up and left the room.

Chapter Text

Arya

Gripping Needle's hilt, Arya walked out into the courtyard of Winterfell, where Robb and Ser Rodrik stood waiting for her. Luckily, Theon appeared to not be present for this training session; if she had the opportunity to fight him, she might end up sticking him with the blade for what he had done to Robb, and Bran and Rickon. "So. Where do we begin?"

"Let me see the blade," said Ser Rodrik. She handed him Needle, and he looked it over. "Fine handiwork. And Jon had this made for you?"

"Yes."

"But if Mother asks, it was I who commissioned the blade," said Robb. "That's what I told her."

"She can't have been happy about that," said Arya.

"She wasn't. But me, she'll forgive."

Arya nodded.

"It's small," Ser Rodrick noted.

"As am I," said Arya. "I don't think you should underestimate either of us."

He smiled. "No, I don't think I should. Very well. Let's see how you do against your brother."

He handed her Needle, and Arya turned to Robb with slight trepidation. She had never used this blade against a member of her own family, even in a training session. But he was smiling at her, and she smiled back. All her life she had wanted this, to be able to train with her brothers, and here she was. "I'll go easy on you, don't worry," Robb said.

"I'm not worried." Not about this fight, anyway. About just about everything else, yes. As she held Needle in front of her, she realized how right it felt; the blade in the armory had been to heavy for her, but Needle wasn't. And though her body did not carry the memory of fighting, her mind still knew all the tricks. When Robb swung his sword at her, she parried, stepping to the side as she had done a million times before. She ducked under his sword and stepped towards him, which he blocked easily. As they continued, they seemed close to evenly matched, which was pretty good. Robb had never been the best with a sword-that was Jon-but he was good, and so was she. Not at the level she had been, but not bad.

"How did you get that good with a sword?" Ser Rodrik asked, looking stunned.

"I've got good reflexes."

"Very good."

"She's a Stark," said Robb. "She was born for it."

Arya smiled. "If only Father could see."

"I'll write to him," said Ser Rodrik. "You've got uncommon skill. For -"

"For a girl?" she finished, staring at him.

"Well, yes..."

"Is it uncommon for girls to have skill, or just uncommon for them to get to use it?"

"Well..." He looked embarrassed.

Robb grinned. "Always pushing the boundaries, aren't you?"

"Have to. Or I'll end up married off to someone, ruling as Lady of Wherever..."

"Is there something wrong with being a lady?" her mother asked, walking over to them.

"Mother! How long were you here for?"

"Just the last minute or so of your fight. I wanted to see... you are good," she admitted, looking like it pained her to say it.

"Thank you. And no, there's nothing wrong with being a lady, if it's what you're suited for. You are. And Sansa. But I'm not, I never was."

"Then what do you want to be?"

"A knight."

"There are no female knights."

"But that's only because nobody's made one yet."

"She makes a point," said Robb.

"I worry for you," Catelyn said, shaking her head. "This world isn't kind to girls who try to break the mold. To anyone who tries to break the mold, but girls especially."

Looking into her mother's eyes, Arya understood her fear. She was right; people who went against the established rules tended to suffer for it. "But if you believe something is right, it's worth fighting for it."

Her mother gave a small smile. "I do love that fire in your spirit."

And I get that from you, Arya thought. Her mother may not have ever fought with a sword, or gone against the role she had been assigned, but she had that defiance in her too. She had taken Tyrion Lannister hostage, had set Jaime Lannister free against Robb's orders. Unwise, perhaps, but had that not been the same kind of courage (and perhaps recklessness) that possessed Arya to fight tooth and nail against her prescribed role of "lady?" Had her actions to save her family not been out of the same fierce loyalty that had led Arya to seek her revenge? Maybe she wasn't as different from her mother as she had once believed. At that thought, she smiled. Then she turned to Robb. "So, shall we go again?"

Sansa

Her plan to catch Lord Varys's attention appeared not to have worked. Should she really be surprised? She was a girl, and a young one, at that. Nobody would believe she had any idea about politics, or that her words were metaphors, or that she was useful to them. That they would underestimate her abilities was working in her favor in some ways, but against it in others. If she wanted information on the Targaryens, she would have to seek it out. But that could wait. Daenerys had only just been wed, didn't even have her dragons yet. Right now her focus was on the more immediate threat: her father's investigation. Without Bran's fall, the situation wasn't as fraught. Mother would never arrest Tyrion and take him to the Eyrie, and Lord Tywin would never start attacking the Riverlands in retaliation. But if her father figured out the truth about the children, he would make the same mistake as last time. And Littlefinger would still be pretending to help him. She needed him out of the way. So who did she go to first? Her father, to get him to confide in her about the investigation, or Littlefinger, to try and get him on her side? As she weighed the options in her head, she tried to think about the ways each path could go. Littlefinger was by far riskier; even if she did get him to fall for her, he had still betrayed her last time. The best she could do was delay his betrayal, buy herself time to find a way to remove him. But even without his help, Father might figure out the truth before then. So she had to get to Father first.

As she knocked on the door of his bedroom, she tried to figure out her strategy. She had been thinking about it for days, but he was so much harder to manipulate than anybody else. It was easy to manipulate people when you didn't care about toying with their emotions, but when you did...

Father opened the door. "Sansa. What is it?"

"I was wondering if I could talk to you about... about Joffrey." That was her in. The betrothal, the thing that most directly affected her. A talk that didn't seem suspicious, but could easily be turned to other things.

He nodded. "Come in."

She sat down on one of the chairs in the room, and he sat across from her. "What about Joffrey did you want to discuss?"

"You turned down the betrothal. It was because Mother talked to you, right?"

"Yes. She said you didn't want to marry him, because you had heard he was... cruel, I think she said."

"That's what I've heard, yes."

"I thought perhaps they were just rumors, that we'd put it off and see how you felt when you got to know him. It's been a little while now. What do you think?"

"He's arrogant and annoying," she said. "He hasn't been overtly cruel to me, but then, he's trying to win my affection."

Father nodded. "I will never marry you to somebody you would not feel comfortable marrying. I promise you that."

"Thank you, Father."

"That said, arrogant boys don't always become arrogant men."

"Right." She bit her lip; how did she go from here? "What was King Robert like, as a boy? Was he like Joffrey?"

"I don't know Joffrey well enough to say," her father replied. "Robert was... well, arrogant is probably accurate, but he wasn't cruel. He wanted to fight, but only people he felt deserved it."

"And now? Is he arrogant now?"

"He's the king," her father replied. "A little bit of arrogance comes with the territory, I think."

"But you're the Hand of the King, you have almost as much power as he does. And you're not arrogant."

"I've only been Hand of the King a few days."

"And what are you doing, as Hand?" She hoped the transition had seemed natural; thirteen-year-old Sansa probably would never have asked.

"Trying to get the crown out of debt, mostly."

"Oh. Does the kingdom owe money?"

"Some. Nothing you need be concerned with, though."

"Well, if a little debt is the biggest issue the crown has, then I suppose that's not so bad."

"Right." He looked troubled, and she figured now was as good a time as any to change tactics.

"What's wrong, Father?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing's wrong."

"You seem upset. Is there something else going on? Other than the debt?"

"Nothing you need be concerned with," he repeated.

"I think it's important that I know what's happening in the realm," she replied. "Especially if I do end up being its queen."

"Some things are better left unsaid," he replied. "You don't need to know all the political games afoot. You're only a girl."

"You make it sound like it's dangerous."

"Politics always is. And if it should end up being dangerous, I would want you nowhere near it."

It wasn't working. His desire to protect her was too strong, he would never share any information with her. She had to try a different tactic. "Does it have anything to do with Jon Arryn?"

He looked at her sharply. "What makes you say that?"

She needed an excuse. Quickly. "I heard a couple of the court ladies talking. Apparently there's a rumor that-that he was poisoned."

Father looked down. "That is a possibility. I didn't realize the rumor had spread."

"So you think he was?"

"I don't know. That's what your aunt Lysa believes."

"And you?"

"I'm looking into it."

"Do you think that's wise?"

"What do you mean?"

"If somebody killed him, it was probably for some political end. If you find out who it was, don't you think they'd kill you, too?"

"Don't worry, Sansa. Everything will be alright."

"Wouldn't it be safer not to look into it?"

"If somebody killed him, I have to find out who." There was a desperation in his voice, one Sansa recognized all too well, and in that moment she realized there was nothing she could say or do that would stop her father investigating. It wasn't about his honor, or politics, or even a general sense of right and wrong. He had loved Jon Arryn, and he would never rest until he had found the truth of his death. Which meant that Sansa needed a new tactic.

"Then let me help you."

"What?"

"The things you're investigating, you'll draw suspicion to yourself, the Hand of the King is a high profile person, people will notice all your movements. But me? I'm just a girl. Nobody will suspect me of anything."

"Sansa, I can't ask you to endanger yourself!"

"You didn't ask me."

"I can't let you!"

"Do you trust me, Father?"

"Of course I trust you, it's not about that. It's about your safety."

"It's very difficult to get away with hurting children, Father. And I know I have you looking out for me."

"Why would you risk your safety for this?"

"Lord Arryn was my uncle. I wish to see his killer brought to justice too. And you are my father. I want to help you."

"I don't like this."

"I'm going to look into it. I think I'm safer if we work together than separately."

"What's gotten into you?"

"I've decided I'm not going to be a pawn in the game, Father. I'm going to be a player. If Bran is old enough to see a man beheaded, I'm old enough to help you."

He gave her a long look. "You haven't really given me a choice. Not if you're going to investigate anyway."

"No, I haven't."

"Alright, then. But you will do exactly as I say."

Chapter Text

Sansa

She had thought that getting involved with Father's investigation would mean being very busy, but a month had gone by, and nothing. When she asked him about it, he said he hadn't found anything yet. That was strange, wasn't it? Hadn't Littlefinger been well into manipulating him by now? She didn't know what was going on with him, and that was odd. She had tried to speak to him alone multiple times, but he had managed to avoid her every time.

A slight distraction arrived when Lord Tyrion returned to the city. She could hardly contain her relief at his safe return. Obviously Mother had had no reason to kidnap him without Bran's injury, but still, him being here meant that the conflict between House Stark and House Lannister had yet to rear its head. And it never would, if she could keep Father off the truth. But she knew she likely couldn't. She just needed to delay him, long enough that she could formulate a plan to get the information to King Robert without Father going to Cersei first. Which meant a plan to keep the children safe. Father would insist on keeping the children safe. Myrcella and Tommen were good children, and she meant them no harm. But were they really worth starting a war over? She chastised herself at that. Was Bran worth starting a war over? Mother had certainly thought so. Cersei was evil, cold, and cruel, but she was still a mother, and the love she had for her children was the one thing Sansa couldn't fault her for.

She smiled at Lord Tyrion when she saw him in court. He was the only Lannister who had ever shown her kindness, and even if he was still a very flawed man, she was grateful for that. He could have forced her into his bed on their wedding night, but he hadn't. Hardly a person in the Seven Kingdoms would have faulted him for it, and still he hadn't. But he had also chosen to follow Daenerys Targaryen, she reminded herself. Chosen to follow a tyrant hellbent on sitting on the Iron Throne at all costs. She blinked herself back into the present moment. He hadn't done any of that yet.

"Lord Tyrion," she said.

"Lady Sansa."

"I was just wondering... you were at the Wall with my brother Jon, yes?"

"I was."

"How is he?"

"Well, the other recruits don't like him much. They call him Lord Snow. They're jealous that he got to grow up in a castle."

If they only knew who he really was. "But is he... happy, at the wall?"

"He had a bit of a rough start, but I think he's starting to fit in. And your Uncle Benjen is with him." Not for long. But it was good to hear that he appeared to be doing well at the wall. He had seemed so worn down when she had seen him there, but then, he had just been murdered and resurrected. Maybe it really wasn't so bad.

"Right. Thank you, Lord Tyrion."

He nodded and walked away.

Now that Lord Tyrion was back, maybe she did have a way to protect the children. Maybe, once Father learned the truth, he would agree to go straight to the king, if somebody else was told, was given the chance to escort Cersei and her children from the city. Somebody who would do so without turning on Father and having him imprisoned. And in that respect, Lord Tyrion was probably her best bet. Now she could set the wheels in motion for Father to learn the truth. If Petyr Baelish hadn't already done so. And Lord Tyrion's arrival made her realize what was different. Mother had never come to King's Landing this time. Mother had never told Father to trust him. She had helped him, unwittingly, to manipulate Father. And now Father was reserving his judgement. Perhaps she didn't have to try and get him to fall for her after all. She just needed to make sure Father was wary of him.

With a clear plan in place for proceeding with the investigation, Sansa wondered if she ought to try and steer him along herself. She really didn't have any idea how to do that, though. The key had been finding all of King Robert's bastards, and that they had all been black of hair, right? How was she supposed to help him figure that out? Littlefinger had taken him to see Gendry, and... could she find some reason to get him to visit Gendry? Maybe once he saw him he would realize who he was. But that was risky, very risky. Then again, what wasn't?

"Sansa?" said Bran. "Why are you just standing there?"

"Sorry. Just thinking about things."

"Flowers and needlework?"

"Bran! Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean all my thoughts are about flowers and needlework."

"Hmm. Well, guess what?!"

"What?"

"Father's finally found someone for me to squire for!"

"Oh?"

"Loras Tyrell."

"Oh." The Tyrells weren't cruel, but they were very clever, and almost everything they did was for political ends. This must be for some sort of political end, too. What could House Tyrell want with House Stark? A marriage alliance, perhaps, Margaery marrying Robb? That would give them power in the North. But Margaery had always wanted to be queen, marrying the Warden of the North wouldn't be good enough for her, and hopefully this time Robb wouldn't end up seceding from the Seven Kingdoms. At least not for a while. She still believed the North should be independent, but if keeping her family intact meant keeping the realm intact, well... she could worry about that later.

"Apparently his last squire died in some kind of accident," Bran said.

"What?" That got her full attention. "What kind of accident?"

"Don't know. Fell off a horse or something."

"Bran, people don't usually die from falling off horses."

"I didn't ask for details."

Sansa felt a chill in her stomach. This was somebody pulling the strings. She just didn't know who.

Arya

After a month, Arya had finally gotten her skills back with Needle. She wasn't quite where she had been, but she was good enough. A worthy opponent to most soldiers, she'd wager. Her skills had astounded Ser Rodrik and Mother, and Theon, who had been humiliated at losing to her. Robb had just given her a knowing sort of smile. It had been such a weight off her chest, having him in on the secret. She could speak to him without fearing she would slip up and make a comment about the future. Well, almost. She still hadn't told him most of the future, hadn't told him about his death or Mother's or Father's or Rickon's. But just knowing that she wasn't the only one who knew who she really was made all the difference.

"Things have been pretty quiet for a time you said led to war before," Robb noted as they sat by the fireplace one night. Rickon had been talking to them, too, but he had drifted asleep, head leaning against Shaggydog's fur. Nymeria and Grey Wind both stood by the door, presumably in case someone tried to come and hurt them here.

"Things are different now," Arya said. "Mother's still here. That makes all the difference, you have no idea."

"What did Mother do?"

"Someone tried to kill Bran while he was unconscious," Arya said, hoping that by sating his curiosity on this matter she could hold off more questions about the future. "Mother decided that it meant the Lannisters had tried to kill him because he saw something, and she was right, only she didn't know which Lannister. She rode for King's Landing with the knife the would-be assassin had used, and Petyr Baelish told her it belonged to Tyrion Lannister. So on her way to Winterfell, when she ran into him, she abducted him and took him to the Eyrie. Except he was innocent. It was Jaime who pushed Bran from the tower."

Robb's eyes shone with anger. "Jaime Lannister tried to kill our brother?"

"He saw... something he shouldn't have seen. I can't tell you what, that secret... is very big, and will hopefully not be revealed this time around."

"Come on, you can tell me."

"No!" She hadn't expected the fierceness in her voice.

"Why not?"

"Because..." She stared at the ground. "That secret got Father killed."

When she looked back at Robb, his face was pale white. "You told me Father was imprisoned."

"They cut off his head, Robb. Because he knew this secret. I don't want-I don't want you to know."

He nodded. "Fine. So Lord Tyrion was innocent, and Mother abducted him?"

"And Tywin Lannister's men started attacking innocent people in the Riverlands."

"So that started the war?"

"Not exactly. Sansa's letter had a hand in it-"

"Sansa's what now?"

"After Father was imprisoned, Sansa begged for mercy for him. Cersei told her if she wanted it, then she should write to you, and tell you to come and bend the knee to Joffrey. But when you got the letter, you called your banners instead. Cersei wanted to send Father to the Night's Watch, but Joffrey was... insane, not even his mother could control him. I'll never forget what he said... 'So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head.'" When she said the words, she was thrown back into that moment, and she felt cold even right by the fire. If she had to pinpoint the day her innocence had been lost forever, that was it.

"You were there?"

"In the crowd. I'd gotten away from the Lannisters. But Sansa, she was up there. Not five feet from them. They made her watch."

Robb looked like he was going to be sick. "Tell me Joffrey died for it."

"On his wedding day."

"Did I get to do it?"

"No. Olenna Tyrell did it." And you were already dead. You died at a wedding too.

"Why her?"

"It was Margaery Tyrell that Joffrey was marrying. She wanted to be queen. Lady Olenna thought Tommen would be a better match."

"Hmm."

"So, any word from Stannis Baratheon about dragonglass?"

"He wrote back saying he had some men mining for it, he'd get me some in a couple of months."

"He doesn't believe in the threat."

"No. I suppose it does sound rather crazy."

"But you believed me. Even without any proof."

"Of course I believe you. You're my little sister."

She smiled at him, then at Rickon, at their wolves, at the fireplace she had sat by so often as a child. She was home. Finally, truly home. And maybe, just maybe, things could truly stay this way this time.

Chapter Text

Sansa

"Father?" she asked as she knocked at his door.

"Come in," he replied.

She entered his room. He was sat at the table, reading a letter. "What's that about?"

"It's from Jon. He says the other recruits to the Night's Watch are jealous of him. But he's made a friend, Samwell Tarly."

Sansa smiled. "Good that he's made a friend."

"Yes. He says your Uncle Benjen has gone out on a long ranging. Seems the wildlings are causing problems."

Sansa forced herself not to show any reaction. Uncle Benjen would never return from that ranging, she knew. Arya had tried. But there was nothing to be done about it now. "Or the whitewalkers," she said, hoping perhaps she could start getting Father to believe in them.

"They've been gone 8000 years, Sansa. If they even existed."

"Perhaps we ought to be wary, though."

"Perhaps." He put down the letter. "So, what brings you here?"

"Bran's going to be a squire."

"Yes. For Loras Tyrell. I was surprised to get the offer, I must say."

"It seems odd to me that his previous squire died in such an unusual sort of accident. Does that seem odd to you?"

Father frowned. "Are you implying the Tyrells want to hurt Bran?"

"No. That somebody hurt the last squire to get Bran that position, because they want us to be allies with House Tyrell."

"Why would somebody do that?"

"I don't know. But there are so many people in the capital who all have their own ends. Do you trust anybody in this place?"

He looked at her. "I trust those I have brought with me from Winterfell. And I trust the king."

"So nobody else?"

"Not completely, no."

"I don't think you should trust anybody completely, Father."

"Don't worry, Sansa. I know who I can trust. I've had a lot more life experience than you have." He was right, of course. Even though she was years older than he thought she was, he was still older than her, and had been through a lot in his life. He had been betrayed too, he had lost people too. Maybe when she told Jon he had died because he made stupid mistakes, she had been too hard on him. He had, of course, but they had come from a place of kindness. Kindness he had held onto in spite of all that he had endured.

"I do worry," she admitted. "I can't help it."

"I know," he said. "You're much like your mother in that way."

"I just think the Tyrells want something with our house. Perhaps a future marriage alliance, I don't know."

"What, with Robb and Lady Margaery?"

"Perhaps, or..." Could it be possible? "With Loras and me." They had tried it before. But she wasn't the heir to Winterfell now.

"You think they want you to marry Loras Tyrell?"

"I don't know. But the Tyrells have never been allies with the North. Maybe they want to change that. And, if I were to marry Loras, I couldn't marry Joffrey. Which would leave him free to marry Lady Margaery." The plan fell into place in her head. It seemed a good plan.

"And you think Ser Loras killed his own squire to make that happen?"

"No. I think somebody else foresaw this plan. I think they killed the squire to make it happen."

"That's a lot of guesswork."

"Politics is guesswork, Father. You have to know what everyone's up to so you can know what you have to be up to."

"When did you become so good at politics?" Father asked with a wry smile.

"I've picked some things up since we arrived."

"I see that. I'll keep an eye on the Tyrells, and I won't trust anyone too much."

"Good. Any word on the investigation of Jon Arryn's death?"

"Yes, actually. You know Petyr Baelish?"

Sansa again forced herself to show no reaction. "The Master of Coin."

"Yes. He's going to take me to see someone Jon Arryn visited before he died."

"You shouldn't trust Petyr Baelish either," she said.

"Don't worry, I don't."

She nodded. That was good. She might actually be able to keep him alive.

Arya

She sat eating breakfast with Robb, Rickon, and her mother when Maester Luwin walked in. "Lady Stark," he said. "A raven from Riverrun."

She stood up and received the letter from the maester, and Arya exchanged a glance with Robb. This couldn't be good news, could it? "It's from Edmure," her mother said as she opened it. "Odd, he hasn't written me in quite a while." As she read the letter, her face darkened, and Arya started to put the pieces together. This must be about her grandfather.

"Mother?" Robb asked. "What does the letter say?"

"It's my father," she said. "His illness has... has gotten worse. They don't know how long he has left."

Arya knew. Long enough that she need not worry so much. At least a year.

"You should go visit him, then," said Robb. "At Riverrun."

Arya looked sharply at her brother. What was he thinking? Splitting them up further?

"Oh, I don't know," her mother said. "Your father wants me here. To help you run Winterfell."

"I'll be alright," said Robb. "You should go be with your father."

"Rickon needs me, he's so little-"

"I'll be fine!" Rickon exclaimed.

"I'll look after Rickon," said Robb.

"Well, I suppose I'll go for a short visit, then," she said. She left the room, her plate of food forgotten.

"Robb," said Arya, when Rickon had left. "What were you thinking?"

"That she should see her father before he dies."

"He won't die for more than a year."

"Yeah? Tell her that."

"It was your idea, not hers!"

He looked down at his plate. "Arya, when you told me that Father died the first time, that he might die now, all I could think about was wanting to go down to King's Landing and see him just in case. Mother will be thinking that too, even if she won't say so."

Arya sighed. How was she to argue with him? That was how she felt as well, about all of them. "But she'll be on her own in Riverrun."

"Alright, so perhaps I didn't think it entirely through." Then his eyes lit up with an idea. "But you can go with her."

"What?"

"You can protect her there."

"And who will protect you?"

"I won't leave Winterfell, as I promised. I know to be wary, since you've told me to. I'll be alright for a short time."

Arya shook her head. "I don't like this."

"It'll be fine."

"Alright, I'll go convince her to take me with her. But you'd better look out for yourself, and Rickon."

"I will."

She went to her mother's bedchamber and knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" her mother asked.

"It's Arya."

"Oh. Come in, then."

She opened the door to find her mother sitting on the bed, staring at the letter. "Are you alright, Mother?"

She looked up. "I'm fine. What brings you here?"

"I was thinking... could I come to Riverrun with you?"

Her mother looked surprised. "You want to?"

She nodded. "I haven't seen my grandfather or Uncle Edmure since I was very little. It'll be nice to see them."

She smiled. "Alright, then. Why not? We'll leave in a week."

That had been easier than she expected. Perhaps her mother just didn't want to go alone. And a week was enough time to make sure Robb was prepared for things, and to tell Jon to start sending letters to her to Riverrun instead of Winterfell. "Sounds good," she said, but internally she felt that this wasn't a good idea, that splitting up again was bound to cause problems.

Sansa

As she walked around the Red Keep somewhat absentmindedly, Sansa saw Varys, and thought now was a good time to finally get her other plans in motion. "Lord Varys," she said.

"Lady Sansa," he greeted her.

"I've been wondering... what do you do, as Master of Whisperers?"

"I collect information, my lady."

"On what?"

"Everything."

"You know everything?"

"Just about."

"Do you know about Loras Tyrell's last squire?"

"Tragic accident, that. Fortunate for your brother, I suppose."

"Yes, but... was it really an accident?"

He looked at her. "You have a keen mind for a young girl, don't you?"

"I suppose I do. So?"

"There are rumors. But why should I tell them to you?"

"They say you have your hands in everything in King's Landing," she replied. "I'd like to learn how to play the game like you."

"Your father has no interest in playing the game."

"And that, I believe, is to my father's detriment." That wasn't even a lie.

He looked her over. "Very well. Let's see what you do with one small piece of information, and then we can talk. The rumor is that the milk of the poppy he was given to treat his injuries was actually poison."

"And who gave him milk of the poppy?"

"It's not about who gave it to him. It's about who switched out the poison."

"And who was it?"

"That, I'm afraid, I still don't know."

He walked away, and Sansa was left pondering the information. Littlefinger was the obvious guess, but what strings would he be pulling here? How did the Tyrells allying with the Starks benefit him? Olenna Tyrell wasn't out of the question, either. At least she appeared to be on the way to getting Lord Varys to use her. If she could do that, she might just be able to take control of the game. And she needed to, if she was going to save her family.

Chapter Text

Arya

As they rode into the gates of Riverrun, Arya looked around the castle. She hadn't been here since she was a little girl. She had come so close, when she was with the Brotherhood, so close to being reunited with Robb and her mother... but never mind that. She was here now, riding beside her mother. As they dismounted, servants came to escort them into the castle, and she walked beside her into the entrance hall, doing her best to present as a proper lady. She didn't need to anger her mother right now. Her uncle Edmure stood waiting for them, smiling. "Cat," he said, nodding at her mother.

Her mother smiled. "Edmure." They hugged each other, before uncle Edmure turned his eyes to her.

"Arya. It's been a long time. You were barely more than a baby last time I saw you."

"I'm no baby now," she said. If he only knew the extent to which that were true.

"I see that."

"I've even been learning to fight with a sword," she said, grinning.

"Is that so?" He looked at her mother with surprise.

"It is," her mother replied. "She's quite good." There was a faint note of pride in her mother's voice, and Arya felt a rush of pride of her own.

"I don't doubt it," Edmure said.

"How is Father?" her mother asked.

Edmure's smile faded. "Growing weaker. He'll be pleased to see you, though."

Catelyn nodded. "Have you written to Lysa?"

"I wrote to her. I didn't get a response."

For the best, probably, Arya thought.

"Take me to see him," her mother directed one of the servants.

"Are you certain, Lady Stark?" the servant asked. "You wouldn't like to settle in first?"

"No. I would like to see my father." The servant nodded, and Catelyn turned to another. "Please show Arya to her room."

Arya followed the servant down the hallways of Riverrun, thinking about how her mother had walked down these hallways when she was her age. What had she been like then, Arya wondered? She would ask her grandfather, when she went in to see him. When she was shown to her room, she put the chest carrying her things down. She could unpack later; right now she would explore the castle.

Her uncle was in the courtyard when she got there. "Hello, Uncle," she said politely. He looked so different than the last time she had seen him. So much younger. He hadn't yet spent years in a dungeon. Hadn't yet gotten married at the Red Wedding. And hopefully he never would.

"I have to ask," he said. "How did you get my sister to let you train with a sword?"

"I asked Robb. He's Lord of Winterfell, what was she going to do, say no?"

"Yes."

"Well, she wanted to, but... I convinced her it was important. I want to protect my family."

"That's not your job."

"Why? Because I'm a girl?"

"Because you're a child. Your parents are meant to look after you, and your family."

"But they won't be here forever."

He looked down at the ground, and she realized he was thinking of his own father, lying ill and dying. Perhaps she should have thought through her words more. Tact had never been her strong suit.

"Want to see how good with a sword I am?" she asked.

He looked up at her and raised his eyebrows. "Are you challenging me to a fight?"

"I just need to run and get my sword."

"If I fight you, your mother will kill me."

"You're assuming you'll win."

He looked amused at that. "Alright. Get your sword, then."

So she did, and when she returned her uncle had one as well. She raised her sword, and he raised his, and they met with the clang of metal on metal. As she danced around him, Arya could tell she was going to win in a minute. She did, holding her sword to him as his lay on the ground beside him.

"Impressive," he said.

"Thank you."

That evening, when her mother entered the hall for supper, Arya could hardly contain herself. "I beat my uncle in a sword fight."

"Did you now?" her mother asked, exchanging a look with her uncle.

"She did. Fairly so."

"And whose idea was this fight?"

"Mine," Arya said quickly.

"Well, congratulations, then." She looked concerned. Arya didn't know if it was about the fight, or about her grandfather, or both, but she didn't like to see her mother upset.

Sansa

Sansa was growing more frustrated by the day. It had been two weeks since she had been given the information about the potential poisoning of Loras Tyrell's last squire, and she had learned nothing new. She had even tried to ask Ser Loras, but he had waved the question away, saying it was all just an accident, that nobody could possibly want to hurt his squire. Olenna Tyrell wasn't in the capital, so if she had done it, it had been through somebody else. She had allied with Littlefinger before, to kill Joffrey, so it was possible. But that seemed almost too easy. And there were too many people with differing political motivations in the capital to make much sense of anything. She had spoken to her father, who had said that perhaps the Lannisters could be behind it. He really hated the Lannisters, which made her feel more connected to him than ever before.

She was distracted from her musings about the Tyrells when her father summoned her to his room. When she entered, he was reading a large book. "Hello," she said as she walked in.

He looked up. "Sansa. You wanted to help, so I am asking you for your help. Supposedly, this book was the last thing Lord Arryn was reading before he died. Do you spot anything in it?"

She walked over and looked over his shoulder at the text. It described the genealogy of the Baratheons. As she read the words on the page, she understood what was happening. This was the moment her father learned the truth about the king's children-or rather, not the king's children. It had moved faster than she had expected, perhaps even faster than before, she wasn't quite sure. This was it. What he did after this realization would seal their family's fate. "A lot of black hair," she said as she read the page. There was no point trying to stall him. He had figured it out before, he was only asking her to confirm his suspicions. "That's funny. None of the king's children have black hair."

"Yes, I noticed that, too. You can't tell anyone this, Sansa," he said, very seriously, "But I don't believe they are the king's children."

She feigned surprise. "Then whose?"

He paused for a moment. "Jaime Lannister's."

"Are you certain, Father? You're not just saying that because you don't like Jaime Lannister?"

He chuckled slightly at that. "It's true, I don't. But this explains what Jon knew. Supposedly his last words were "the seed is strong." The Baratheon seed, that is. And it explains why your Aunt Lysa would say it was the Lannisters who killed her husband, rather than just the queen. It was both of them, together."

Actually, it was Aunt Lysa and Littlefinger, together. "Then you must go to the king," she said. "Immediately."

He shook his head, and Sansa groaned internally. "I can't. He'll kill the children, they're innocent. I'll talk to the queen. Tell her to leave first."

"She won't," Sansa said urgently. "As soon as she knows you know, she'll get rid of you just like she did Lord Arryn."

"But if I don't go to her, then I put the children in danger. I will not do that."

And what about your children? Sansa wanted to scream. But all she said was, "I have an idea for that. You go to the king, and I'll ensure the safety of the children."

"How?"

"I'm going to go to Lord Tyrion. He'll be able to get Cersei and the children out of King's Landing. I'll go right now, and you'll go find the king. Talk about something else for thirty minutes. Something that'll keep him distracted. Like..."

"Daenerys Targaryen," her father said. "That'll do it, I think."

Sansa nodded. "Right. That thirty minutes should be enough time for Lord Tyrion to get Cersei and the children out of the city, or at least far enough away that King Robert can't find them."

"That's very risky, Sansa."

"I would rather risk them than you," she said plainly.

He frowned at that, but said, "Very well. Go to Lord Tyrion, then."

She walked out of the room, fear striking through her. This had to be done perfectly. If she made the slightest of mistakes, it was over for her family. She had a servant take her to Lord Tyrion's chamber and knocked on the door.

He opened with a frown. "Lady Sansa?"

"May I come in?"

He let her in, still frowning. "What brings you here?"

"Lord Tyrion," she said, "I'm going to tell you something, something you need to know, but first, you have to swear that after I do so you will take no action to harm me or any member of my family."

"Why do you fear I would?"

"Just swear it to me."

"Very well." He looked concerned. "I swear, by the old gods and the new, that I shall take no action to harm you or any member of your family."

She nodded, then took a deep breath. "Your brother and sister are having an affair." That really hadn't been the best way to say it. Oh well.

"What?" He looked at her, mouth agape.

"The queen's children are not King Robert's. They're Ser Jaime's."

"That's a preposterous accusation-"

"It's the truth, and it's the truth Jon Arryn died for. And I told my father he was not going to die for it too, so he's going to the king right now. I'm only here because we wish no harm on the children, and I am telling you so that you can convince the queen and her children to leave the city before the king learns the truth. You have a little under half an hour."

Lord Tyrion blinked at her several times. "My sister hates me. She'll never listen to me."

"Won't she? Not even to save her children?"

"If I tell her your father is telling the king, he'll be dead by morning."

"Don't mention my father. Just say the king found out."

"I-" He frowned. "Does your father really trust me?"

"Not in the slightest. This was my idea."

"I'll go to Cersei," he said. "I hope your plan works."

"As do I."

Lord Tyrion rushed out of the room, and Sansa thought about what she had just done. She had knowingly risked the lives of two innocent children in order to save her own family. But she didn't have time for the moral semantics of it all. In just over twenty minutes, the world was going to change completely, far outside of any landscape she or Arya knew how to navigate. Everything was uncertain, now, and everything in dangerous motion.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Arya

Arya smiled when she was told that she had a raven from Jon at Castle Black, but that happiness didn't last long. As soon as she opened it, her heart sank. As she had feared, they couldn't save everybody. Uncle Benjen had disappeared beyond the wall, just as he had before. She walked into her mother's room, realizing that she had to be the one to tell her.

"What is it?" her mother asked when she walked in. "Who's the letter from?"

"Jon," she replied, and she didn't miss the slight change in her mother's eyes. "It's... it's Uncle Benjen. He went on a ranging beyond the wall, and his horse returned without him."

There was a moment of silence, and her mother looked at the ground for a moment, then she stood up. "I have to go to King's Landing."

"What?" That had not been the reaction Arya was expecting.

"I have to see your father."

"Mother, you can't! Tywin Lannister could come riding through here any second."

"And Edmure will command the Tully army, as his his duty. Mine is to be with your father. As is yours, unless you'd rather stay here."

"I-it's too dangerous! You can't walk into that snake pit!"

"So it's not too dangerous for you to learn sword fighting, but it's too dangerous for me to visit the capital?"

"Yes. The capital is far more dangerous than any swordfight. And Sansa's got enough to deal with already."

"What do you mean, Sansa's got enough to deal with? Sansa is just a girl!"

Arya looked up, into her mother's eyes, and finally decided that she had to do it. Or maybe she just wanted to. "No, she isn't. Nor am I."

"What do you mean?" She sat back down, and Arya sat beside her.

"I can only tell you if you swear not to tell anyone. Not even Father."

"Arya-"

"Swear it."

"I swear it." She almost looked afraid.

Arya nodded. "I was sailing my ship and I found a device that lets people travel back in time to an earlier moment in their life and relive it. I brought it home to Sansa and we used it, and since the day the king arrived in Winterfell we've been... these older versions of ourselves, in the bodies of children."

Catelyn looked shocked and disturbed. "What strange magic was this?"

"I don't know. We took a chance."

"On unknown magic? Why would you do such a thing?"

"Because the past was awful enough that we thought it was worth changing."

She looked into her mother's eyes, and saw horror reflected back at her. "What happened? What happened to you?"

"Well... I went to King's Landing the first time. And Sansa didn't help Father when he learned the truth about Cersei's children, and Cersei killed the king, and I was there when King Joffrey cut off his head."

The look of anguish on her mother's face made her think that perhaps she had taken the wrong path in telling her. Maybe she should have just let her go to the capital. But keeping the secret from her had felt so wrong, like a betrayal of the bond that they had finally been starting to build, that Arya had been too immature and arrogant to let form before. "They killed your father?"

Arya nodded. "And that was only where it started. So many awful things happened to our family. And I-I learned how to be a killer, Mother, that's why I was afraid that you would be disappointed in me, because I killed the people who wronged our family but I-I liked it. I liked killing them. And I didn't like that I liked it but-" She was talking too fast now, and tears were starting to form in her eyes. "I lost sight of who I was, for a bit. And even now, I still want them dead. I'm still a killer."

Her mother looked a bit disturbed at her admission, but then she looked into her eyes. "As I said, Arya, you will always be my daughter, and I will always accept you. And you may have killed people, but you aren't a killer. You said you killed the people who wronged our family. And you took a chance on dangerous and unknown magic to save our family. You're not a killer, you're a Stark of Winterfell, and you fight for your family as any true family member would do. If you lost sight of who you were for a bit, that's alright, because you remember now. You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

It was like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders, to hear her mother say those words. She didn't quite know if she could believe it, if she could believe that she wasn't a killer at heart, but just to know that her mother thought so meant everything. "I hope you're right," she said.

"Why didn't you go to King's Landing, if you came back to protect your father?"

"We didn't just come back for him. Sansa went to protect Father, but I had to protect Robb. And you."

"Did I... did I die too?" her mother asked, and Arya felt a chill run through her. That was further into the future than she had even dared to tell Robb about. She nodded silently.

"Why don't you want me to go to the capital, if the threat of Cersei and her children is over?" her mother asked, evidently trying to change the subject.

"There's still bad people there. Like Littlefinger, and he's in love with you."

She rolled her eyes. "Littlefinger? He's been in love with me since I was a girl, are you afraid I'll suddenly reciprocate the feelings?"

"No. But last time he betrayed Father and got him killed, so he could try to be with you. And when you turned him down, and then after you died-he fell in love with Sansa."

The look of anger and disgust on her mother's face made her feel better about slicing Littlefinger's throat with her dagger. "And Sansa decided to go to the capital anyway?"

"No one's better at politics than Sansa. She survived as a hostage in the capital for years, and she out-maneuvered Littlefinger. She won Winterfell back when it was taken, she got the Knights of the Vale to ride north for her." Probably better to leave out any mention of Jon, Arya figured.

"Taken? Who took Winterfell?"

"It's a long story."

"Tell me."

"I don't think it's a good idea, I barely told Robb anything and I don't think you want to know too much either... it isn't very pleasant."

"Most things aren't. Tell me who took Winterfell."

Arya sighed. "Well, first it was Theon... he went into Bran's room and talked him into yielding the castle by promising nobody would die, but then he killed Ser Rodrik anyway."

"Theon betrayed us?" There was anger in her mother's voice, but she didn't sound too surprised.

Arya nodded. "And then the Boltons. They made a deal with Tywin Lannister."

"Not surprising," her mother said. "The Boltons have always been eager for any chance to turn on House Stark. But Sansa won it back? What about Robb and Bran and Rickon?"

"It's a long story," Arya said again. "It doesn't matter. Maybe you were right, you should go to the capital."

"What, without you?"

"Someone needs to be here to stop the Lannisters, and they took Riverrun last time."

"What?" She looked frightened now. "They took Riverrun?"

"Uncle Edmure couldn't stop them, Robb had to come and help him. But Robb already promised me he'd stay in Winterfell this time. He can't go to war, that's what leaves Theon free to take Winterfell." And a lot of other terrible things that I can't tell you.

"Then I'll stay here," her mother said. "If Robb can't help my brother then I will. Nobody's taking this castle."

Despite everything, Arya couldn't help but smile at that. Maybe she did take after her mother, after all.

Sansa

When Jory told her about the letter from Jon, about Uncle Benjen, Sansa felt somewhat defeated. She hadn't really thought that they could save him, but she had hoped for it. Had hoped they could save everyone. Of course, assuming things went similarly to before, he wasn't quite dead, but still. She had saved her father, for now, but the possibility of him still dying, of the grand scheme of things going the same way, was haunting her. The king's thirst for blood would get them all in trouble, especially if he went to war with Tywin Lannister. Father had convinced him not to seek out the children for death, but only by reminding him that he could now look for a new bride who wasn't as hateful as Cersei. That excitement would only last so long, and the king hated anyone who insulted him. Or anybody with the last name Targaryen. Sansa hoped Arya had gotten her hidden message: Don't tell anybody about Jon's true identity. She had wondered why Father had let the realm believe Jon was his bastard all his life, had let Mother hate him, but now she understood. Robert would kill him for sure if he knew, and might even kill Father for keeping the secret.

She walked to Father's room and knocked on the door. "Who's there?" he asked.

"It's Sansa."

"Oh. Come in."

She pushed open the door to find him sitting on his bed and staring at the letter Jon had sent. He looked up at her with tears in his eyes. "What is it?"

"I-I just wanted to say that I'm sorry, about Uncle Benjen," she said, her words starting to falter. She had never seen her father cry before. As a child, she had never fully understood why he didn't talk about his family much, but now she did. To lose his father and brother the way he had, and then his sister... she understood that now. Now that she had lost him, and Mother, and Robb, and Rickon. And he would never have the chance to go back in time and save them all. And Uncle Benjen was the last of his siblings, now presumed dead. She had always been so inspired by her father as a great man, a great hero, that she hadn't thought of him as a person, being haunted by his past. Not until she became haunted by her own. She saw him differently now than she had before, saw his flaws and his secrets, but rather than lowering her opinion of him they made her feel closer to him, strange as that seemed.

He smiled slightly, but it looked forced. "There's nothing to be sorry for. He might still be alive." He didn't sound much like he believed it.

She sat down beside him. "He might," she agreed.

He put his arm around her shoulders. "Forget the Wall for a moment. What's going on with you?"

"Doing some investigating," she replied. "There's so many questions."

"You don't have to find the answers to them all."

"Somebody does."

He smiled again, and this time it seemed like a real smile. "You're so much like your mother, you know."

Chapter Text

Sansa

Sansa was slightly hesitant when she walked into court. The king had been in a terrible temper the last couple of weeks, and her father said he might change his mind about Cersei's children at any moment. He had turned his anger fully to Daenerys Targeryen, and the fights between the king and her father continued. Sansa gave no input. She had no idea what to do about Daenerys. She was mad, dangerous, violent, but they also never could have won the war against the dead without her. Dragon fire had held off the dead long enough for Arya to strike her killing blow. Somehow, she needed to come to Westeros, then, but while King Robert lived that was very complicated.

Meanwhile, the king was searching for a new bride, and when Sansa entered the throne room she saw Margaery Tyrell standing in the center of court. Of course she would try to become queen, and she probably would. She was beautiful and far, far more clever than King Robert. Loras Tyrell stood behind his sister, and Bran beside him. He was slightly more disciplined since becoming a squire, but overall he still had the same carefree spirit, and that fact made Sansa smile every time she saw him. He'd never have to go beyond the wall, never have to lose everything that had made him Bran.

Varys walked up beside her, watching the proceedings. "Hello, Lord Varys," she greeted him.

"Hello. I've been wondering if you've found anything about that information I gave you?"

"I'm fairly confident Ser Loras himself had nothing to do with it," she replied. "But it was somebody allied with the Tyrells. I thought perhaps it was Lord Renly, but I don't know. He doesn't seem to have the disposition of a murderer. But people are hardly ever as they seem."

"Indeed," Varys replied. "You're not certainly not what you appear to be. A naive, innocent young girl. But you're more than that, aren't you?"

"Yes. I am."

"That's good. The innocent don't make it very far here."

"My brother is an innocent."

"Yes. You'll want to keep a close eye on him."

A chill ran through Sansa. "I will be. On my father as well."

"Yes, he does seem to be getting on the king's bad side, doesn't he?"

"He's arguing to spare an innocent life."

"Yes. But the king doesn't see it that way."

"How do you see it?"

"It doesn't really matter, does it? Once the king's had his heart set on something..."

"If anybody can talk him out of it, it's my father."

"If anybody can."

"Do you think he'll marry Lady Margaery?"

"Why wouldn't he? She's young, beautiful, likely fertile, and offering herself to him. Of course, so are many others, but nobody else from as great a house. The Martells certainly aren't offering their princess, and the Greyjoys are the only other great house with a daughter of marrying age. I don't see them making an offer either."

"Well, I would say she's several steps up from Cersei."

"Yes." Varys turned to face her. "I hear you saved the queen and her children."

"I don't care about the queen. But her children are innocent of her crimes."

"Yes. Children are not responsible for the actions of their parents."

"And neither is Daenerys Targaryen." Guilty of her own crimes, but not of her father's.

"No, she isn't," Varys agreed. "Well, good day, Lady Sansa."

"Good day, Lord Varys."

Arya

"Lord Tywin's troops are marching," said Edmure. "Our scouts were quite clear. They've reached the Riverlands. It's a very small force, though, if they're going after Lord Stark they don't really have enough men."

"Tywin Lannister knows what he's doing," Catelyn said. "If he thinks he has enough men, then he does."

Arya listened to the conversation and frowned. "Perhaps he thinks he can convince the Riverlords to fight with him."

"If he thinks that he's an idiot," said Edmure. "And Tywin Lannister is no idiot."

"Does he have enough troops to take Riverrun?" her mother asked.

"No." Edmure frowned. "Are you certain you want Arya here for this?"

Her mother nodded. "Yes. She's... wise beyond her years." Arya smiled.

"Very well. We're going to send our troops out to meet them. It's the best way to ensure they can't sneak past us."

"Not all the troops?" Arya asked. "Some have to hold the castle." If the castle was taken, Robb would come, and that couldn't happen. He couldn't leave Winterfell.

"Of course not all the troops," said Edmure. "Do you think me an idiot?"

"No."

When the plans had been discussed further, she followed her mother out of the room. "Something is off," she said. "I can feel it."

"I feel it too," her mother replied. "Lord Tywin's planning something."

"He's a clever man," said Arya. "Last time around, when I was in disguise, I served as his cup-bearer."

Her mother turned to her in shock. "Disguise? When-how?"

"In Harrenhal. I was on my way back north after Father-after his execution. A Night's Watch recruiter disguised me as a boy and was going to drop me off back at Winterfell. But then Gold Cloaks killed him and took us to Harrenhal as prisoners. Lord Tywin realized I was a girl and made me his servant."

"What was he like?"

"Other than the fact he was actively plotting war against Robb? He was obsessed with the idea of legacy. Kept talking about how important it was, how his father was a failure, and he compared me to Cersei." She shuddered at that.

"You're nothing like Cersei Lannister."

"Thank you."

"How did you escape?"

"A Faceless Man from Braavos helped me."

"Your story sounds fascinating. I'd love to hear it all."

"I don't think you would." She looked down at her feet. Would her mother like to hear about how she had been at the Twins, listening to her and Robb being killed inside? She doubted that very much.

"Well, maybe some other time."

"Maybe."

Robb

Robb blinked the sleep out of his eyes. What was he needed for in the middle of the night? He headed into the room to his advisors waiting for him. "What is it?"

"We've received word that unknown troops have landed ships in the Stony Shore. About a thousand men."

Robb frowned. "Ironborn?"

"They don't appear to be. The rumor is they're Lannister soldiers."

"Lannister soliders? They've never come this far north before!" But then, he thought, a Stark had never revealed a Lannister queen guilty of adultery and incest before. That was the secret Arya had told him about, it must have been, and his father and Sansa had revealed that secret. He had thought they might go after his father, maybe even attack Riverrun. But sending troops north? "And a thousand Lannister men can't attack Winterfell."

"I don't think they're here to attack Winterfell."

"Then what-" He stopped himself. "They're here to attack our bannermen. Our commonfolk. Here to lure our troops out of Winterfell."

"Yes, my lord. And it seems a different army may be headed for Winterfell."

"What army?"

"The Bolton army, my lord."

Robb's face darkened. The Boltons had long been enemies of the Starks, but they had had relative peace lately... what could Tywin Lannister have promised to get them to come to Winterfell? Even if they believed they could take the castle, and kill Robb and Rickon, they'd be killed in retaliation... but then, his father and Bran and Sansa were in King's Landing, and surely Tywin Lannister had some allies there still. And Arya and his mother were at Riverrun, and he knew Lord Tywin had troops in the Riverlands because he had sent some of his own to defend them. He could be launching a triple attack, trying to wipe out all the Starks at once. Arya had been right. Splitting up was a bad idea. "Winterfell is strongly built, we can defend it with a small number of men. We'll keep two thousand here and send the rest to the Stony Shore to cut off the Lannister troops and stop them from attacking people."

"Do we want to call the banners, my lord? March south against the Lannisters?"

He remembered his promise to Arya. Unless I say it's alright, no matter what, do not leave Winterfell. And he certainly couldn't, not with only Rickon here. Not with Boltons marching to the castle. He could send his bannermen south without him, but that seemed both like being a bad lord and against the spirit of what he had promised Arya. He may have just said he would not physically leave the castle, but she had specifically warned him against going to war. He hadn't asked, but he suspected the war had ended badly, before, that Tywin Lannister had beaten him. And if Tywin Lannister could beat him then why risk the Northern defenses? He could trust his uncle to hold Riverrun, couldn't he? Could trust Arya to help him? Could trust Sansa to keep their father and Bran safe? It was altogether too much trust, but his sisters had knowledge of the future. They knew more than he possibly could, and he trusted them. "No," he said. "Our bannermen will hold the North."

"Very well, my lord."

But things were changing now. The war had come, as Arya had told him it would, and it was clearly in very different circumstances. He didn't know what to predict, but maybe she did. And maybe she would tell them that he should send troops south. There was only one way to know. When he was back in his chambers her pulled out a scroll and penned a letter to Arya.

Chapter Text

Arya

Her mother was pacing through the war room, her face white as a sheet. Arya didn't know what to say. How had she not seen this coming? Tywin had used Robb's play from the Battle of Whispering Wood; he had distracted them with the troops in the Riverlands so they wouldn't notice him sending men up north. The bulk of his army remained at Casterly Rock, and he didn't even need to use them; he had the Bolton army on his side. And that she certainly should have known was coming. Was Roose Bolton going to kill Robb again? If he did, this time it was her fault for not thinking to warn Robb about them. She had tried too hard to protect him from the truth, when really the only way to protect him was to give him the truth. The Bolton army would never be able to take Winterfell, not even with troops deployed trying to clean up the Lannister attack on the Stony Shore. But by laying siege to the castle, which no doubt they were going to do, they left Robb and his men tied up in the North, unable to leave it. And that, too, was her doing. She had told Robb to remain in Winterfell, so he had. He had written her asking what to do, but she didn't know. She wasn't a military expert, damn it. Just an assassin. If she wanted to she could probably head to the Westerlands right now and kill Tywin Lannister... but that wouldn't stop the men he'd already sent. And it wouldn't stop the Boltons. And she couldn't get north to help Robb because the Lannister men in the Riverlands were blocking off the Neck.

"We can sail troops up to aid Robb," said Edmure, looking at a map.

"How many can we spare and keep the Riverlands secure?" her mother asked.

"That depends. Is Tywin Lannister going to come for us at all, or was the whole thing a ruse?"

"It's Robb he wants," said Arya. "I was a fool not to see it. When Father told the king about Cersei's children, he destroyed Lord Tywin's legacy. So what he wants is to destroy Father's legacy. And that's Robb."

"But he's destroyed whatever legacy he had left," her mother said. "As soon as the king learns of this he's going to demand Lord Tywin hand over his grandchildren. They'll be dead."

"They're illegitimate," said Arya. "They can't help him with his legacy anyway. But now that Ser Jaime's no longer Kingsgaurd, Lord Tywin can marry him to somebody. He can inherit Casterly Rock."

"Nobody's going to marry the Kingslayer now," said Edmure. "Not now they know of his... perversion."

"He's rich and handsome," said Arya. "Of course somebody would marry him."

"He's still an oathbreaker who slept with his sister and killed his king," said Edmure.

"Of all the things to fault Jaime Lannister for, and there are many, killing Aerys Targaryen isn't one of them," Arya said. She had learned, from Brienne, why Ser Jaime had slain the Mad King. She still hated him, for attacking her father, for pushing Bran out the window, but that, at least, she would not hold against him. She would have done the same.

"Your father disagrees," her mother said.

"Because it wasn't an honorable kill," said Arya. "But it was a necessary one. One that saved lives. And he deserved to die. Some people just do. Like Tywin Lannister, I think."

"Far easier said than done," said Edmure.

They were interrupted by a servant. "A message for you, Lady Stark."

Her mother took the scroll, which was marked with a red wax seal. "The Lannisters?" asked Arya, bewildered.

She nodded and opened the scroll, staring at it for a long moment. Finally she said, "Lord Tywin has invited me to Casterly Rock to negotiate."

Sansa

Sansa walked into her father's room in something of a daze. This was completely uncharted territory. The war was being fought in the North, for Winterfell. That had never happened before, and the outcome was completely unclear to her. The Lannisters were certainly outnumbered, but Tywin Lannister would never make a play like that unless he believed he could win. "You wanted to see me, Father?" she said when she entered the room.

"Yes." He took a deep breath. "I'm sending you and Bran to Riverrun."

"What?" A chill ran through her. "You can't do that."

"I am your father, I will do what I see fit." He never took that tone with her. He was serious. "This city's not safe. It never was, but it's ever more dangerous now. Tywin Lannister has declared war on our family. Men he's bought off march to try and lay siege to our home, and threaten Robb and Rickon's lives. Surely he has allies still in the capital, and I won't let him harm you or Bran. You'll be safe in your grandfather's castle, or at least as safe as you can be."

"Maybe," said Sansa. "But you won't be safe here alone."

"I'm not as important as you or your brother," he said plainly. "My life isn't as important as yours."

"Maybe not to you." She had to think quickly. "You're right about sending Bran away. It'll keep him safe and it will get him out of the political games. But you need to keep me here."

"Sansa-"

"I know you think that I need your protection. But you need mine, too. You're the one who always says that we need to stick together. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Winter is coming, Father, you know that, and you can't be here all on your own."

He gave her a long, sad look. "If anything were to happen to you, I would never forgive myself."

"And if I left, and something happened to you?"

He stared at her for another moment, then, quietly, he nodded.

"I'm not going!" Bran exclaimed.

"You can't disobey Father."

"I don't want to leave! Where else am I going to get to squire for a knight?"

"I'm sure Uncle Edmure can find a knight at Riverrun who would be willing to let you squire for him."

"But it wouldn't be the same."

"Bran, it isn't safe in King's Landing. Not while Tywin Lannister plots against us."

"Robb will defeat the Lannisters and all their allies."

"Perhaps," said Sansa, hoping that Bran was right. "But if they want to destroy us, then we have to remove every possible piece from their board."

"You're staying."

"I'm not as politically dangerous to the Lannisters," she replied. Or so they thought. "And I know how to play the game."

"I can learn how to. I want to help our family."

"If you want to help our family, then get to where it's safe. With Mother and Arya."

He pouted, but stopped arguing, and Sansa sighed. He reminded her of herself, desperate to stay in the capital. And she felt bad for him. But she couldn't let him stay here, in the viper's nest. The king had ordered Lord Tywin turn over Cersei, Jaime, and her children to face justice, and he wasn't going to do it. Which meant the Lannisters were going to be in open rebellion against the crown. Things were far too dangerous, she couldn't let her sweet, innocent brother be here in the middle of it. The thought of Robb and Rickon trapped in the North and fighting was already enough to make her sick. It would be weeks before any army could sail up to help them, and they wouldn't be safe until then.

When Bran started to pack his things, Sansa went to head back to her room, and came across Margaery Tyrell. "Lady Margaery," she said, curtsying.

"Lady Sansa."

"Has a date been set for your marriage to the king?"

"Three weeks' time. He hopes that will be long enough to stop the Lannisters and the Boltons in their tracks."

"I hope so too," Sansa said, feigning a smile.

She watched Margaery as she walked down the hallway. She was one of the best players of the game Sansa had known. And now, at least nominally, an ally. But Sansa didn't trust her. She didn't trust anyone, but especially not people she knew were always plotting. She was going to have to keep a close eye on her. Ideally by befriending her.

Chapter Text

Arya

"It's a trap," Arya said. "Lord Tywin's letter. It has to be."

"I know," her mother said. "He knows I have no power to give him anything he wants. He'd take me prisoner the moment I arrived. Does he really think I'm that stupid?"

"He's desperate," said Edmure. "That's a good sign."

"He's going to lose in the North, even if somehow they managed to get to Winterfell the other houses would prevent them from doing anything. The whole thing is just a ruse to try and... to try and get me to go to Casterly Rock."

"What would taking you prisoner accomplish?" Arya asked. "What would he trade you for? He has no interests in the North, so he would want something from Father."

"Probably a pardon for his children," her mother said. "Your father would ask the king, if I was held prisoner, but Lord Tywin has to know the king would never agree to that."

"It doesn't matter anyway," said Edmure. "You're not going to go to see him, the issue in the North will be resolved quickly, the Boltons will be eliminated... what could he have possibly promised them that would make them this stupid?"

"Power," said Catelyn. "The Boltons have tried to overthrow the Starks time and time again for centuries. This time they had the backing of the most powerful man in Westeros. And he still is. Even with his children in danger, even with his daughter no longer the queen, he still has enough money and support to do a lot of damage."

"But not in the North," said Arya.

The meeting was adjourned, and Arya followed her mother back to her chambers. "Mother... I think you should go."

Her mother looked sharply at her. "You think I should walk right into a trap?"

"No. I think you should set one of your own."

"And how, exactly, would I do that?"

"Take a secret weapon with you."

"What secret weapon?"

"Me."

She looked stunned for a moment, then said, "Arya, you're just a girl."

"I'm not, and you know that. I can fight. I'm good at it. I can kill. If you take me with you to see Tywin Lannister, maybe I could take him out."

"That's a very dangerous plan."

"He'll have men with him, it's true. But Nymeria can take care of that. And I can get Lord Tywin. He'll never expect it."

"I don't know..."

"He may not be able to take the North, but he'll be a thorn in our side forever. We have a chance to end it. Let me try."

Catelyn took a deep breath and looked into her daughter's eyes. "Alright."

Sansa

Sansa put on her best smile as she walked up to Renly Baratheon. "Lord Renly," she said with a smile.

"Lady Sansa. I was sorry to see your brother leave the capital, he's a very energetic young man."

"He is," Sansa agreed. "He was pleased to squire for Ser Loras, as well. What a coincidence that his previous squire died just after we arrived, is it not?"

"Indeed," said Renly. "Poor boy. Loras thought maybe his grandmother was somehow behind it. What a silly notion. What would she stand to gain?"

Sansa took note of that. Olenna Tyrell. She had thought it too obvious, but maybe it wasn't. She had been trying to ensure an alliance between the Tyrells and the Starks, but for what? An alliance between the North and the Reach, that spanned the whole country. Perhaps she was planning another rebellion. But for now, at least, Margaery was going to be queen, and if they had been planning to overthrow Robert they wouldn't anymore. She thought about Daenerys, across the Narrow Sea. What was she doing now? She had probably hatched her dragons by this point. There were so many plots in motion, all over the world, and there was no way she and Arya could deal with them alone. She didn't know if Arya had told anyone the truth, but she was going to have to tell her father. She just needed to wait for the right moment to do so. And in the meantime, she had to increase their political standing as much as she could.

"Lord Renly," she said, "Whose idea was it to have Bran squire for Loras?"

"Oh, it was mine," Renly said. "I thought it would be good for House Tyrell and House Stark to ally. Of course, at the time I also thought House Stark and House Baratheon might be allied by marriage. Now we know Joffrey's not even a Baratheon."

"True. But House Stark and House Baratheon could still ally by marriage."

"In what way?"

She looked at him with her eyebrows raised.

"You're not suggesting-"

"My lord, it would be improper of me to suggest anything."

"But you're implying-"

"Really, Lord Renly, I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Right. Well, good day, Lady Sansa."

"Good day to you as well."

Smiling to herself, she walked away. Then she found Varys. "Lord Varys."

"Lady Sansa."

"Apparently Loras suspects his grandmother of the poisoning."

"Yes, it does seem the most logical option, doesn't it? She knew Renly would suggest Loras choose Bran as his squire, she could ally your houses without having to surrender one of her marriageable grandchildren."

"Then who does she marry Loras to?"

"I'm sure she has her plans."

"I wonder how much Margaery knows."

"I imagine we will learn in time. Or perhaps you will."

She smiled. "Perhaps I will."

Bran

Bran sighed as he got off his horse to make camp for the third night in a row. He hated that he'd been forced to leave the capital, and he hated traveling in disguise on the Kingsroad. And off it, at times, so they wouldn't be seen. Was Tywin Lannister really going to send men to try and kill him? It seemed ridiculous, if he so much as lay a finger on Bran, the king would have his head. He couldn't really be trying to take Winterfell, the whole thing was a trick of some kind, Bran didn't know too much about the Lannisters, but he knew they were good at tricks.

When the camp had been made, he sat with the two men by the fire and ate his soup. He was getting very tired of soup. Then he went into the tent and went to bed, his wolf curling up beside him.

This isn't right, Brandon, said the voice.

What do you mean?

You know this isn't right. This isn't how it's meant to be. Someone has meddled with time.

Who are you? What are you talking about?

Winter is coming, and you must be prepared for it. You must fix what has gone wrong.

What's gone wrong? What do you mean?

An image flashed through his head. It was his father, in front of a crowd. He was kneeling down, and then... and then a sword came down and Bran's eyes snapped open.

He was sweating, he realized, and his wolf was beside him, watching him with a curious expression. "Summer," said Bran, for suddenly he knew the name he had not been able to pick. How had it come to him? What was that voice? What was that image, that image it had shown him? Was it real? The future? Had it already happened and he just didn't know? No, it couldn't have. It couldn't be real, he would know if it was. He shook under the covers as he tried to go back to sleep, but the voice still haunted him.

Winter is coming...

Chapter Text

Arya

Arya hung Needle from the strap at her waist and couldn't help but give a little bit of a smile. She was finally going to be taken seriously. But she would be foolish, extremely foolish, not to be afraid. There was a very good chance she could get herself killed trying to take down Lord Tywin; all she had was the element of surprise, and not for long. But she would have Nymeria by her side and ten men, and they had a plan. Her mother would pretend to hear Lord Tywin out, and while they talked, Arya would sneak up behind him and take him out.

"I don't understand," said Edmure. "You know it's a trap. You said so yourself. Why are you going?"

"Because," her mother said. "We have a plan."

"We? You're involving Arya in this? She's only a girl!"

"A girl who beat you at swordfighting," Arya said with a smirk.

Her mother smiled at her.

"What are you going to do? Duel Tywin Lannister?"

"Of course not," Arya said. "That would be ridiculous."

"Relax, Edmure," her mother said. "We'll be back before you know it. Take care of Bran when he arrives."

"Of course I will, but it's you he's coming for."

"And he can wait a short while."

"You'll be safe, won't you?"

"Of course we will. And remember-"

"I know. Don't tell Bran where you're going."

She nodded and gave her brother a hug, then turned to Arya. "Are you ready?"

Arya nodded. "Let's go get those Lannisters."

As they rode out of the gates of Riverrun, Arya asked, "Do you think there's any chance I could get Cersei too?"

"Don't push it. You'll be very lucky if this plan even works, I doubt it more and more by the minute."

"What other alternatives do we have?"

"Ignore him, and Robb will beat his troops back in a matter of days. Their forces have already started to scatter around the land, picking off farms."

"And how many farms and livelihoods will continue to be destroyed? How many Northmen die beating back the Lannisters and Boltons? How long do Father and Sansa remain in danger in the capital? As long as Tywin Lannister lives, he is a threat."

"Did Lord Tywin die, in your original timeline?" her mother asked.

Arya nodded.

"How?"

"His own son shot him with a crossbow."

"Not Jaime?"

"No. Tyrion. His own father, then serving as Hand to King Tommen, sentenced him to death. Jaime helped Tyrion escape, but on the way out he killed his father on the toilet."

Her mother looked shocked. "Not a very dignified way for Tywin Lannister to go."

"No, it wasn't. Then Lord Tyrion fled the country and became advisor to Daenerys Targaryen, because I suppose it was the least Lannister thing he could think to do."

"Daenerys Targaryen? What would she need advisors for?"

"She was trying to conquer Westeros."

There was fear in her mother's eyes, something she didn't often see. "Did she?"

Arya paused. Did she dare answer that question? Now that her mother was in on her secret, she felt that perhaps she should tell her more information. She was very smart, she could probably analyze the information better than Arya herself could. "She conquered it. She only ruled for about a minute though. She'd gotten a bit too much like her father for most people's taste."

"Burning people alive?"

"Half a million of them. She rode her dragon over King's Landing and turned it to ash." Arya gripped the reins tighter. "I was there. In the streets of the city. I watched those people burn. Children, dying. Because they wouldn't love this foreign invader who ruled by fear."

"So who killed her, then?"

"The man she loved. He loved her, too. But he did what he had to do."

"Why so vague, Arya? Who killed Daenerys Targaryen?"

She looked at her mother for a moment, then looked away. "Jon."

Sansa

She entered her father's room with a smile, but he was frowning at her. "What is it, Father?"

"According to Lord Renly, you insinuated that the two of you should be married."

"Oh! I don't know where he could have gotten that idea."

"Spare me the lies, Sansa. What game are you playing?"

"The same game as everybody else. The one we all must play. Political alliances. Houses Stark and Baratheon were meant to be allied through marriage. And if the cards are played correctly, they still can be."

"You can't go making your own marriage alliances. And besides, you're just a girl."

"I'm not just a girl. I've got quite a mind, and none of them know it. They're pawns on my board and I need to pick a pawn to wed."

"You're too young for marriage."

"But not for betrothal. And we need to make strong alliances, Father, to move up in the world. If not Renly, then maybe Loras Tyrell. Or perhaps a Martell, if we really wanted to think outside the box."

"Sansa, don't you want to marry someone you love?"

"Want? When do we get what we want, Father? If you had had the choice of any woman in Westeros, would Mother have been your pick? Would you have been hers? Not then. But your marriage won the Rebellion. And then you fell in love after all."

"And Robert and Cersei did not."

"Cersei is an evil woman."

"That's rather beside the point, isn't it? What if the man you choose isn't a match for you?"

"Then as long as he's kind, and treats me well, I'll have done fairly well for myself. Better than most." After all she had experienced, Sansa had given up on any notion of marrying for love; the best she could hope for was someone who would be kind to her.

Her father sighed. "I do wish you would consult me before making political moves like that."

"I'll try to remember to do that in the future." She smiled. "My next political move is to make sure that I befriend Lady Margaery. Or Queen Margaery, as we are soon to be calling her."

He nodded. "That's a move that seems wise. Good luck."

She nodded and left the room, walking around until she found Margaery in the gardens. "Lady Margaery," she said with a smile.

She turned. "Oh, hello, Lady Sansa. What brings you out here?"

"Oh, I've just been wandering around. It's a bit quiet and lonely since Bran left. I'm the only Stark child left in the capital."

Margaery smiled sympathetically. "That must be difficult. Well, at least there's always the beautiful gardens to enjoy."

"Indeed." Sansa smiled. "Are you excited for your marriage to the king?"

"Who wouldn't be excited to be queen?"

"A fair point. You'll be the most powerful woman in Westeros."

"An opportunity to do good in the world." She smiled, and Sansa smiled back. She was making a good start, but Margaery surely still saw her as a child. Somehow, she would need to change that.

Bran

When they finally got to Riverrun, Bran looked around the castle. It wasn't as exciting as Winterfell, but he was sure he could find something to climb. He greeted his uncle Edmure, who gave him a smile and told him that his mother and Arya would be back from a trip soon. He wondered where they had gone; probably somewhere exciting, he thought with a twinge of jealousy.

He was shown to his room and unpacked, and went down for dinner, Summer sitting beside him. That, at least, was an advantage this place had over the royal court.

"So, how are you liking Riverrun?" his uncle asked.

"It's nice," said Bran. "Will I be able to continue squiring?"

"I'm sure that can be arranged."

When we went to bed that night, he had trouble getting to sleep. But once he did, the voice returned.

You know what you have to do, Brandon.

No I don't. I don't even know who you are.

You will. If you come find me.

But where are you?

You already know that. Or you did. In another life.

He rose suddenly from his body, looking at Riverrun castle down below. He could see all of Westeros laid out below him, could see his father sitting in the small council chamber and Sansa talking to Maergary Tyrell. He flew north, knowing somehow it was right. He passed the road where his mother and Arya traveled, headed towards the west. Towards the Lannisters? He flew over Winterfell, where Robb stood over a map and Rickon played with Shaggydog. And then he went further north still. To the Wall, to the brothers of the Night's Watch, and then beyond it. Jon stood in a snowy landscape with a woman with red hair. But he didn't have time to stop. He kept going north, to the Land of Always Winter, and the voice spoke again.

Winter is coming, Brandon Stark. And you must find me. Fix the timeline, and fulfill your destiny.

And if I don't want to?

It doesn't matter what you want.

Arya

She looked ahead of her. "So that's it? Casterly Rock?"

Her mother nodded. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I killed the Night King," said Arya. "I can handle Tywin Lannister."

They rode on towards the castle, and Arya gripped Needle's hilt. She was going to do this, for her family.

Chapter Text

Arya

"You know the plan?" her mother asked for the hundredth time.

"Yes, Mother. Don't worry."

"Worrying about you is my job."

Arya smiled. "I know."

They rode into the gates of Casterly Rock and were greeted by servants who took their horses to be fed. One of them tried to take Nymeria, and Arya shook her head. "She stays with me."

They were escorted to rooms, and Arya sat by the door, watching through the slit in the frame. Her mother was eventually escorted out of her room by a guard, and she knew that this was her moment. As soon as they were out of sight, Arya slipped out the door, Nymeria by her side. She found the men who had accompanied them and told them it was time, then slipped off alone again, down the corridors to the castle's main hall.

When she reached the room, her mother was standing in front of Tywin Lannister, guards surrounding her closely. Arya stood by the door, waiting for the right moment.

"Lady Stark," he said.

"Lord Lannister."

"I was pleased that you accepted my offer."

"I thought it wise to try and put this feud behind us."

"Yes, quite right. Well, it's unbecoming of a lady to stand for so long. Guards, get her a seat."

The guards started scrambling around the room, and Arya took her chance, running in through the door and crouching behind Lord Tywin.

When her mother sat in the chair they had brought her, she caught Arya's eye.

Lord Tywin shifted slightly in his seat, and Arya held her breath. "Before we begin, Lady Stark, I do have one question."

"Yes?"

"Why were some of your men found to be making their way towards this room?"

"I couldn't say, my lord." Her composure was remarkable; one might not know she was nervous at all. But Arya felt her heart leap into her throat; he was onto them. She had to act quickly.

"It seems they were expecting a fight. And why is that?"

Before her mother could reply, Arya leapt up, aiming her blade at Tywin Lannister's neck.

She couldn't tell if it made an impact or not before the guard's arms were around her. She heard Nymeria growling at the guards, but it was too late. "No, Nymeria," she said. She wouldn't have her wolf die on her account.

His arms squeezed more and more tightly around her, and stars danced in front of her eyes.

Sansa

Sansa put on her best smile when she saw Lady Margaery and her grandmother in the garden. "Hello," she said. "You must be Lady Olenna?"

The Queen of Thorns smiled at Sansa, and she felt a bit of a chill. This woman had used her as a pawn in Joffrey's murder, had set her up to likely die to achieve her ends. "Indeed. And you're Sansa Stark, yes?"

"Yes."

"A pleasure to meet you."

"And you. I assume you've come to the capital for the wedding?"

"That I have."

"An exciting affair."

"Indeed it is. Who would have thought? Robert, getting married again."

"Who would have thought Queen Cersei would do such a thing?"

"It was truly a horrific crime," Sansa said. "I'm glad my father discovered the truth in time to do something about it."

"As is all of Westeros." Especially her and her family, who benefited greatly from this.

"I'm excited for the wedding," Sansa said.

"A royal wedding is an extravagant affair."

"You've been to one before?"

"More than one, in my time."

"You mean the Targaryens?"

"Yes."

Sansa wondered if there was anything she could do with that angle, but then Jory ran up to her. "Lady Sansa! Your father has requested your presence, immediately."

"What is it, Father?" she asked, pushing open the door to his chambers.

"Nothing good." He looked afraid, more afraid than she had ever seen him. It put her on edge.

"Well, you'll have to be a bit more specific than that."

"I received a letter from your uncle Edmure."

"What did it say?"

"It informed me that Bran has arrived safely at Riverrun."

"That's good news, isn't it?"

"Yes, that part is. He also informed me that your mother and sister are no longer in Riverrun."

Sansa didn't like the sound of that, but she kept her face calm. Surely Arya knew what she was doing. "Did it say where they'd gone?"

"Casterly Rock. Apparently Lord Tywin wanted to negotiate."

Sansa felt a chill run through her. "Mother's not stupid enough to fall for that!" And neither was Arya. What was she thinking?

"The letter implied they had some sort of plan. Some way to... well, I don't know. They knew the invitation was a trap, they seemed to think they could get out of it."

Arya was planning to kill Tywin Lannister. That was the only explanation. But why would Mother have agreed to go along with her? There was only one explanation Sansa could see; Arya had told their mother the truth about their journey through time. Arya was a skilled assassin, but could even she pull this off? "You have to ride for Casterly Rock," she said. "You have to take an army."

"I can't declare war on the Lannisters in their home territory."

"If you don't then they'll die!"

"Tywin Lannister is many things, Sansa, but he isn't stupid. If he harms your mother or your sister he knows what it will bring."

"What more could it bring than what he's already done? He's harboring his children and grandchildren, he's attacked the North, if the king gets word of this he'll send an army their way."

"Which is why the king can't get word of any of this. If Lord Tywin is holding them captive, and we march an army to his gates, then he'll kill them. He wants to bargain them. Probably for a pardon for his children."

"Would King Robert pardon the Lannisters for such a grave insult, Father? Even to save Mother and Arya?"

He didn't reply, but she saw the answer on his face.

"What do we do, then?"

"I don't know. But you need to be careful, Sansa. Don't trust anyone."

"Don't worry," she said. "I don't."

Robb

Robb frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

"Our scouts are rarely wrong, my lord."

"But why? Why would the troops just retreat so suddenly?"

"If they'd been ordered to, perhaps. By their lord."

"Why would Tywin Lannister give up?"

"I don't know. But the Lannisters have all gone, and the Boltons are already being beaten back. It appears that Winterfell is safe. The North is safe."

But the North had never been the goal. It had only been the distraction. There was a long game being played, and Robb felt unease creep into him. Something was wrong. Tywin Lannister had gotten what he wanted, somehow. He may not have taken the North, but what had he done to their family?

Arya

She blinked her eyes open, but she was still in darkness. She was sitting against something, though she couldn't tell what. When she tried to move, she felt the hard metal against her wrist, and realized that she was in the dungeon. Glancing around, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she noticed that the cell was fairly large, large enough for two people, certainly. But she was alone.

"Mother?" she called into the darkness, but there was no reply.

Her mother wasn't here, her direwolf wasn't here, her family wasn't here. And the worst part, she thought ruefully, was that she had brought this on herself.

Chapter Text

Catelyn

She glared daggers at the guard as he dragged her into the dining room. They could give her as many nice clothes and fancy dinners as they pleased, it wouldn't make her not their prisoner. But after three days under lock and key in the bedchamber, she was glad she was getting out, because she might get a chance to see Arya.

Alas, when she sat at the table, it was only Lord Tywin. His neck was still bandaged where Arya's blade had cut into it. She only wished it had gone deeper. Arya had been right, this man would be a plague upon their family as long as he continued to draw breath. But he didn't know what she knew. What the future had held for him, what it may yet. That he was to die by the hand of his own son.

"Where is my daughter?" she said immediately.

He did not reply, instead saying only, "Would you like some fresh baked bread?"

"I would like to see my daughter."

"And I would like that as well. In fact, I would like nothing more than for your family to be reunited."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Do you think me so stupid?"

"On the contrary. I think you're quite a clever woman. Which is why I cannot, for the life of me, understand why you would allow your eleven-year-old daughter to go through with an assassination attempt."

She didn't have an argument; she should never have let her go through with it at all, had let the weight of Arya's knowledge of the future blind her to logic. Of course it would never have worked, no matter how many skills Arya had gained during the years she had lived. She had wanted so desperately to make her daughter happy that she had forgotten her better judgement. But she would never make that mistake again. She looked coolly into Lord Tywin's eyes, saying nothing.

"Very well. You don't want to tell me. Well, you need not fear, all my troops have been withdrawn from the North and your precious castle is safe."

"You were never going to take it. You always wanted to lure me here. So what is it you're after?"

"I want the same thing as you, Lady Stark. Peace and happiness for my family."

"It's not my fault your children lost you that chance, nor is it my husband's."

"No, maybe not. But you can give that chance back to my grandchildren."

"King Robert will never pardon your children, nor will he legitimize your grandchildren. Not even for Ned." She knew she spoke the truth; the king was a proud man, and an arrogant one. He wouldn't give that up on her or Arya's behalf.

"I know," said Lord Tywin. "Joffrey and Tommen will be bastards forever, thanks to your husband's actions. But Myrcella? She may be a bastard, but she can still gain a family name."

Catelyn took his meaning, and nodded slightly. "Through marriage. You want to marry her to someone powerful."

"Or someone who will one day be."

She understood now, understood the game he was playing. "You wish me to promise you my son."

"And if you do, no harm will come to your daughter."

The threat struck fear through her, but she kept her voice measured and cool. "So, if I agree to this, to having Robb marry Myrcella, you will leave my family alone? No harm will come to me, my husband or my children?"

"You have my word."

"And I'm to trust the word of Tywin Lannister?"

"Tell me, Lady Stark, do you really have a choice?"

She glared at him, but he was right. This was the only course of action she could take that would save Arya from his wrath. "Fine. Then you have my word. Robb will marry Myrcella."

He smiled, and the sight was horrifying. "Wonderful. I'll tell her the good news."

Arya

When the guards came down to her cell again, they had no food. She frowned. What did they want with her this time? To her great surprise, they entered the cell and unlocked the chains around her wrists. She stood hesitantly and followed them down a long hallway and up some stairs, and felt tears spring to her eyes when she saw her mother waiting for her. "Mother!" She ran into her arms, the fear of the last few days fading into relief. She had thought her actions might have gotten her mother killed.

"Arya. Are you alright?"

She nodded. "What happened?"

"What happened is, we're leaving."

How were they being allowed to leave? Something about that didn't sit right with Arya. What deal had her mother come to with Lord Tywin? She didn't say anything as they walked out of the castle and mounted their horses. She didn't properly breathe until they were riding off. Finally she said, "Where's Nymeria?"

Her mother shook her head. "We don't know. She ran off. The guards tried to take her down, but she took three of them down on the way out."

Arya was glad her wolf had lived, but she wished she hadn't had to go. "What happened, Mother?" 

"I gave Lord Tywin what he wanted."

"Which was?"

"An advantageous marriage for his granddaughter."

Fear struck through Arya like nothing quite had before. "You promised him Robb would marry her."

"Yes."

"Mother, you have to make sure he goes through with it."

"I'm sure he will. Your brother is as honorable as your father."

"I wouldn't be quite so sure."

"Arya!"

"Mother-" She stopped herself. She couldn't. She didn't dare.

"What is it?" Her mother stopped her horse when she saw the look on Arya's face.

"It's just... you made a marriage deal for Robb the last time. And he broke it." She tried to keep her expression neutral, but even she could tell she was failing.

"That doesn't sound like him."

"He fell in love with somebody else, and he married her. And... and it didn't end well."

"What happened, Arya?"

She shook her head, memories of the night flooding into it.

"Arya, tell me!"

"I can't, I can't, it's-"

"It's what?" Her voice was harsh, perhaps as full of fear as Arya was.

"Horrible," Arya said softly. "Just... just horrible."

"There's nothing you can't tell me."

"Well, the deal was with Walder Frey," Arya said, resigned. "And when Robb broke it, he said he would forgive all if Uncle Edmure married his daughter instead."

Her mother looked disgusted. "I'm sure Edmure was thrilled."

"You had to convince him to go along with it. But he did. And you all went to the Twins for the wedding." She took a shaky breath. "And then during the wedding reception they slaughtered everyone present. Including Robb. And you."

The look on her mother's face was almost as bad as the actual event. She wished she hadn't said anything.

"You didn't say Robb was dead in your time."

"I didn't want to. It was awful, Mother. They called it the Red Wedding, they killed most of the Northern army. And Uncle Edmure spent the next few years in a dungeon and Walder Frey became Lord of Riverrun. And Roose Bolton got named Warden of the North. He was the one who-who killed Robb. They killed his wife, too. And their-and their unborn child."

There was silence. Her mother seemed at a loss for words.

"And I was there," Arya said. "I heard it happening. But I couldn't do anything to help."

"You were there?" Her voice was quiet, and full of regret. "Oh Arya..."

"I got my revenge," she said. "I killed House Frey. All of them."

"I can't believe even Walder Frey would do such a thing."

"It wasn't his idea," said Arya. "Tywin Lannister arranged it."

Her mother looked back at Casterly Rock with a fury in her eyes Arya had never seen before. "He really is an evil man."

"Yes. So Robb had better go through with that marriage."

Her mother nodded.

Sansa

She watched all the preparations for the wedding with feigned interest. Once upon a time she would have been awed by the splendor of such pretty things, but now she couldn't think of anything that mattered less. She could think only of her mother and sister, and the danger they were surely in.

"Are you excited for the wedding?" asked Littlefinger's voice behind her, and she shuddered.

"Yes. It promises to be such an exciting event." She tried her best to appear the innocent young girl; she wasn't going to fall into his trap again, and the more ridiculous and frivolous he saw her as, the more likely he was to leave her alone. But she also needed him to underestimate her, in case he did try to use her in some way. She needed to be able to turn it around on him.

"Indeed. Will the rest of your family be attending?"

"Probably just myself and my father," she replied, knowing that wasn't the answer he was looking for. "Robb is needed at Winterfell, and Rickon's too young to travel so far, and Bran and Arya will probably stay with my mother at Riverrun." And Jon was at the Wall, of course, but he wouldn't be welcome at court anyway. If they only knew who he really was... of course, King Robert would have him executed if he had any idea.

"Of course," said Littlefinger. "Well, give my regards to your mother, will you?"

She felt sick to her stomach, but smiled politely and said, "I will."

She stared at him as he walked away. He was plotting something, now that she had foiled his original plan. She knew he was. And she had to make sure he didn't succeed at it. He was the most dangerous piece on the board, always had been. Well, the most dangerous piece on the board except for her.

Chapter Text

Robb

"Is this some sort of joke?"

"No, my lord."

"I'm to marry Cersei Lannister's daughter?"

"That is what the letter says."

Robb could only gape, open-mouthed, at Maester Luwin. "She's-she's a bastard. Born of incest. And my mother would have me marry her?"

"I don't believe she had much of a choice. From what I've heard, the girl is sweet-natured. Not at all like her mother."

"But I don't even know her." He looked around, mind reeling. He wanted to marry for love, not get married for political reasons to some girl he had never seriously spoken to.

"Your mother and father were strangers when they wed," Maester Luwin said wisely. "And they grew to love each other very much."

"Neither of them is a Lannister," said Robb with distaste.

"Family names aren't everything."

Robb sighed. "Is she coming to Winterfell, then?"

"Well, I imagine she will for the wedding."

Robb looked up sharply. "The wedding? Already? She's not of marrying age yet."

"Lord Tywin seems determined to get it done."

Robb felt an unpleasant taste in his mouth. "So how long, then?"

"Well, it's four days until the king's wedding, and they'll want the excitement of that to have died down. Maybe a month?"

"A month?"

"Most likely. Your mother, brother, and sister will be returning to Winterfell. We'll probably wait at least until then."

"So a month from now, I'll be a married man?"

"It would appear so."

He sat down and shook his head. "Where did everything go so wrong?" He knew where, of course. The minute his father had decided to leave Winterfell. Arya had told him, at the feast, before she had told him her secret, told him that their father shouldn't go to the capital. It hadn't led to his death, this time, but it had led to this. So he would marry a perfect stranger, a girl from a family he despised, because it was the better alternative to the death and destruction Arya had promised otherwise awaited them.

Sansa

She stood still for a moment, making sure she had heard her father correctly. "Robb is marrying Myrcella?"

He nodded, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I knew it. I knew it was a bad idea. What was Arya thinking?"

"Arya?" He frowned. "Arya's just a girl, it was your mother who made this decision."

Sansa shook her head. "Mother was just going along with Arya's plan, I know it. Mother would never have come up with the idea to try and assassinate Tywin Lannister, because it's quite possibly the worst idea in history." She was being hard on Arya, but she had known it couldn't end well. They were supposed to be working together, but they were in different parts of the continent, with entirely different plans they had no real way to communicate.

"We don't know exactly what happened, Sansa."

"I do."

"How?"

She looked at him. She couldn't tell him everything right now, not the day of the king's wedding. "I know my sister," she said plainly.

"Alright. Well, I suppose we have a different wedding to be getting ready for now."

"Yes. A royal wedding. How exciting."

"You and I have different definitions of exciting."

She laughed. "I didn't mean it."

"Really? I would have thought this was just the sort of the thing you'd be interested in."

"Maybe once," Sansa said. "Things are different now."

She left the room to get ready for the wedding.

Everyone clapped as King Robert and Queen Margaery exchanged their vows. Sansa did her best to feign interest, but she had other things to think about. Like Robb marrying Myrcella. She barely remembered the princess from the first time she had been here, but she seemed a nice enough girl, if a bit timid and shy, which certainly wouldn't appeal to Robb. It was far from an ideal match. But it was what it was, she figured. At least this would give them a tenuous alliance with the Lannisters, which was better than having them as enemies. But Robb had to go through with this wedding. He couldn't break his deal like he had before. She couldn't lose him again. Or Mother. Or anyone. They had risked everything for this trip through time, and now she was terrified of it all failing anyway.

When they headed to the reception, she took her seat beside her father, and tried not to think about the last royal wedding she had been to. She had liked watching Joffrey die, sick as it was to say, but the rest of the affair had been horrible. Everything about her life in the capital had been horrible. Luckily, Robert was not his so-called son, and the affair was standard and boring, without any twisted entertainment. Now there was a new queen, and as much as she might distrust Queen Margaery, and her house, she certainly felt better with her by Robert's side than Cersei. When King Robert made a joke about the upcoming bedding ceremony, Sansa couldn't help but think of her own wedding. Lord Tyrion had chosen to not have the bedding ceremony, had refused to force her into his bed. She had been so frightened of him, but he had been kind. Most men would have done it, even if they didn't really want to, would have done what was expected of them with a bride of only fourteen. But Tyrion hadn't, and for that she would always be grateful, even if now he would never remember it. He was the superior of her two husbands, that was for sure. Though the standards for that were slim indeed.

As she ate some delicious chicken, she noticed that her father looked distracted. "Father?"

"Hmm?"

"Is there something on your mind?"

"No." He was lying, she could see that, but she didn't press the matter any further. She was keeping her share of secrets from him. And for far too long. She would tell him tomorrow, she decided. After the wedding festivities had died down. She had to do it, even though she feared it, feared how she was going to tell him, what information she would let him know.

The king was drunk, Sansa realized quickly, drunk and starting to make a terrible scene. She exchanged a glance with her father, who got up just as King Robert was beginning a rant about Cersei. He walked up to the king and whispered something in his ear, and Sansa sighed in relief as he escorted him away from the wedding. Then it was just her, alone at the table, surrounded by the lords and ladies of the court.

Queen Margaery sat beside her. "Hello there."

She looked up and smiled. "Your Grace. Congratulations on the wedding."

"Thank you. It's always been a bit of a dream of mine to be the queen."

"It used to be a dream of mine as well," said Sansa. "But I'm very glad I didn't marry Joffrey."

Margaery smiled. "Yes, that would have been terrible indeed. But I hear that your brother is to wed Joffrey's sister."

Sansa nodded. "He is. It was an important step towards building an alliance with House Lannister."

"To prevent a war."

"To prevent a war," Sansa agreed.

"Myrcella's a sweet girl," Margaery said. "I think it'll be alright."

"I hope so," said Sansa.

Her father returned with the king then, and the bedding ceremony commenced. Sansa couldn't help but feel bad for the new queen; Robert was a very distasteful man. "Did you talk him down?" she asked her father.

"As much as I could."

"Hopefully this marriage will go better than his last."

"Hopefully," he agreed. "At least he chose Margaery on his own. Marrying Cersei was Jon Arryn's idea."

"I thought he was smart," said Sansa.

Her father smiled wryly at that. "It was a good move, politically. But Robert would never be happy with any wife that wasn't your aunt."

She looked at him sharply. He almost never spoke of her aunt. "Would she have been happy with him?"

He gave her a long look. "No," he said. "She wouldn't have."

"Will Margaery?"

"I don't know the new queen," said her father. "I couldn't say."

Sansa hoped she would be; for her sake, as well as the kingdom's. And their family's.

Arya

Arya dismounted her horse with relief as they finally went back through the gates of Riverrun, back to relative safety. Beside her, her mother did the same in silence. She hadn't spoken much since Arya had told her about the Red Wedding, about Robb's death. She found herself wishing she hadn't said anything. But the warning had been necessary.

When they entered the castle, Uncle Edmure and Bran stood waiting for them. When she saw her brother, Arya found herself unable to hold back, and she ran at him, throwing her arms around him. "It's good to see you," she said.

"You too," he replied, sounding bewildered.

As soon as she let go of her brother, her mother had her arms around him. "I'm glad you made it safely," she said.

"I'm fine," said Bran. "Still don't know why Father made me leave."

"It was for the best," said Catelyn.

"Hmm." Only then did Arya realize that something was off with Bran. Knowing what had happened to him before, that concerned her.

They went to their rooms to unpack, but Arya waited until she was alone and walked over to Bran's room. When she knocked on the door, there was no reply, so she pushed it open.

Bran was sitting at the table, drawing something, but he looked up when she entered. "What did you do, Arya?"

"Sorry?"

"What did you do to time?"

Chapter Text

Arya

She blinked rapidly, wondering if she had misheard him. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"You're lying. Where were you and Mother? I saw you going west. And why? What do you know, what have you done? Time's gone wrong, I've seen it."

His words sent a chill running through her. "Bran, I think you're having strange dreams..."

"I am," he said. "Dreams about a bird with three eyes."

She felt suddenly ice-cold. She had thought she had saved him, but apparently not. "Well, that doesn't mean anything."

"He said time has gone wrong. Said you and Sansa had something to do with it. He showed me a vision of-of Father getting killed."

She sighed deeply at that. It was no good, he knew too much. She was going to have to tell him. "Alright. I'll tell you everything. But you have to swear not to tell a soul. Mother knows, and Robb. And Sansa, of course. Nobody else can."

"Not even Father?"

"If we need him to know then he will. But you won't be the one to tell him. Swear it, Bran."

"I swear it."

"Good." She sat beside him. "Sansa and I have changed time, it's true. We came back from the future. And the vision you saw, of Father being killed? That happened the first time around. But we stopped it."

He looked at her with fear in his eyes. "But the raven said... the raven said time was broken. And he said I had to fix it."

She shook her head. "It's probably a trap. We did what was best, Bran. For our family."

"But is what's best for our family best for everyone else?"

The question made her feel suddenly empty inside. Had she considered that? Was she being selfish? Then she remembered Daenerys Targaryen burning King's Landing to the ground, something she and Sansa could now try to stop. "Yes, Bran. We have a lot of people to save, not just our family."

"If you say so." He sounded doubtful.

"Don't you want our family to live?"

"Of course I do. But I'm scared of these visions."

"There's nothing to be afraid of," she told him, though she didn't know if she was telling him the truth. "Sansa and I will sort it all out. You just keep yourself out of trouble."

"Alright."

He didn't sound sure, and she didn't feel very sure. But she smiled and said, "The pack survives."

Sansa

When she awoke the morning after the king's wedding, Sansa felt hesitation hang heavy in the air. She was really going to do it, going to come clean to her father. She didn't know how he was going to react, but she knew that what she was going to tell him would upset him, and that was enough to make her dread it. He'd seen enough terrible things in his life, she didn't need to add to that... and yet she did. He had to know the truth. There was too much danger in the air for him to be uninformed. As she got dressed, she tried to steel herself. This might be the most difficult thing she had ever done, and that was saying quite a lot.

She walked down the hallway towards her father's chamber and felt a little bit sick to her stomach as she knocked on the door.

"Come in," said her father.

She pushed the door open and saw her father bent over some letter he was writing. "Father."

He looked up and smiled. "Sansa." His smile faltered when he saw the look in her eyes. "What brings you here?"

"I've... I've been keeping something from you," she said, watching his expression closely.

He said nothing, but she saw a hint of fear in his eyes.

"It's time you knew. And I hope you'll understand." He motioned to the chair across from him wordlessly, and she took a seat.

"Should I be concerned?" he asked.

"Probably." She didn't like the look on his face at all. She should just stop here, say nothing, tell him it was nothing. But she had already made up her mind. He watched her in silence as she took a deep breath. "Arya and I used magic to travel through time."

"What?" The fear was replaced by confusion.

"Arya found this device, this was years in the future, a device to send us into the bodies of our younger selves. We've been back here for a long time now, since the day the king arrived in Winterfell. We've been changing things."

He blinked. "You're telling me you've been a different version of you for a year?"

"Yes. I've been acting as much like my old self as I could, but I'm not that girl anymore, Father. I'm no naïve little idiot who dreams of being a princess. I know better now. I know what the world is really like now, and it's a world where people like you don't last very long. You-you died last time, Father, you went to Cersei before you went to the king and she had him killed and Joffrey had you executed."

"I died," he repeated slowly.

She nodded. "And-and I was right there. I watched Ser Ilyn cut off your head, I'll never get that image out of my mind for as long as I live. That was-that was when I grew up."

She felt guilty at the expression of horror on his face. "What did the Lannisters do to you?"

"Well, I was betrothed to Joffrey. So they kept me, as prisoner. Eventually Joffrey got engaged to Margaery Tyrell instead, but I was still prisoner, because they needed a hostage. Robb had Jaime Lannister, and they had me."

"Robb?" He looked like he was going to be sick. "What did he do?"

"He marched to war. With the Lannisters. Got named King in the North. But he lost."

Her father had an unreadable expression on his face. "Did they kill him?"

"Roose Bolton stabbed him," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. "He betrayed him, and teamed up with the Lannisters and the Freys."

"The Freys? Was your mother involved?"

"Yes," said Sansa. "They-they killed her too."

He looked down for a long moment, and when he looked back up at her there were tears in his eyes. "Who else? Who else died?"

"Rickon," she said. "Rickon was killed by Roose Bolton's son Ramsay, and Bran-well he didn't die, or at least his body didn't, but his soul got... lost, corrupted by magic, I don't know how to say it really. And Jon died, but he came back."

"Came back?"

"This Red Priestess resurrected him in the name of the Lord of Light, I don't really understand it, but I know that when I arrived at Castle Black Jon had died and come back to life. He had some sort of purpose to fulfill, a prophecy-to save everyone from evil, which I suppose he did, but not in the way we all thought... I never really understood any of the magic. It was all a bit beyond me. But at least he was alive. And at the time it was just the two of us... Arya came back later, but we'd all thought she was dead. And Bran came back, but he wasn't Bran, not really."

He was silent for a long moment, his face pale. "So Arya found a way for you to come back."

She nodded. "I was hesitant to do it at first, magic is so risky, but I'm glad we did. Because you're alive now. And Robb and Mother aren't headed to their deaths."

"Why tell me now?" he asked.

"Because I need you to trust me. And you didn't before, not really, I was just your little girl, but I'm not. I've been through things you can't even imagine and I know what I'm talking about now. I need you to listen to me."

"I trust you," he said.

She nodded, glad that that, at least, had worked. "You can't trust Littlefinger. He's a monster. He's in love with Mother and he has been since he was a boy, and he'd see you dead in a second if he thought he had a chance with her."

"He doesn't."

"No, but he doesn't realize. Somehow. Nor did he ever realize that he didn't have a chance with me."

"With you?"

"When he couldn't have her, he wanted me."

She didn't know if she had ever seen such strong fury in her father's eyes before. "I'll kill him."

"He's cleverer than you."

"Is he better with a sword?"

"You can't challenge him to a duel! He hasn't even done anything to me, yet, here. Although..." She had to do it. She had to tell him.

"Although what?"

"He killed Jon Arryn," she said.

She watched her father closely, as his expression went from shock, to sadness, to rage. "You're certain?"

She nodded. "Not himself, of course. He had Aunt Lysa do it. And then he had her write that letter to Mother."

"Why?"

"To start a war. A war off which he profited, by playing both sides. He had Joffrey killed, too. Then he whisked me off to the Vale. Then he killed Aunt Lysa because she was no longer any use to him. He plays every game, all the time, and he's always ahead. Until he wasn't. Until Arya, and Bran, and I got ahead of him. Until I, as Lady of Winterfell, sentenced him to die."

"You killed him?"

"No. Arya killed him. On my orders. I'm not very good with a blade, but Arya... she's one of the best I've ever seen. She killed the Night King, and all the white walkers with him."

"The white walkers?"

"They came south," said Sansa. "Breached the wall."

"How?"

"With a dragon."

"All the dragons are dead."

"Not all of them. Three happen to belong to Daenerys Targaryen."

He looked at her for a long moment. "Daenerys Targaryen?"

"She came west seeking the throne. Then she turned north to fight the white walkers, but the Night King killed and turned one of her dragons."

"She came west seeking the throne?"

"It's what she always wanted. To have power, to be loved and adored. And we all sided with her, because she promised to get Cersei off the throne."

"Cersei?!"

"After all her children died she claimed the throne for herself. But Daenerys did take it from her."

"And how did that go?"

Sansa sighed. "Not well. She... she was kinder than her father, but she was still mad. And when she got angry, she burned people alive. Only she didn't just burn her political enemies alive. She had more than wildfire, she had a dragon."

There was horror in her father's eyes as he asked, "And who did she kill?"

"Everyone," said Sansa. "The whole population of King's Landing, or most of it, anyway. Arya was in the streets, she told me after what it was like... it was a nightmare."

"So you're telling me the king is right to want to kill her?"

"Yes and no. His reasons are wrong. She hasn't done any of it yet. But it would solve many problems. I don't know what to do. Is it fair to punish her for something she hasn't yet done? It's why I've said nothing. Maybe this time she won't. Maybe this time... well, she doesn't have to face the same situation. Not if we get ahead of her."

"And what does that mean?"

"Well," said Sansa. "For one thing, she's not even the heir to House Targaryen."

Father's eyes grew wide. "What makes you say that?"

"I know, Father. Arya and I, we know. Who Jon is. Whose son he is. Not yours."

He looked like he was going to be sick again. "Did Daenerys know?"

"Not at first. Then Bran found out, using magic, he saw Jon's birth. And Samwell Tarly figured out that our aunt and Rhaegar Targaryen were married. Which made Jon legitimate. So then Sam told Jon. Who told Daenerys. At the time, they were in love, which made it a bit complicated. She told him not to tell Arya and me, but he did anyway and then I..." She felt her face burn with shame.

"You what?"

"I told Tyrion Lannister."

He was angry again, but this time at her. "I've spent longer than your entire life keeping the secret of Jon's birth, and you gave it away to a Lannister?"

She shrunk away a bit from his anger, but defended herself. "Tyrion's not like the others. He was always kind to me. He was... my husband."

"What?"

"The marriage was never consummated. Lord Tywin arranged it, but Tyrion refused to force himself on me. He was kind. And he served Daenerys, but he was starting to have his doubts, so I only told him there was a better contender for the Iron Throne, and I do think Jon would be better. But I am ashamed, because I promised Jon I wouldn't tell. I wasn't a very good sister, then. I just didn't trust her. But in the end, I do think I was right not to."

Her father put his head in his hands. "This is quite a lot of information you're telling me."

"I know. But we need to be ready for Daenerys. She'll be coming, with dragons. We need to be ready for the white walkers. We need to be ready for whatever it is Littlefinger has planned, and we can't trust anybody. Nobody who's not a Stark. The Tullys, maybe, except for Aunt Lysa. But that's it. Family only. We can't make any mistakes."

"I understand."

"Good."

"Please-please leave me for a moment."

She nodded and left the room, wondering how much his opinion of her had changed. She probably should have taken it slower, but he needed to understand. He needed to.

Chapter Text

Sansa

It was nearing suppertime when she was called to her father's chambers. She stood slowly and followed Jory down the hallway. "Did he say what he wants?"

Jory shook his head. "Must be something serious, though. He's been in his room all day. Cancelled all his appointments, locked himself in there, didn't even take any food. What did you two talk about this morning?"

"Nothing important," she lied.

"Hmm. Well, here we are." They had arrived at his door, which Jory now pushed open. "Go on."

Sansa smiled at him, but she dropped the smile as soon as she walked in the room. This was nothing to smile about. Her father sat waiting for her at the table, an empty seat across from him. There was a grave look on his face, the kind she usually saw only when he had just had to execute someone, or was talking about something truly terrible. Which, she supposed, he was. She sat down with trepidation. Did he hate her now? She had been wrong to spill Jon's secret to Tyrion, she knew that now, even if it had been the right move politically it was the wrong one for her family. She had gotten so practiced at the politics that she hadn't properly accounted for what she was actually fighting for. And the secret meant everything to her father. She shouldn't have told him what she had done, but it would also be dishonest not to.

For a moment her father didn't say anything, and finally she decided to break the silence. "You're angry with me."

"It's not that simple," he said.

"Isn't it?"

"Sansa, you gave me a lot of information to think about. Even after hours, I'm not-it's not fully set in, I don't think."

She nodded.

"And I was angry about you telling Tyrion Lannister about Jon, of course I was. That secret... it's been my life, for so long now. But I'm not going to judge you for circumstances I cannot know. I wasn't there, and you were the Lady of Winterfell. I'm sure you acted in what you believed was the best interest of everyone at the moment."

"Thank you," she said. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"But I wish you had told me sooner about all of this. Why did you keep it from me?"

"A number of reasons," she said. "For one thing, the more people who know, the more the secret risks getting out. And for another... I knew it would upset you."

"That's kind of you, Sansa, but I'm your father. Hearing what troubles you is a burden I gladly carry."

"I missed you," she said, unable to stop herself. "When we first came back, when I saw you in the courtyard of Winterfell... it took everything in me not to run to you."

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that," he said.

"It's all in the past," she said. "Well, the future. Best not to think about the timelines, really."

"Alright, then, let's think about our plans."

"Plans?"

"What do you think I've been doing all day? With all this information, we have to make plans for how to proceed."

She nodded. "Yes."

"Your mother, Arya, and Bran will be going back to Winterfell soon, for Robb's wedding to Myrcella."

"Right."

"I've spoken to the king, he doesn't want me to go because he thinks the whole thing is an outrage. You can go, if you'd like."

"And leave you alone in the capital?"

He smiled a little at that. "I appreciate your concern, but I wouldn't be alone. I have my men."

"They all died last time."

"How?"

"Jaime Lannister."

"What, he killed them all?"

"He dueled you in the street, too. Would have killed you, but one of his men stabbed you in the leg and he decided it wouldn't be clean."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because Mother abducted Tyrion Lannister."

"What?"

"It's a long story. The point is, I'd rather stay in the capital with you. Besides, the wedding is rather outrageous."

"Wouldn't be happening if your mother and sister hadn't tried to assassinate Tywin Lannister."

"Honestly? I don't entirely blame Arya for thinking she could pull it off. She's done some very impressive things. The way she killed Walder Frey..."

"She what?"

"She trained in Braavos with the Faceless Men. Became a very good killer. And the Freys, well, they killed Mother and Robb. So she-essentially eliminated them."

He frowned. "She eliminated an entire house?"

"I was a bit disturbed, I'll admit."

"I would imagine so."

"Anyway. The point is, it was foolish to go after Lord Tywin, but I can somewhat understand what she was thinking. And there's worse people to marry than Myrcella. She's a sweet girl."

"Hmm. I hope she makes a good wife."

"I hope Robb goes through with the wedding. Last time he backed out of one, it got him killed."

Her father winced when she said the words. "Let's not talk about that."

She nodded. She had no desire to talk about those things, either. "So. We're staying here, and everyone else will be at Winterfell. At least until my grandfather dies."

"What?" He frowned. "Lord Tully's going to die?"

"In a few months. He's been ill for ages."

Her father sighed. "I had hoped he might recover. Well, that can be dealt with when it happens. But right now, I'm going to write to your mother and make sure she has the North preparing to fight the white walkers."

Sansa nodded. "Write to Stannis Baratheon, too. There's a mountain of dragonglass on Dragonstone, and it can be used to kill white walkers."

"Duly noted. That problem, as I understand it, is still a few years off, yes?"

She nodded. "The more immediate threat is Littlefinger. He loves chaos."

"I'll keep a very close eye on Littlefinger. I trust you will do the same."

"Yes. And then... there's Daenerys."

"Yes. I've been thinking quite a bit about her."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to write to her."

"What?"

"She intends on coming here and taking the throne. That is dangerous. We are all at risk if she does, and why wouldn't she, when as far as she sees it, Robert unjustly killed her father and took the throne? No doubt that's the story she's been told all these years, she may not even know what her father was. She's only a girl. There may yet be a chance to make peace with her. Prevent her from going mad."

"But King Robert will never agree to make peace with her."

He sighed. "I know. But... what other choice is there? It would be wrong to kill her. And we can't do nothing."

"And you can convince the king?"

"Maybe now that he's married Queen Margaery he'll be more amenable."

"We are talking about the same man, right? The one who sanctioned the butchering of Prince Rhaegar's children?"

Her father sighed. "Yes. I don't know, Sansa, I don't know what to do."

"Well, if you can convince her not to come to Westeros, maybe she need never know how King Robert feels. Then you only need to convince him not to kill her, which is much easier than asking him to make peace. Tell her she'll be allowed to live freely wherever she is, and she will not be bothered."

"Do you think that would be enough to turn her away from the Iron Throne?"

"I don't know. Not the Daenerys I knew. The only thing that even distracted her for a moment was the war with the white walkers. But she's not that person yet, I don't think. She spent years liberating the people of Slaver's Bay before she was willing to come here."

"Perhaps we offer to aid her with that mission?"

"I don't know that she's started it yet. But if she is still willing to resist power, maybe you can get to her."

"Then it's settled. I'll have to talk to Varys about sending a letter, he's not the most trustworthy man around."

"He's also secretly plotting to put her on the throne."

"What?"

"He and some man in Pentos. They want to restore the Targaryen dynasty."

Her father shook his head. "Why?"

"I don't know."

"Well, he's still the best option we have," her father said. "We can discuss it more later. Time for supper?"

"Let's go."

Arya

As she packed her things to go back to Winterfell, Arya wondered if it was too good to be true. She had been so unsure when they left that they would ever return, and she very nearly hadn't. But now she was really going to get to see Robb and Rickon again. And yes, Robb would have to marry Myrcella, and that wasn't ideal, but it did mean that they were probably safe from the Lannisters' wrath, at least for now. The white walkers still stirred beyond the wall, and Daenerys still raised her dragons, but they weren't in immediate danger from either of those things. Perhaps this would really work, perhaps her family would truly survive.

Her mother knocked on her door. "May I come in?"

"Yes," she said.

She entered the room and looked around. "How did it get to be such a mess in here?"

"Mother!"

"Sorry. I was talking to Bran. You told him about your journey through time?"

"I had to. He'd already figured it out. The three-eyed raven got to him."

"The what?"

"A magical person that can see everything that's ever happened. Or is currently happening. Sometimes also the future."

"Oh."

"In the original timeline, the raven died and Bran took his place. And as soon as he did that... he died. He was still alive, but he wasn't Bran, not really. Just a collection of memories. His own and everyone else's."

"That's... strange," her mother said.

"Yes. And I'd hoped I'd saved him when he didn't get pushed from the tower, but he's having the dreams again. And now the raven is telling him to set time right, to undo what Sansa and I have changed. We can't! We've worked so hard to save everyone, and I'm afraid Bran's going to ruin it. He told us not to come, you know. When I first told Sansa about the time travel, Bran wrote to her and said we shouldn't do it, that we should let you all stay dead because if we went back everything might end up worse."

"That doesn't really sound like Bran."

"No. Because it wasn't. That's what convinced Sansa to do it. When she realized Bran really was gone. It was just us and Jon left. And Jon was off in the wild north."

Her mother's expression hardened slightly at the mention of Jon. "Did he really kill Daenerys Targaryen?"

Arya nodded.

"After she burned down a city."

"He didn't know before, Mother, none of us did. Sansa didn't trust her, but nobody thought she would do something like that. We were too focused on her fighting the white walkers to see it."

"Was he good to you?" she asked. "When-when your father and I were gone, was Jon good to you?"

"Yes," said Arya. "He fought with Sansa to take back Winterfell, and he defended the North well. He led us in the war against the white walkers. And then... well, he killed Daenerys to stop her from murdering countless innocents, obviously, but he also did it for us. Because he knew she would kill us if we refused to swear loyalty to her, which, we wouldn't. I know what you think of him, Mother, but he would have gladly died for any of us. Robb, Sansa, Bran, Rickon, or me."

Her mother nodded. "I'm glad he was there for you."

It was a start, Arya thought. Perhaps she could change her mother's views on Jon. Just possibly.

"Well, you'd better finish packing," her mother said. "We're leaving early tomorrow morning."

"Right." As her mother left, Arya thought about what she had said about Bran. It did scare her. But what scared her most of all was the idea that the three-eyed raven might be right. That maybe they never should have come back.

Chapter Text

Arya

When they rode back into Winterfell, she sighed in relief. They had actually made it. Most of the family, together again, at their home, at a time when the first time around they'd already been scattered to the winds. When she saw Robb in the courtyard, she ran up to him and hugged him tightly, and took the opportunity to also whisper in his ear, "I told Mother."

"Is that why she agreed to let you try and kill Tywin Lannister?" Robb said in reply.

She let go of him. "Sorry."

He sighed. "What do you know of the Lannister girl?"

"Sweet girl. Not much personality to speak of."

"Great."

"Just promise you'll go through with the wedding."

"I promise, Arya."

Mother walked up to them and gave Robb a hug, then said, "In a fortnight you'll be a married man."

"Don't remind me."

"You may yet grow to love her," said Mother. "I didn't love your father when we wed."

"Father wasn't born of incest. Or a Lannister."

"You shouldn't judge someone by what they were born," Arya said. "She's not Cersei or Jaime any more than they're Lord Tywin."

"They're just as cruel as him," Robb said.

"Yes, but they got none of his brains."

"Be polite, Arya," her mother chastised, but she didn't sound like she meant it.

"So," Robb said to Mother. "Arya told you."

"Yes." Her expression grew dark. "We can talk about that later."

Bran walked up to Robb and gave him a hug, then said, "Where's Rickon? Didn't he want to say hello?"

"Playing with Shaggydog," said Robb.

"How long do we have before she gets here?" Arya asked.

"A week," Robb said. "Her parents won't be coming, since they're enemies of the crown and all. In fact, I believe that their plan is to leave Westeros before Robert's joy over his new bride wears off. Lord Tyrion will accompany her to the wedding."

"Won't the king be angry with you for marrying her?" Bran asked.

"King Robert won't hurt me," Robb said. "Father is his closest friend. His only friend."

"King Robert's closest friend is his pride," said Mother. "He loves your father, but some things he will never accept. Do be careful."

"Yes," Arya agreed. "After all, if he won't even give up on killing Daenerys Targaryen for Father..."

"Why does Father care about the Targaryen girl?" Robb asked. "The Targaryens nearly destroyed House Stark."

"Daenerys didn't," said Arya. "And she's only a girl. Father believes in doing what's right."

"Why don't we go and prepare for dinner?" Mother said. "And afterwards we can speak alone, just the three of us." She gestured to Arya and Robb.

"Hey!" said Bran.

"You're too young," said Arya. "Stay that way while you can."

Bran pouted, but he called Summer to him and headed to his room. Arya went to her own room and unpacked her things, then started a letter to Sansa. She needed to know how things were going in King's Landing.

When she had finished writing, she headed down to the hall for dinner, and wondered if there had ever been a more awkward meal in her life. She, Mother, and Robb said nothing, holding their tongues until they could speak in private about the obvious topic on all their minds. Bran was looking between them, pouting still about being left out. Rickon was confused about why they weren't paying any attention to him, and everybody else followed their lead and remained silent, but clearly they had questions.

When at last the awful dinner had ended, Mother gestured for Arya and Robb to follow her to her chambers. She sealed the doors, making sure nobody could hear them. "We have much to discuss," she said plainly.

"Clearly," said Robb. "How much did she tell you?"

"I told her enough," Arya said. "More than I told you."

"Oh? What did you keep from me? Other than the secret I presume led to Father's death before, the truth about Cersei Lannister."

"That was the secret," Arya agreed. "Father learned the truth, and chose to die rather than let Joffrey take the throne unchallenged."

"But Joffrey did take the throne. So... he died for nothing?"

"For honor," said Arya. "But he isn't dead now. Sansa saved him. As I knew she would."

"Why did you go after Lord Tywin?"

"I wanted him gone," Arya said. "You have no idea what he did last time. What he did to our family."

"What did he do?" Robb asked.

Arya exchanged a look with her mother, whose eyes were full of sorrow. They said nothing.

"Tell me," Robb insisted. "What did Tywin Lannister do?" The room fell silent.

"He arranged your death," Mother finally said.

Robb stood still for a moment, then nodded. "So Lord Tywin killed me, and now you'll have me marry into his family?"

"Keep your enemies close," Arya said. "He won't kill you if you're Myrcella's chance at a legacy."

"Anything else I need to know?" Robb asked.

"Theon Greyjoy betrayed us," Mother said. "He may do so again."

"Theon? But he-he would never."

"He did," said Arya. "He killed Ser Rodrik. And... and he killed two farm boys and passed them off as Bran and Rickon."

Robb looked like he was going to be sick. "Why?"

"To impress his father," said Arya. "He tried to make up for it, though. He died defending Winterfell, in the end. Died defending Bran. In the battle against the white walkers. And he saved Sansa from-"

Mother frowned. "From what? From the Lannisters?"

"She'd already left the Lannisters," Arya said. "At Joffrey's wedding to Margaery Tyrell, when he was poisoned, she was whisked away to Littlefinger, who brought her to Aunt Lysa. But Aunt Lysa-well, Littlefinger, he-"

"He what?" Mother asked.

"He married her, then he killed her."

Her expression was unreadable. "Littlefinger killed my sister."

"Yes. She had just threatened to kill Sansa."

"Why?"

"Because she was crazy."

"My sister is not crazy!"

"Well, regardless, she saw Littlefinger force a kiss on Sansa so she threatened her life, then Littlefinger killed her, and Sansa decided to lie to the Lords of the Vale and ally with him, because it was safer than the unknown."

"Who did Theon save her from?" Robb asked.

"Ramsay Bolton," said Arya. "Roose Bolton's legitimized bastard. Littlefinger made a deal with Roose Bolton. For Ramsay and Sansa... to get married."

Her mother and Robb both looked like they were going to be sick.

"Married?" Mother said, with a look of horror on her face. "She married him?"

"Yes. And he was... he was horrible. But Theon saved her, then Brienne of Tarth found her and brought her to Castle Black. After that she was with Jon, and together they took Winterfell back from the Boltons."

"But Jon wouldn't be allowed to leave the Wall," Robb said.

"Well..." Arya tried to think of the best way to explain it. "He could, because he decided there was a loophole in his vows. He pledged to give his life to the Night's Watch, and... he did. He died. But then he got brought back."

"What?" Mother and Robb said at the same time.

"This horrible woman, the Red Woman, she brought him back. She believed he was the subject of some prophecy."

"If she brought him back, then why is she horrible?" Robb asked.

"She stole my friend. Gendry. Abducted him, and would have killed him if he hadn't escaped. And she was just... she scared me. And she did other horrible things. But she did save Jon."

"How did he die?" Robb asked.

"His men stabbed him. They weren't pleased that he let the wildlings come south of the wall to save them from the white walkers."

"His men?" Mother asked.

"He was Lord Commander," Arya said.

"But he left the Night's Watch," Robb said. "And helped take back Winterfell."

"Yes. And then..."

"Then what?" Mother asked.

"Please don't get angry with him."

"Then what?" she said again, her tone colder.

"They named him King in the North."

"What?" Mother tried to keep her expression neutral. "They named a bastard king?"

"It should have been Sansa," Arya agreed. "But you know how people feel about women. It was Lyanna Mormont's idea, and everyone went along with it. Robb and Rickon were dead, Bran and I were presumed dead, and Sansa didn't object. It worked out in the end, though. Sansa did get named Queen in the North. But she didn't rule very long before we came back here."

Mother shook her head. "So Jon did want power after all."

"No! He didn't ask to be King in the North, he just let them do it. And the first big thing he did was bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen."

"Jon bent the knee to a Targareyn?" said Robb. "Knowing what her father did to our grandfather and uncle?"

"He needed dragonglass. To fight the white walkers. You did write to Stannis, didn't you?"

"I did."

"Anyway. Jon fell in love with Daenerys. And she with him. But then she went mad and burned King's Landing to the ground, so he killed her."

"Huh."

"Then Bran got elected king," said Arya.

"What?"

"There was a Great Council, to decide the next ruler, and Tyrion Lannister convinced everyone it should be Bran."

"How did it get to that point?" Mother asked.

"I don't really know, to be honest. It was all very strange by then. The point is, please don't be mad at Jon." For a moment, she thought about telling the truth. About letting Mother and Robb know who Jon really was, so that Mother may feel differently about him. But she didn't, because Father was still alive now, and she felt it was his secret to tell.

"I won't be mad at him for what he hasn't done," Mother said after a brief silence. "But if he tries anything-"

"I assure you," Arya said. "He won't."

"He never would, Mother," Robb said. "I'm sure that with us gone he looked after Sansa and Arya."

"Neither of us needed looking after," said Arya "But it didn't stop him from trying."

"Well, on that pleasant note," Mother said, "Why don't we get back to preparing for the wedding?"

Sansa

She stepped into her father's solar, as she had every evening for the past couple of weeks. He was sitting at his desk, looking as weary as she had ever seen him. "Father."

He looked up. "Sansa. How are things going with Littlefinger?"

"Still not sure what he's up to, entirely, but I'm working on getting Lord Varys to think of me as an ally."

"Do be careful with him, Sansa. You yourself told me he was not to be trusted."

"Yes. Which is why you can't use him to get a message to Daenerys, and I don't know that writing her is a good idea at all."

"But what else can I do, Sansa? It's not just about keeping her at bay. If possible, I'd like to save her. She's only a girl, maybe she doesn't have to become a monster."

"But why do you think you could do that?"

"I'm the only person who would care."

"Well, that's true enough." Sansa sighed. "I just don't know that she'd like the idea. I mean, she has no idea you fought for her. Or that you objected to the killing of Rhaenys and Aegon. Nor does she know that you risked your life to protect her brother's son from harm. All she knows is that you helped lead the rebellion that got her father and brother killed."

"She trusted Jon, didn't she?"

"Not at first. And Jon wasn't around during the rebellion."

He sighed. "There's no good answer to this. Not unless Robert would agree to be reasonable."

"That's never going to happen."

"I know."

Looking out the window at the sunset, Sansa sighed. She and Arya had worked so hard, and come so far. And yet there were still so many things that seemed beyond their control, and that they couldn't quite figure out how to deal with. She had received a letter from Arya earlier that day, asking how things were going, and she had responded with superficial news of the wedding, but she had also included the news that she had told their father the truth. If she was right about Arya telling Mother, and presumably Robb, then this time travel secret was no longer so secret. What would happen if the truth got out? She hadn't even thought too much about it, but if, say, Littlefinger gained knowledge of the future...

She shuddered at the thought. They were in even more precarious territory than they had been before. And with each passing day there seemed to be more complications.

Chapter Text

Sansa

She stood as tall as she could as she walked into court that day. She only went occasionally, for as much as she wanted to glean the goings-on of court, she had to convince people she was still the naive, foolish young girl she had been. But unlike her first stay in King's Landing, when she had largely ignored the discussions being had, now she paid close attention. On this particular day, the discussions were mostly those of land disputes, crop growth, and other things that had little grand importance. But still Sansa listened. Finally, a man from the Night's Watch came forward, and she watched with interest.

"Your Grace," the man said. "The Lord Commander requests more resources for the Night's Watch, money for food and horses."

"What you took last time wasn't enough?" Robert sounded annoyed.

"Your Grace, we took men from the black cells, but now it's supplies we need. We fear a war is coming."

"With the wildlings?"

"Yes. And with the white walkers, Your Grace."

The king laughed derisively. "White walkers are a children's fairytale. Stop wasting my time."

Sansa sighed, and a horrible thought occurred to her in that moment. King Robert would never allow them to win the war with the white walkers. He would never allow them to make peace with Daenerys. As long as he was on the throne, Westeros was in danger. But what could be done about that? When Robert had gone hunting, her father had sat on the Iron Throne. Could he take a longer trip? A trip that would give her father time to help the Night's Watch, and to guide the realm towards peace? How could she make that happen?

She watched Lord Varys, standing to the side as he often did. A dangerous plan began to form in her head. She needed to speak to her father.

Arya

She fiddled with the dress and sighed. She wasn't a fan of dresses, given how much they limited movement. But given that she had gotten Robb into this mess, she figured she could put up with it for the day.

Lord Tyrion walked up to her. Even in the body of a small child, he was shorter than her, but he commanded a presence she hadn't noticed much before. She'd hardly ever interacted with him. "Are you looking forward to the wedding?"

She shrugged. "I expect it'll be boring."

He laughed. "Likely so. But I think it'll be a fine match. Myrcella is a lovely girl."

"So I've heard." She looked at him. "Are we going to pretend you don't know what I did?"

"What, try to kill my father? Believe me, I've had that thought myself."

She had to resist the urge to comment, knowing what she knew. "It was foolish. I thought I could solve all my family's problems."

"You're a bit young to try and solve problems on that scale, aren't you?"

"I'm more mature than people give me credit for."

"I don't doubt it. I bet you're used to being underestimated. Trust me, I know the feeling."

"Are you the heir to Casterly Rock now?"

He chuckled humorlessly. "I think my father would rather have no heir than name me. But I don't know what will happen. King Robert might decide to extend his anger past Cersei, Jaime, and the children, to come after our whole family, strip Casterly Rock away."

"Isn't he millions in debt to your father?"

"That he is. But King Robert's not exactly a... wise man."

Arya chuckled. Then she looked around. "I think the wedding's starting."

"So it is."

Robb

Even as he said his vows, part of him didn't want to go through with it. He knew the danger if he didn't, but he didn't know this girl. They had spoken maybe twice since she had arrived in Winterfell, only pleasantries, and while she did seem nice enough, she was still of Lannister blood-all Lannister blood. He tried to ignore that fact, but it certainly wasn't easy.

At the wedding party, he looked at his mother, who was giving him a smile. She seemed to believe there was hope for this union, and he was willing to trust her judgement on that. Not that he really had much choice. Arya wasn't meeting his eyes, and he knew she felt guilty about what she had done. But after finding out that Lord Tywin had been responsible for his death once before, he couldn't exactly blame her. What insane things would he try to save the people he loved? It was strange, to think he had died in a previous timeline. He and Father, and Mother, and Rickon. That was the worst, probably; he was so young, the thought of someone being willing to kill him made Robb feel sick. But he knew Jon had been there for the girls, at least. And Bran, in as much as he was still Bran... the things he had been told confused him, about his brother becoming some mystical being who saw the future. He decided it was best not to dwell on it.

Instead, he turned back to his bride. "Are you enjoying the party?"

She nodded, but looked upset.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" She stared at him with a dumbfounded look in her eyes. "I'm in a strange land, marrying a strange man, while my parents and brothers leave the country and I'll probably never see them again. What isn't wrong?"

He looked at her for a moment and considered what she had said. For all their faults, the Lannisters were her family, and it made sense she would miss them. He certainly missed Father and Sansa, away in King's Landing. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know it's not ideal. But I'll do my best to make the North a proper home for you."

She sighed. "I've never liked the cold."

"My mother doesn't either," he said. "There are ways around it."

"At least there's a sept here," she said. "Even if it's small."

"My father built it for my mother after they wed," Robb said. "And if there's anything I can do for you to make this place less foreign to you, let me know, and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." She still didn't look very happy, but she engaged slightly more with the festivities after that.

When it was time for the bedding ceremony, she looked nervous, and Robb felt too guilty to make her go along with it; he called it off and they walked back to his chamber alone. "If you don't want to," he said, "I won't make you."

She gave a small shrug. "I don't mind."

"You're certain?"

"Yes. No point putting it off."

"Alright." He looked at her and decided that if she was to be his wife, he would do his very best to fall in love with her.

Chapter Text

Arya

Two months after Robb's wedding to Myrcella, she had adapted to life at Winterfell about as well as one could expect. She spent nearly all her time either in the sept, in the library, or walking around outside, usually alone. Robb said that he didn't mind that, but he hoped that eventually she would start talking to him more. Arya hoped it would work out between them, and then maybe she wouldn't have to feel as guilty about doing this to him... to both of them, really. Cersei, Jaime, Joffrey, and Tommen had fled Westeros, off to live in one of the Free Cities, and Arya was full of relief at Joffrey no longer being in the Seven Kingdoms. With Tywin in at least an uneasy truce with them, they seemed safe for the time being. But even if all the short-term threats were at bay, Daenerys and the white walkers both loomed ever closer. Daenerys definitely had her dragons by now, and Arya had a feeling she had for a while. It was only a matter of time before she came west, surely. Though King Robert still being alive might delay her. Or make her come faster... really, who could say? Arya had no idea how the mind of a woman like that worked.

In the meantime, she had more pressing concerns. Bran kept saying he wanted to go up to the Wall and visit Jon, and Arya had to say no. It wasn't safe, of course, but more importantly, Arya didn't think he was at the Wall right now. He would be on the other side of it, on his mission to infiltrate the wildling camp. She hadn't received any communication from him in quite a while. She hoped he would be okay; as far as she could tell, changing things down here in terms of the political landscape shouldn't affect things with Jon too much. But while she waited for news from either the north or the south and honed her fighting skills, she continued to think about what to do about the white walkers. They wouldn't be here for years, but their lack of planning had ended very poorly for them last time. The problem was, she didn't see any way to hold them off without Daenerys and her dragons. And as long as Robert Baratheon lived, Daenerys would never be their ally. She needed to talk with Sansa, make more of a clear plan. But she didn't have an obvious opportunity to go and see her.

While she continued to train her fighting skills, she also did her best to study politics and diplomacy. That had always been more Sansa's area of expertise than hers, but she didn't want to make any more major tactical errors. She sat in her mother's chambers, being lectured on the political intricacies of their land and advised on how best to approach different houses. It was horribly boring, but for her family, she would put up with it. It also meant spending more time than she ever had with her mother, and her respect for her grew. The more this happened, the more she wished her mother could learn the truth about Jon; it was the biggest thing between them, and her mother's greatest shortcoming. But still she bit her tongue; could her mother be trusted not to tell? She would like to believe so, but even Sansa had let that secret slip when she had thought it was politically advantageous. And besides, what would her father think? She hoped she would get to see him again soon; the point of saving her family had been to keep them together, and together they were not. They would need to be, when the Long Night came. Otherwise they would never survive.

One afternoon, when she had left another lesson on the political history of the Riverlands, she spotted Bran out with Summer. "Having fun?" she asked him.

He nodded, but then he said, "I've been having more dreams, Arya."

She swallowed. Those dreams were bad news for their plan. "Bran, I've told you. We're doing what's right."

"But haven't you ever thought about what can happen when you meddle with time? About the forces that let that happen? Something is wrong with the balance of the world, can't you feel it?"

His words made her feel cold inside. "You don't know that has anything to do with our trip through time, Bran. And no, I can't feel it. Your powers are... strange."

"All I'm saying," he said slowly, "is that things might still go terribly wrong. They might be destined to."

At that, her resolve hardened. "I don't believe in destiny. I believe in choices. And Sansa and I-we made a choice."

"Choices have consequences," he said.

"Yes, like saving our father's life."

"And King Robert's. You do see the problem, right?"

Arya sighed. "He'll never make peace with Daenerys Targaryen."

"Not in a million years."

"But if she never comes to Westeros..."

"She'll come," he said. "You know she will. And there's only so much our family can do."

"Our family is pretty extraordinary."

"Yes," said Bran, looking out into the distance. "But it wasn't enough last time, was it?"

And on that happy note, Arya left to go check on the dragonglass shipment. It was the second major shipment Lord Stannis had sent them, responding to Robb's letter. Their forges were hard at work, storing up weapons for when the whitewalkers came. But if things went right, Arya hoped they never had to come. They could go over the wall, find the Night King, and kill him before his army could ever come south. Save so many lives. She had killed him once... maybe she could again, or maybe someone else. But either way, she never intended for them to enter the kingdom this time.

Watching the smiths work, she thought of Gendry. He would probably still be down in King's Landing, not knowing who he was. Daenerys would almost certainly not make him a lord this time around, the odds of things lining up that way again were low. He would stay a bastard forever. At this point... with a sudden jolt, she realized that Gendry might not be in King's Landing. It was possible that with things there different, he would never have been given over to the Night's Watch, but if he had... they wouldn't have been intercepted. That realization terrified her, made her think of him up in the freezing cold, taking the oath... but she told herself that such worries would get her nowhere. She would ask Sansa to check on him, she decided, make sure. But those thoughts made her think of all the little things that would have changed, the unintended side effects of their actions for their family. Was Bran right? Was she making a mistake? The problem was, there was no way to know. And it was too late to change her mind, anyway.

Sansa

Months of plotting had gotten her nowhere. Her father had rejected any plans of getting King Robert off the throne, saying that no matter how long the king was gone for, if he made any efforts towards peace with Daenerys Targaryen they would be quickly ended, and him likely thrown in the Black Cells. She bemoaned how unreasonable Robert was, and her father could only nod.

"It's absurd," she had said. "And hypocritical. King Robert has Targaryen blood."

"I know," he had replied.

"And who is he, to hate the family so much, when you don't even? It wasn't his family they killed. And my aunt didn't even like him!"

At that, her father had gone silent for a moment, then said, "I don't know what you hope to gain by telling me this, Sansa."

"I just wish-"

"That you could make him be reasonable? I've been trying a very long time."

So she was back to needing, desperately, some way to deal with the Daenerys Targaryen problem. Some way besides letting Robert try to kill her. Because by this point, the moment was past. She had her dragons. Robert could only anger her now.

She walked through the flower gardens with her mind racing yet again, and she came across Queen Margaery, walking with her grandmother, who was smiling. Sansa curtsied when she reached them. "Your Grace."

"Lady Sansa." The queen smiled at her and said, "I've noticed you coming to court more often."

"I'm starting to develop a bit of a political interest," said Sansa. "My father wants me to know more about the goings-on of the kingdom, says it will better suit me for my place as lady of a household in the future." The words left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she had a feeling the queen understood.

"I'm sure you will make a lovely wife someday," she said.

"How are you liking being queen?" asked Sansa.

"It's what I've always wanted," Margaery replied. "And soon my position as queen will be even more secured."

Sansa frowned, trying to puzzle out her meaning, then it hit her. "You're pregnant?"

Margaery smiled brightly. "I am. At least, I'm quite certain by this point."

"I haven't heard any royal announcement."

"No, and you won't for a while. Robert wants to wait until the child is actually born, make sure it looks like him."

"What if it doesn't look like him, and looks like you instead?"

"He'll get very angry, I expect. Best not to worry about it yet."

"Why are you telling me?" She knew better than to think this was only pleasantries, knew that the Tyrells always had a plan for everything. But what did they stand to gain from telling her?

"Just thought you might want to know," she said.

"Right." Sansa went back towards the castle to speak to her father.

Chapter Text

Sansa

"You're right, it's suspicious," her father said with a frown. "What do the Tyrells gain from you knowing about the queen's pregnancy?"

"The only thing I can guess," said Sansa, "Is that she wants me to spread the word, thinking that I'm a naïve young girl who will gossip about it. It's King Robert who wants to keep it secret; clearly she doesn't."

"But why?" he asked. "Until the child is born, she can't be that confident she won't lose it, so the safest thing for her position as queen would be to wait."

"Perhaps because if Robert has an heir, and then dies, then the Tyrells gain control of the crown. Maybe she's hoping if it gets out there, somehow that will inspire some enemy of his to take action?"

"If the Tyrells wanted Robert dead, they could handle that themselves. Didn't you say they got Joffrey killed in the other timeline?"

"Yes. They used me as a pawn for that, too," she said bitterly.

"Then it's not that," he said. "It has to do with Robert getting an heir, though. They want everyone to know he'll have one. But why?"

"Something to do with Stannis, maybe?"

"Unlikely. Why would he care about Robert having another heir? He doesn't actually want to be king."

"He killed a lot of people to become king in the other timeline. His own daughter included."

Ned's jaw dropped. "What?"

"He burned her alive on the orders of a Red Priestess, some sort of sacrifice to the Lord of Light? She told him it would give him victory in seizing Winterfell back from Ramsay Bolton, but it didn't work."

"That does not sound like the Stannis I know," he said, a horrified expression on his face.

Sansa shrugged. "Well, that's what Ser Davos told me happened. That woman might have corrupted him. I never met her, but Arya did. She gave her a prophecy about people she would kill."

Her father frowned. "Well, she sounds like a terrible person... but didn't you say a Red Priestess brought Jon back from the dead?"

"I did, yes. That was her as well. She's complicated. Anyway. Stannis clearly wanted to be king. I think she told him it was his destiny or something."

"Well, then he might have something against the queen's baby, but the Tyrells obviously wouldn't want to endanger the child."

"Maybe we're overthinking it," Sansa said with a sigh. "Maybe Margaery just does want everyone to know she's done her duty as queen and is upset Robert won't tell everyone."

"Maybe. But maybe they know you're more savvy than you let on. Maybe it's not everyone that they want to know. Maybe just you. Or us."

"Maybe it's you," said Sansa. "Maybe they want you to convince Robert of something. They know you have his ear."

"Not on everything."

"Have you brought Daenerys up again?"

"Why bother? I don't know if we can stop her, Sansa. She may have hated Cersei, but she's got to hate Robert more."

"I don't know. It was the Lannisters who murdered her family, Robert just sanctioned it."

"Well, like you've been saying, she probably hates me too."

Sansa sighed. "Well, she didn't like me either."

"Why not?"

"I wanted independence for the North. She wanted to rule it."

"Well, seems like you got what you wanted."

"Once Bran was king."

"Once Bran what?"

"Oh, did I not tell you that part? Tyrion Lannister told everyone to make Bran the new king."

"Why?"

"I have no idea, to be honest. But I wasn't going to argue. It worked out for me, and for the North. Technically it really should have been Jon, but..."

"Hopefully this time nobody ever finds out Jon's secret."

Sansa looked over at her father and took a deep breath. "Someone has to."

"What?"

"Father, you have to tell Mother the truth."

He stared at her. "Are you out of your mind?"

"She will never stop hating him. Not unless she knows he isn't yours. And if we're going to survive this, as a family, we all need to be united."

"Sansa... she'll hate me if I tell her I've been lying for our entire marriage."

"She'll understand. Hopefully."

"Maybe. Is that risk worth it?"

"If she hates him, our family won't be united. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. The pack must be together. Next time you see her, you must tell her."

"Based on what you've told me, Sansa, the next time I see her will be at her father's funeral. Do you really think that's the best time?"

"I think it's the best chance you'll get."

He sighed deeply. "Alright. I'll do it. I'll trust you."

"Good."

Arya

She was getting more and more worried about Bran. He kept telling her he could feel something off with the universe, that her interference was causing problems. And she didn't want to believe it, but surely Bran wasn't just making this up. She just had to solve the problems that the interference had caused, that was all. They had to stop the whitewalkers, and Daenerys. But how could they stop Daenerys? They couldn't befriend her, not with King Robert on the throne. Indeed, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that as awful as the thought was, the death of her father's closest friend seemed the only way to ensure the future of their kingdom.

"Something troubling you?" asked Myrcella, coming across her in the courtyard of Winterfell. She had been practicing her archery, but she had gotten so lost in thought that she was just standing there, bow at her side. It was hurting her arm, in fact.

"Many things trouble me," Arya said. "Mistakes I may have made. Mistakes I've definitely made. Problems that need fixing." She fired an arrow.

"Do you mean trying to kill my grandfather?"

She turned sharply to Myrcella. "You know about that?"

"I'm not as stupid as everybody thinks I am."

"I'm sorry. I got you and Robb into this mess."

Myrcella sighed. "I understand why you did it. He was threatening your family. I may not be happy about it, but I don't blame you. I would try to save my family too. Part of me wants to go try attacking King Robert the way you did him."

"He won't go after them while he's still got a new wife to focus on," Arya said. "I think they'll be okay."

Myrcella sighed. "I hope so. I mean, I know what my parents did was wrong, but..."

"But they're still your parents," Arya said.

"Yes."

"Are you liking Winterfell any better?"

She shrugged. "I'm getting used to it. Your brother is kind, he's just... not what I always dreamed of. You Northerners, you're different. Harder, more blunt about things, less romantic."

Arya chuckled slightly. "You'd have gotten along with Sansa. People always said she had the disposition of a Southerner, like our mother." But not anymore. The Sansa she knew now was a true Northerner, through and through.

"Don't they still?"

"I haven't seen her in more than a year, I don't know what they say in King's Landing."

"I suppose the king wouldn't let your father and sister come for the wedding."

"No. He was not pleased, from what I gather."

"He's a monster," Myrcella said bitterly. "Even all the years I thought he was my father, he never seemed to care. He treated me like I was an ornament, without thoughts or feelings, and he treated my mother like she was... well, like she was what she was, a failed replacement for your aunt."

"He's not a good man," Arya said. "But he must have his moments, my father loves him like a brother. Although, I think he loves the person he was, not the person he is."

"It must be complicated," she said. "Like my love for my family."

"Things like that tend to be complicated," Arya said.

Myrcella nodded. "I do hope I feel that for your brother some day. If I can."

"My parents didn't love each other when they wed," said Arya. "And now they love each other very much. Have you spoken to my mother?"

"Not much. She's not very expressive."

"Not with strangers, no. But you're family now. Make her see that."

Myrcella smiled. "I'll try that. Thank you, Arya."

"Of course. You're my sister now."

She smiled and walked off, and almost as if she had heard them talking about her, Catelyn walked up, letter in her hand. "I was written to by my brother," she said somberly.

"About your father?"

"How long does he have, Arya? Because Edmure seems to think it isn't long."

"About a month and a half," Arya said.

Her mother looked on the verge of tears. "There's no changing this?"

"I'm not a Maester, I can't cure him."

She nodded. "Well. I suppose that's that. I'll make arrangements to head back to Riverrun. We can take Bran, and we can take Rickon, he should meet his grandfather at least once. Will that be safe?"

"Honestly? Things have changed so much I can't be sure. But I think it'll be alright." She took hold of her mother's arm. "We'll be alright."

Her mother nodded, and Arya wondered if she was telling the truth.

Chapter Text

Arya

By the time they got back to Riverrun, Arya was losing patience with Bran. Every night he told her more about his visions, uncovered more of the timeline she and Sansa had changed. And every night he told her about the warnings he was getting, about how their journey through time was too dangerous, something they never should have done. She remembered how the future version of Bran had said the same thing, how that had been what pushed Sansa over the line. Was this Bran already lost to them too? She refused to believe it. She would win him back around.

She had enough things to worry about otherwise. Her mother had been less conversational on this trip, and Arya was concerned for her. It couldn't be a pleasant thing, having been told her father would die so soon. She was concerned about Robb, too, and whether he could find any happiness out of his union with Myrcella. And of course, she worried for her father and Sansa, in the capital, so far away without much communication. And for Jon, up in the North, fighting against the horrors beyond the wall. She needed to do something for him, too. She just didn't quite know what yet.

Edmure came out at the gates to meet them. When he saw Rickon, he grinned. "So this is my youngest nephew, then?"

Rickon looked at his uncle, seemingly a bit perplexed. "Hi."

Mother helped Rickon off his horse, then looked at her brother. "How is he?"

Immediately, his expression changed. "Not well."

"Have you-have you contacted Lysa?"

"Multiple letters. No reply."

Mother nodded. "I didn't expect so."

"The Blackfish is here, though."

At that, she smiled. "I'm glad."

Bran had almost immediately gone off with Summer, and Arya felt a pang of sorrow for Nymeria. But wherever she was, Arya figured, she was probably happier being a wild direwolf, not trapped with her. After all, she had become a pack leader in the original timeline. Maybe she would find her pack again in this one. Maybe some people were meant to find each other. With a pang Arya thought again of Gendry, and of Hot Pie, and all the other people she had met on her journey. What would their fates be like without her?

"Something wrong, Arya?" Edmure asked.

"A lot of things are wrong," she said, a bit flatly. She was never quite sure how to talk to her uncle; she hadn't known him in the first timeline, and in this one he didn't know her, didn't understand who she really was or what she was doing. She wondered if perhaps she should change that.

"Well," he said, evidently unclear how to respond to that. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

She shook her head. "No." Then she frowned. "Wait. Possibly. Can you spare any men?"

"Perhaps a couple, why?"

"Are they men you can trust completely?"

"They can be."

"I need to get a message to Sansa. One that I can't trust to a raven, one that must be delivered in complete confidence."

Edmure looked a bit perplexed. "I suppose I can make that happen."

"Thank you, Uncle."

Her mother frowned. "Edmure, would you like to watch Rickon for a bit?"

"I'd be delighted," he said, smiling at his nephew again. "But-"

"I'll see you later." She turned to Arya. "Come with me, please."

When they were in private, she sighed. "What do you need to write Sansa about so urgently?"

"About Bran."

Mother seemed caught off guard by that statement. "Bran?"

"I told you how he became some sort of magical vessel originally. And how he was having visions again. Of the first timeline. Of what we changed. Well, they've kept coming. And he's warning me that it's dangerous and we're meddling with forces we should stay away from. I want Sansa's input, and I want her to be fully informed. Also, I very much need to know exactly how much she's told Father, and how she thinks things are going in the capital, without code. We're running out of time, Mother. I mean it's very good that we're all still alive, but the things that happened afterwards nearly killed us all anyway. Something has to be done about the white walkers, and something has to be done about Daenerys Targaryen. Unfortunately, the one who actually did the most to deal with those two issues-"

"Is Jon." Her mother sighed. "So write to him."

"It isn't that simple. Assuming things are going the same way up there, which for the most part I think they are, he's off with the wildlings now. With his wildling lover, actually."

"His what?"

"Long story."

"He took a vow to-"

"Really, Mother?"

"Yes, alright. Fine. I see the issue, certainly. When does he get back?"

"He didn't get back until after the Red Wedding."

"Hmm. Was he pleased I died?"

"Mother-"

"He would have every right to be."

That stopped Arya short. "What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Send your message to Sansa. Do what you need to do." She turned and walked out of the room, leaving Arya behind with her head spinning.

Sansa

She watched Littlefinger as she did most days, when she could. She needed to know what he was up to. His previous plans had largely been foiled, but he would never stop vying for power. As she watched, he ran into another man, as if on accident, and began to speak. Looking closer, Sansa saw that it was Renly Baratheon. That couldn't be good. He would jump at the chance to overthrow his brother. And suddenly something clicked in her mind.

Why had Margaery told her that she was pregnant with Robert's child? That was her insurance of her place at queen. But it put a target on her for anyone who might want to overthrow the king. After all, a trueborn heir was a challenger for the throne. Margaery needed to learn who was trustworthy. If Sansa gossiped, she would know who may come after her. But if Sansa kept the information to herself, Margaery would know she was trustworthy. Suddenly Sansa wondered if the queen even was pregnant. She thought so, as it would be foolish to put a target on her back for no reason. But this was still a test. And she had to make sure that she passed.

She headed into the garden, where Margaery stood talking to her brother. Sansa wondered briefly what he was doing visiting the court, but didn't dwell on it. If her plan with Margaery worked, she would soon know.

She waited until the queen was alone to walk over to her. "Queen Margaery."

She smiled. "Lady Sansa."

"How are you this afternoon?"

"I'm doing well, thank you. It's a lovely day."

"It is. And how's the, uh, baby?"

"Doing well," she responded with a smile.

"I do ever so appreciate you telling me."

"Well, just between us girls, of course."

"Of course. We wouldn't want that information getting out."

"No."

"Could I tell you a secret? Just between us girls?"

"I don't see why not."

"I don't think Lord Renly likes his brother very much. In fact, I think he might be plotting to overthrow him."

Margaery's eyebrows shot upwards. "Ah. That sort of secret, eh?"

"Is there really any other sort?"

Margaery grinned. "So I was right about you. You are a clever one. Good."

"What do you want from me, Your Grace?"

"Cleverness. Mutual trust. The things that build a good alliance."

"An alliance?"

"How would you feel about marrying my brother, Sansa Stark?"

Memories came rushing back to her, the last time she had been made such an offer. "I could see that benefitting the North. I'd have to speak to my father, of course."

"Of course. Please do think about it."

She walked off, leaving Sansa much to think about indeed.

On the way back to her father's chambers, Sansa passed Lord Varys. If Father approved her plans, she would need to be speaking to him soon. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but it opened before she could. "Sansa," he said with a smile. "Good, you're here. We need to talk."

"We do," she said. "About Robert."

"About Daenerys," he said.

"It's all tied. No progress can be made while he's on the throne. I know you didn't like the idea of getting him off of it, but I thought of a way-"

"No." He gave her a kind but firm look. "Because what could I do? Nothing from here. Sansa, I've been thinking, and the only conclusion I've come to is this-I have to arrange a meeting with Daenerys Targaryen."

Chapter Text

Sansa

"Please tell me I heard you incorrectly."

"You didn't."

"You want to meet, in person, with Daenerys Targaryen?"

"Yes."

"She'll burn you alive!"

"Well I'm not going to show up unannounced, Sansa. I'm going to ask her first. If she doesn't want me there then she'll say so. But it's been far too long of putting off the Daenerys problem. Something needs to be done. If I could get her to trust me-"

"Father, she believes a Targaryen needs to be on the throne. She will never accept King Robert. She might, maybe, be willing to tolerate him, at this point in her life, but what could you offer her?"

"Peace. Security."

"Not unless we get rid of the king."

"Get rid of?" She noted the horror in his voice. "Sansa, whatever do you mean?"

"Get him to abdicate."

"Abdicate," he repeated. "And why would he do that?"

"Because he doesn't want to be king. He wants to drink and make as many bastard children as he can."

Her father shook his head. "That's beside the point. He won't do it. He hates ruling, but he loves power."

Sansa sighed. She would have to figure out something else. "Well, how are you planning on convincing him to allow this?"

"Leave that to me. I'm hoping he trusts me enough."

"Good luck with that. But you can't go see her yet. In less than a month's time my grandfather is going to die, and we have to travel to Riverrun. And you have to keep your promise to me. To tell Mother the truth about Jon."

"I can arrange it, though. You said Varys is working for her."

"Well, working around her, anyway. Yes."

"Would he negotiate this meeting?"

"He wants her on the throne. He believes it must be a Targaryen. Strange, really, given he always claimed to serve the realm and for some reason thought the Targaryens were best. If he didn't hate all forms of magic I would almost think..."

"Think what?"

"Father. When-when Jon was born, did Lyanna tell you anything about a prophecy?"

He looked like he'd been slapped across the face. "She mentioned something about some vision, about a song of ice and fire, but Sansa, she was feverish and dying, I hardly think-"

"The Long Night," she said. "The prince that was promised. It was this idea, that this prince would be born, the song of ice and fire, and save the realm from the darkness. Jon is the song of ice and fire. Stark and Targaryen. That's why Rhaegar wanted Lyanna in the first place. He was certain his son would be the prince that was promised. Varys hates all magic, all followers of the Lord of Light, but his idea that a Targaryen would be best for the realm is in line with what they believe about a Targaryen having to sit the Iron Throne, isn't it? I wonder..."

"Sansa, I don't understand these musings about magic and prophecies. Would Varys arrange a meeting between me and Daenerys or not?"

"Hard to say. The thing is, because he wants her on the throne, he'd probably only do it if it worked towards that end. I just don't know..."

"If Varys truly wants what is best for the realm, he wouldn't want dragon fire to burn it, correct?"

"Well, obviously. That's why he turned against Daenerys in favor of Jon last time."

"I'm not telling him about Jon."

"No, clearly not."

"But I will speak to him."

"No, I will." After all, she thought, if Varys wanted what was best for the realm, he had to understand that that wasn't Robert Baratheon.

"Lady Sansa."

"Lord Varys."

"What brings you to me?"

"You claim you serve the realm, yes?"

"I do."

"Then you must understand the dangers of the Long Night."

"The Long Night?" He frowned. "The bedtime stories you Northerners tell?"

"They're more than stories. And I believe you may understand that. What I'm sure we can both understand is that King Robert is not going to help the North fight it, and he's never going to help make peace with Daenerys Targaryen, stop her from coming over here and burning the world with her dragons."

"Baby dragons."

"For now."

"Did your father tell you about the dragons?"

"He may have."

"He swore he wouldn't tell the king, or let the information get out."

"I'm not the king and I can keep a secret. Anyway. My father wants to meet with Daenerys."

Varys raised his eyebrows. "What now?"

"You heard me. Jorah Mormont works for you. Can you arrange it?"

"What does he intend?"

"To stop her from coming over here to take back the Iron Throne."

"He thinks he can stop her?"

"He wants to negotiate with her. Personally, I'm very unsure about it, but something has to be done. She is going to come over here and wreak havoc if nobody does anything."

"What can your father offer her?"

"That's for him to choose. I'm just asking you to set it up."

"And what might I gain for doing such a thing?"

"Besides getting to potentially be the facilitator of a history-changing meeting? Daenerys can try to take the realm with fire and blood, and she may succeed, but what would be left? King Robert would never surrender to her, so she would be left to burn everything. Even Aegon the Conqueror never had to do that. But if my father meets with her, at the very least, she might see that this place isn't like the stories she's heard. She might decide not to come, she might, at least, go about it in a better way. The thing is, Lord Varys, I think we can both agree, it would be better for her to cross paths with Eddard Stark than with Robert Baratheon."

"You said before that Robert wasn't the best thing for the realm."

"He isn't."

"You want him off the throne."

"I don't want him dead. I'm not above arranging those deaths that need to be arranged, but I don't believe in killing those who haven't done anything to earn it. But yes. I want him off the throne."

"Not above arranging deaths? You almost sound as though you've done it before."

"It was just a morality statement, nothing more. Look. My father is a good man. You know that."

"I do."

"He might be able to help Daenerys."

"He won't help her take the throne."

"No. But he can help her as a person. Help her to be better. So that if she does come to take the throne, she might just, you know, be worthy of it."

"That's your play? Would you live under a Targaryen queen?"

"Personally I favor independence for the North. But that's an issue for another day."

Varys looked her over. "I'll arrange this meeting for your father. But I do think it should wait until the queen gives birth."

She started. "You know she's with child?"

"She's starting to show, Sansa. Even in those dresses she wears. You did well keeping her secret. She sees you as an ally. And a queen is a good ally to have."

"Why does her giving birth relate to this meeting?"

"King Robert will be in a better mood. And distracted. And his position less vulnerable."

"You know Renly is plotting with Lord Baelish to overthrow him?"

"Yes, I'm aware. If he succeeds, you'll have a much easier time with Daenerys. I don't think Renly gives the slightest care about her."

"I told you, I don't want him dead. Beyond the general moral quandary, my father would never forgive me for allowing him to die."

"Have you told him what you know?"

"I wanted you to confirm it first."

"Oh, clever girl."

"I think they're waiting for the child's birth, too. To see if it's a boy, or a girl."

"All breaths are bated until the babe is born."

"Indeed. Good day, Lord Varys."

"Good day, Lady Sansa."

She walked back to her chambers to find a man waiting. "Lady Sansa."

"Hello?"

"I come from Riverrun. I serve Lord Hoster Tully, and was sent by his son, Edmure. I bring you a message from your sister. I have been instructed to bring her back your reply, as well."

She took the scroll, her hand shaking slightly, and opened it.

Arya

When Edmure's servant arrived back with Sansa's reply, she opened it rapidly.

Dear Arya,

Bran having visions can't be good. I hadn't even thought about things in that sense, about some external danger to meddling with time. I've been too concerned with the happenings here in court-to answer your question, the queen is pregnant but doesn't want anyone to know, Lord Renly is plotting with Littlefinger to overthrow the king and waiting till the baby is born, and Robert is about as unreasonable and unhelpful about everything as usual. I have told Father the truth about our journey through time, and it's led to some interesting conversations. Firstly, he promises to tell Mother the truth about Jon when we arrive at Riverrun-which I suppose will only be a couple weeks after you get this. Secondly, he's decided that he's going to go to Essos and meet with Daenerys Targaryen. If you think this is highly unwise, I think you're probably not wrong, but he believes he can come to an understanding with her and he's as stubborn as always. At least, he agreed to also wait until after the queen gives birth. That'll be just under five months' time, by the time you get this letter. For now, we have some time. But this information about Bran does have me worried, I don't like to trifle with magic. I don't want to anger the old gods, either. We may have to send someone north to figure it out at some point, but it can wait.

Give my best to Mother, Bran, Rickon, and Uncle Edmure, and I will see you soon.

All my love,

Sansa

Nothing in the letter brought her confidence. With a sigh, she summarized its contents to her mother-leaving out, of course, the bit about Jon.

Mother sighed. "He wants to meet with Daenerys Targaryen? He's far too noble, your father."

"Yes, that he is. But we have some time."

It was the part about Bran that troubled her most. She went back to his chambers. "Have you had more dreams?"

"Some. Arya, after the funeral, can we go to the Wall?"

"What is it with you and wanting to go to the Wall?"

"I need to see Jon."

"He's not even there."

"He'll be back on this side soon. I saw it. They're going to climb the wall. Just a month and a half or so after the funeral."

"And we're going to infiltrate a wildling camp? Why do you need to see him so badly?"

"Because I think I can give him back his memories."

"What?"

"His future memories. Like the ones you have. I could have them back, have the mind of my older self, if I wanted, but I chose not to for now. Since I can make do with visions. But I can do it for him."

"Why do you want to?"

"Why? Because he can help!"

"Help?"

"Help change what's to come. Help save our family."

"You-you want to?"

"Of course."

"But the Three-Eyed Raven's been warning you-"

"Sure he has. But I'm not his servant. I'm Brandon Stark of Winterfell, and I want to save my family. Whatever threats or risks come from that, we can deal with them then."

Arya looked at Bran for a long moment, then threw her arms around him. "You're still my little brother."

"I always will be."

Chapter Text

Sansa

"Everything's prepared for our journey?" she asked, probably for the third time in as many days, just to make sure.

"Yes, everything is ready," her father assured her again, almost too patiently. A packed chest sat in the corner of his solar. "I told Robert why we're going, and what was he going to do, deny me? I hardly think so. I hope we can make it to Riverrun before Lord Tully dies, I should like to have a final word with him."

"He won you the Rebellion, didn't he?"

"Well, that's not quite why I'd like to see him, but yes, without his troops we never would have defeated the Mad King's."

"Wasn't Rhaegar already planning to overthrow his father?"

"So some say. Sansa, might we skip the history lesson for now?" He looked weary.

"Sorry."

"It's alright. I've just got a lot on my mind. Between your grandfather's illness, what I promised to tell your mother, this plot you told me about between Renly and Lord Baelish..."

"Well, as I told you, they'll wait until the queen gives birth."

"But we should try to stop them as soon as possible."

"Stop them how? You could tell the king. Otherwise there's little we can do."

"I suppose you're right. I will tell the king, but it can't be when I'm about to leave the capital. Who knows what reckless things Robert might do? For now, I suppose I should focus on more immediate matters. Your grandfather. Your mother. Jon."

"You understand why I asked it of you, don't you?"

"I know. You don't want your mother resenting Jon so much. I hope you've considered that she might resent me for all of it."

"I hope she will understand. She forgave you for supposedly violating your marriage oath, surely she can forgive you for not doing so?"

"We shall see."

"Also, it's not just about lack of resentment, Father. Her disdain for him is a large part of why he went to the Wall. But King Robert could release Jon from his oath by royal decree, couldn't he?"

"What? Sansa, no king has ever-"

"But Stannis Baratheon offered. When he was fighting Tommen for the throne, he stopped by the wall and told Jon that if he pledged loyalty to him, he would release him from his oath, legitimize him as a Stark, and name him Lord of Winterfell to preside over it for him."

"Wait, what? But that didn't happen, did it?"

"No. Jon refused him. He was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and had a duty to the realm. He didn't leave until he literally died. But it isn't fair, Father, isn't right to leave him there."

"Alright. Well, yes, as it is up to the king to deliver justice for oath breakers, I suppose in theory a king could decide to release a member. Technically, as I am Warden of the North and oversee such things in Robert's name, I could do it. But it's considered highly dishonorable, you would need a very good reason, not just that it isn't fair."

"Given that he's on the other side of the wall and has taken a wildling lover, I don't know that his honor in their eyes is the biggest issue for him at present."

"He's done what?"

"Not important. You know, I presume, that they lost many men?"

"Yes."

"They'll take a trade, surely. Men, supplies, food, in exchange for Jon."

"We can talk about it."

"Good."

"Now, we should get ready to leave. The circumstances are unfavorable, but I do look forward to seeing your mother and siblings again."

"As do I."

Arya

She always felt odd leaving her grandfather's chambers. He hardly knew who she was, being in his state of delirium, and she didn't really know what to talk about with him. She asked for stories of her mother's childhood, but he only remembered a few. And it seemed, from what she could gather, that he had been absent a fair bit when her mother was growing up. She wondered if that was part of why her mother held onto her children so closely. As she walked down the corridor, she bumped into the Blackfish.

"Hello, Uncle Brynden," she said politely.

"Ah. Hello, Arya."

He was another ghost; Sansa had told her about how he had died defending Riverrun against Jaime Lannister, refusing to be taken captive when the castle had been surrendered. She hadn't exactly known him well before, having seen him only once when she was small. But she knew he was well-admired by many. "He's gone to sleep," she informed him, as he had seemed on his way to see his brother. The old man drifted in and out of sleep these days.

"Ah." He sighed. "Very well."

She wondered what his feud with his brother had been about, and whether they had reached an understanding yet. But it seemed inappropriate to ask. Then suddenly she thought of what she could ask him. "Could you tell me stories about when my mother was a girl?"

He seemed a bit startled by that request, but said, "Of course. What would you like to know?"

"Anything. Everything. Was she like me?"

"Ah." He smiled a little. "In some ways. Mind you, she never trained with a blade. Edmure told me you're quite good."

She beamed. "Glad he said so. And yes, that I know."

"She was feisty like you, when she was very little. She was always headstrong. But after her mother died, when she became the lady of the house, she had to become much more dutiful. She was only a child herself, but she became like a mother to her siblings. In charge of so much, and so young. I always admired her resolve, but I did wish it could be different for her."

Arya pondered that. She knew her grandmother had died when her mother was young, but she hadn't thought much about what that meant for her mother. The idea that she had been less constrained by duty, had been pushed into it at such a young age, made Arya wish things could have been different too. "What did she do for fun?"

"What does she do for fun now?"

"I don't know." She had never really considered it before. What things brought her mother joy, other than her family? Surely she must have some interests of her own.

"Maybe you should talk to her, then."

"Hmm. Maybe I should."

She headed off towards her mother's chambers. A servant was conversing with her, and Arya entered as she left. "What was that about?"

"Your father and Sansa should be here in two days' time. Jory and ten men are with them, but they've left most of the household down in King's Landing."

Arya nodded. "It'll be good to see them."

"Yes." But she seemed distracted.

"Are you... alright, Mother?"

She frowned in surprise. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you don't seem to be."

"You needn't worry about me, Arya. I'm your mother. I'm supposed to do the worrying."

"I know. But you can talk to me, you know."

She looked at her for a moment. "I mean, I'm really mostly alright, given the circumstances." She was silent for a moment. "When my father used to ride off, he would tell me to look out the window and wait for him to return. I would spend hours there sometimes. He confided in me. He favored me, too, over Lysa and Edmure. He tried to deny it, I tried to pretend otherwise, but it was true. Lysa certainly knew it."

"That's why she isn't here?"

"That, and... well, he isn't a perfect man, Arya. He did some things to her that... well, if your father had done them to you I would never have forgiven him."

"What do you mean?"

"Among other things, he married her to a man in his sixties when she was sixteen, and while I do believe Lord Arryn was a good and honorable man, it's certainly not what Lysa had in mind."

"No, she wanted Petyr Baelish."

She was silent for another moment. "You said he married her and killed her, in the other timeline. Because she tried to kill Sansa? She was jealous of Sansa, you said?"

"Yes."

Catelyn sighed. "I wonder if there's any hope of reaching out to her."

"I don't know," Arya said. "But you should try. Family's worth it."

Her mother smiled. "Family, duty, honor. Those are the Tully house words."

"I do look forward to Father and Sansa's arrival. I believe we have much to discuss with them."

"That we most certainly do."

Sansa

When they rode up to the gates of Riverrun, Sansa couldn't help but smile. Lady ran ahead of her horse, circling the trees. The nature was lovely here. She had been told at times that she had the disposition of a Southerner, like Mother, and while she did consider herself fully a woman of the North, she couldn't deny the beauty the more temperate climate brought.

"I haven't been here in a long time," her father said. "Not since..."

"Your wedding?" When they had visited as children, they had always gone with only their mother, their father of course having to stay behind to run the North.

He nodded. "Just after the Battle of the Bells. I'd never even met your mother."

"What did you think of her, when you met?"

"Honestly, I didn't think much of anything. We were in the middle of a war, and she'd been engaged to Brandon, and I was marrying her in his stead. I was trying not to think about it."

"But you fell in love."

"Yes. But not then. Not until after the war, back at Winterfell."

"You've never told us that story."

He smiled. "Remind me some time, and I will."

The gates opened, and Sansa caught her breath. There they were, her mother, Bran, Arya, and Rickon, standing with Uncle Edmure and the Blackfish. She almost leaped off her horse and ran to her mother. "Mother!"

"Sansa." Her mother embraced her, and she felt like she truly was a little girl again. "It's so good to see you."

Beside them, Father had lifted Arya into the air, which she would never have let most people do. She was beaming when he set her down, and Sansa gave her a hug too.

"Lord Stark," Uncle Edmure said. "Good to see you again."

"You as well, Edmure." But all his attention was on Mother. When they embraced, a wave of energy seemed to radiate across the grounds. They even kissed, which was something they never did in public.

"Ned," she said, her eyes tearing up. "It's so good to see you."

"And you, my lady."

Sansa wondered if her reaction was in part because she knew, knew that in another timeline he hadn't lived to see this moment. She turned her attention to the Blackfish, curtsying slightly. "Uncle Brynden."

"Sansa. Look at you. All grown up."

Rickon shoved himself in between Mother and Father, and Father picked him up with a grin. This moment, Sansa decided, this moment she would make sure to remember, to cherish as long as she lived.

The mood was brought down quickly. The maester headed over to them. "Sorry to interrupt..."

"What is it?" Edmure asked, face falling. "Has he...?"

"Not yet," the maester replied. "But very soon. Hours, probably. A day at most. I'm sorry."

Mother's expression turned dark as well. "Thank you for telling us."

"I'd like to see him," Father said. "If that's alright."

Mother nodded. "Let's go."

They walked away, and Sansa turned her attention to Bran, who had been rather quiet. "Brandon Stark," she mused. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Hey," he protested. "We've come to an understanding, Arya and me."

"It's true," Arya said. "Why don't we go somewhere more, er, private?"

So they did, heading to Arya's chambers, and she and Bran explained.

"You can really give Jon back his memories?"

"I think so."

"Good. Because I've spoken to Father about getting him freed from the Wall, I'm just waiting on the last piece of that puzzle."

"Him telling Mother the truth."

"Exactly. He said he would do it tonight."

"It's going to change everything," Arya said.

"Hopefully, for the better."

"Hopefully."

"Alright, then," Sansa said. "What's been going on up north? I want to know everything."

"Same with you," her sister replied. "Tell me your story."

And so they spent the rest of the afternoon exchanging tales of their past year and a half, until a servant called them down for dinner.

Chapter Text

Catelyn

As dinner drew to a close, a very somber, very quiet dinner with only family, Catelyn bid goodnight to her brother and uncle, then to her children. She debated whether to go to her father, to say a final goodnight, but she had already said her goodbyes earlier, not knowing how long she had, and she didn't know if she could bear to do it again. The castle was subdued as she walked through the halls with Ned, everyone in limbo as the lord of the castle lay dying. She almost couldn't bear it, but at least Ned was here. They walked together to her chambers; they hadn't needed to discuss it. They had separate chambers at Winterfell, but in the first year of their life there, as they had grown closer, they had both had trouble sleeping. Catelyn had been out of sorts in the unfamiliar landscape of the North, the strangeness keeping her up at night, and Ned had been woken by nightmares, haunted by things he would never tell her. Somehow, they had both ended up in the nursery many nights, watching Robb (well, Robb and Jon, but Catelyn pretended the latter wasn't there). And afterwards they would walk together to her chambers, so neither of them had to sleep alone. Though they had grown to do so less and less, they always knew that if one of them was upset, they would sleep together. And Ned knew how she was feeling, possibly better than she did herself. But he seemed to have his own troubles brewing in his mind, and she could only guess at what they might be. Maybe he was thinking, like her, about how this was the first time they had seen each other since they had learned the truth their daughters knew, the horrible truth. Maybe he, too, was thinking about how in the past lives they had lived, he had died. She didn't want to think about that; she didn't know how she had continued in that world without him. How she had managed. Then again, she had died, too. Shuddering, she pushed all that from her mind.

When they reached her chambers and got into bed, he looked out the window for a long moment, then turned to her. There was sorrow in his eyes, but also fear. Why fear? "Cat," he said, in a tone that told her he was about to tell her something he didn't think she wanted to hear.

"Ned?"

"I know the timing is... truly awful, but I made Sansa a promise."

"I don't understand."

"I have a story to tell you."

She frowned. "Sansa asked you to tell me a story?"

"I imagine when I finish, you'll understand."

She nodded. "Alright, then."

He took a shaky breath. "You know how, at the end of Robert's Rebellion, Tywin Lannister brought the mutilated bodies of the Targaryen children in front of Robert."

She nodded. This certainly wasn't the sort of story she had expected.

"And Robert sanctioned their murders. I-I grew furious at that. We had a massive argument, and I couldn't even stand to look at him. So I left King's Landing, on my own, with just a few loyal men, to go to Dorne and fight the final battles. And to find Lyanna."

His voice broke slightly. She couldn't remember the last time Ned had spoken his sister's name out loud.

"I-I found her in this tower Rhaegar had built in Dorne, guarded by three of his Kingsguard. Including Ser Arthur Dayne. The sword of the morning."

"And then you beat him," Catelyn said. "That part everyone knows."

He averted his gaze. "I didn't beat him, Cat. He was a far better fighter than I. He killed all but one of the men I had brought with me, and collectively we took down his two fellow Kingsguard, leaving just him, me, and Howland Reed. He was about to kill me, so Howland Reed stabbed him in the back and brought him to his knees. Then I finished it."

"Oh," Catelyn said, almost in a whisper. To her it seemed he had done what he needed to do, but she knew how much her husband valued his honor. To win a fight so shamefully, by his standards, to use dishonesty... she could only imagine how such a thing had weighed on him all these years.

"Not very noble of me, I know."

She shook her head. "You did what was necessary."

"Hmm," he said, clearly unconvinced. "Anyway. I entered the tower, then, and-" He took another long breath. Whatever he was about to say, it was bad. "And I found her. Lyanna. Lying in a bed of blood."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, for the image to solidify. A birthing bed. Suddenly Catelyn had an inkling of where this might be going, and the thought was so terrible, so monumental, that she didn't dare say a thing.

"She had just given birth. To Rhaegar's baby. But the birth, she... she wasn't going to survive. So she had to tell me everything. She-she told me about how he hadn't kidnapped her, she ran away with him. At the tourney at Harrenhal, she dressed up as a knight, and he was impressed and fell in love with her, and he sang her a song which captivated her. And then he placed those flowers in her lap, and they ran off." He was speaking faster now, perhaps trying to outpace the memories before they could come back and drown him. "But it wasn't just about love, there was some kind of vision, the song of ice and fire, Stark and Targaryen, that Rhaegar had believed in, personally I didn't understand it, but Rhaegar had married her. In a secret ceremony in Dorne. This child wasn't just of Targaryen blood, it was a Targaryen. And the Rebellion was won, at that point, Robert was king. She told me he could never know, and after what I saw of Elia Martell's children, I knew she was right. Her nursemaid brought the boy out, and Lyanna held him, and then-" He choked back a sob. "With her final breaths, she begged me to keep her son safe from harm. 'Promise me, Ned,' she said. So I did. And then... then she died, and there was this little boy who the world would be trying to kill, and I kept him safe the only way I could think to."

Catelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "You told the world that he was your bastard son."

Slowly, Ned nodded. He didn't say anything.

She stared at her husband. He looked so despondent, part of her wanted to wrap her arms around him. Another part of her wanted to scream at him. And yet another wanted to cry herself. Instead she just stared blankly at him, her mind trying to process, trying to make sense of it all. After a long, long moment of silence, she whispered, more to herself than to Ned, "What have I done?"

"You?"

"All these years, the way I treated him-" She felt hot tears streaking down her face, tears of anger. Anger at herself, mainly. "I knew it was wrong, Ned. I knew. He was an innocent child, after all. But I couldn't help it. Every time I looked at him I felt jealous, betrayed, hurt. The only way to avoid that, I thought, was to pretend he wasn't there. Because when I thought of him, I could only think of this unknown mother of his, this woman you must have loved more than me. This woman whose son looked more Stark than most of my own children. And all along-I mean, I felt guilty enough as it was, but to know it was all for nothing? That he wasn't even-" She couldn't speak anymore, the shame and regret of it all overcoming her.

"I thought you'd be angry at me," Ned said quietly. "Not at yourself."

"At you?"

"For bringing him into our home, putting all of our lives at risk."

"Ned, one of the things I love the most about you is how much you value family, how we have that in common. How could I ever be angry with you for protecting your family? For honoring your sister? I just... the only thing that bothers me is... why didn't you tell me? I know we were strangers when we wed, but as all the years went by, could you still not trust me?" The thought wounded her more than she dared admit.

He sighed. "I didn't know. I didn't think you would reveal Jon's secret on purpose, but you've always been a trusting person, part of me did worry you may let something slip. But that wasn't even the main reason. I knew that if Robert ever found out what I did he would kill me for it. And he would kill anyone who had aided me, anyone who knew. I didn't want to put you in danger."

She considered that for a long moment. "I can understand that. But I wish you had told me."

"I know. Though I will say, the way you treated Jon? It helped to sell the lie."

She sighed. "I'm a terrible person."

"We all have our flaws, Cat. Maybe one of mine was not trusting you."

"Incredible you kept this secret all these years. But Sansa knows?"

"Apparently in their future the secret got out. Bran used magic or something?"

"Oh, right, his visions. Does anybody else know now?"

"Howland Reed. He was there. He was the one who dragged me away from Lyanna's body."

"I can't imagine what that was like," she said. Suddenly she knew what all those secret nightmares had been about.

"It certainly wasn't my best day."

"And to hold onto that all these years..."

"I know it wasn't the best time to tell you."

She sighed. "Would there ever be a good time?"

"No, I suppose not. But then... you're not angry with me?"

"All these years I thought you were dishonoring me by raising Jon in our home. Now I find out not only did you never break our marriage vows, you were doing one of the kindest, most honorable things anyone has ever done. I'm not angry with you, Ned, if anything I don't deserve you."

"Now, Cat," he said, in a mock stern voice. "Nobody can speak about my wife that way."

She sighed. "He deserved better from me."

"Well, depending on how things go, you may have a chance to do better by him now."

"I hope so."

"And I'm sorry for springing this on you now."

"It's alright," she said. "I'm glad I know."

And after that, they both lay in silence until they drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter Text

Sansa

When she woke the next morning, it was to the news that her grandfather had passed in his sleep. She had stopped in last night to see him, and he had mistaken her for her mother at first. She supposed she felt some sadness at his death, but it was mostly Mother she worried about. And she couldn't help but think her grandfather lucky to die of old age, and not in one of the horrible ways she knew possible.

The tone at breakfast was even more somber than at dinner last night. Already servants scurried around preparing the funeral, which was to be the next day. When she arrived, Rickon sat at the end of the table. Bran was next to him, picking at his food. Father sat next to Bran, and Arya was practically glued to Father's other side, as she had been at dinner last night. She imagined her sister was still convincing herself he was actually there.

She sat down next to Arya and turned to her father. "Where's Mother?"

"She was still asleep when I woke," he said. "Part of me wishes she could stay that way a bit longer... I dare say she's had enough life-changing news for one twelve-hour period."

Good. So he had told her. "How did she take it?"

Arya perked up with interest as well.

Father shook his head. "Not here. Too many people around. We'll talk later."

They ate in silence for another few minutes, then Mother arrived. She was dressed all in black, and had a somewhat vacant expression on her face. Arya got up, perhaps a bit reluctantly, and moved to Sansa's other side so Mother could sit next to Father. A servant placed a plate in front of her, which she stared at for a moment until Father placed his arm around her shoulders, which seemed to jolt her back to reality.

She plucked a berry off her plate and smiled. "Good morning, children."

No doubt she knew she was fooling no one, but Sansa smiled politely back. "Good morning." She slid over slightly and leaned against her mother's side.

"Please eat something," Father said quietly.

"I'm really not hungry."

Sansa tried to imagine things from her mother's point of view. Since she had left dinner last night, she had found out that her husband had been lying to her their entire marriage, had learned that she had been living in the same household as the secret heir to the Iron Throne, and had lost her father. That seemed altogether too much for one night. Maybe she shouldn't have been so insistent her father tell the truth about Jon right now, should have had him wait a few days. In her desperation to make it happen, perhaps she hadn't thought enough about her mother's feelings. At least, from the way they were acting, it looked like Mother wasn't angry with Father after all. "I'm sorry, Mother," she said.

She turned to her. "Sorry?"

"It was my idea for-"

"Oh." She looked around. "Don't be sorry for that. I'm just glad to be with you again. It's been too long."

"It has," she agreed. "I was worried that..." She didn't have to finish the thought.

"I just wish Robb was here," Mother said. "Then we could all be together. Well, Robb and-" She cut herself off and ate a piece of toast.

The fact that she had considered Jon as part of the family made Sansa smile despite herself. She wondered if her mother would ever consider Theon part of the family, but Sansa knew that would be a hard sell. Doubtless Arya had told their mother what Theon had done. She and Jon may have forgiven him, but Arya most certainly hadn't.

"Robb must be in Winterfell, though," Father said. "There must always-"

"Be a Stark in Winterfell," Mother finished. "I know."

"We need to have a family meeting," Arya said. "About, well, a lot of things."

"Yes," Father agreed. He looked at Mother. "But I think that can wait a little bit."

She looked over at him. "Honestly, you really don't need to worry about me. If we need to have a meeting, let's have a meeting."

"Shouldn't you be helping with... you know, the funeral preparations?" Sansa asked.

For a moment, her mother looked like she might cry. Then she straightened slightly in her seat and said, "Yes, I suppose I should. And I should really check on Edmure, as well. I'm sure he'll need my help now he's Lord of Riverrun. We can have our family meeting the day after next, then."

The silence returned after that, and Mother ate another piece of toast. Then she and Father left the room.

"What was Father talking about? What did he tell her?" Rickon asked, almost as soon as they were gone.

Sansa exchanged a look with her sister. "Nothing."

"It's not nothing! And what's this family meeting? I'm invited, right?"

"No," said Bran. "You're-"

"Too young." Rickon pouted. "You all treat me like a baby."

"You are a baby," Arya said.

"Am not!"

Sansa couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "You are. And trust me, you'll be happier if you stay that way for a while."

"Hmm." He got up and pushed away his plate.

As he left the room, Arya said, "What do we do now? I can't practice swords with Uncle Edmure anymore, he's the lord of he castle now. And there's nobody else here who's willing to practice with a girl."

"I told you I was!" Bran protested.

"And I told you that's not even close to a fair fight," Arya replied.

"I was going to go for a walk in the godswood," Sansa said. "Mother always reminisced about how beautiful it was."

"She took me a few times," Arya said. "It's nice. Not really interested in going again though."

"Have you tried archery practice?" Sansa asked. "Ranged weapons are always a good idea."

"True," Arya agreed. "Want to join me, Bran?"

"Sure."

They headed out to practice archery, and Sansa wondered if she should do so herself. It would be a useful skill, when the Army of the Dead came. If they came. If they couldn't be stopped. But deep down, Sansa knew that without the dragons, there was no hope of victory against them. The song of ice and fire. That was Jon's song. But Daenerys had the dragons. Somehow, she had to be allowed to come here. But Robert would never allow it. The more she thought about it, the more she felt herself at an impasse. Robert being king protected her father, and by extension her family, from threats within the realm. But his arrogance made them more vulnerable to threats from the outside. What was there to do?

Arya

It occurred to her that she hadn't been at a proper funeral before. Her father, her mother, and Robb hadn't been given that luxury, and she hadn't been around when Rickon died. She didn't know if King Robert had gotten one, given that she'd gone on the run so shortly after he died. And the mass funeral after the Battle of Winterfell had hardly followed usual traditions, having to be arranged so last-minute and for so many people.

Still, she thought about that day as she walked out to the dock. In the boat below lay her grandfather, looking rather peaceful. Arya had seen many deaths. None of them had looked peaceful. She stood next to Father. Mother was beside him; from what she had seen, they hadn't left each other's sides since yesterday morning. On Mother's other side, slightly apart, stood Uncle Edmure, the new Lord of Riverrun. He had clearly been crying, and his hands shook slightly as he took the bow he would use to fire the shot at his father's body. That didn't bode well.

Arya winced as he missed the shot not once, not twice, but three times. Finally he handed the bow over to the Blackfish, who took the shot for him.

As the proceedings finished up, she saw the look of shame on her uncle's face, but she didn't think it fair. Had that been one of her parents, could she have made the shot?

Mother seemed to agree. "It's alright," she told him as they dispersed.

"Is it?" he asked bitterly.

"She's right," the Blackfish said. "Your father missed his first shot, when it was his turn."

They walked into the great hall, where all the people present had gathered for a feast in their lord's honor. Arya had the distinct impression neither her mother nor her uncle were in the mood to entertain guests, but they had to all the same. Finally, as the stars started to come out at night, only she, Sansa, Mother and Father, Uncle Edmure, and the Blackfish remained in the room. Bran and Rickon had been put to bed an hour ago, the latter grumbling the whole time. She worried they were neglecting her littlest brother a bit too much, and made a note to remedy that soon.

The Blackfish finished telling a story of when he and her grandfather had been little, and Arya found herself smiling. Then he excused himself to go to bed.

Uncle Edmure still looked like he was on the verge of tears. "I should go to bed too," he said.

Mother nodded. "Before you go... I'm going to write Lysa a letter. Anything you'd like to add?"

He was silent for a moment. "Tell her... tell I miss her," he said finally. "And she's welcome at Riverrun any time."

She nodded again. "Good night, Edmure."

"Good night, Cat."

Then he left. They sat in silence for a moment.

"Are you alright, Mother?" Sansa asked finally.

She gave a small smile. "I told you, you don't have to worry so much about me. I'll be fine."

"You lost your father," Arya said. "We know what that's like."

Father paled at that. "You really shouldn't have to."

"We shouldn't," Sansa said, "But we do. I can still see it all. Every moment of that day at the Sept of Baelor."

"She fainted," Arya said. "When they cut off your head."

Sansa nodded. "And then Joffrey dragged me up to the ramparts and made me look at it."

"Wait, what?" That was definitely news to Arya.

"He made you look at it?" Mother asked.

Sansa nodded. "And he said when he defeated Robb he'd bring me his head too. And I said, 'or maybe he'll bring me yours.' Joffrey didn't like that."

Arya choked. "You said that? Didn't think you had it in you!" She felt her appreciation for her sister deepen even further.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Father said.

"We should go to bed," said Mother. "Long day tomorrow. This family meeting."

After she and Father left, Sansa looked at Arya. "I assume we're on the same page about this meeting?"

"Yes," said Arya, "I think so. We need to talk about Jon."

Chapter Text

Sansa

After breakfast the next morning, they all crowded into Mother's chambers. Mother and Father sat together on the bed, Sansa and Arya sat across from them in the room's two chairs, and Bran sat between them on the floor. Summer and Lady stood by the doorway, making sure the meeting stayed private. Rickon had continued to protest against being excluded, but at Arya's suggestion, Uncle Brynden had agreed to give him an archery lesson. He had been so excited about that that for a moment he had forgotten about the meeting.

"So," said Father. "We're finally all together. All aware of what's going on." He frowned and looked at Bran. "Are you sure you want to be here?"

Bran rolled his eyes. "Yes! Like it or not, I know what's happening too, and I know what we're trying to prevent."

"Right." He sighed. "So. Girls, you called this meeting. What do we need to discuss first?"

"Jon," Sansa said, without hesitation. "We need to discuss Jon."

"Yes, we do," Mother agreed. "Obviously, er..." She faltered. "Look, I-well, I was terrible to him. There's no sugar-coating that. I'm not proud of it. I'd like nothing more than the chance to make that right."

Sansa couldn't fully express how glad she was to hear those words. "You may get that chance. Father, did you tell her what we discussed?"

"Not yet." He looked a bit uncomfortable. "We had talked about getting the Night's Watch to release Jon from his oath in exchange for men and supplies. But Sansa, you also told me he was on the other side of the Wall right now."

"He'll be climbing back over in a month and a half," Bran said. "With some of the wildlings. He's infiltrated their camp. Getting him released now might either be easier, because he's not actually there or much of an asset, or harder, because he's with them and not in the Watch's good graces."

"They'll release him for Father," Arya said. "He's Warden of the North, and Uncle Benjen's brother."

"I don't know what good that'll do, given he's dead," said Father.

"He's not dead," said Sansa.

"What?"

"Well, he's... undead. Bran, explain?"

"The Children of the Forest resurrected him," said Bran. "He's not quite human anymore, but he's still himself. The last time, when I was north of the Wall and was heading back home, he saved Meera and me from some white walkers and he definitely remembered me. He got us to Castle Black."

Father was too stunned to speak for a moment. "Meera? As in Meera Reed?"

Bran nodded. "Her brother was a greenseer too. He got me to the Three-Eyed Raven. Gave his life to get me there. And Meera got me back to Winterfell. And then I-" His face flushed. "I was awful to her, I just completely dismissed her, after everything she did for me."

"You weren't you anymore," Sansa said quickly. "That wasn't you who did that."

"So Benjen is still alive?" Father asked. He sounded like he didn't dare to hope it.

"He can't come south of the Wall anymore," said Bran. "But otherwise, yes."

"He lived until he sacrificed himself to save Jon," Arya agreed. "And that's a long way off. Never has to happen."

"The point is," said Sansa. "Even if he isn't there, his reputation carries. As does yours. Surely for you they'll release Jon."

"I'll write them a letter," he said.

Sansa exchanged a look with her sister. "No," Arya said.

"No?"

"You have to go to Castle Black," she said. "For this, you have to go there."

"Because it's not just Jon," said Sansa. "You have to convince the Watch... to let the wildlings south of the wall."

"What?"

"That's what Jon did, as Lord Commander. He let them south, to save them from the white walkers, which was all they wanted, in exchange for helping in the fight against them."

"Isn't that what got him killed?" Mother asked.

"Yes," said Arya. "His men mutinied. They thought he betrayed the Watch. Father has to convince them it's the right thing to do."

"Easier said than done..." said Father.

"You have to negotiate with Mance Rayder too," said Sansa.

"The King Beyond the Wall?"

Arya nodded. "He's reasonable. And they'll follow him. He can keep them in line. They can settle The Gift."

"I just can't see the Watch going for it," said Father.

"That's why you need to be there in person," said Sansa. "You can convince them."

"Wait, I can't," Father said. "Sansa, you know I'm needed in King's Landing. The king's brother is actively plotting against him, possibly to kill him!"

"I'll save the king," said Sansa.

"What?"

"I'll go back to King's Landing and warn King Robert, and deal with the politics down there until you get back. You should make it back before the queen gives birth, anyway."

"And am I supposed to tell Robert that I'll unfortunately be unable to come back to help him run the kingdom for a bit, but he needn't worry as I've sent my fourteen-year-old daughter in my stead?"

"He can't run the kingdom without you for a few more months?"

"He'll bankrupt the realm," Father said. "And who knows how long negotiating with them will take?"

"Hopefully, Jon can help. We'll need to find him and fill him in on everything."

"A month and a half until he climbs the wall, right? That's about how long it'll take us to get up to The Gift," said Arya. "Maybe a little less time. We can stop at Winterfell."

"Hang on," Father said. "Who's 'we', then?"

"Bran and me," said Arya. "Summer can find Ghost, which'll help us locate Jon, and then Bran can give him back his memories."

"You can what?" Father looked perplexed.

"I can fill him in on all the things that happened. It won't work for you because you weren't still alive at the time they came back from, but I do believe if I have Sansa or Arya there I can use the traces of the magic and-anyway, the details aren't important."

"Is it fair to curse him with those memories?" Mother asked.

Sansa exchanged a glance with Bran. "I'll ask him," Bran said. "If he wants them."

"They'd be very useful, though," Sansa said. "The things he knows about the white walkers, he understands them better than any of us."

"And Daenerys," said Arya. "He knows her better too."

"Yes, you said he was in love with her," said Mother. "Which, now that I know she's his aunt..." She made a face.

"They didn't know," Sansa said. "Although, it's not exactly abnormal for a Targaryen."

"Okay, that's enough of that," said Father. "Arya, I know you're very skilled with a blade, but you and Bran can't go wandering around The Gift on your own. You need some kind of adult supervision."

"Fine," said Arya. "You'll be busy at the Wall, so, that leaves you, Mother."

"What?"

"You wanted the chance to make things right with Jon, right? Help us find him."

She stared blankly for a moment, mouth hung open slightly. "Alright," she said finally. "Why not?"

"Good. We'll drop Rickon off at Winterfell and head North. We can all go to Winterfell together, Father, as long as you make haste heading up to the Wall."

"Hang on," Father said, "We still haven't solved the King's Landing business."

"Queen Margaery can stop Robert from bankrupting everything," Sansa said. "She's a very good manipulator of kings. And the Tyrells are very wealthy, anyway. Oh, and once I tell King Robert his Master of Coin is plotting against him, he'll probably replace him."

"And why would he believe you, Sansa?"

"I'll tell him the truth about Jon Arryn's death."

Father ran a hand along his face. "That could go very badly. And I still see no reason for him to believe you."

"Hang on," said Mother. "Littlefinger killed Jon Arryn?"

"Well, actually Aunt Lysa killed Jon Arryn," Sansa said. "But on his orders. Don't worry, I won't implicate her. Even if she did try to kill me."

"So that actually happened?" Mother asked. "Her trying to kill you?"

"She was going to shove me out the moon door," Sansa agreed.

"And she killed her husband?" Mother shook her head. "Perhaps she is too far gone."

"She did it all because of Littlefinger," Sansa said, trying to reassure her mother. "Maybe if we take him off the board she'll be reasonable." She didn't quite believe it, but she figured her mother deserved the chance to try. She turned to Father. "As far as believing me, it does pose some challenge, but I've already told the queen about Renly and if I can convince her about the rest-"

"Sansa," Bran cut in. "You know Renly is in a relationship with Loras Tyrell. The queen is probably in on it."

"In on overthrowing her own husband?" Arya asked. "Seems unlikely. Renly can't be king unless the queen's baby is killed, and I can't see her being on board with that."

"Then Loras must not know," Sansa said. "Imagine the betrayal he would feel... I could use that."

"This is far too much scheming," Father said.

"What if you gave me a letter, too, telling the king about the plan? Surely he knows your handwriting."

"Yes. I'll give it if it'll help. But I don't like the idea of sending you into that viper's nest alone."

"I've been before," said Sansa. "I survived then, I'll survive now. It's just a few months, and then you'll be back from the Wall. Hopefully with an alliance brokered with the wildlings and the armies being fortified to fight the dead. And just in time for the queen to have her baby and for Varys to finish arranging your meeting with Daenerys."

"That's actually happening?" Mother asked. "Ned, you're really going to do that?"

"Yes. I know you think it's a terrible idea. But I think I might be able to save her from becoming like her father."

"Jon tried," Arya warned. "But as soon as she found out he had a better claim to the Iron Throne, she grew bitter and jealous."

"Does she really want the Iron Throne?" Father asked. "Or does she just believe she should take it? She took power in Slaver's Bay, you said, Sansa."

"Yes. Perhaps she could be convinced to stay ruling there. But I doubt it. Especially with Robert still alive. She wants revenge."

"Maybe I could help her see the futility of revenge."

"How's that going to work?" Arya asked. "You did take revenge against her father."

"Yes, and it brought me no happiness," Father said. "Mind you, it wasn't my idea, either."

"Anyway, she has to come here somehow," Sansa said. "Dragonfire is the best method against the dead."

"Only if we have to fight them," Arya said. "Killing the Night King killed them all. I did it before. Perhaps I can go north of the Wall now and do it again."

"No!" everyone shouted at once, even Bran.

Arya frowned. "I'm good."

"You're very good," said Bran. "But that exact combination of circumstances is unlikely to work out again, I don't particularly want to serve as bait again and the distraction was key, and also, you don't have the Valyrian steel dagger because Littlefinger never sent that assassin to kill me with it."

"What?!" Mother and Father shouted.

"Long story," said Bran. "Unimportant."

"Unimportant." Sansa laughed ruefully. "That dagger was why Mother kidnapped Tyrion. That dagger started the war."

"Did you say I kidnapped Tyrion Lannister?" Mother asked.

"And brought him to the Eyrie," Arya said.

"Okay, we've gone off track again," said Father. "Daenerys can wait. Are you sure about these next steps?"

"You going north has to happen, Father," Sansa said. "It just has to, or we've already lost the most deadly war. If things go badly in King's Landing, it's far less disastrous. But I will do my best."

He shook his head. "Fine. I'll do what I must. And I'll get Jon freed."

"While you're there, could you see about a boy named Gendry?" Arya asked "King Robert's bastard. I don't know if he was still sent to the Wall or not, he had been last time but that might just have been because of the chaos in King's Landing. You probably actually met him, right?"

"Yes, the blacksmith's apprentice. What about him?"

"Just. If he's there, if you could get him freed too." Arya blushed.

"You know this boy?"

"He was a friend of mine, in, you know, the other timeline."

"Friend," said Sansa with a smirk. "He asked you to marry him."

"Did you say yes?" Mother asked.

Arya snorted. "Certainly not. I did care for him, mind you, maybe even love him, but Daenerys had legitimized him and named him Lord of Storm's End at that point and I wanted nothing to do with being his lady."

"I'll see about the boy," Father said.

"Thank you."

"So we're all in agreement?" Sansa asked. "About what needs to happen?"

"Seems so," said Mother. "One more thing. My brother... having a Lord of Riverrun who knows what we're up against might be helpful. May I tell him? The truth?"

"I've been thinking about that," Arya said. "I think it's alright."

"Do you think he can handle it?" Sansa asked.

"I think so. I'll be... limited in what I say."

"Then I say it's fine," said Sansa.

She nodded. "Alright, then. We have our path. A lot of very dangerous plays."

"We'll be alright," Arya said. "Because this time, we're working together."

Chapter Text

Arya

"I still don't like it," Mother said, shaking her head.

"Mother," Sansa said, exasperation creeping into her voice. "I've told you. I can handle the capital for a few months. Do you know how long I survived there before? And that was with Joffrey as king, not Father's best friend."

"Just promise me you'll stick to what we agreed on," Father said. "Expose the plotting against the king, expose Littlefinger, and become as close as you can with the queen. Nothing else. No side-plotting, not until I'm back."

"I promise, Father. I swear it on all the gods and everything."

"You don't believe in the gods anymore," Arya said.

"Oh, shut up."

Father grinned a little. "Do as Jory tells you on the way down to King's Landing. He still thinks you're a child, and you do still need his protection."

"I will! Of course I will, do you think me a fool?"

"No. But you're headstrong," Mother said. "And we know what happens when people overestimate their abilities."

Arya felt her face flushing. "Can we please let that go?"

"I'll be safe," said Sansa. "I'll do what I need to do. You do what you need to do."

"We will," said Bran.

Lord Edmure walked into the room. "Okay. I have ten more men to escort Lady Sansa back to the capital."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "You think I need fifteen people to travel with me?"

"The Kingsroad is dangerous," her uncle warned. "Bandits and... and worse roam it."

"I know what 'worse' is, uncle. And I understand that, but speed is important, is it not?"

"Not for you," Arya said. "Not like it is for us. We have to get to Winterfell as soon as possible."

"I've got forty men for the Night's Watch," Edmure added. "That's all I could muster."

Father nodded. "I've written to my bannermen. Along with yours, I think we should be able to muster up close to two hundred, if they all comply. Hopefully that, and the assurance of the support of both Winterfell and Riverrun, will be enough to sway them."

"Getting a single recruit released in exchange for that many men will likely be easy," said Mother. "Even two." She glanced at Arya, who felt her face flushing again. "Getting them to agree to the wildling plot, will rely on a miracle."

"Never been one to believe in miracles," Father said. "I hope I'm wrong."

"You've taken all this in stride, Uncle," Bran noted.

"Yes, well." He let out a small laugh. "Haven't got much choice, have I?"

"You should've seen Robb when I told him," said Arya.

"You'll give Robb my best, won't you?" Sansa asked.

"Of course."

"Is there anything else Riverrun or I can do for you?" Edmure asked.

"Tell them about the army of the dead," said Arya. "Ask if any want to volunteer to fight, when the time comes. Get them ready, you know. Training. We should have years, but advance notice is always good."

He nodded. "I'll do my best. I don't know how many down here will believe such a tale, but I will try."

"And something must be done about House Frey," said Mother.

"You said that in this, er, alternate timeline, things went badly with them."

Mother exchanged a glance with Arya. "Quite badly. Their allegiance must be assured, or else their lands and power stripped from them."

"I can't take those away with no reasoning. So how do I assure their allegiance? You're not suggesting a marriage-"

"NO!"

Edmure jumped slightly as all five other voices in the room shouted in unison. "Got it. Not that. Good, I'm not keen on the idea. What then? I could take one of Lord Walder's sons or grandsons as a squire."

"A good idea," said Mother. "And you could use the connection to gather intel on what they might be plotting. Watch out for alliances with other people who may not like us. The Lannisters are nominally allies now after Robb's wedding, but you never know."

"Understood."

"I think that's it for now, then. Let's get Rickon. Suppose it's... time to say goodbye."

Sansa

She hadn't gotten enough time with her mother. Or with Arya, Bran, or Rickon. And now not only was she leaving them again, she was leaving Father, too. She hated the thought of being alone in the capital again, but the rest of her family was needed elsewhere. She knew she could do it. She just didn't like it. She had ruled alone for a couple of months before coming back, of course, but that was different. That was in Winterfell, in her home, among her people. The capital was something else entirely. But at least Jory would be there, and Jeyne, who she had been neglecting too much. The poor girl probably just thought Sansa had abandoned her and had no idea why. She could remedy that while she was there. Especially if she wasn't allowed to "side-plot," as Father had put it.

"Why aren't you going back to the capital?" the Blackfish asked Father, frowning.

"Apparently the Night's Watch needs me," he replied. "I am still Warden of the North, and Robb's a bit young for such things."

He nodded. "Well, good luck with whatever it is you're doing. I hope it's not so long before we see each other again."

"I hope so too," Father agreed.

He said goodbye to them all in turn and headed back inside.

Lord Edmure smiled at them. "Well, I hope this plan of yours works. May the gods bless you all."

He said goodbye to each of them and gave Mother a hug, then he left as well.

Sansa turned to them. "I suppose this is it."

"Be safe," Arya said. "But show them how amazing you are."

She smiled as she hugged her sister. "I will."

"Write to me," Father said. "I'll be keeping tabs. If you need me, for anything, I will turn right back around and make haste for King's Landing."

She smiled. "I know, Father. I love you."

"And I you." He gave her a hug.

"As do I," said Mother. "Write us too, if you can. And we'll give Jon your best."

"I know you will. Goodbye, Mother."

As they embraced, Rickon almost walked into her leg. "Don't forget me."

"I could never forget you, little brother." The image of his body still haunted her sometimes, but here he was, alive and well. "You be good for Mother and Father."

"I will."

"And Bran. You... stay you."

"I'll do my best," he said with a grin. "Don't let those stuffy politicians ruin everything, okay?"

"Never."

Jory walked up to them then. "It's been good to see you, Lady Stark, children." He nodded at Father. "Good luck, my lord."

"And you, Jory. It's something very precious to me I've asked you to protect. Keep her safe."

He nodded. "You know I will. Are you ready, Lady Sansa?"

She nodded. "Let's go."

So she, Jory, five of the Stark men they'd come up here with, and ten of her uncle's men all got on their horses, and, with a final wave to her family, they rode out the gates of Riverrun.

Arya

As they waved to Sansa and Jory, Father said, "We should be heading out as well. Is everybody ready?"

"Yep," said Bran. "Can we stop at Greywater Watch on the way north?"

Father turned to him in surprise.

Arya rolled her eyes. "This is not the time for your crush on Meera Reed."

"That's not what it's about!"

"Really?"

"Oh-so what if it is?"

"Crush on Meera Reed?" Father asked. "What's this?"

"N-nothing."

Mother smiled. "I don't see why we couldn't stop there, it is on the way."

Father hesitated, but nodded. "Yes. I'll write to Lord Howland."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Bran asked.

"The end of Robert's Rebellion," Father said curtly.

"How can you have a crush on Meera Reed?" Rickon asked. "You've never even met her, have you?"

"You haven't," Bran said.

"I miss out on everything." He pouted. "You're all hiding something. I can tell, you know."

"You're better off not knowing," said Arya. "We've told you. Keep your innocence."

"Being the youngest is the worst," he complained.

Arya felt for him, remembering how she had felt growing up, when Robb and Jon would have their inside jokes and she was too young to know them. But she knew he was, in fact, better off not knowing. "It's just boring stuff," she said. "Politics and such. You don't have to know until you're older, and trust me, it's dull."

"Hmm."

"Come on, Rickon," Father said. "You can ride with me."

That perked him up. "Okay!"

The five remaining Stark men got on their horses, and as Arya got on hers she looked back at the castle. She hadn't expected to grow fond of this place, but she had. She understood what her mother meant; it had a certain charm to it. But she was eager to head back to the North, and even more excited to see Jon again. Father pulled Rickon onto his horse with him, and the ten of them rode together out of the gates of Riverrun.

Chapter Text

Sansa

"Tell me, my lady," Jory said as they made camp for the night. "Where did you learn your political prowess from? Your lord father hates all the games of the capital, but you seem to do well there."

She felt a sense of pride rush through her. "I've learned from watching." It wasn't really a lie. She'd seen much more than she let on, but the base of it was true. "I see how people lie and manipulate each other. I've seen how the truth can be used as a weapon." She nodded at the blade in his hand. "Secrets have killed more people than blades."

"True enough," he agreed. "I recall you always used to study the histories at Winterfell. Does that have any bearing?"

"Well, knowing the history of the realm is a good way to see where things are going. I can see parallels. Patterns. For example, when the Boltons decided to turn and march on Winterfell, I knew it had precedent."

"Hmm. Robb had Roose Bolton executed, didn't he?"

"Had him executed? You mean, he did it himself. The way it should be done." And, Sansa thought, a keen poetic justice. Unfortunately, Ramsay was still out there somewhere, but he still had only a bastard's name and no titles. Maybe she would kill him again at some point later.

"Right," said Jory. "As your father always says, the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

"Or woman," said Sansa. "Don't you believe a woman can rule?"

Jory raised his eyebrows. "Wars have been fought over such things, my lady."

"I know. Like the Dance of the Dragons." And Daenerys's own war, her burning of King's Landing when she found out about Jon.

"Why? Would you want to be a ruling queen?"

The question sat with her. She was a ruling queen, and she had liked being one. But she would never get to be one again, would she? If the North still gained its independence, which wasn't something Father seemed to want, he would be king. And Robb was next in line, as he should be. Then Bran and Rickon still came before her. Even if she could convince Father to change the rules, to put men and women on equal standing-something only Dorne had done, and something most of the North would never go for-she still wouldn't be his heir, which meant she would never be queen. Obviously her family meant more to her than any title, but she had been a good queen. And now she had lost that. What was she going to be, then? The idea of being second to some husband did not appeal to her anymore. "Yes," she finally said. "But I suppose it's irrelevant."

Arya

She glanced over at Father as they rode into Greywater Watch. He didn't look as happy as one might expect him to be seeing one of his closest friends for the first time in nearly two decades. He stared ahead with a stern expression. Beside him, Mother was looking over as if worried. Rickon sat in front of her, having switched over from Father's horse today. He was still pouting about not being allowed to know everything. Next to them, Bran was grinning widely on his horse, clearly excited to see Meera again. He seemed convinced he could win her over.

When they reached the courtyard, Howland Reed stood with his wife and children. Once he actually saw him, Father broke into a smile. "Lord Howland," he said warmly, dismounting his horse. "It's good to see you."

"And you, Lord Eddard." They embraced. He looked happy as well, but also a bit nervous. "And it's lovely to meet you, Lady Stark."

She dismounted the horse and helped Rickon off. "You as well. I have heard only good things."

Bran practically jumped off his horse to stand in front of them. "Lord Reed," he said, as a courtesy, before quickly turning to Meera. "Lady Meera."

"Hi," she said. "You must be Brandon?"

"Just Bran is fine," he said, blushing a little. "But yes, that's me. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Meera." He turned to Jojen. "And you as well, Jojen." A hint of melancholy crept into his voice.

Howland Reed smiled down at Bran, but his brow was furrowed in confusion. "Glad you children seem to be getting along, then."

Lady Reed smiled and turned to Rickon. "And you're Rickon, yes?"

"That's me!" he agreed eagerly.

"And you must be Lady Arya," she said. "Lord Stark has written much about all of you over the years."

"If he's written about me, you must know better than to call me 'lady,'" Arya replied with a smirk. Then she saw that Lord Howland was looking at her, his gaze lingering a bit longer than normal. "Something wrong?"

"Not wrong," he said. "Just... you look like your aunt Lyanna."

"Yes, she does," Father agreed, exchanging a look with him.

Lord Howland had said the same thing to her the first time she had met him, at the Great Council where Bran had been named king. Father had said it to her only once, but she wondered how early he had seen it, if he thought it every time he looked at her.

"Well, then," said Father. "Should we head inside?"

Bran insisted on sitting next to Meera at dinner. Jojen sat on her other side, shooting Bran suspicious glances every few minutes. Arya could only roll her eyes. She listened to the conversation the adults were having, which included filling Father in on a bit of Northern politics he had missed while in King's Landing before turning to reminiscing.

"You met at the tourney, right? Lord Whent's tourney at Harrenhal?" Lady Reed asked.

"Yes," said Father. "Lyanna introduced us."

"She saved me," Lord Howland said. "These three squires were kicking me, and Lyanna came at them with a sword and told them to leave me alone as I was her father's man. Then she took me back to her family's tent to dress my wounds and introduced me to her brothers."

"She sounds amazing," Arya said.

"She was," said Father. "And more than a bit like you. She dressed up as a knight and beat the masters of those three squires in the joust."

"So that was her?" Lord Howland asked. "I had thought perhaps, but..."

"It was her," Father agreed. "She told me later."

"If she was so amazing, why do you never talk about her?" Rickon asked.

Father sighed. "I hope you never have to understand."

Mother took his hand under the table.

The rest of dinner went fairly quietly, until Bran and Meera had both finished their food and Bran said, "Lady Meera, would you like to go for a walk with me?"

"Why?" she asked.

"Why not?"

"You know, that sounds like a great idea," Jojen said. "I'll come too."

The three of them exited the room, and Lord Howland raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's interesting."

Father shook his head. "Children. What can you do about them?" His expression grew more serious. "Lord Howland, if you would, Lady Stark and I need to talk to you in private."

"And me," Arya said. She wasn't entirely sure what the conversation was about, but she could roughly guess and she didn't want to be left out.

"Yes, alright," Father agreed.

"What about me?" Rickon complained.

"I suppose that leaves you and me," said Lady Reed. "Why don't you introduce me to your wolf?"

"Okay," said Rickon.

Arya followed her mother, her father, and Howland Reed down a hallway and into a small room with a desk and three chairs. She sighed as she took a seat on the floor.

"So what's this about?" Lord Reed asked.

"There's something I ought to tell you," said Father.

"Hang on," said Arya, realizing what he was about to say.

"Arya," Father said, "This man can be trusted with a secret."

She had to admit that much. "Well, alright."

Howland Reed frowned. "And what secret would you be referring to?"

"It's alright, Howland. They both know."

"Really?"

"It's complicated," Mother said.

"Seems it. I thought you didn't want anyone to know."

"Things have changed. Arya and her sister brought the knowledge back from the future," said Father. "A lot of knowledge. They travelled through time. Into their younger selves. They have memories of an alternate timeline."

"Oh," said Howland, frowning slightly. "I see."

"You don't sound surprised," Mother noted.

"It explains a lot. Jojen's been having... odd dreams."

"Bran too," Arya said. "Dreams of the other timeline."

"Yes. Ned, he said you had died at one point."

"I did. But Sansa saved me. They're altering the future."

He looked down at the floor. "Jojen said that he died."

"He did," Arya said. "Getting Bran to the Three-Eyed Raven, so he could become the next one. But it never has to happen now."

He shook his head. "Quite some future."

"But we're going to stop it," Arya said. "We've already started."

"Yes," Father agreed. "And I could use your help."

"Of course. You know I am always loyal to you."

"Trust me, I know it. You've kept Jon's secret all these years..."

"I owe both you and Lyanna a debt of eternal gratitude. Protecting her son is the very least I could do."

"And you never said anything," Arya said. "Even after Jon's secret was out, you never admitted to knowing."

"How did it get revealed?" he asked.

"Bran. And his magic visions. Samwell Tarly helped. But mostly Bran."

He nodded. "And how did the realm react?"

"Well, Daenerys burnt down a city because he stopped being her lover once he found out she was his aunt and she decided the people would never love her so she just... you know, killed all of them. Leveled King's Landing. Varys had turned against her for Jon at this point, and Tyrion Lannister was headed that way, so I guess she just... gave up on love and went for fear. It was... truly horrifying."

He gaped at her. "Daenerys Targaryen?"

"Apparently she has three dragons and eventually comes this way," Father said. "And apparently she also has some of her father's tendencies."

"Very much so. Her father put wildfire under the whole city," Arya said. "Every street corner, every building. When he realized Lord Tywin had won, had taken the city, he gave his pyromancer the order to light it up. That's why Ser Jaime killed him. He killed the pyromancer first, so the order could never go out."

Father turned and stared at her for what might have been a full minute. "What?"

"Brienne of Tarth told me. She was Mother's sworn sword, and later Sansa's, but she also was with Jaime for a bit, and he told her."

"Why-why would he not have said anything?" Father shook his head. "I-I gave him plenty of opportunity, he never..."

"Because he was proud and arrogant," Arya said. "But he did a good thing. That day. That was sort of his problem, he would do a good thing one day and a horrible thing the next and you could never be sure what you would get."

"Not a very trustworthy man, then," said Lord Howland.

"No," said Arya. "He saved Sansa's life because he swore an oath to Mother, but he also threatened to catapult Uncle Edmure's baby over the walls of Riverrun."

"What?" Mother asked.

"Long story. I'll explain later."

"So how can I help you?" Lord Howland asked. "I've already gotten a dozen men for the Night's Watch for you."

Father nodded. "That's good. Preparing as many people as you can to fight the whitewalkers and the Army of the Dead is also very important."

"The whitewalkers," he said. "They're what killed Jojen in this other timeline, right?"

"Yes," said Arya.

"Trust me, I'll get people prepared to fight them."

"I trust you more than nearly anyone," Father said. "I know you'll do what's right."

"I try."

"Talk to Jojen about these visions, will you? See if there's any more information you can get, anything that's important."

"I will. But I don't like to put such a burden on him."

"I know," Father said. "But sometimes we must trust our children." He looked at Arya, and she felt a rush of pride.

Lord Reed nodded. "Is that all?"

"Yes, for now at least," Father said. "Thank you. Goodnight."

He nodded and left the room, and they sat in silence for a long minute.

"I should've visited him sooner," Father mused. "He says he owes me, but in truth I owe him more than I can ever repay."

"He's very honorable to keep the secret for you," Mother said.

"He is. But it goes beyond that. When he found me in that tower, at Lyanna's side... I don't even remember leaving that tower. If he hadn't been there I don't know what I would have done." He turned to Arya. "It just makes me think... everything that happened to you... did you have any friends with you?"

"Well," she said. "At times yes. At other times no. But I was better off than Sansa. She was completely alone."

"And we've sent her back there alone again," Mother said.

"She'll be alright," said Arya. "Everything will be alright." And for the first time in a long time, she thought she might actually believe it.

Chapter Text

Sansa

She hated traveling. Really she always had, but her days with Littlefinger, being dragged through the Riverlands, the Vale, then the North, had fully soured her on the idea. And the fact that she hadn't even gotten to go to the North on this trip, just to Riverrun and then turning around to go back south, seemed unfair. She wished she could have seen Robb, and Ser Rodrick, and Maester Luwin, and Theon... oh, Theon. What would her family do with him? For now they had simply let him stay in the same position, but surely Robb and Mother were wary of him, given that Arya would have told them what he had done, how he had betrayed Robb. Mother had never trusted him, and understandably so, she supposed. The Greyjoys were known to stir trouble, and Theon had been swayed by his father before. He must never be allowed to go to the Iron Islands, then it wouldn't happen again. As long as he stayed with Robb, he would remember that he loved him like a brother.

And she wanted to see Jon, too. She had come to rely on him, in their time together at Winterfell, and she had missed him when he had gone beyond the wall, but that hadn't been very long. In the time since returning to the past, she had realized how useful she had found his counsel, even when she disagreed with it. And assuming he did get his memories back, she had much she needed to discuss with him. But she didn't get to see Jon, or Robb, or Theon. She didn't get to stay with Arya or Bran or Rickon or Mother or Father. No, she was here, all but alone, heading back to the most dangerous place in the realm. She appreciated Jory's company, but it wasn't the same. He was her father's friend, she might trust and respect him but she really didn't know him very well, and there were things he could never say to her because of her position. And he didn't know the truth. She alone in the capital would truly know what was happening. As they made camp for the night, yet again, Sansa looked out towards the East, where, far beyond her horizon, Blackwater Bay sat. They would be at King's Landing in two days, give or take, and she would have to play the naive young girl while also saving King Robert, bringing down Littlefinger, and convincing Queen Margaery she was to be trusted. And during that time, she would have to figure out exactly what it was she wanted. When the Great War played out and was won, when Daenerys was somehow dealt with, what end goal did she have in her sights? Her family's survival, obviously, but what about for her?

"Something wrong, my lady?" Jory asked.

"No. Just in a contemplative mood, I suppose."

"Ah." He nodded. "Your father often gets in those."

"And what does he do when he has an impossible question to ponder?"

"Asks for help, I suppose."

"Hmm." But she couldn't ask for help. Not with this. And certainly not here.

Arya

The closer they had gotten to Winterfell, the more relaxed Father had seemed. As they rode into the gates, he was smiling. But he wasn't quite as happy as Robb.

"Father!" he exclaimed, as soon as he saw him. He sounded like a child, not someone who had been acting as Lord of Winterfell. He was beaming as he ran towards them.

"It's good to see you, Robb," Father said, dismounting his horse and embracing him. "I've missed you."

Myrcella stood a bit back, smiling a bit awkwardly. She stepped forward and curtsied. "Lord Stark."

He nodded politely. "Lady Myrcella. I suppose I should apologize..."

"For exposing my parents' crimes?" she asked, her voice gaining a bit of an edge. "You only did your duty as the King's Hand, his response is his own choice. You could have told him straight away, but because of your mercy, my family lives. I do appreciate that."

He nodded. "Well, I hope you've found some happiness here at Winterfell."

She met Robb's eyes, and he smirked. She bit her lip, clearly holding back a laugh. "I think you could say I have."

Arya smiled at seeing them apparently getting along. The months since she had last left for Riverrun had apparently served her brother and goodsister well.

Robb turned his attention to Mother. "I'm sorry I couldn't be at the funeral," he said, embracing her.

"That's alright," she replied. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

"So we always say," he agreed, then smiled at Arya, Bran, and Rickon. "How fare my younger siblings?"

"I got to ride a galloping horse on my own," Rickon said with a grin.

Arya couldn't help but laugh. He had nearly fallen off the steed, having to be saved by Father, but he had been overjoyed all the same.

"Wow," Robb said.

"Sansa sends her love," Arya said.

He nodded. "Shame she couldn't come as well. It's been too long since we've all been together."

"We still wouldn't all be together," Bran said. "Jon's not here."

"Right," Robb said.

"Snow's probably off killing wildlings," said Theon, who had been standing quietly behind Robb and Myrcella. "Having all the fun."

Arya resisted the urge to laugh. If Theon only knew.

"Good to see you again, Theon," Father said. But there was a certain strain in his voice Arya could just barely notice. He, too, had learned what Theon had done to them in the other timeline. Would he act on it?

"And you, Lord Stark."

"How have things been at Winterfell in my absence?"

"Fine," Robb said. "Well, other than when we were under siege by the Boltons. But I dealt with that traitor Roose Bolton as I should."

Father nodded. "And you've been preparing for winter?"

"Of course. The Night's Watch keeps writing me with a desperate plea for aid, though."

"That's why I came back north," Father said. "Why don't we discuss it more after dinner?"

As they headed inside, Arya walked beside Robb. "So. Things seem to be going better with Myrcella."

He smiled. "Yes. We've got a game going."

"A game I'm winning," Myrcella said from behind them.

"We'll see about that."

"What sort of game?"

"It's kind of hard to explain," Myrcella said. "We're competing to earn more points than the other, but the points can be assigned for all sorts of things."

"Guessing what someone is going to say or do correctly," said Robb.

"Doing numbers well."

"A good practical joke."

"But only a friendly one," Myrcella quickly clarified. "Nothing cruel."

"No," Robb agreed.

"Riding," said Myrcella. "But that one's a little unfair in Robb's favor."

"You got points for singing," he complained. "I'm utter rubbish at that. It balances out."

Arya grinned. "I like this game. Who decides the points?"

"Oh, we mutually agree on them," said Myrcella. "Theon tried to cut in and start assigning points at one point, so we had to set a line and exclude him."

When they entered the hall for dinner and all took their seats, Arya couldn't help but smile. They weren't all together, but there hadn't been this many Starks in Winterfell for a long time. And that included Myrcella, now. It was one of the most joyful meals she could remember, with Robb telling Father about all he had done as acting Lord of Winterfell and Father clearly delighted to be back in his home, in the North.

After dinner ended, they bid goodnight to Rickon and Myrcella and she, Bran, Robb, Mother, and Father all went to Father's chambers. Summer stood guard inside the door while Grey Wind stood guard outside, making sure they could not be interrupted.

"So," said Robb. "We have to talk about the Night's Watch?"

"First," said Mother, "We have to talk about Jon."

He frowned. "Mother...?"

"Cat," Father said, his smile fading. "I don't think..."

"He has to know, Ned," she said. "It wouldn't be fair."

He sighed. "I suppose you're right."

"Know what?" Robb asked, frowning. "Has something happened to him?"

"Lots of things have happened to him," said Arya. "But that isn't what we mean."

"Then what?"

Mother exchanged a look with Father, then turned to Robb. "Jon isn't your brother."

"Mother, we've talked about-"

"No, I mean, he is your brother, of course, just... not by blood."

"What?"

"He's Aunt Lyanna's son," said Arya. "Aunt Lyanna... and Rhaegar Targaryen."

Robb opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.

"And they were married," Mother said. "So he's not a bastard. He's actually the heir to House Targaryen."

Finally Robb said, "Father?"

He sighed again. "It's true. And you must never tell. King Robert will have him killed."

"Of course," he said. "But... all these years... you kept this secret?"

"He promised," Bran said.

Father looked at him sharply. "Yes."

"I don't understand..."

"I truly do not have it within me to explain it all again," Father said. "You can ask Bran for the details, seems he's seen it all."

"Not all of it," Bran said. "But enough."

"Let's talk about the Night's Watch, then," Arya said. "Robb, we're going to make a trade. Get Jon released from his oath."

"Why?"

"Because it's not fair," Arya said. "Jon deserves better than to be stuck at the Wall. He's our brother. Also, we need his help. The pack must stick together. Winter is coming, and so is Daenerys Targaryen."

"Right."

"There's more," Father said, and he explained their plan in detail.

"The Watch will never agree to that," Robb said.

"It's unlikely," Mother agreed. "But we have to try. Even with the wildlings and Daenerys and her dragons on their side, your siblings barely defeated the Army of the Dead. And we may not get Daenerys."

"We have to, somehow," said Father. "I'll bring it up when I talk to her."

"When you what?" Robb asked.

"I'm meeting with her. After all the business with the Night's Watch."

"You're sure that's best?"

"I'm never certain what's best, Robb, but I do believe it is. We can only make our best guesses. I may not be an expert player of the game, but despite what Sansa seems to think, I am not a fool."

"She doesn't think you're a fool," Arya said. "But you can be too sentimental. Too trusting."

"I know," he said. "But I do sometimes know what I'm doing."

"It's good to have you back," Robb said. "I wish you could stay."

"Trust me," Father said. "So do I."

Chapter Text

Catelyn

She looked up as her husband joined her down in the crypts. "I wasn't sure I believed them when they said you were down here." He glanced at the statue in front of her, the statue of his sister. He held a bouquet of winter roses in his hand.

"I thought I owed her an apology," she admitted, looking at the carved likeness of her goodsister. "From one mother to another."

He gave a grim smile at that. "She certainly wouldn't have held back her thoughts on the situation."

"Brandon always described her as headstrong."

Ned snorted. "Did he say the same of himself?"

"I think the time he nearly killed Littlefinger spoke to that." She glanced beside her at the other statue, the statue of the man she had once been set to wed. In all her years at Winterfell, she had visited him only twice. "Maybe I should have let him do it."

"Whatever Littlefinger became, I'm glad you're not the sort of woman who would see a man dead on her behalf."

She gave a faint smile at that, but it faded. "I wonder how your sister felt, knowing how many people fought a war on hers."

"Oh, I'm sure she hated it." He stepped forward and placed the flowers on her statue. "I wish she had lived. I wish both of them had..."

She wrapped her arm around her husband. "Do you wish you could go back in time as our daughters did?"

He looked over at her. "You know, I thought about it. But I wouldn't. Because then I wouldn't have them. I wouldn't have you. Of course I wish them alive, but not at the cost of what we have."

She nodded. "We have some pretty wonderful children." She sighed. "And so does Lyanna." She placed her hand on the statue. "I'm sorry for the way I treated your son, and I'm sorry you never got to be a mother to him. I could never take your place as that, but I should have done more for him. And from now on I promise you I will do my best to be there for him, to help him. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

She pretended not to notice Ned wiping away his tears. "We should go," he said. "Time to say our goodbyes."

She nodded and turned to walk out. As she left, she kissed her fingers and placed her hand on Brandon's statue.

Arya

"Can't believe you're all leaving again," Robb said with a shake of his head.

"Can't believe you're leaving me here," added Rickon, pouting.

"Oh, it's not so bad here," Myrcella said with a smile. "You all be safe up north."

Mother gave her a hug, which Arya was pleased to see. "I'm glad you two are getting along. Be well."

"Always, Mother," said Robb.

Father finished packing his supplies. "I really should make haste. I love you all."

He gave them all hugs as they said their goodbyes, then he rode out of the castle.

"So many goodbyes," Arya said. "Never enough time."

"But we have places to be too," Bran said.

"Where exactly are you going again?" Myrcella asked.

"Up to the castles up north," Mother said, repeating the story they had worked on. "Just checking in on all our bannermen there. Ned would love to do it himself, but the business at the Wall is rather urgent."

"So I hear."

"We'll miss you," Robb said.

Theon nodded his unenthusiastic agreement.

More hugs and goodbyes were exchanged, and Arya rode with Mother and Bran out of Winterfell. She never liked leaving her home, but at least this time, she thought, she was going to find Jon, and that was worth it.

"So," Mother said. "Do you know where exactly Jon is?"

"Well, right now he's still over the Wall," Bran said. "He should be back on this side by the time we get up there."

"Do you know where he comes over?"

"Not exactly."

"Oh, wonderful."

"It's alright," Arya said. "Time for an adventure."

Sansa

She looked up at the walls of the Red Keep before her. She wished she could be free of them forever, but that wouldn't happen for some time. The queen stood to greet her, her oversized coat doing little to hide her now clearly protruding belly. "Lady Sansa," she said with a smile. "It's good to have you back."

Jeyne stood beside her, and curtsied. "My lady."

Sansa winced. Her tone was cordial, but not warm. Her childhood friend deserved better than being ignored. "It's good to see you again, Jeyne."

She smiled faintly at that.

"And you of course, Your Grace," she added. "How's the babe?"

"Doing well," she said with a smile. "I'm sorry about your grandfather. How was the funeral?"

"Peaceful," Sansa said. "And it was nice to see my family again."

"I imagine."

"Your Grace, if it's possible, I have an urgent message for the king, from my father."

She nodded. "Ser Barristan, if you could tell His Grace of this message."

He nodded and headed into the castle. Margaery, Sansa, and Jeyne followed. "How has the capital been in my absence?" she asked.

"You've only been gone a month, not so much has changed. Robert remains... well, Robert."

"It's boring here," Jeyne said. "Especially without you."

"I'm sure we can find something to do," Sansa said.

At that moment, Ser Barristan came towards them. "His Grace has requested your presence in his solar, Lady Sansa."

She nodded and followed him, wondering if she was ready for her first private audience with the king.

Robert looked at her and raised his eyebrows. "So your father's sent you as his messenger, has he?"

"Yes. I have information that must be delivered in the strictest confidence."

He nodded and dismissed Ser Barristan from the room. "Well, let's hear it."

"He's written it down," she said. "So you can be certain it comes from him." She pulled the scroll Father had written her from her cloak and handed it to him.

He frowned as he opened it, and she watched as he read it, his gaze growing more and more fierce. "Renly is plotting to overthrow me?"

"That is what the evidence would suggest. He has some plan that hinges on the queen's baby, on whether it's a boy or a girl."

Robert frowned. "That shouldn't matter. Even if the babe is a girl, Renly wouldn't be my heir. Stannis would."

"I don't think he'd have a problem getting rid of Stannis." After all, Stannis had had no problem killing him.

Robert shook his head. "What am I doing? Shouldn't be discussing this with you. Thank you for your message. Do you know how long your father will be?"

She took a breath and tried to hide her irritation. "A few months perhaps, but he should be back before the queen gives birth."

Robert's eyes narrowed. "Wait. How do you know the queen is with child?"

"I have eyes, Your Grace. She's showing already."

"Hmm."

"It might be time to announce it. Perhaps you could declare that her child will be your heir regardless of gender, then Renly-"

"Enough! You may be Ned's daughter, but he is my Hand, not you. You're just a girl."

"I'm more politically inclined than you or others might allow yourselves to believe. I may be a girl, but I'm a girl who knows what she's doing. I'm happy to help you, if you would only let me. Doesn't my father's note say as much?"

"Hmm?" He looked at the note again and moved his eyes to the bottom of the scroll, which he had evidently skipped before. "I send Sansa as my envoy, to speak for me until I return. You can trust her. She can help you." He looked up at her. "He has a lot of faith in you."

She felt a rush of pride. "Yes. Do you have faith in his judgement?"

There was a long pause. "I do. That's why I named him Hand. But he's wrong here. His judgement clouded by a father's love. I can't have a girl of four and ten advising me."

"It's not as though I'm asking to sit on the small council, Your Grace. I just wish to help you with this matter. I can be useful as an asset. People do not suspect me. I can speak to Renly."

He frowned. "I suppose that raises an interesting point. But if anything were to happen to you, while you are here, your father would-"

"My father knows the dangers of the capital all too well. He would not blame you." She didn't know if that was true, but it was what the king needed to hear. "And besides, nothing would happen to me. It's just talking."

He looked at her for another long moment. "If you want to try and speak to my brother, I suppose you might. But don't do anything rash. You are still a child, and a girl at that. Your judgement will be easily compromised."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and said, "Of course, Your Grace."

"Hmm. You're dismissed."

She turned and left the room, wondering what it was her father loved about King Robert.

Chapter Text

Sansa

"You managed to get this together fast," she said quietly to the king.

"A good king is always ready to throw a good party," he replied. He walked off to find his queen and make his grand entrance, and Sansa searched for her own escort. She found Renly muttering something to Ser Loras and waited until their conversation had finished. "Lord Renly," she said politely.

He turned. "Ah. Lady Sansa. Is it time already?"

"Just about."

He took her arm and they walked towards the hall where the ball was being held. She had been surprised, at first, how easy it had been to convince Robert to do this, but then, the man loved parties. It had taken him only two weeks to make it happen. She pitied the poor servants who had had to do it all on such short notice, but this was the only way she could think of to truly get the information she needed out of Renly. She had tried to have a regular conversation with him, but hadn't found a natural way to bring the subject up. When she had gotten even close to the issue of his brother, he had brushed her off. And any time she approached anything political, or anything that might be vaguely uncomfortable, he simply ended the conversation and walked away. After a week of this, she had come up with her solution. If they were dancing, well then, Renly couldn't walk away, not without being rude.

If he was onto her, he said noting as they headed inside. They took their seats beside Robert and Margaery, and ate their meal in near silence. She knew better than to bring anything up with Robert so close. Though she was working to save his life, she hardly wished to work with him, and had things she wished him not to hear.

When the time came for the first dance, she followed Renly out into the hall. He was a graceful dancer, she realized after a moment. She was good at dancing, too. And even better at dancing with words.

"You must be excited for the birth of your niece or nephew," she said quietly after a moment.

He frowned. "You shouldn't speak of such things. Officially, no such thing is true."

"We can all see it, my lord. Do you not think your brother should announce it by now?"

"What Robert does is up to him."

"Yes. But you're not happy with his choice to delay, are you?"

"I don't agree with all that he does. But he is our king." She did her best to make sense of his tone, but it was rather impressively neutral.

"Do you think you would be a good king?"

"What sort of question is that?" He sounded offended by the question, and missed a step in the dance. But they kept going.

"Just trying to be conversational. Do you think you have what it takes to make those difficult decisions?"

"I should like to think so. I have been Lord of Storm's End since Robert took the throne."

"Yes. An honorable position. I suppose you didn't expect to be lord."

"No. But I was only eight when Robert took the throne, I didn't expect much of anything before then." He spun her around, then said, "Why are you asking all this?" He didn't sound suspicious, exactly, more chagrined.

"Well, what am I supposed to ask about?"

"I don't know. The things that interest a young lady."

"Oh, like the weather and pretty flowers and the like?" Her face flushed. "Do you think I'm some insipid girl with no mind for anything real, as your brother does?" She had gotten too heated there, had revealed too much, but she was so tired of being underestimated.

Renly raised his eyebrows. "I certainly don't. I've not forgotten that time you insinuated you wanted to marry me. And not in the way of some girlhood crush, you were trying to make a political alliance. It was far too bold, but it was savvy."

She smiled a bit to herself. "Sometimes you need to be bold. And sometimes, perhaps, one should just say what they think."

"You're trying to bait me," he said finally. "But into what?"

She was starting to realize she may have underestimated him. "You're too suspicious."

He snorted. "No, Stannis is too suspicious. I'm just observant. You and your father are plotting something. I just can't decide if Robert is in on it."

"My father's not even here."

"No, but he sent you. Well, that's fine, my lady. Your plots can be your own, as mine remain to me. But I've got a proposition for you."

"And what's that?"

"Loras Tyrell."

"What about him?"

"Marriage. To you."

She was so surprised for a moment that she missed a step. "Truly? The queen mentioned it, but..." But if Loras married, he'd go back to Highgarden, no longer free to frolic around the capital with Renly. Was that what he wanted? She couldn't say such a thing aloud, of course.

"It's a good match for House Stark, is it not?"

"I don't deny it. But does Loras want that?"

"We've discussed it."

"I'd have to discuss any such thing with my parents."

"Of course. But if you can be bold, why not I?"

She chuckled slightly. "I'll think on it."

The song ended, and he let go of her, walking into the crowd. She was approached then by none other than Ser Loras. "Care to dance, my lady?"

She took his hand as the next dance began. She had almost made this match before, and she could certainly do worse. But did she want to marry someone from another great house? To do so would pull her away from Winterfell. And that was a thought she really didn't like.

Arya

Mother sighed as they packed up their tents and got ready to get back on the road. "I've grown tired of travel."

Arya laughed bitterly. "So did I, at least the land sort. Dragged all the way through the Riverlands and back by a man who saw me as a prize to be sold and who I dreamed of killing every night."

"What?"

"The Hound," Bran said. "He found her, and was going to sell her to Robb. Then Robb died, so he was going to sell her to Aunt Lysa. Then she died. Then Brienne of Tarth fought the Hound for her but she snuck away and sailed to Braavos."

"Braavos?"

"I trained with the Faceless Men," Arya said. "That's where I learned a lot of my skills."

"Oh." She shook her head. "So Sandor Clegane wanted to sell you? And you wanted to kill him?"

"He killed Mycah." Another person their journey back through time had saved, she thought with satisfaction.

"Who?"

"A butcher's boy I befriended. He annoyed Joffrey so the Hound killed him."

Mother shook her head. "There's so much of your life I'll never know. I feel like you can't possibly tell me all of it."

"I could show you," Bran said. "I think I've figured it out. Like I said, I can't give you back your memories, but I could show you bits. If there's anything in particular you want to see."

"There isn't," Arya said. "Trust me, Mother."

"Perhaps not," she said. "But Bran, I'm quite interested in how this power of yours works..."

"I can't really explain the how," he admitted. "I guess the old gods chose me."

Arya could see in Mother's eyes that that hadn't been the right thing to say. They seemed haunted and afraid, and Mother shivered slightly. "If the gods chose you," she said slowly, "then you are doomed to that fate, are you not?"

"Nobody's doomed to any fate," Arya said. "Didn't Sansa and I prove that?"

She looked at her for a moment, then said, "Yes, yes of course." But Arya wasn't sure if she was convinced.

Ned

He rode up to the gates of Castle Black shivering, and felt a bit irritated with himself. He was the Lord of Winterfell, he shouldn't be cold. But Winterfell was scorching hot compared to this place, especially with winter soon upon them. He looked with dismay at the disrepair that the castle had fallen under, wishing he had heeded Ben's warnings earlier. Wishing Robert was the sort of man who would do anything to help the Night's Watch.

He wasn't too pleased with the man who came out to meet him, either. He remembered little of Ser Alliser Thorne, but he knew he had fought on the side of the Mad King during Robert's Rebellion, and that didn't exactly do much to endear him to Ned. Two other men stood with him, other officers of the Watch. "My lord hand," Thorne said with a clearly fake smile. "What an honor it is to have you here with us."

"Where's Mormont?" Ned asked by way of reply.

"The lord commander is off on a long ranging north of the wall," he replied. "For months now." Ned knew this, of course, but he must act like he didn't, he could hardly tell him that his son had seen the events up north in his magic visions.

"And my son?"

"Ah, yes, your bastard," Thorne said. "He went with them."

Ned nodded. "Very well. Who is acting as lord commander?"

"The officers are acting as a collective, for now."

"Then I need to speak with all the officers."

"We're all here," said the man on Thorne's left.

"I don't see Maester Aemon."

"Ah. Yes." Thorne looked annoyed. "Why don't we have some of the new recruits show you to a room, and we will arrange a meeting this evening after supper."

"If you must," Ned said. "But this is urgent business. I should like to get it done as soon as possible."

"But how urgent is it truly?" the other officer asked.

"Urgent enough that the Hand of the King rode all the way north to the Wall in order to discuss it." Ned had no patience for these games.

They exchanged looks back and forth. "Come on then," said Thorne.

He followed them to what he presumed was where Maester Aemon did his work. The old man looked up when they entered. "Who's here?"

"It's Lord Eddard Stark," he said. "The Hand of the King."

"Hand of the King," the maester said quietly. "And what brings you all the way here?"

"Many things," he said. "I'd like to strike a deal."

"A deal?" Ser Alliser sounded incredulous. "What do you mean by that?"

"Simple. I have near 200 men for the Watch. I understand that reinforcements are sorely needed."

"And what do you plan to ask for in return for these 200 men?"

"Two men. Released from their oaths."

All three of the younger officers looked aghast, but Maester Aemon's face betrayed nothing. "Released from their oaths?" Thorne said. "That's not possible."

"Not possible? Men can be released from their oaths by order of the king, no? I act with the king's power."

"If you believe you have that power, then why do you need to negotiate?" Maester Aemon asked.

"So there would be some trade. These aren't just thieves or poachers rounded up from cells, many of them are fighting men. I don't want to have to exert force. But there is also... something else I need the Night's Watch to do."

"Asking a lot, aren't you?" Thorne said derisively.

"I am. I would like to see the realm truly protected."

"What men do you want freed?" asked one of the other officers.

"My son, for one."

"Lord Snow?" Thorne said with a scoff. "Take him. If he hasn't already died up there."

"And a boy named Gendry."

"Gendry?" Thorne frowned. "He's the blacksmith's boy, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Him you can't have. His forge work is needed by the Watch."

"He can work in the forges of Winterfell," Ned said. "And send you his weapons."

"We got some shipments of dragonglass weapons from your son already," he said. "You'll send more?"

"We'll send them often. Stannis Baratheon has sent us a great deal of the stuff. And Gendry will work better at Winterfell's forges."

The men exchanged looks. "Fine," Thorne said. "You can have Gendry. Collecting bastards, are you?"

Ned hid his irritation. "Now for the other matter. The Night's Watch needs to negotiate with Mance Rayder."

All three of the men began to shout in anger. Maester Aemon still betrayed nothing.

"Negotiate with a wildling?" Ser Alliser said. "And this from Benjen Stark's brother!"

"My brother was no fool," Ned said. "He would listen. The wildling are not the greatest threat. They're running. They're running from the white walkers. From the Army of the Dead. And every time that army kills a man, that man gets added to their army. So every wildling they take, is another enemy the Watch will have to fight when they get here. Would it not be better to have those men on our side?"

"Fight alongside wildlings? You're mad, Stark."

"No. I listen. I listen when I am given a warning."

"And who's been warning you?"

"The gods," Ned said. But he'd had more warnings than that. More warnings even than his childrens' talk of the future. Only now did he fully understand the ramblings Lyanna had told him as she died. The prophecy, a song of ice and fire, her son uniting the realm against evil.

"The gods?" The men laughed. "Why would the wildlings fight with us, anyway?"

"If you let them come south," Ned said. "Let them hide behind the wall."

At that he was met only with silence.

"You are mad," one said finally. "We're here to protect the realm from wildings."

"You're here to protect the realm. And speaking for the realm, this is what is needed. You can find common cause with Mance Rayder, or at least try."

"Listen here, Stark," Ser Alliser said. "That will never happen. No loyal man of the Night's Watch would negotiate with a man like that. And we can't let them down south to pillage our villages and rape our women."

"You make a lot of assumptions about them," Ned noted.

"If Mance Rayder is so important to you, why don't you go meet with him, hmm? Rather than sending Black Brothers to do so at our peril."

"If you wish me to negotiate on your behalf-"

"Not on our behalf," he corrected. "The Night's Watch will never allow wildlings south, or fight alongside them. If you want to make common cause with him, you can do so with all your power of the crown. We still won't let them south."

"If I broker an agreement with Mance, would you at least consider it?"

"No, we-"

Only then did the maester speak. "I suppose we can consider anything. But favorable terms are unlikely, Lord Stark, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose I will find out," he said. "On the morrow, I will see Gendry released from his oath and escorted back to Winterfell, where the first few dozen of the new men will be waiting. Then, I will ride north myself to speak with Mance Rayder."

"He'll kill you," Thorne said. "And good riddance."

"I suppose we shall see."

Chapter Text

Ned

He found the boy at the breakfast table, talking with a few of the others. "Gendry?" he said.

He looked up and frowned. "Lord Stark."

"Could you come with me?"

Gendry looked confused and more than a bit worried, but he followed him outside. "Have I done something wrong?"

"On the contrary. I've come to free you from your oath."

"Sorry?"

"As the Hand of the King, with the authority of King Robert, I have released you from service to the Night's Watch."

"I don't understand."

"Your work is needed in the forges of Winterfell. They're far better than those here. We need to be ready for the Army of the Dead."

"But you could have just taken me down to the forge. You're freeing me from my oath? Why would the king care one lick about me?"

Ned gave a grim smile. "Well, as it happens, Gendry, the king is your father."

His face went pale. "What?"

"You're King Robert's bastard son."

He stared at Ned for a long moment. "And he's claiming me?"

"Well, no, but I am to ensure you are cared for." Technically, he had not lied, he convinced himself. And anyway, what was he supposed to tell the boy? That Arya had been in love with him in another timeline that had never come to pass?

Gendry nodded. "So you're taking me back to Winterfell?"

"Not quite. Three men of the Watch will be escorting you there. I'm headed north, myself."

Gendry frowned. "North from here?"

"I'm meeting with Mance Rayder."

"Ah," Gendry said. "I wish you good fortune with that, then."

"Thank you. Come on, let's go."

He walked with Gendry back to his sleeping quarters, and waited while he gathered his things. When the three men who were accompanying him to Winterfell arrived, he said, "Farewell, Gendry. Safe travels."

"You as well," he said. Then, after a long pause, "Thank you, Lord Stark."

Ned waved at the boy as he left. Then he saddled his own horse and headed to the gate. Two men joined him; they had agreed to take him about a day's ride from the Wall, but after that he would be on his own. As the gates opened, he wondered how many times his brother had ridden out beyond the wall, how many times his son had. Now it was his turn. The Wall was the legacy of the Starks, he reflected. Protecting it was their duty. Protecting the realm from winter. He would be fulfilling that duty now. Spurring his horse onwards, he headed into the wilds of the true North.

Sansa

She couldn't help but give a smirk as she watched Littlefinger led out before the court for his trial. Watching him brought to justice once had been satisfying, and now, assuming all went to plan, she would get to watch it happen a second time. Not by her order, true, but still.

The mood in court was restless that day. The king accusing his own councilor of murdering the previous Hand was a serious matter, and she knew some doubted the evidence of her father's word. But if there was one thing Robert could be counted on for, it was to distrust everyone except her father. He may not listen to his best friend nearly as often as he should, but at the very least, he liked Littlefinger less. There wasn't much to like.

"Lord Petyr Baelish," the king said, anger in his voice. "You stand accused of murdering Jon Arryn, the previous Hand of the King."

"An absurd accusation," he said. "But I respect the process of the law, and trust this trial to prove it."

"Hmm," Robert said. On either side of him were the trial's other two judges: Mace Tyrell, the queen's father, and Lord Stannis. Neither were the choices Sansa would have made, but she had been in no position to say anything. Robert didn't value her or her opinions in the slightest. Lord Tyrell, at least, would listen to the words of his mother and daughter, who she did trust, to a degree at least. Indeed, the Tyrell women often seemed to have a great deal of control over affairs, something she had every reason to believe would hold true if she married Ser Loras and became the Lady of Highgarden. He could never love her the way men normally loved women, but after what she had experienced of men who did, she couldn't say she would mind that. He would treat her with respect and kindness, she could be fairly sure. And with Robb now to inherit Winterfell as he should, leading another house may indeed be a good option for her. But she loved the North, belonged up there. She was a Stark of Winterfell, after all. Then again, her mother had grown up Catelyn Tully, and now she was as much a Stark as any of them. Yet she had not abandoned her roots, and there was no need for Sansa to do so if she married elsewhere. Even if the North gained its independence-something she intended to discuss with Father in more depth-it wasn't as though allyship with the rest of the kingdoms would be gone.

She shook the thoughts out of her head and focused back on the trial. Lord Stannis as a judge was difficult to discern. He was extremely stringent about rules, and had little in the way of personal loyalty. This meant that he would not be moved by Jon Arryn's memory or the love his brother held for the man. But it also meant he would not be swayed if he were to believe Littlefinger guilty. The question was, would he trust her father's word? Stannis Baratheon had no love for her father, she knew that true enough, but he knew him to be a man of honor. Would he trust his honor, or believe him swayed by love for the man who had raised him? Time would tell.

The first witness was Grand Maester Pycelle, who testified that while he had not seen evidence of any poison, Lord Arryn had not seemed in any poor health before his sudden illness. After that, Lord Varys testified about the use of the Tears of Lys, and its likely relation to the incident. Beyond that, there was nothing for it but to determine who had given him the poison, and so her father's message was read to the court:

I, Eddard of the House Stark, do hereby give my word that I have it on good authority that Lord Petyr Baelish is responsible for the murder of Jon Arryn, using the poison known as the Tears of Lys. I hope this evidence may be used to bring him to justice.

"Good authority," Littlefinger said when the letter had been read. "And whose authority, might I ask, is that?"

"You are doubting the Hand of the King?" Robert asked.

"I think it's not untrue to say that Lord Stark can perhaps be a bit persuadable, especially when those he loves are concerned. And he provides no source for this information. So Lord Varys told him the name of the poison, very well. But why me? Why not the squire, Ser Hugh, who benefitted so greatly for his death? Why not anyone acting on the orders of the former queen, given that Lord Arryn knew of her disgusting secret? Lord Stannis can verify that true enough, he helped him discover it. As far as Lord Stark, he has motive enough to dislike me. Pardon the indecent talk, Your Grace, but it is known to many that I was the one who took Lady Catelyn's maidenhead. I imagine Lord Eddard holds some resentment over that."

The lie boiled Sansa's blood. If only she could sit as a judge in this trial.

"It's a fair point," Stannis said. "What is Lord Eddard's evidence? He says only 'good authority.' That could mean any number of things."

"A source he wishes to protect," Robert said. "But I trust Lord Eddard. So I trust his source."

"And Lord Eddard himself wrote this letter, for certain?" Mace Tyrell asked.

"Yes. Written in his hand, delivered by his own daughter."

"His daughter," Stannis repeated. "A child brought you this message?"

"Lord Eddard's child."

"Sansa Stark," Stannis said. "Is she here?"

The king looked into the crowed and met her eyes for a second. "Yes."

"Might you step before the court, Lady Sansa?" Stannis asked.

She frowned, but did as she was bid. She gave a curtsy. "Your Grace. Lord Stannis. Lord Tyrell."

"You brought this letter from your father?" Mace Tyrell asked.

"I did."

"Do you know who his source was?" Stannis asked.

She was silent for a moment. She was his source, of course. But she couldn't very well tell them that, could she? What could she say? If she told them no, she feared the trial might collapse before her very eyes. The king believed it, but that wasn't enough. Removing Littlefinger from the small council hadn't been enough. She had to see him gone. If not dead, at least banished, or perhaps sent to the Wall. He wouldn't last long there anyway.

"Did you hear the question?" Stannis said.

"I heard, my lord. Forgive me, I'm just trying to recall my conversation with my father." Did she dare take the gamble? Did she risk it? "He was very convinced, though. He is not so easily swayed. He would not have accepted this as truth without evidence, not even out of love for Jon Arryn or a dislike of Lord Baelish. That much I believe to be true."

Mace Tyrell frowned. "But you do not have any idea what this evidence was?"

That was enough. His doubt was enough, meant that Littlefinger might get away with it if she didn't say anything. She threw her only card on the table. "My aunt was the source," she said. "The Lady Lysa Arryn." This much was true, she reasoned. It was from her aunt that she had heard the truth, after all.

Whispers went through the room, and Littlefinger looked at her sharply.

"Your aunt believes Lord Baelish killed her husband?" Stannis asked.

"Yes. He gave her a special wine to gift Lord Arryn, which she gave him for dinner. Only after he fell ill did she begin to suspect something was wrong with it."

"Why would Lord Eddard not say that?" Mace Tyrell asked with a frown.

"She didn't want to be named. She fears for herself and her son. I hate to do so against her will, but it seems necessary to make you understand, my lords. She told my parents in strict confidence though, I do not think she would say it again, publicly or otherwise. I only overheard them discussing it by chance."

The judges looked at each other. "We will consider this evidence," Lord Stannis said.

Littlefinger looked aghast. "Lysa would never say such a thing!"

"Seems you don't know her as well as you think," King Robert said.

"I know her very well," Littlefinger said. "Well enough to know that she is in love with me. Even if I had knifed Lord Arryn before her very eyes she would not have said a word against me. Lady Sansa is lying."

"No, you're lying," she said. "And you never took my mother's maidenhead either, that's a lie as well. You took Aunt Lysa's, though. You got her to fall in love with you, and then you used her. Used her as a pawn to get her husband killed." It wasn't even a lie.

"She never loved him," Littlefinger said. "She loved me. She came to me, while I was injured, after your Uncle Brandon nearly killed me. She loved me."

"But you only used her," Sansa said. "Because you wanted my mother, not her. But you would not hesitate to use her either, if it suited you. That's what you do, Lord Baelish. You use people. You had Lord Arryn killed because you wanted to start a war. You blamed it on the Lannisters and led my father to believe it was them, because you wanted to start a war. To profit on. You were trying to get the king killed, and I'm not entirely sure you're not still trying." More whispers spread throughout the room.

"A vile accusation," he spat. "And what do you know? You're only a child."

"A child I might be," she said. "But at least when I speak, I mean what I say. When I make a promise, it means something. Promises are nothing but empty words to you. Loyalty is a concept you scoff at and toss aside, and honor is a stranger to you. You are a snake, winding your way to victory at the cost of all those you encounter, even those you profess to love." She ignored him and turned to the judges. "You do not have to heed my word, my lords. That is up to you. But I implore you to. I swear to you that Lord Baelish is guilty of this crime. I swear it on my honor, and on my father's honor, and my mother's. On the honor of House Tully, and of House Stark. On the character you know my family to have. Against that, you have the honor of Littlefinger. Owner of half the brothels in King's Landing. The choice, of course, is yours. Might I resume my place?"

The three men all stared at her, stunned. Finally, the king said, "Go on, then."

She returned to where she had been standing, feeling the eyes of all the court on her, and she smiled. As the judges stewed in her words, she watched Littlefinger coolly. And when the verdict came, declaring him guilty of murder, she smiled at him, too.

Arya

"We're close," Bran said. "As close as I can figure. This windmill, it's important. They'll be coming by here, though if we can reach them earlier we should try."

"How long?" Mother asked.

He frowned. "A week maybe? Two at most. He'll be with a few wildlings, one of them is a warg who doesn't like him. Then there's Ygritte, the one he loves. It's a small party, a scouting party."

"Could I take them?" Arya asked.

"Arya, not everything is solved with a blade," Mother said.

"I know! But if I had to, could I take them?"

"With Summer's help, maybe," Bran said. "You shouldn't doubt a warg, though."

"I can warg!"

"Only into Nymeria," Bran said. "And she's somewhere in the Riverlands."

"Hmm. Well, you can warg into lots of things. You could help me take them. And even Mother managed to fight off an armed assassin once."

"I did what?"

"He was about to slit my throat," Bran said. "Long story."

"Let's try to avoid fighting them, yes?" Mother asked. "If all goes well with your father, they won't have to be enemies of the Night's Watch."

"True," Arya said. She looked at her mother. "Are you ready to see Jon again?"

She was silent for a moment. "As ready as I'm going to be," she said finally.

"Good," Arya said. "I suppose it's just waiting now."

Chapter Text

Sansa

"That was quite a show you put on," Olenna said to her as they walked through the palace gardens.

"A lady must know when to be polite," Sansa replied, "But she must also know when not to be. Lord Baelish was a threat to both my family and the realm, and might have gotten away with murdering my uncle. I could not let that stand."

"So he actually did kill Lord Arryn? I couldn't be sure."

"He did," Sansa replied. "Not the worst of his crimes, though."

"The way you played those judges, including my son... it was impressive."

"Thank you."

"You would be a great asset to Highgarden."

"It's kind of you to say so. I have considered it. But I love the North, Lady Olenna. I hesitate to agree to leave my home."

"Were you to stay in the North, you would at most be the lady of one of your father's bannermen. Surely being a Great Lady better suits a woman of your mind."

She was the first person Sansa had heard since coming back in time who had referred to her as a woman and not a girl. She smiled. "I'll certainly discuss the issue with my family. I would not make such a decision without the input of both my parents."

"You respect them?"

"Greatly."

"I haven't had the pleasure to meet your parents," Olenna said. "But my son met your father, when he liberated the siege of Storm's End at the end of Robert's Rebellion. Said he was as stern and cold as the North."

"When he needs to be," Sansa said. "As am I."

"Good. You truly do understand what it means to be a lady."

I understand what it means to be a queen, too, she thought. And if she married Loras, she would for certain never be one again.

Arya

When Summer finally came back to them, yipping away, Arya almost wanted to cry with relief. Three days they had been camping out inside a gods damned windmill, waiting for the sign that Jon's party was near. Mother had hardly spoken, lost in what thoughts Arya couldn't entirely say, and Bran had been warging half the time, which Arya had to admit frightened her. She could only warg in her dreams, but her brother did it waking, his eyes rolling back into his head and giving her shivers. Now, finally, she knew Summer had smelled her brother nearby, meaning it was time to ride out and meet Jon.

They mounted their horses and headed out. Mother's hand was shaking slightly as she took the reins of her mare. "It'll be alright, Mother," she said.

"I know," she replied. "Or I hope, at least."

They heard the party before they saw them. The voices came from behind a ridge. There was talking, and a laugh. A cold, cruel laugh, not one with any joy. Then a woman's voice, scolding the first to be quiet. That must be Ygritte. "Here we go," Arya said quietly.

They spurred their horses over the ridge, Summer loping alongside them.

Tormund saw them first. "Well look here," he said, and all the heads turned. "Looks like we have some more horses to take."

She hardly heard him. She was looking at Jon. First there had been confusion in his eyes, then recognition, then shock, and finally horror. "Arya?" he said, almost in a whisper. "Bran?"

"You know them?" one of the other wildlings asked.

His eyes scanned over them all. "This is my sister. And my brother. And..."

"His father's wife," Mother finished. "Lady Catelyn Stark."

Tormund whistled. "Well, look at that. Three Starks. Mance will be pleased. We should take them back to him."

"If you harm them," Jon said, "I'll kill you."

"Thought you weren't a Crow anymore," Ygritte said.

"I'm not. But I'm still Lord Eddard's son."

"Taking us to Mance Rayder would be a waste of your time, anyway," Mother said. "My lord husband is on his way to treat with him as we speak."

"He's what?" Jon said, jaw dropping. "I thought he was in King's Landing!"

"You've missed a lot," Arya said. "We can fill you in. As soon as your friends here stop looking at us like that."

"That's a direwolf," one of them said, looking at Summer.

"He's mine," said Bran. "The direwolf is the sigil of House Stark, but you must know that."

"We don't care for your sigils," Tormund said. "Why is Ned Stark going to meet with the King Beyond the Wall?"

"Because he knows that the real fight isn't with you lot," Bran said. "It's with the white walkers, and the Army of the Dead. And the only way we'll beat them is if we all work together. He wants to let you all move south of the Wall, and settle the Gift."

"Did he tell the Night's Watch that?" Jon looked aghast. "They'll kill him!"

"He brought them two hundred men and the financial backing of both Winterfell and Riverrun," Arya said. "We'll see what they say. But I trust Father."

Jon was shaking his head. "This is too much. What are you all doing up here, anyway?"

"Bringing you home," Arya said.

"Your father isn't just negotiating for a truce with Mance Rayder," Mother said. "He went to get you freed from your oath."

"Freed from my-" Jon's mouth hung open. "He can't do that!"

"But Robert Baratheon can," Arya said. "And Father is his Hand."

"I don't think even the king can-"

"Do you want to come home or not?" Bran asked.

"I don't-" He was silent for a moment. "I don't know, I never thought it was an option."

"Can we kill them and take their horses?" one of the wildlings asked.

Ygritte turned to him and hit him on the arm. "Have you even been paying attention? Ned Stark might make peace with Mance. We can't go killing his family."

"We can't let Snow go back to Winterfell, either. He'll betray at the first chance. And who's to say they won't just take him back to Castle Black? Who's to say they aren't lying? I say we kill them."

Arya sighed. "I don't want to fight you. But I will."

They all looked at her for a long moment and laughed. "You?" one of them asked. "A little lady?"

She slid off her horse and drew Needle in a flash of steel. "Who wants to try me first?"

"I will," one of them said. He drew his own sword and came at her, and she tried to ignore Jon's scream.

The fight was over almost as soon it began. The man lay on the ground, her sword point at his throat. "Do you yield?" she asked.

"I yield," he spat.

She sheathed her sword so he could get up. "Anyone else?"

Ygritte grinned. "I like your sister, Snow."

"I like her too," Jon said with a smile. "You've gotten good with your Needle, Arya."

Mother frowned. "How do you know the sword's name?"

"Ah," Arya said. "When Robb told you he had it made, that might have been a tiny lie."

"I see." She looked at Jon for a moment, then gave a small smile. "She is very good with it."

Jon was frowning deeply at her. "Why did you... why did you come?"

"Well," she said, "I wasn't going to let Bran and Arya wander around on their own, was I? Besides. We need to talk."

"We all need to talk," Arya said, feeling the eyes of the wildlings on her still. "Family meeting."

"You think we're just going to let you ride off with him?" Tormund asked.

Summer snarled, and Bran said, "We'll be back. But we need to speak to my brother in private. If you have a problem with it, Summer has been a bit hungry lately."

"And I always love a good sword practice," Arya said.

Mother looked at Arya, at Bran and Summer, then back at the wildlings. "Two of you can come with us. There's a windmill a short ride from here. Those who come with us can stand guard outside the windmill while we talk inside. Make sure we don't escape."

Tormund frowned. "Fair enough. I'll go with you."

"And me," said Ygritte. She looked at Mother. "I like your hair. Kissed by fire, like mine."

"Tully red," Mother replied. "The Tullys are descended from the First Men too, you know."

"You lot, stay here," Tormund told the rest of the party as he, Ygritte, and Jon mounted the horses the party had with them and rode behind them to the windmill.

When they reached it, Tormund and Ygritte stood outside the door, blades drawn, while the four of them went inside. Summer stood just inside the doorway, staring at the wildings, until Bran called him up.

"Alright," Jon said when they were alone. "What in the seven hells is going on?"

"I'm from the future," Arya said, figuring there was no point beating around the bush. "Sansa too. Future versions of us found magic that allowed us to go back and change the past. We've been doing it ever since King Robert came to Winterfell."

He stared at her for a moment, mouth hanging open. "What now?"

"You heard her," Bran said. "They've changed the future."

"Indeed," said Mother. "If not for their change to the timeline, your father would be dead. And Robb and I would be on the way to our own deaths."

"And Joffrey would be king," Arya said.

He was shaking his head. "That's all too much."

"Well," said Bran. "Then it might be a bit too much to ask, but... I can give you back your memories. Of the other timeline."

"Sorry?"

"I have powers. Long story. I can make you remember everything until the point Sansa and Arya came back from. The knowledge would help us prepare for what's to come."

"Alright then."

"There's a cost to those memories," Mother said. "They're doubtless unpleasant. You might want to consider whether you truly want them."

"Why would you care?" Jon asked. He sounded genuinely confused rather than angry.

Mother looked down for a moment. "I deserve that. I'm just saying, Jon. Make sure you know what you're asking for."

"This information would help our family?" Jon asked.

"Definitely," Arya said.

"Well, then." He turned to Bran. "Do it."

Arya bit her lip with nervousness as Bran placed a hand on Jon's arm. His eyes rolled back into his head, and Arya gripped Mother's arm in her fear. A moment went by of nothing happening, then Jon started to shake. All of a sudden, he tilted sideways. Mother caught his head just before it hit the ground and lay him down, unconscious. "Bran," she said, "What have you done?"

Chapter Text

Jon

His head was pounding when he woke up. Memories swirled within, but he couldn't seem to make many individual ones out. It was like they were distant, through a haze. What was the last thing he remembered? Arya... Bran...

Suddenly it all came back to him. The memories of all that had happened, all the tragedy that had come since the day they all left Winterfell, rushed back to him. But the parallel memories, the ones his sisters had changed, came back too. For a moment he felt like he was going to be ill, trying to reconcile all of those thoughts and memories. But finally it settled down. He sat up against the wall, and found himself wincing.

"Oh, thank the gods," Lady Stark said. She was sitting a few feet away from him, against the wall, legs crossed. She looked tired, and she sounded genuinely relieved.

"How long was I...?"

"Three hours, give or take," she said. "It's near dark now."

"Where are Arya and Bran?"

"They went out with Ygritte to get food. I tried to insist that I go and one of them stay here with you, but was refused on account of my utter lack of nature abilities. Ygritte swears to me they'll be brought back safe." The fear in her voice was plain.

"She won't hurt them," he said, hoping he was right. "Ygritte and I... we..."

"I know," she said. "Besides, they have Summer, and as you saw, Arya can handle things quite well. The sword was... a fitting gift. Perfect for her."

This was the longest conversation they'd ever had, he thought. And she was being nice to him. He wondered what could possibly have caused that, made her change, and then it struck him. "You know," he said.

"Know what?"

"Who I am. Who I... truly am."

"Ah," she said, and there was a brief silence. "Yes. I know. Sansa had your father tell me when they came to Riverrun."

"He's not my father."

"He is your father," she said. "In all the ways that matter. He raised you. He made you who you are. You're... you're so much like him. At least, that's what I've gathered. From the stories Arya's told me. The things you did after... after Ned and I were gone. I was wrong about you, always wrong. You defended your sisters, you defended Winterfell. You would never have tried to take their birthright from them."

Once Jon would have given anything to hear those words. "I did... I did used to have fantasies about Father legitimizing me," he said. "Him giving me Ice. I knew it wasn't right, of course, Robb was my brother and my best friend. The thoughts shamed me, but I can't pretend I never had them."

She shook her head. "You were a boy, Jon. I was a grown woman, and I had thoughts I was ashamed of too. But I was far less good at keeping them hidden. There is nothing I can say to make right the way I treated you, but I owe you an explanation. When I brought Robb to Winterfell as a babe, to a place I'd never been and a husband I hardly knew, the first thing I found when I got there was you. Another woman's child. And I felt... betrayed. None of that was your fault, but every time I looked at you I felt it anew. So I took the easy route. I tried to pretend you weren't there. And every time I bore Ned a child that looked more Tully than Stark, it reminded me I was an outsider in the North, that I didn't really belong. So you, looking so much like him, I... I should have pushed those thoughts aside. I tried, I really did. I was ashamed of myself, all the time. But I couldn't seem to let them go. And then after all that I find out you were never really Ned's bastard at all. No, the child I scorned was the heir to the Iron Throne."

For the first time in his life, Jon tried to imagine things from her perspective. To see what she was saying. "You felt like an outsider," he mused. "And all this time, I thought you disliked me because I was the outsider."

"Why would you think otherwise? I never allowed you to truly know me. Nor did I ever bother to know you. I hope... I hope I can remedy that. I know you can't forgive me so easily, but I hope you might give me a chance. To show you how sorry I am. To do right by you. I'm not your mother, I know I'll never be that to you. But I can be... something. Something more than a stranger who birthed your siblings, I hope."

He stared at her for a long moment. She looked so sad. The last time he had seen her looking like that had been in a moment that had never happened now, when he had come to say goodbye to Bran while he lay unconscious and broken. He tried to find an answer to her words. "I'm glad you're not headed to your death," he said finally.

She gave a weak laugh at that. "As am I. Do you know... I don't know if you've heard at the Wall, Robb has married Cersei's daughter Myrcella."

He blinked at her in surprise. "I hadn't heard."

"Lord Tywin had Arya in a cell, so I had to negotiate a deal to get her freed. When we left, she imparted upon me just how important it was that Robb marry who I had promised."

Jon shuddered. "A gruesome affair, that was."

"Well, Roose Bolton is dead now. Robb killed him. A poetic justice, I think."

"Indeed," Jon said. "What of Ramsay?"

"Still out there," she said. "But without his father's power."

"We have to kill him," he said. "He killed-"

"Rickon," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I know. But we can't kill people preemptively. That's why I told my brother to make peace with the Freys. Without marrying any of them, mind you."

Jon frowned. "But if Lord Edmure doesn't marry Roslin Frey, then what of their son?"

"Son?" she whispered. "I didn't know... oh, Arya did mention something about Jaime Lannister threatening to catapult his baby over the walls of Riverrun."

"Gods," Jon said. "Jaime really was a prick. Maybe we should have let Daenerys kill him at Winterfell." As soon as he said the name, those painful memories flooded back in force. He tried to push them aside without success.

"Ah, yes," she said. "Daenerys Targaryen. You killed her."

"I did," he said bitterly. "It had to be done, but I wasn't happy about it. The kinslayer is cursed, everyone knows that."

"Your father's planning to go meet with her."

"Has Father taken it upon himself to meet with every person on the board and try and win their allegiance?"

"Essentially," she said. "We need her dragons. So your sisters say."

"Probably," he agreed with a sigh. He was having trouble concentrating on the conversation. His head still ached.

Lady Stark seemed to notice. "This talk can wait. You should rest."

"I should go find Arya and Bran," he said. "Make sure Ygritte doesn't harm them. Rest can wait."

She smiled a little. "Now, that's a very Ned thing to say. If you're alright here, I think I'll go out to find them."

"You won't be safe out there," he said, surprised to find he actually cared. He had certainly never wished any ill on her, and had wanted her safe for his siblings' sake, but now there was something else. She had made him promises, and he wondered if things could really change now. He didn't know if he could move past all those years of her dislike, but he wanted to try. For his siblings, at the least.

"Everyone always seems to think I can't handle myself," she said with faint amusement. "I'm not Arya, true, but nor am I damsel in need of saving."

"I don't doubt it," he said. "But still, it isn't safe."

She sighed. "Perhaps you're right. I just-"

The sound of voices outside the windmill cut her off. Jon couldn't make out exactly what was said, but a moment later, Summer bounded up the stairs and started licking him all over. Behind him came Bran and Arya.

"Thank the gods," Lady Stark said again. "I was so frightened."

"Mother," Arya said, rolling her eyes. "You don't have to worry so much about us. Now, come on, both of you. Tormund has a fire going to cook the food."

"I think I'll stay up here," Jon said. "My head still feels like someone's pounding it with rocks."

Bran winced. "Sorry, Jon."

"Don't be sorry," he said. "You did what you had to do."

"And?" Arya asked, sounding concerned. "How do you feel? Other than your head, I mean."

He looked at his little sister for a long moment, and for an instant he felt tears start to prick at his eyes. Finally he lied, "I'm fine. Go on, have your dinner."

She nodded and gave him a small smile before turning to go. Lady Stark got up and followed her, Bran heading out the room last. Summer gave him another affectionate lick and followed them. Jon missed Ghost suddenly, deeply, wished he had his own wolf by his side. Everything was easier to handle with him around. But he would still be on the other side of the Wall. With a sigh, Jon stared at the ceiling, memories swirling around in his head.

Arya

"How did it go?" she asked quietly as they stopped in the doorway, Bran running past them to go outside.

"About as well as it could have, I think," Mother said. "Whatever happens, I'm glad I was honest with him. Whatever might happen, it'll take time, I'm sure. For one thing, he's got a lot to deal with at the moment, what with several years of memories being dropped on him in an instant."

"I'm worried," Arya said. "Some of those memories... I mean, he died, Mother. Fully died, and then came back."

"That does sound unpleasant," Mother said. "Not an experience I would want. Did it change him, when he came back?"

"He wasn't all that different. But he was darker and... less hopeful about things. Granted, other things might have caused that." Like Father's death, and Rickon's, and Ygritte's... he had been through so much, and Arya hated that he had to remember it. But a small part of her was also selfishly glad. It was often lonely, remembering those times. No matter how much she told Mother, or Father, or Robb, they could never really understand. And Bran had chosen not to relive those memories, which she could hardly fault him for. She also feared that if he tried he would become the Three-Eyed Raven again, and Bran would be lost.

"You coming?" Tormund shouted, and they headed out for dinner.

"I've been thinking," Mother said. "While Ned is negotiating with Mance Rayder, perhaps you lot could come back to Winterfell with us? We could discuss strategy for fighting the white walkers."

"Discuss strategy?" Ygritte asked. "What if the deal falls through? What if he and Mance can't come to an agreement, or what if the Crows ignore whatever agreement they came to? Then the strategy is useless and you have us captive in Winterfell."

"You can trust us," Arya said. "The blood of the First Men runs through our veins, same as yours."

"Trust," Tormund grumbled. "The Starks have always been our enemies. Tied to the Crows. Benjen Stark was their first ranger."

"But when the white walkers come," Bran said. "They will come for us all. And we know that."

"We'll think about it," Ygritte said finally.

Well, Arya thought, It's a start.

Sansa

She was combing her hair out when the knock came on her door. She got up and saw Jeyne outside, and pulled the door open. "Hello."

"You put on quite a show at Littlefinger's trial," she said. "It was impressive."

"Thank you."

"When did you become a political mastermind?"

She paused, wondering how to answer that. "I've picked up a lot in the capital."

Jeyne shook her head. Lady came up and nuzzled her, her head almost up to the girl's chest, and Jeyne pet her. "Something's happened to you, Sansa. Do you think I haven't noticed? You were my best friend. And you've been so distant. What is it?"

Sansa sighed. "There are things... things I can't explain."

"You don't trust me?"

"It's not that," Sansa said. "There are just some things I can't say."

She was silent for a moment. "You know if there's anything wrong, I can help you. I want to help."

"Thank you, Jeyne," she said. "I'll let you know if I need help with anything."

As her friend left the room, Sansa realized just how isolated she had become. Just how much she had stopped talking to anybody outside her immediate family about anything real. She had stopped trusting people, and she felt she had good reason, but she wondered if maybe she had taken it a bit too far.

Chapter Text

Ned

By the time he finally saw the tents of Mance Rayder's camp over the hill, he had been starting to wonder if Alliser Thorne was right about him dying up here. He was cold down to his very bones, despite the warm clothes he wore, and would have done just about anything then for a warm fire or a cup of hot tea. He was lonely, too; riding for weeks by himself without even one other person for company was starting to mess with his mind. He liked solitude, but not for this long. It left him with too much time to think about unpleasant things. And most of all in the past couple of weeks he had been thinking about Jon. He hoped Catelyn, Arya, and Bran would find him, but he feared what might happen once they did. Would he and Cat be able to make amends? It would be the greatest thing he could possibly hope for, something he had wished all of Jon's life, and for so long it had been impossible. The idea that their family might possibly be whole brought with it a flicker of hope. But he had fear, too. With Jon's memories would come the truth, the truth of his identity, of the promise Ned had made Lyanna all those years ago in that tower in Dorne. The first time Jon had learned it Ned had been long dead, and he could only wonder how he might have reacted. But now? He would have to face Jon, for the first time since the lie coming to light, and he could only wonder how he would react to him. Cat may not have been angry with him for hiding the secret, but would Jon be? He didn't know.

He shook the thoughts out of his head and rode down towards the camp. He had more immediate concerns to think about now. When he reached the first line of guards, they raised weapons at him. "Halt!" one said. "Who are you?"

"I am Eddard of the House Stark," he replied. "Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and Hand of the King."

The guards looked at each other, frowning. "Why would the Hand of the King be up here, alone?"

"I'm here to treat with Mance Rayder, in the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Roynar, and the First Men, Lord of-"

"Alright, then," one of them cut him off. "We get the point."

"Wait here," one said. "I'll ask if Mance wans to see him."

"He's Ned fucking Stark," said the first. "Of course Mance wants to see him."

"Just wait here."

The guard disappeared into the camp, and Ned waited, cold and frustrated. If he had come all this way for nothing, he would be quite displeased. Finally, the guard returned. "Mance'll see you. But you have to hand us all your weapons."

Ned didn't like that, but he supposed he must do as he was bid. He was only average with a sword, anyway, if all these wildlings charged him he couldn't possibly hope to fight his way out. He handed over his sword and was led into the camp and then into a large tent. A fire was going in the corner, and Ned was so relieved to feel the warmth that he almost forgot his courtesies. "You're Mance Rayder, I presume?" Ned said to the man sitting in the tent.

"That's me. And you're Eddard Stark."

"I am."

Mance gestured at the other chair, and he sat. "So the Southron king wants to make a deal with me?"

"I act with his name and authority. I can't lie and say he cares overmuch about this."

"From what I hear," Mance said, "He's not much concerned about ruling the realm at all. Only interested in that young new bride of his. What was her name?"

"Margaery Tyrell," Ned said. "But this isn't about her or him. This is about the white walkers. The threat they pose. And what we can do about it."

Mance nodded. "Glad to see there's someone down there who's paying attention. The Night's Watch thinks we're the real threat."

"From what my children tell me," Ned said, "No living men are the true threat. That honor lies with the dead."

"Your children?" Mance raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean your bastard, Jon Snow?"

"Him and my son Bran. He's a powerful greenseer, and a warg. He's seen what's north of the Wall as well. The true threat." And my time travelling daughters, and my sister with an old Targaryen prophecy, but I can't say any of that.

Mance nodded. "Well, then. What do you want to discuss, in the name of your king?"

"I wish to let your people South," Ned said. "To shelter them behind the Wall. With the promise that if and when the dead march below the Wall, you will help us defend the realm."

"That's all we want," Mance said. "But the Night's Watch won't go for it."

"No, they're not inclined," Ned said. "You should have seen their faces when I explained my intentions to them."

"And if they won't do it for a Stark..."

"Speaking of which," said Ned, "Might I ask if you know what happened to my brother Benjen?" He'd heard some of the truth from Bran and the girls, of course, but some things had changed. Perhaps Ben was still alive, truly alive. Perhaps he could come home.

Mance's look dashed those hopes. "A couple of my men said they caught sight of his party and were watching them to attack, but fled when they heard the white walkers coming. They went back a while later, but they never found any bodies. He's probably one of them now." His tone was sympathetic. It did nothing to lift Ned's spirits. His last brother, dead. Even if he was alive in some form, up here, as his children had said, he wasn't fully Ben anymore, couldn't ever come back to Winterfell to visit, couldn't ever laugh with him again or tell his children stories. He wanted to weep, but it would not do to lose his composure here. And there were more pressing things to discuss. He forced his mind back to the issue at hand.

"All the more reason they must be stopped," he said, his tone coming out slightly icier. "I will bring terms back to the Night's Watch, and hope they find them favorable. But they're not easy men to sway. Only Maester Aemon is at all amenable."

"Ah, yes," Mance mused. "Aemon Targaryen."

The words shot through Ned like an icy blade. How had he not made the connection? Of course, of course he was Aemon Targaryen. "Yes. He's at least willing to consider terms."

"What terms do you propose, then?"

"I'm hoping they'll allow your women, children, and elderly to settle the land in the Gift. I've long been wanting to raise new Northern lords to rule over that land, in exchange for the taxes going to Castle Black. If you agree to this plan, and the Watch agrees, I'll name a few new lords, and you can be one of them."

Mance was silent for a moment. "I never wanted to be a lord. I want my people's safety."

"Understood. I'll leave that part out, then. But you still have to farm and hunt for the Night's Watch, give them crops and horses and money. And if you can get any of your men to take the black-"

"Now, that's a difficult sell."

"I know," Ned said. "The animosity runs deep. The Watch might not even want them. But it's a good way to make peace, I think, if all parties involved can be convinced. I know it isn't ideal. But if you attack the Wall, I've pledged both Winterfell and Riverrun to help defend it. You can't win. This is your people's only chance at survival, and believe me, I want your people to survive. The blood of the First Men flows in the veins of the Starks, same as it does in those of the Free Folk. Please, let me take this treaty back to Castle Black. Let us avoid unnecessary bloodshed."

Mance looked at him for a long moment. "Go back to Castle Black, and tell them that if they let us south, let us settle the Gift like you promised, we'll all agree to fight alongside them against the dead when the time comes. We'll farm for them and pay them their damned taxes like you want. And I'll do my best to find them a few dozen men willing to join. Get them to agree. I'll send a few of my men with you part of the way, they'll stop just far back enough to avoid being killed by the Watch. Once you have the answer, ride back and let them know. Or send me a raven. Whatever it is, let me know if they'll let us live, or if it must, indeed, be war."

Ned nodded. "I'll take those terms back. I hope it works out."

"As do I."

As he rode out of the camp, ahead of Mance's men, he looked out at the wild expanse before him. An urge possessed him then to go out and search for Benjen, to find his brother in whatever form he was in and speak to him again, but he could not. He had to get this message back to Castle Black as soon as possible. It wasn't fair, he thought suddenly, childishly. Why did those he loved always get taken from him? As he rode on back to the Wall, he felt the heat of tears streaking down his face, blowing away in the North's harsh winds.

Arya

"It's been a week," Arya said. "And you've hardly said a word."

Jon was staring into the fire, as he had taken to doing, a cup of tea in his hands. "What would you have me say?"

"Anything, Jon, I'm worried about you."

"I'm alright."

"No you're not."

"Alright, I'm not. But I will be. It's just... a lot."

"I know. But you can talk to me, you know you can. I understand."

"Understand?" He frowned. "I guess you might."

"You haven't spoken to Ygritte. You've hardly even looked at her. How do you think I was with Mother and Father and Robb, when we first got back? I understand, Jon."

"Oh, Robb," he said. "I can't wait to see him again. And Rickon, and-"

"Our father," Arya said, determinedly. "He is your father, Jon."

"Your mother said the same thing."

"Maybe because it's true."

"Is she being genuine, Arya? About wanting things to change between us?"

"She is." Arya looked over to where Mother sat, discussing strategy with Ygritte and Tormund. "She really wants to make it up to you."

He sighed. "She never acted much different to how a highborn lady ought to be expected to act with a bastard. But it still hurt."

"I know," Arya said, putting her hand on his arm. "But Sansa and I came back here to change things. And wouldn't it be a nice change?"

"It would," he said. "How is Sansa?"

"Alone in King's Landing," Arya said. "Not as a prisoner this time, and by her own choice, but I still worry. She's got to save Robert, and that's not an easy task."

"But Joffrey's gone. Right?"

"Gone," Arya promised, and the word felt good to say. "And Cersei, and Jaime, and Roose Bolton is dead. Unfortunately we've still got Tywin to contend with, but maybe we'll get lucky and Tyrion will take care of that problem again."

Jon snorted. "Maybe. But there's bigger problems than the Lannisters. She's coming."

Arya frowned. Thinking about Daenerys couldn't be helping him. "She is. But we'll deal with that in time."

"As far as Ygritte, I guess you've hit that one on the head. Every time I look at her I picture her dying in my arms."

"For months," Arya said, "Whenever I looked at Robb I saw the Red Wedding all over again."

He looked over at her, shock in his face. "You were there?"

"Long story," she said. "The point is, the best way to stop those thoughts is to talk to her, to remind yourself that she's still here right now. And that she doesn't have to die. Not if we have anything to say about it. Not if our plan works."

"This plan's a bit mad," he said. "You really think I can convince the Night's Watch to accept Father's terms?"

"You can help him, anyway. Maester Aemon likes you, right?"

"Oh, Maester Aemon," he said. "I never even thought... we're kin!"

"So you are," Arya said. "Look, I know you don't want to go back to Castle Black, but you're our best chance to get this deal through. And if we don't get this deal through..."

"It'll be bad," he agreed. "I get it."

"Now, maybe talk to Ygritte?" she suggested.

He looked over at them for a long moment, then said, "Tomorrow. I'm going to bed."

She watched him go, hoping it hadn't been a mistake to give him back his memories.

Sansa

She was asleep, but she was running. No, Lady was running, but she was Lady, soft paws padding down the steps of the Tower of the Hand. Running past the guards, across the bridge and the courtyard, running down passageways and through holes and past the skulls of dragons into a long, dark corridor. Then she stopped. There were voices in the corridor.

"Something must be done about the girl," a voice was saying. "She's grown too knowledgeable. Too intelligent. She'll ruin everything."

"She has a good head on her shoulders," said the second voice, Varys's voice. "She may be useful. Having her father meet with Daenerys-"

"Would not be necessary if Robert Baratheon were dead. And she saved his life. Continues to save his life."

"He will not be king for long," Varys assured the other man. "But I'm telling you, Sansa Stark can be a good ally. We need not kill her."

"Why do you protect her? Because she's a child? She's clearly no innocent."

"I don't protect her. The girl's made herself many enemies already. I simply don't think I need be one of them. We should at least see how it plays out, this meeting she's having me arrange. You can get the message to Ser Jorah, I assume."

"Of course. I can arrange the meeting. Whether I should is another matter."

"I think Lord Stark deserves a chance. As does his daughter. If they fail..."

Lady turned and ran back, and Sansa saw the passageways give way to the courtyard, to the bridge, to the Tower of the Hand and its steps. Then she resumed her spot outside Sansa's door and curled up, and Sansa's eyes shot open. She opened the door and looked down at her wolf, confirming the dream was true. "Thank you, Lady."

Lady gave her an affectionate lick and went to sleep.

Chapter Text

Arya

As they rode up to the gates of Castle Black, Arya couldn't help but worry. Their plan hinged quite a lot on the officers of the Night's Watch being reasonable, and these were the men who had killed Jon. But they hardly had a better alternative. The deal had to be accepted by all parties for them to stand a chance against the Army of the Dead. They could have sent Jon alone, but Ygritte and Tormund had said that would be unacceptable, and anyway, the Watch would not be pleased to see him. So they all went. Well, the six of them; the rest of the wildling party had made to join with the other forces south of the wall, with only these two coming to help seal the deal. Mother had suggested she, Arya, and Bran go back to Winterfell, and Jon had agreed, but Arya didn't trust it. She felt like she had to be there. And she didn't trust Jon alone with them, no matter how much Ygritte loved him.

She looked over at Jon and Ygritte. They seemed to be doing better, at least. They were talking, murmuring things to each other that she couldn't make out. She hoped Jon could be happy with her, he deserved that. She wondered if romance was ever in the cards for her. She had a chance again, with Gendry, but she had turned him down for a reason. She would be no man's lady, and could she be with someone and still be free? She hoped so.

Mother rode next to her. "I still don't like this plan."

"As you've reminded me. Repeatedly. But they need to see how important this is. Besides, don't you want to see Father sooner?"

She smiled a little at that. "Always."

Jon rode up to meet them. "I should probably go ahead, so they see me first."

"Aren't they angry with you?" Mother asked.

"Yes, but at least they know me."

"They killed you," Arya muttered under her breath, so the wildlings wouldn't hear.

"Not for this."

Before Arya could protest, he spurred his horse ahead.

The gates opened, and almost immediately, Arya felt the suspicious looks. When Ygritte and Tormund rode into view, they turned from suspicious to hostile, and the men of the Watch moved around them to block their horses.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked a man with a scowl whom Arya immediately disliked.

"Ser Alliser," Jon said, and Arya smiled that she had been right in her assessment. "I've come with a couple of wildlings from Mance Rayder's camp, to aid the negotiation process."

"Negotiation process?" Thorne replied. "And who's negotiating?"

"My father. And Mance Rayder."

Thorne snorted. "Riding around out there on his own? I doubt he even made it to Mance's camp."

"You sent him out on his own?" Arya said, suddenly afraid.

"Why should we help him with his folly?"

"He's trying to save the lives of every man, woman, and child in the Seven Kingdoms," Mother said coldly. "He should be treated with respect."

Thorne looked up at her with a sneer. "Ah, Catelyn Tully, is it?"

"Catelyn Stark," she replied coldly.

"And these children are yours, I presume?"

"Yes. Arya and Brandon."

"How many Brandons do you lot have?" Thorne said derisively, and Arya saw Mother's grip tighten slightly on the reins of her horse.

"We don't have time for this," Jon said. "We need to discuss peace terms. I have some idea of what my father might have negotiated, and I'm sure we can work out the details-"

"We're not making peace with the wildlings, Lord Snow," Thorne said. "And besides. Your father has seen fit to trade you for a whole host of new men and get you released from your vows. Which means you're no longer a man of the Night's Watch, or my problem."

"You hate me that much?" Jon said. "Too much even to listen to me?"

"We should be hanging you," Thorne said. "But I don't think Lord Stark would take kindly to that."

"So then you don't think he's dead," Bran said.

"I don't know and I don't care."

"What's the meaning of this?" came a voice from behind the crowd, and when they parted Arya saw the oldest man she had ever laid eyes on, the man who could only be Aemon Targaryen.

"Maester Aemon," Jon said. "We need to talk."

"Jon Snow," the maester said. "You're back."

"And he's brought two wildlings with him," Ser Alliser said. "As well as Lady Stark and two of her babes."

"We're not babies," Arya said coldly.

"It seems we do indeed need to talk," the maester said. "Get them settled and then we can meet in my work space. Er, not the children."

"Hey!" Arya protested, but Jon shook his head.

"What do we do with the wildlings?" Thorne asked.

"Are they here to talk or to fight?"

"To talk," Ygritte said. "For now."

"Then you shall be treated as guests," Maester Aemon said. "For now."

The crowd of men parted, heeding the maester's words, and Thorne gave them a glare before walking off himself. They dismounted their horses, and a steward led them to one of the towers. They gave Ygritte, Tormund, and Mother each their own rooms, but Arya and Bran were expected to share. There were plenty of empty rooms; it seemed like a slight.

Jon only chuckled at her expression. "It's not for long."

"You can go back to your old room," the steward said. "Are you really leaving us?"

"I don't know," Jon said. "I suppose I can. I'll get back to you on that."

When the man left, Arya frowned. "What do you mean you don't know? Sansa had to work to convince Father to try that, you know."

He smiled. "Tell Sansa I appreciate it. But I have loyalty, and honor. I made a vow to the Night's Watch, and I don't know that another man can release me from that vow. Not even Father."

Mother checked that Ygritte and Tormund had shut the door to their rooms and whispered, "Is a vow still binding if you make it under a false name?"

Jon looked taken aback at that. "Maybe not."

"You should get ready," Bran said. "You have a lot of convincing to do."

Sansa

She had to be careful of how to approach this. She couldn't come right out and say she had seen through the eyes of her direwolf, she would take no action that would get Lady killed again. But she couldn't let this stand, couldn't let Illyrio Mopatis have her killed on a whim just because he didn't trust her or her father. She put on a gray silk dress and made her way out of the Tower of the Hand and towards the council chambers. If she could catch Varys by surprise (not an easy thing to do)...

She stopped when she saw the queen speaking to Lord Renly in one of the courtyards. She was six months along now, and wearing absurdly oversized coats to hide it. "Hello, Your Grace," she said with a curtsy. "Lord Renly."

Renly looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Lady Sansa. What brings you here?"

"The small council meets quite soon, yes?"

"Indeed. Pity your father isn't here. His council is always valued. He has a way of... tempering some of my brother's more impulsive ideas."

"Well, he shouldn't be gone too much longer, I hope," Sansa said. "He expects to be back before..." She gestured at Margaery.

"Before the babe is born," Queen Margaery said with a smile. "Excellent. I'm sure Robert would love him to be there."

"I'm sure he would. But hopefully the council plods along without him. Has any progress been made on finding a new Master of Coin?"

"Yes, actually," Margaery said. "We were just discussing that. My father is probably going to be appointed to the position."

"Oh, congratulations to him," Sansa said. She didn't know if Mace Tyrell would be good at that job, but at least he wouldn't be plotting anything nefarious. House Tyrell as a whole was getting all the power they had always wanted, and it might end up being necessary for her to ally herself with them. She would have to speak with Father about the Loras Tyrell proposal as soon as possible.

"Indeed," said Margaery. "Well, I should take my leave now, Lord Renly. You have pressing council business to attend to."

"Yes," he agreed, and they both left in opposite directions, leaving Sansa to wait.

Varys showed up a few moments later, and she curtsied with a smile. "Lord Varys."

He turned to her. "Lady Sansa. I can't say I expected to see you here."

"Yes, well, sometimes we see things we do not expect," she said. "Like, for example, a member of the small council escorting foreign dignitaries into the palace."

She saw a hint of fear flicker across his eyes, and felt a great satisfaction. It wasn't easy to disarm Varys. "You saw this?"

"Someone did. And once one person knows a thing, well... anyway, I was hoping that this meeting is a sign that our plans are going as discussed. My father eagerly awaits them."

He smiled thinly. "Have no fear, my lady. Everything continues to go as planned."

"I'm delighted to hear it. I'm sure my father would not be pleased if it all fell apart now." And the king would not be pleased to know about this meeting, of that she could be fairly certain. And Varys could be certain of it too. So he wouldn't know, as long as all went according to plan. But her father would. And if harm befell her now, it would link back to Varys and Illyrio. After all, who else would want to harm a poor, innocent girl?

As Varys walked towards the small council chambers, she headed back the other way. She walked back to the Tower of the Hand and bid Lady follow her, then walked with her direwolf to the godswood. She had to learn the truth of this power, how far it could go. She had had dreams of running through woods before, and thought little of it. But now she understood that these had been dreams of her wolf, and she had the same power that Bran did. Probably her other siblings too, then, though she had never really thought to ask.

"Can I see through your eyes, Lady?" she murmured into her fur. "Can I do that now, while waking, or only when I sleep?"

In response Lady licked her face, and she laughed.

But she kept trying. She focused on Lady, on wanting to be one with her, on wanting to see through her. This skill would be useful, more useful than she could possibly even know yet. She tried for what must have been hours before, finally-

She was lying on the ground, the girl's arm around her. Moving free of it, she walked through the godswood, smelling all the plants. They were wrong, these Southern plants, not like the godswood in Winterfell. No weirwoods were here. She didn't like that. She padded around for a while before she thought to leave the godswood. The palace had secret passageways, she had learned that well enough. If she could follow them... she could hear the small council, gather information, important things the humans talked about. She began to make her way...

Sansa snapped back to reality, to the godswood, and sighed. She hadn't been able to hold it, but still, that was something. More than something. Lady came back over to her, and she smiled. "I'm so glad you're here."

Chapter Text

Jon

He tried to pretend he wasn't nervous as he went into the room. He couldn't be, this was too important. But these men had killed him. He remembered it so clearly, the moment they had plunged the knives into him, leaving him to bleed out in the snow. He didn't like being near them again. But he had to do this, had to try and save the realm.

Lady Stark walked in and stood beside him. There were only two chairs, and Maester Aemon and Alliser Thorne filled them. Ygritte and Tormund stood as well, trading glares with the officers of the Watch. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife, and Jon was the center of it all.

"So," Maester Aemon said. "You are here to discuss peace."

"Yes," said Jon. "My father went to negotiate with Mance Rayder."

"And he's not come back," said Ser Alliser. "Meaning that we don't know if he even survived."

Lady Stark was angry at that; he could see it in her eyes. He had seen that look a thousand times in Arya's eyes, he realized. "My lord husband is a Stark, Ser Alliser. The North will not take him."

The North took Uncle Benjen, Jon thought, but he did not say it out loud.

"Assuming he did reach this King Beyond the Wall," said Bowen Marsh, "What terms did he lay out?"

"Assuming they're the ones he discussed with me," Lady Stark said, "He intends to have the wildlings settle the Gift. He's hoped for a while now to raise new lords on that land, and have people settle it and farm it, with the taxes going to Castle Black. He believes that will strengthen the Night's Watch."

Ser Alliser frowned. "Maybe it would. But not if the wildlings are the ones living there. They're the ones we have to defend the realm from."

"And why is that?" Jon asked. "Because they're all murderers, monsters who can't be reasoned with? They're people. Just like us. Only when the Wall went up, they were on the other side."

"I've seen things, boy," he said. "Do you know what the Thenns do?"

"They eat people," Tormund said. "We know. We don't like them much."

"But you want us to let them south, to eat the children of Westeros."

"They won't," Ygritte said. "Not if Mance tells them not to. The Free Folk don't follow kings, Lord Crow. We don't like to be told what to do. But we chose Mance, we chose to follow him, because we trust him. And if he tells us a thing is right, we'll do it. And besides. We want to live. We all just want to live. Our people have children too, you know. Little babes at their mothers' breasts. Do they deserve to be killed?"

The men of the Night's Watch were silent for a moment, but he saw a shred of doubt begin to flicker behind the eyes of the men gathered, even Alliser Thorne. Then he shook his head. "And what about when those babes grow up and are told they should become killers? What if we let your people south, and we deal with this Army of the Dead, and then you turn around as soon as the threat is gone and destroy the realm?"

"If we don't let them come south," Jon said, "There won't be a realm. They'll all die, and every one that dies will join the Army of the Dead. A hundred thousand people Mance has gathered. Do you think Castle Black can hold the realm against that many?"

"Your father has pledged the support of both Winterfell and Riverrun to our aid."

"The combined forces of Winterfell and Riverrun can't stop the dead, Ser Alliser," Lady Stark said. "Every time they kill, the dead are added to their army. Against odds like that, you'd need to greatly outnumber them, and the North and the Riverlands together can field perhaps fifty thousand men. Half of what they have. And that's discounting the giants."

"Well, maybe your husband could do his job as Hand of the King and get that usurper of a king to call his banners."

The look of fury was back in her eyes. "Have I wasted my time coming here? It's a long ride from Winterfell, you know. But I came because I believe in doing what is right. For the realm, for the people in it. And when I am given a warning, I listen."

"A warning? What warning?" Bowen Marsh asked.

"My son's warning. Bran has visions of the future. He has seen what is coming. The forces stirring in the far north, the Land of Always Winter he calls it. He dreams of ancient powers and the Children of the Forest and the coming of the Long Night. And that's something that I, for one, would like to prevent."

"Children's fairy tales," Ser Alliser spat. "And coming from a child's dream."

"Oh, I don't know that we should ignore the boy's dreams," Maester Aemon said. "There can indeed be great power in dreams."

"You don't really believe in these things, old man?" he asked. "Giants and the Children of the Forest and the like?"

"I don't know what lies beyond the wall," he said. "But I know that my ancestor, the Good Queen Alysanne, brought a dragon to the Wall and tried to fly it north, and for the first and only time in her life, her dragon disobeyed her. And if something lies beyond that Wall that scared even a dragon, well..."

Something that could kill a dragon, Jon thought, remembering how Viserion had been pierced by the Night King's blade.

"Still," said Ser Alliser, though Jon could see he looked less confident. "We can't trust the wildlings."

"You can trust my father," Jon said. "He's a man of honor." And he would never lie. Except about who I am, and who my true father was, and my mother, and the fact that I have a claim to the Iron Throne, and he lied to Lady Stark about fathering a bastard which made her hate me all my life...

"And a fool who might trust the wrong people," Ser Alliser replied.

"Mance Rayder's an honest man," Ygritte said. "If he agrees to this, he means it true. And we're not just going to start killing people-"

"Are we to ignore all the raided villages and murdered people over the years?" Bowen Marsh asked.

"If we're given honest land and honest work," Tormund said, "We'll stop raiding villages."

"Will you now?"

"I think," Maester Aemon said, and they all turned to him. "We should wait until Lord Stark returns. We can discuss the matter further then."

Jon didn't love that idea, given the resentment that festered in all of them. But it was the best they could do for now.

After they dispersed, Lady Stark said, "How dangerous is it out there for a man riding alone?" There was fear in her voice, fear she had not dared to show in there among the officers.

"Dangerous," he said. "Especially now. But-" He tried to find the words to say, but he couldn't. It was dangerous, they had known that sending him out there.

She stood silent for a moment, then nodded. "Well, then. I suppose we wait."

Sansa

She stalked through the corridors, feet padding gently along the floor. The castle would be quiet to human ears, but she heard noises all around. Rats scuttling through the corridors, leaves in the courtyards and gardens and godswood, the sound of the few servants who were still up serving the castle. She was good at that now, making out different sounds.

She stopped outside the queen's chambers, but she was asleep. Then the king's chambers; he was not asleep. He was entertaining some woman in there, most certainly not his queen. She kept walking and listening, going to every part of the castle, wondering if there was anything else worth hearing. Varys scribbled away with a quill, writing what letters, who could say? Grand Maester Pycelle was working as well, muttering to himself all the while. A kitchen wench met in secret with a stable boy, and cats stalked about.

When she had walked nearly the whole castle, and decided nothing was amiss, she made her way back to the Tower of the Hand and up its steps. She curled up outside the door to wait, and then she woke up.

Sansa smiled. That was the longest she'd ever been able to hold her connection with Lady, and the most she had been able to control her. As she opened the door to let the direwolf into her room, she wondered how much more she would be able to control her in time, and then wondered ruefully how much might have been different the first time around if she had had Lady with her. "But you're here with me now," she whispered, wrapping her arms around the direwolf. "And you're not going anywhere."

Arya

When she heard the horn blow, she woke with a start, and almost didn't dare hope. She knew it could mean any number of things, but maybe, maybe it was Father. She threw a cloak on over her nightdress and rushed outside, almost tripping over Bran, who was slower getting ready. The past few days had been quite possibly the most boring of her life. The Night's Watch had never hosted children before, had no idea what to do with them, so they all but kept her and Bran in their room, telling them they did not have freedom of the castle. They had been able to go to the library with Mother, but they hadn't even let them eat in the hall with the Black Brothers, instead bringing food to their rooms and almost never speaking to them. They certainly wouldn't let them train with weapons, and had laughed rudely at Arya for even bringing the suggestion up. She was very eager to leave this place.

Mother was already making her way down the steps of the tower when Arya got out, and she took them two at a time to catch up. Bran met up with them and they all joined up with the group of people gathering at the gates that led beyond the wall. Arya pushed her way through so she could see. The gate was being opened, and there was Father. He looked cold and sad, but when he saw them, he smiled. A man came up to take the horse, and Father dismounted. Arya ran up to meet him.

He hugged her tightly, and Bran when he ran over too. There were a few snickers behind them, but Arya didn't care.

"Did you meet with Mance Rayder?" asked Alliser Thorne behind her.

"I did," Father said. "Might we wait until morning to discuss this?"

"Hmm," the man said. "Very well."

Arya looked up and saw Mother, still standing a few feet behind them. She could tell that she wanted nothing more than to run into Father's arms as Arya and Bran had, but she wasn't a child, and she couldn't do such a thing in front of all these men. So she only smiled.

Then the crowd started to disperse, and Jon made his way to the front. The air seemed to get even colder. Father's face grew solemn again when he saw Jon, and Jon's eyes were wide, like a frightened animal's. They stared at each other for a long moment, and Arya was almost nervous. Then Father smiled. "Jon."

"Father," Jon said, biting his lip after he said the word.

"We... we should talk," Father said.

"Yes."

"Come," Mother said, and she took Arya and Bran by the hands and led them back to their room.

Chapter Text

Jon

"We shouldn't stay here," the man who had been his father said. "Is there somewhere we can go that's... private?"

Wordlessly, Jon turned and led him to his chambers. Nobody else lived in this tower, so it was about as private as there was going to be. As he walked, he tried to think of what to say, but he had nothing. He had never thought he would get this moment, never thought he would see Ned Stark again, and now here he was. He shut the door when they were both inside and turned to him. "So."

"Jon," he said, his voice pained. "I know you might be angry with me."

"Angry?" He weighed the word. But no, it wasn't that. "I'm not angry. I'm... I don't know what I am." He felt hot tears prick his eyes, and willed them not to fall. He would not cry, not now.

"I made your mother a promise," he said softly. "I promised her that I would keep you safe. The lie that I told was the best way I could think to do that."

"It was a good lie," Jon said. "You fooled the whole realm. But why did you have to maintain the lie with me?"

He sighed. "Had I told you, when you were a little boy, that you had the best claim of anybody alive to the Iron Throne, but you could never tell another soul, what would you have done?"

He was silent for a moment, wondering. "I don't know. Because I never got the chance."

"I meant to tell you after you joined the Night's Watch. After you swore off all lands and titles, you would no longer be a threat."

"Yes, and then you died," Jon said. "And I never would have found out if Bran hadn't gained the magical ability to see the past. And if Samwell Tarly hadn't transcribed old books in the Citadel."

"You're angry at me for dying?"

"No! I said, I'm not angry, I just-I would have liked to know. I know nothing about her, nothing about the woman who brought me into the world. Or the man who sired me, as it turns out." The tears were falling now, and he cursed himself inside his head.

"I can't speak much to Rhaegar Targaryen," he said, "But anything you want to know about Lyanna, I will tell you."

"Would she be happy? With where I am?"

"She was a Stark," he replied. "She supported the Night's Watch as we all do. She'd be proud of you, I imagine. Worried for your safety. Sad, perhaps, at the thought of you never having children of your own. But now you can. Because I've gotten you released."

"Did Uncle Benjen know? About who I am?"

He nodded sadly. "Benjen knew it all first. He helped Lyanna run away with Rhaegar. And he blamed himself for everything that came after. He joined the Night's Watch partly out of shame, and partly for you, to help preserve your secret."

"For me? How many other lives were ruined because of me?" He frowned. "I suppose the entire rebellion was fought over me, in a way."

"Thinking like that won't bring you happiness."

"Not much does."

He moved closer. "Jon, I know I may not have handled it the best way. Perhaps I should have told you sooner, if not as a little boy, at least before you left for the Wall. But I was worried about what might happen if I did."

"I wasn't going to press my claim to the throne," he said. "I never had any interest in being king. I was King in the North for about five minutes, and then I bent the knee to my aunt. And then I put a dagger through her heart and I still never claimed the throne." He couldn't think about that, not now, it was too much.

"It wasn't you pressing your claim I worried about. And if you had wanted to... I would have advised against it, but in the end, I would have supported you. I worried about others, and how they might use you, and then all those who would want you dead. King Robert chief among them. Secrets can get out so easily once they are known by a few. So I never told a soul, and perhaps I did go too far."

"You let Lady Catelyn believe you had dishonored her," Jon said. "Things might have been easier for all of us if you hadn't done that."

Ned Stark smiled sadly. "She said much the same thing. I didn't know her when we wed, Jon. I didn't trust her. And by the time I did, it seemed too late."

"She says you're still my father," Jon said. "Arya says it too."

"I-" He looked sadder at that moment than Jon had ever seen him. "I will not lay claim to being your father if you no longer wish to see me as such," he said, and now he looked on the verge of tears. "But I have always seen you as my son. If you'd rather call me uncle, or-"

Jon shook his head suddenly. "That sounds wrong," he said. "No... no... I suppose they're right. You took me in. You raised me as your own, even when it brought scorn on you and your wife and made the whole realm look at you differently. You were more of a father to me than Rhaegar Targaryen ever was."

"In the man's defense," Father said, "he did die before you were born."

Jon smiled a little. "True. But that's why you were my true father. He didn't raise me. He didn't teach me. He didn't love me."

"I can't know about that last one," Father said. "But I do love you, with all my heart. And I know that Lyanna did too."

Jon found himself crying again, and now his father was wrapping his arms around him, and he leaned into his embrace and realized how much he had needed this closure. "I wish I could have known her," he said, knowing that was closure he could never have.

"So do I," his father said sadly. "So very much."

Catelyn

By the time Ned entered her room, it was well into the predawn hours of the morning. "How did it go?" she asked immediately.

"As well as I could expect. He wasn't angry at me, and... and we came to an understanding. And then he wanted to know everything about Lyanna, so I told him." He got into the bed beside her; it wasn't meant for two people, but she moved aside to make room.

"I was worried you wouldn't make it back," she said.

He smiled at her. "Oh, I'm harder to kill than that."

"Yet they managed last time. Both of us. And our sons..."

He frowned. "Yes. I try not to think about it, but the things Sansa told me... I failed her. I failed all of them. I tried to save Cersei's children and it cost my own children their father, and I couldn't keep them safe anymore. And the Lannisters tortured her, and it's my fault."

"I couldn't protect them either," she said. "Arya told me that I was with Robb when he died, and yet I couldn't save him. Now our children have saved us, when it's supposed to be the other way around." Shame burned inside of her. How could she have let them kill her son? How had she failed him so?

"But now we have a second chance," he said. "And we will never let our family be torn apart again."

"The pack survives," she said. "That's what you always say, isn't it?"

He wrapped his arms around her. "I missed you out there, in the cold north, all alone. I kept thinking about you. And about Jon, and how things were going."

She sighed. "He's a good man. And a good brother. I wish I had opened my eyes to it sooner."

"I wish I hadn't made you feel so betrayed."

"So many wishes of what could have been," she said. "I suppose we should focus on what we have in front of us now. Our children, all of them, alive and safe. And we will keep them that way."

"Yes," he agreed. "We will."

Arya

She was Nymeria, running through the forest alongside a river, trying to catch a fast rabbit. Until a terrible scream tore through the night, and then she was Arya again, in the room at Castle Black, suddenly awake and with her brother on the floor beside her, sobbing.

"Bran?" She got down from the bed and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"Dreams," he said. "Nightmares..."

"What did you see?"

"So many things," he said shakily. "All these terrible things... Father's death, and his father's and brother's death, and the Red Wedding, and Rickon dying, and Jon... every horrible thing that happened to our family, and some other things too... Cersei blowing up the sept and Daenerys burning King's Landing and the Lannisters reaving in the Riverlands..."

"The three-eyed raven did that," Arya said, horrified. "He sent you those visions."

"He's angry with me," Bran said. "For not going to him. For helping you."

"Let him be angry," Arya said. "I'm angry too." I'll go north of the Wall, she thought. I'll find that man in his tree, and I'll kill him myself. Nobody hurts my little brother.

Chapter Text

Arya

Mother still had her arms around Bran by the time Father returned with Jon, and Arya wondered if she would ever let go of him again. He looked a little embarrassed by it, but he did not object. She knew what he had seen had affected him more than he wanted to let on.

"Bran," Father said, and he sat down on his other side. "Are you alright?"

"I'm okay, I think," he said. "I don't know."

"What did you see?" Jon asked. "Father said you had nightmares sent by that man in the tree?"

"Brynden Rivers," Bran said. "That's his name. Bastard son of Aegon the Unworthy, Hand of the King to King Aerys I and King Maekar. Former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

"And a monster, clearly," Arya said. "He sent you all those terrible things to punish you for helping us change the future."

"He doesn't like it," Bran said. "I told you that. He'd showed me some of it before, some of the timeline he said was supposed to happen, but this was different. It was only the worst things, some from that alternate timeline and some from the past. It was just to hurt me. To threaten me, I suppose? Otherwise I don't know how he thought it would incline me more to his cause."

Father shook his head. "How could he possibly still be alive?"

"Magic," Bran said.

"How could anyone do this?" Mother asked. "Why would he be so cruel?"

"He thinks Sansa and Arya have broken time," Bran said. "That things need to be put back the way they were, or it'll be bad. I don't know why. Things are better. If anything, his visions showed me that." He looked at Mother. "He made me watch you die..."

She pulled him even closer. "It's okay. That won't happen now."

"I know," he said. "But it was... it was horrible. They slit your throat... and then they threw you in the river."

"Of course they did," Mother said bitterly. "They made a mockery of House Tully's funeral customs, that's a very Frey thing to do. It's alright though, Bran, it's just a vision now. A future that will never be."

"You killed his wife," Bran said. "Walder Frey's wife, I mean."

She frowned. "I did? Why?"

"You held a knife to her throat. You swore to Lord Walder on your honor as a Tully and a Stark that they had to let Robb go, or you would kill her. He said he would find another one. And then-"

"I get the picture," Mother said.

"The whole country turned on the Freys after that," Jon said. "Even people up at the Wall, who are sworn not to take a side in politics, were disgusted with them... they broke guest right. Damned themselves."

"I damned them," Arya said. "I slit Lord Walder's throat and I baked his favorite sons into a pie and fed them to him and I poisoned the rest of them."

Mother, Father, and Jon turned and stared at her. "You did what?" Father asked.

"Baked them into a pie?" Mother said.

Arya shrugged. "Like the story of the rat cook, you know?" They were still staring at her. "You'd have done the same. If you saw what I saw. They cut Robb's head off and sewed Grey Wind's head onto his body and paraded it around." She shuddered a little describing the memory.

Mother put a hand to her mouth, and Father closed his eyes.

"Yeah, that story made it to the Wall too," Jon said. "I didn't want to believe it."

"It was horrible," Bran said. "There were so many horrible things." He looked at Jon. "I saw you die, too. And Rickon. And you, Father, and your father..."

"My father?" Father stared at him in horror. "You mean, you saw what Aerys Targaryen did to him?"

"And my uncle Brandon," he said. "Yes, I saw."

Father's face hardened. "I'm going to kill this Brynden Rivers."

"Already claimed him," Arya said.

"I'll help," said Mother. "But maybe no baking anyone into a pie?"

"I wouldn't do that now," Arya said. "I was... you know, not in the best state of mind when I did that. But eventually I was reminded that there was more to life than revenge." She owed the Hound for that last bit of wisdom, more than she had even known at the time.

"But you want to kill him for revenge now," Bran said.

"Not for revenge. To protect you."

"I don't need protection," he protested.

"Everyone needs to be protected sometimes," Jon said. "Though going beyond the Wall to get to him would be extremely dangerous. Probably unwise."

"How do we stop him, then?" Father asked.

"I don't know," Jon said. "Bran, what do you want to do?"

"I don't know," he said. Then, in a smaller voice, "I'm scared."

"It'll be alright," Mother said. "You'll be alright, Bran, I won't let anything happen to you."

"When did it get light out?" Arya said with a shake of her head, suddenly noticing the first rays of sun coming in through the windows.

Jon sighed. "Guess it's time for breakfast."

"I suppose I have to meet with Alliser Thorne and the others, then," said Father with a sigh. "Jon, you should come with me. Catelyn..."

"I'll stay with the children," she said. "They don't respect a word I say, anyway."

He nodded. "We'll let you know how it went." Then he and Jon left the room.

Ned

As he walked into the dining hall with Jon, wishing he had gotten more than an hour or two of sleep before a meeting that would decide the fate of the realm, he looked over at him and wondered again what Lyanna would say if she were here. She hadn't had time to tell him how to raise Jon, what she wanted for him. Only to ask that he be kept safe. The Night's Watch had seemed the safest place for him, safest from all the enemies who could want him dead, but had he known about the undead army that marched from the north he would have told him to stay far away from this place. And yet, the one thing Lyanna had managed to tell him about, the song of ice and fire, meant that Jon was destined to save the world. Was this what she had wanted after all? More than ever, he wished he could talk to her again, to ask her. He had told Jon she would be proud of him, and of that he was sure, but he couldn't imagine she'd be happy with any of it. Jon had been born to be a prince, not the bastard of Winterfell. Not for the first time, he wondered what might have happened if Rhaegar Targaryen had lived. He felt guilty even to think it; Robert had been his closest friend, after all. But King Robert was a different man, and his very existence a threat to Jon, to Lyanna's memory, and, Ned feared, to his entire family. He had allowed the Lannisters to take over in one timeline, and while they may have stopped that, for now, he didn't like to think how Robert would handle the threat from the North, and he knew how he felt about Daenerys Targaryen. She had dragons, and how was he supposed to deal with that? He would try his best to talk her down, but he could not lie and say Robert didn't want her dead.

"So." Alliser Thorne broke him out of his thoughts. "What did Mance Rayder say?"

"Can we get some food first?" Jon grumbled.

"Don't talk back to me, Lord Snow," Alliser said. "We should be hanging you for desertion."

"I didn't desert!"

"You were a brother of the Night's Watch, and now you intend to stop being one. What do you call that?"

"I haven't even said that I intend to stop being one," Jon said. "I came here by choice, and I could stay by choice, as well, whatever the king says."

Ned looked at him sharply. "What?" He couldn't be serious, surely? He couldn't want to stay up here, a man with no family name freezing up in the North, when he had he option to come back home... could he? Ned couldn't stand that thought, not now that the truth had finally been revealed.

"I'll make a decision on that matter later. But either way, Ser Alliser, being released is not deserting. And either way, I can help you. As can my family."

They had moved into the line as they talked, and as soon as they had their food Thorne said, "Come on, then. Let's discuss."

Not long after, they were in a room with all the officers of the Night's Watch, and they were all looking at Ned. He told them what Mance Rayder had said during their meeting, and then there was a good deal of grumbling.

"We don't want any wildlings joining the Watch," Thorne said. "And we don't want them fighting with us either. They're not trustworthy."

"They're an entire people, Ser Alliser," Ned said with irritation. "An entire people are not inherently untrustworthy. And how trustworthy are the thieves and rapers you have manning the wall now, anyway?"

"Do you see the people of the North accepting this plan, Lord Stark?" Maester Aemon asked. "Do you see them agreeing to be neighbors with those who have raided their lands? Those are your people, you know them."

"It'll be a difficult idea to sell," Ned admitted. "But as you say, they are my people. They will listen to me. Hopefully I will be able to impart on them the danger that the white walkers pose to the realm."

"Do you have time to go around to all the castles near the Gift and do that?" Jon asked. "You have to get back to King's Landing, don't you?"

Ned frowned. "That's true too." He had to get back to King's Landing before Robert's baby was born, and prepare to travel to Essos and meet Daenerys. He looked at Jon. "You could do it for me."

"Me? I'm a bastard, they won't listen to me. It would be hard even for you, but for me..."

"You haven't answered why we should trust the wildlings," Alliser Thorne said.

"Have Ygritte and Tormund done anything since they've been here?" Jon asked.

"No. They're only two. But put them together..."

"I'll take them with me," Jon said suddenly. "If I'm to go around convincing the North to trust the wildlings, I'll bring two of them with me."

"A good idea," Ned said, smiling at his son's understanding. "It might be even better if you could get Mance himself to join you, though."

"I'll send them to ride back for him," said Jon. "Then he can make his promises himself. That they don't intend to fight or raid anymore."

"A difficult negotiation," Ned said. "But it can work."

"There's still the issue of legitimacy," Thorne said. "Your boy is still a bastard, people still won't listen to him the way they might to you."

"Robb can join him," Ned said, the plan forming in his mind. "If I cannot go, I will send my heir in my stead."

Jon nodded. "That could work."

"I don't like it," Thorne said.

"I do," said Maester Aemon. "I think there's always room for more peace in the world, and it's never wrong to try. If the people agree, I say we let the women and children and those who cannot fight settle the Gift. However, I propose that the fighting men stay north of the Wall. For now, at least. They can make camp in the woods just beyond it."

"We can have Tormund and Ygritte deliver those terms as well," said Jon.

"Good," Ned said. "Then are we all in agreement?"

The other officers of the Watch exchanged looks, but finally they nodded.

Sansa

"The garden is lovely," Ser Loras said as they walked.

"Yes." She looked beside her at Lady, padding along happily. "Lady's glad you let her come."

"Fascinating creatures, direwolves," he replied. "She's quite intelligent."

"They all are," Sansa agreed.

"There are some who claim you Starks are skinchangers, can go into the bodies of your wolves."

She laughed at that, not trusting those who might be listening in. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Surely," he agreed. "But even without magic powers, nobody should underestimate you."

"No," she agreed. "Funny you should mention it. Your grandmother thinks I would make a good Lady of Highgarden for that reason."

He smiled ruefully. "So you might control me? As she does my father?"

"Perhaps control is not the word. But I know more than you might think about being in charge of things."

"I can tell that much," he said. "And I understand that this match would be good, politically speaking. But I must warn you, I may not be the man of your dreams."

"Because you do not fancy women?" she asked. "That doesn't bother me. If anything, it means you will not harm me. Were we to wed, we need only do what was necessary to make heirs, and no more. I would be happy to let you do as you desire otherwise."

He stared at her. "My lady..."

"That is not what makes me doubt the union, Ser Loras."

He frowned. "Then what does?"

"The North," she replied. "My home. It lures me still."

"Highgarden has nicer weather," he said with a smile.

"I'm sure," she said, laughing a little. "But home is home, and I would miss Winterfell ever so much. But I suppose I cannot stay there forever."

"No," Loras agreed, "Most likely not. And politically, you can't do much better than Highgarden."

"What a romantic sell," she said with a smile.

They stopped by a shallow lake, and Loras held out his arm for Lady. She sniffed it, then licked his hand all over.

"She likes you," Sansa said. "That's a good sign." The wolves were very closely tied to them, something she had never fully realized before when she was gone.

"May it foreshadow a long history of friendship between our houses."

"May it," she agreed. But what form of friendship? And what am I to do?

Chapter Text

Arya

She smiled a little as they rode out from Castle Black, glad to finally be rid of the place. It seemed like things really might be coming together. Of course, that probably meant they were about to go wrong, as usually happened when things started to look up. Once she had been excited to reunite with Robb and her mother at a wedding, and then...

"I have to go north," Bran said, riding up right beside her. He said it quietly enough that their parents wouldn't hear him.

She turned sharply to him. "What do you mean? You're going to go after him?"

"He won't leave me alone. If I don't go after him, he'll keep coming after me. Better to do it on my terms."

"If you go up north, you may never come back again. Not as you, anyway."

He frowned. "I know it's a risk. But I won't lose myself again. I was desperate before, desperate to be something special, because after I was pushed from that tower I felt broken. I thought he could fix me. I'm not broken anymore, though. I know myself now. I know the things that matter to me, and I won't let him take them away."

She smiled a little hearing that. "You can't go alone," she said. "It isn't safe. Are you asking me to come with you?"

"That wouldn't be fair," he said. "I know that. You've been through enough. You should stay at Winterfell with Mother and Rickon. I don't know who I should go with, honestly. I know it isn't safe alone."

"I'd gladly go with you, if that's what you want," she said. "But we'd have to sneak away. Mother and Father would never allow it."

"I know," he said. "But I don't want them to worry."

"They will always worry about us," she said. "Nothing we can do about that."

"That's true."

"What are you going to do to him, anyway? Kill him?"

"If I have to, I suppose," Bran replied. "But that isn't the intention. I want to find out the truth behind what he's telling me, about what the cost is of meddling with time and what has to be done to set it right. Without anyone having to die. And I need to know more about the magic and how it can be used against the white walkers. I don't think we can count on Daenerys, not as long as Robert Baratheon lives."

"He really does cause a lot of problems, doesn't he? I don't know why Father loves him so."

"He loves a memory," said Bran. "I saw some scenes of them, when they were younger. He was a different person then. He started to change when he got older, but it was being king that truly changed him for the worse."

"Do you think Father understands that?"

"He wouldn't tell him about Cersei and Jaime because he knew that would be condemning the children to death. I think he does. Even if he tries to deny it."

"Maybe Sansa shouldn't have gone back to save him," Arya muttered.

They were interrupted by Mother riding up to them. "What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Arya said, a little too quickly. She hated to lie to her mother, but she knew neither of her parents would approve of her and Bran going beyond the Wall alone. Perhaps they shouldn't. She didn't see how they would sneak away, either.

Mother sighed. "You needn't keep secrets from me. Please. Your father and I are here to help you."

"We know," said Bran. "Thank you, Mother."

"We were talking about Robert Baratheon," Arya said after a moment. "How he's not the man Father remembers him to be."

Mother glanced back at Father. "No, I don't think he is. But it's a hard thing to let go of, the memory of who a person used to be. Petyr Baelish was once my friend. Now I've learned he's a monster. Even my sister..."

"If someone had done to me what your father did to her, I don't know if I'd keep hold of my wits," Bran said.

"What did he do?" Arya asked.

"He tricked her," said Bran. "Made her drink tansy tea. Made her lose her baby."

Mother jerked the reins of her horse. "He did what?"

"She was pregnant with Littlefinger's baby. But she had to marry Jon Arryn. So he tricked her and she lost the baby and nearly died. Another thing the Three-Eyed Raven decided to show me."

Mother was gaping at him. "My father did that?"

"Unless he's showing me false things. But I doubt it. He showed me the duel, too, the one Littlefinger and our Uncle Brandon fought over you."

Her face flushed slightly. "This man must be dealt with, Bran."

"I agree," said Bran. "I'll take that as your approval." He jerked the reins of his horse around and started riding back north.

"Bran!" Mother yelled, chasing after him. Arya followed close behind, and Father soon took up the chase as well.

When Arya finally reached him, she said, "I said sneak off, not just run away."

He shrugged. "Are you coming or not?"

She considered for a moment. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"No you're not," Father said. "Not alone."

"I have to do this," Bran said.

Father looked like he wanted to argue, but finally he said, "You don't have to do it this way, Bran. Come back to Winterfell, and we'll send you properly. With guards, and dragon glass weapons. Then you'll sail up from White Harbor to Eastwatch."

Bran considered for a moment. "That'll take a while."

"He's right," Arya said. "It is safer that way."

He looked around at them and said, "But the longer I wait, the more visions he'll send me." He sounded like he was going to cry.

Arya reached out and took his hand. "Please. Just wait a little longer, until we can do it safely. So nothing happens to you."

He frowned for a long moment, then said, "Alright."

Sansa

The wolf padded down the hallways, silent as a shadow. She had to be careful not to be spotted, spying was difficult work. She sniffed the air for a whiff of the man she was looking for, and followed the scent down the hallway. Finally she heard voices, muffled, coming from behind a locked door. But wolf hearing was better than human hearing. She lay down outside the door.

"Yes, I've told you a million times-"

"What if she has a girl?"

"If she has a girl, then we wait. Or, perhaps, put a girl on the Iron Throne. Maybe it's time."

"People won't like that."

"What, they won't like the idea of a girl on the throne so they'll push for Stannis, who has only a daughter? If anything then they may decide to fight for me."

"It's not all about you, this is supposed to benefit my house as well."

"And it will! I'm telling you, it wouldn't take much to convince Robert to vacate the throne."

"Yes, it all hinges on that. On Robert listening to you. When has he ever done that? Does he even like you?" There was a long pause. "Sorry."

"Look. Ned Stark wants to make peace with Daenerys Targaryen, and he knows Robert won't let him do that."

"So you're on board? Peace with the Targaryen girl?"

"I doubt it's possible, but I'll at least entertain the possibility. Anyway, the point is, Stark should want this too. Quite honestly the best option for everyone, Robert included, is for him to abdicate the throne."

"But if it's to an infant girl-"

"Even still. He'll do it, we'll convince him. Then I'll be named Lord Protector, that's easy enough. Nobody likes Stannis and I doubt he'd much want the job anyway. Then I get to be king without killing either of my brothers. And your house gets a half-Tyrell king, or queen, who will rule when they come of age. Surely your father and grandmother will be pleased with that. And if you marry Sansa Stark, the North gets pulled even more into the fold. It's perfect. Now, come on. There are much more pleasant matters I would like to engage in tonight."

Lady padded off down the hallway, making her way through the castle back to the girl's bedchamber. When she curled up outside, Sansa pulled open the door and smiled. "Thank you, girl." She scratched the wolf behind the ear.

She had to give it to Renly Baratheon; it wasn't a terrible plan. If he could convince Robert to abdicate the throne. She would certainly be all too happy to help with that; she couldn't stand the man, Father's best friend or no. With much to muse on, she headed back to sleep, wondering if she could get all this in a letter to her parents and Arya.

Jon

"This plan of yours had better work, Snow," Tormund warned.

"It's not my-" He gave up arguing.

"Mance might take it," Ygritte said. "So long as you promise there's no kneeling."

"No kneeling," he assured her. "But no raiding either."

"Yes, yes, we understood. We'll get him back here within a month, with his promises. And your brother will come with his?"

"He will."

She gave him a kiss. "See you soon, then, Jon Snow."

He nodded as they rode out of the gates, then turned his attention back to the castle. For the next month he had a challenge of his own: convince the brothers of the Night's Watch he was likely abandoning to get on board with this deal. He certainly had his work cut out for him.

Chapter Text

Sansa

"Yes, I think it's a lovely idea," she lied through her teeth. She would not forget her courtesies, after all.

"Good," said the king. "I'm sure your father will be pleased."

For a man who claimed to be her father's closest friend, King Robert really didn't know him well at all, she mused. The absolute last thing her father would want was an excessively lavish tourney. "He is of course delighted to share in your joy," she said. "As long as the tourney doesn't take too much out of the treasury, at least."

"You needn't worry about that," said Queen Margaery. "House Tyrell will be paying for much of the cost of the tourney. Your father will be back by then, yes?"

"He should be," Sansa said. "The last letter I received said he was heading south from Castle Black, stopping very briefly at Winterfell, and making his way down the Kingsroad as quickly as possible."

King Robert nodded. "Good."

She sighed at the small talk. The games of the south frustrated her sometimes. At least the food was good, as one could hope when invited to dine privately with the royal family. She was sat beside Loras, as they continued to try and push the match. At this rate she expected that he might wait for her father at the gates of the city and petition him for her hand before he'd even gotten off his horse. If he wasn't busy fighting in the tourney, at least. The king having a tourney for the birth of his new heir made her think of the one he had thrown for her father when he made him Hand of the King, something she had lived through twice now. The first time she had been so excited...

"Sansa?" Margaery called her back from her musings.

"Sorry," she said with a smile. "Just thinking about the tourney. You'll enter the lists of course, Ser Loras?"

"Of course," he replied. "And I intend to win this one."

"I'm sure you will." She took another bite of her mashed turnips and mused on what she should tell her father to say to him when he asked. Ultimately, she decided that yes, she would marry him. It was a good match for her family, which they may well need in days to come. Especially when Daenerys came. She still worried about that. She didn't have a forgiving nature, and Robb had married the daughter of her father's killer. But the Tyrells had fought for Aerys, which would help their cause, and of course they were extremely wealthy and controlled much of the country's food supply. And as for her, she would be happy enough at Highgarden, and Robb would rule in Winterfell as was his right.

Still, the thought of leaving the North made her sad. She wondered if Lady felt the same, if being so far from the place of her kin and her ancestors would be foreign to her. At least for Sansa, she was half-Southron. Lady was a creature entirely of the North. And the magic they shared was Northern, too. She wondered if all the Starks were able to do it, if her father could go into the skins of animals as well. There was a magic in the old gods, one she had never truly appreciated before. The magic of the Children of the Forest. She thought of Bran, of how closely tied he was to that magic. Lady and her siblings had made Sansa see the good side of it, but... but what they had done to Bran, that wasn't good.

She shook herself out of the reverie. She couldn't do anything for Bran now, he was up North and armed with more knowledge than even she had, at this point. She had to focus on what was in front of her, and that was the schemes of the capital. Renly and Loras's plan to get Robert to abdicate the throne. It seemed the best way to save his life, she thought, and Father might be open to it. Robert didn't seem at all happy about being king, anyway. He was a fighting man, through and through. But an infant on the throne, controlled by Renly and the Tyrells, presented its own dangers. Could the realm under the rule of a suckling babe muster what it needed to deal with Daenerys, with the threat posed from the North? There was so much to consider, and she wished she had someone to speak to about such things. But she was alone, as she had so often been.

When dinner was over, she went out to the gardens to practice going into Lady's skin some more. It was becoming easier and easier, practically habit, now. At least she had her direwolf, if there was nobody else here to truly understand her.

The scent of humans attracted Lady's sharp sense of smell. She peered behind some bushes to see a little girl, maybe six or seven, darting quietly. One of Varys's little birds, no doubt. Varys posed the greatest instability left in King's Landing. She didn't know truly what he wanted. Daenerys on the throne, yes. But why? Sansa wished she could see across the world, see Daenerys in Essos with her armies. She had been so hostile to her once, and she still didn't trust her, but she couldn't help but feel a connection. A young woman, used and manipulated by those around her, desired for her connection to a lost family and preyed upon by grown men. In some ways they had that in common. Should she go with Father when he went to see her? Should she try to talk to her? She tossed the thought around in her mind as she headed up to bed.

Arya

Father seemed agitated the rest of the way back to Winterfell. She knew he didn't like it, the thought of sending his children past the wall. But truly, what did he expect Bran to do? Sit back and allow himself to be tormented with awful visions and do nothing to stop it? Even Mother seemed to have begrudgingly accepted that this was necessary, that Bloodraven had to be held to account for his actions. And anyway, Bran had connections to the world beyond the wall, to the wild North and to the old gods, and those connections must be explored.

As they rode through the gates, Robb and Myrcella stood to greet them. Theon stood behind them, cocksure as ever. Arya still didn't know what they ought to do about Theon, or the Greyjoys in general, but that seemed so small a problem compared to everything else.

"So, how did it go?" Robb asked. "With the Night's Watch?" He had been looking around, presumably for Jon, and was now frowning.

"They have tentatively agreed to possibly go along with the plan," Father said. "Which I suppose is the best we can ask for. Did Gendry make it here safely?"

Robb nodded. "He's in the forges."

Arya hadn't really thought about seeing Gendry again on the way south, but she would have to visit him before she and Bran left. Awkward as it might be when he didn't remember her.

"Why did you want him?" Theon asked.

"He's more productive here," Father answered. "More helpful for the cause."

"It's another thing for the lords to be angry about," Theon said. Myrcella shot him a look.

"What do you mean by that?" Mother asked.

"Theon, I was getting to that," Robb said, then turned to Father. "There is... unrest, among the Northern lords. We have much to discuss."

Father nodded somberly. Arya knew that unrest amongst the lords already boded ill for the hope of converting them to the cause of allowing the wildlings to come south, which would have been a difficult sell already.

"Could the discussion happen during dinner?" Myrcella asked. "I'm quite hungry."

So they went to eat, and Robb started to fill them in. "It started even before the wedding, to be honest. Wyman Manderly was the first to wonder why I was wedding Myrcella. Probably because he was hoping to get me engaged to his own granddaughter, Wylla."

"Yes, you mentioned that," Father said. "When we were here last. You had received messages from a few lords, being unhappy with your choice of bride."

Arya glanced at Myrcella, wondering if the talk bothered her, but she seemed unfazed. She had heard it all before, Arya supposed.

"And I told them that it wasn't a choice," Robb confirmed. "That I understand our bonds are important, and would have chosen a Northern bride, but that the political situation had changed. But that regardless, Myrcella was lovely and I was happy with my marriage." Myrcella smiled.

"So I take it that messaging failed?" Father asked.

"Quite. Most of the lords kept it to general disapproval, though your lack of presence in the North kept it boiling under the surface. But lately, Lady Dustin has taken a keen interest in telling everyone how I betrayed the North."

Father sighed deeply. "She never did forgive me. I can't blame her. But turning a personal grudge against me into attacking you..."

"Forgive you for what?" Myrcella asked.

"Burying her husband in Dorne, instead of bringing him back here. I did the same with Martyn Cassel, Jory's father, and with my other companions. I could only bring Lyanna back."

And baby Jon, Arya thought.

"Oh," said Myrcella.

"Could you not go back for them?" Robb asked.

"I don't think I'm welcome in Dorne," Father said. "And I don't know that I could go back there..." He shuddered slightly. Mother put a hand on his arm.

"Well, regardless," said Robb. "The unrest was already there about the wedding, and then there was, as Theon alluded to, Gendry coming back from the wall. There were fears the Night's Watch wasn't being honored. I explained that it was so he could produce more dragonglass weapons for the cause, but the Greatjon and Rickard Karstark aren't pleased."

"Is Rickard Karstark ever pleased?" Arya asked.

"Their lands are most often subject to wildling attacks," Father said. "I imagine they're more concerned about that than the white walkers. Which will make what you have to do very difficult, Robb."

"What I have to do?"

"We'll discuss it later," he said.

After dinner, they headed into Father's solar again, and he explained what had happened at the wall and their plan to Robb.

Robb let out a breath. "I don't know if I can do that, Father."

"It needs doing."

"I understand that. And I'm very excited to see Jon again. But, well, I just don't know if I can convince them. Especially with them not liking my wife."

"The North have always had those concerns," Father said. "There were many who complained when my father struck Brandon's betrothal."

"And many who were somewhat hostile when I first moved to Winterfell," Mother added. "Some still treat me strangely, but most have accepted me."

"I certainly hope they come to accept Myrcella," Robb said. "But right now, it makes what we're asking that much more difficult."

"We all have difficult journeys ahead," Bran said. "Arya and I going north to face Bloodraven, Father going east to face Daenerys, Sansa in the south..."

"Sorry, you and Arya are doing what?"

So then Arya had to explain their own plan.

Robb shook his head. "I don't like that plan."

"You won't talk us out of it."

"I didn't imagine I would."

"When are you planning to leave?" Mother asked.

Arya exchanged a look with Bran, and understanding passed between them. "Tomorrow."

Chapter Text

Arya

"Are you sure about this?" Father asked again.

She rolled her eyes one last time. "Positive."

Father turned to Robb. "You'll see them safely to Eastwatch?"

"On my honor," he replied. "Anything you want me to tell Jon?"

Father was silent for a moment, but then said, "No. Just be safe out there."

"You be safe," Bran said. "We don't want you dying out in Essos."

"I won't give Daenerys Targaryen reason to harm me," he said.

"You mean more reason than she already has?" Myrcella asked. "Don't tell her about our marriage."

Father smirked. "Despite what my daughters seem to think, I am not an utter fool. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Myrcella nodded. "I know it's risky, trust me. But if the Northern lords will not accept me, is showing myself, ingratiating myself to them, not the best way?"

"It may work," Mother said. "But that doesn't make it not dangerous."

"I'm not frightened," Myrcella said.

Robb smiled. "That's my wife." He looked down at Rickon. "Will you be alright being the Stark in Winterfell for a while?"

Rickon grinned widely. "You know I will."

"Listen to Mother and Maester Luwin, and be good."

Rickon nodded.

They all hugged and said their final goodbyes, then Mother and Father stepped aside for a moment. Theon nodded at Robb. "I'll keep your little brother safe."

Robb and Arya exchanged a look, but he turned back to Theon. "I'm glad to hear it."

They mounted their horses, and Father did the same. Together, the five of them rode out the gates of Winterfell, the three guards meant to come with her and Bran following a bit behind. "You know the way to White Harbor?" Father asked.

"Yes, Father," Robb said. "We'll be fine."

Nodding, he turned South and started down the Kingsroad. Only when he was out of earshot did Bran say, "He was being so annoying."

"He just worries about you," Myrcella said. "It's sweet." She had a sad look in her eyes. Arya supposed she had never known that feeling; Jaime hadn't been allowed to show her fatherly affection, and Robert had never cared to. And Cersei hadn't seemed like a particularly loving mother, either.

"Come on, then," Robb said. "Off to White Harbor. I'll have to apologize to Lord Manderly for spurning his granddaughters."

"You can promise him Bran," Arya said.

"Hey!" Bran protested.

Robb seemed to be considering it, though. "Perhaps. A second son is not quite being the Lady of Winterfell, but it would still be an honorable match, especially if Bran is granted a keep to rule over."

"If I must marry," Bran said, "I want it to be to Meera."

"We do not get to marry who we choose," Myrcella said. "None of us. Your parents didn't choose each other, nor did my mother choose King Robert, nor Robb and I. Yet two of those marriages, at least, did not end in disaster."

"Some people get to choose," Bran argued. "Like Prince Duncan. He chose Jenny of Oldstones."

"But he had to abdicate his claim to the throne," Arya pointed out.

"Not to mention that it caused a great rift between the Iron Throne and Lord Baratheon," Myrcella added. "He renounced his fealty to the throne and declared himself the Storm King, and Ser Duncan the Tall had to defeat him in a trial by battle. Then the king had to agree to marry his daughter to Lord Lyonel's heir and send her to Storm's End as a ward in order for peace to be restored." She sighed. "King Robert told me that story, one of the rare times he decided to try and be a father. That princess was his grandmother, Rhaelle."

"House Baratheon was always closely tied to the dragons," Arya said. "The original Baratheon was Aegon the Conqueror's bastard half-brother."

"Allegedly," Robb said.

Arya shrugged. "Couldn't Father just give Jon his own noble house? There have been others started by bastards."

"House Longwaters," Myrcella supplied.

"And House Blackfyre," Bran added.

"Not sure that's the best example to model after," Robb said. "Besides, Daemon Blackfyre was legitimized."

"You were going to legitimize Jon, you know," Bran said. "When you were King in the North. Wrote it in your will. Which was lost. You wanted him to be your heir. Mother wasn't happy, though. She thought it was unfair to disinherit your sisters for Jon."

"It is unfair!" Arya said, shooting Robb a glare. "Why would you do that?"

"Sansa was married to a Lannister," Bran said, "And everyone thought you were dead. I don't know what exactly he put in the will, it might not actually have disinherited you, but it didn't matter much. It was lost and they still named Jon king."

"Stannis offered to legitimize him too," Arya said. "As Lord of Winterfell. But he said no. He'd taken his vows with the Watch. And he'd already almost broken them once, and made his choice."

"Almost broken them?" Robb asked. "When?"

"When Father was killed and you marched to war. He wanted to join you."

Robb winced. "The bannermen would have expected me to behead him as a deserter. It's a good thing he never did. Or... it doesn't matter, since that timeline no longer exists, I suppose. It still makes my head hurt to think about it too hard."

"Mine too," Arya admitted. "And I lived it."

They rode on the rest of the day before making camp at nightfall, and Arya sat by the fire watching the stars. She thought about her awkward meeting with Gendry when she had introduced herself to him this morning, hoping he didn't see her blush, then about the conversation they'd had on the road about marriages. She had said no to Gendry once, and would again if he ever asked, though it seemed unlikely he'd ever get to know her this time around. She had no desire to be a woman wed. But she may have to, to aid their family politically. As Myrcella had said, none of them got to choose.

Bran came out to join her. "Are you frightened?" he asked.

"Of facing Bloodraven? How hard can it be to kill an old man who has a tree growing through him?"

"Of what we might learn," Bran said. "Of whether he's right, and it was wrong to meddle with time."

"Oh," Arya said, and then, after a silence, "Yes, I'm frightened of that."

Sansa

When at last word arrived that her father was in the city and making his way to the Red Keep, Sansa almost leapt up to go and greet him. It had been far too long since she had seen any of her family.

Father smiled as he got off his horse and ran to embrace her.

King Robert grinned and hugged him next, saying, "Ned, so good to see you again! Was starting to worry you'd abandoned me."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace. There was much to attend to in the North. I trust all was well here?"

Robert shrugged. "Well enough. We have a new Master of Coin in Mace Tyrell, and Littlefinger has been sent to the Wall."

Father grimaced. "Normally I'd approve of more men for the Watch, but he's a dangerous man to allow to live. Still, I'm glad he's out of power. You got my note, then?"

"Yes, and your girl here acquitted herself quite well at the trial. It probably never would have happened without her."

Father beamed at her, and she felt herself flush with pride.

"The queen sends her regards," Robert said, "But she couldn't come to greet you because she's too big to move now."

Father nodded. "I hope she's doing well and that the babe is healthy."

A few more pleasantries were exchanged before the two of them could finally head off alone, and she followed him back to his solar.

"So," he said when they were seated. "Seems a lot has changed."

Sansa nodded, then filled him in on all that had happened, including her ability to warg into Lady.

He raised his eyebrows. "So it's not just Bran?"

"It's all of us. Can you..."

"Not that I know of," he said with a small smile. "Would be nice."

"There's one more thing," she said. "Loras Tyrell is going to ask you for my hand in marriage."

"Oh," he said.

"I've decided it's in our house's best interest if you accept."

"But is it what you want?"

"Did you want to marry Mother?"

"Fair enough." He frowned. "But you say the Tyrells are plotting to get Robert off the throne."

"And I think we should help them. Get him to abdicate to the baby when it's born. It makes sense, and his hatred of Daenerys will be an obstacle to peace. If anybody can convince him, Father, it's you."

He sighed. "Robert has mentioned wanting it, I'll grant that much, but it still seems wrong."

"I know there are risks involved. But we have to be prepared."

He nodded. "I understand. I will think on all you said."

She nodded. "One final idea I wanted to get your thoughts on..."

"Yes?"

"What if I came with you to meet Daenerys?"

"No. Too dangerous."

"I can handle it."

"You said you didn't get along before."

"We didn't. I wanted Northern independence. She didn't. But there are many things I think we have in common, and we are not so far apart in age. Perhaps I could befriend her."

"I don't know. Who would keep an eye on things here, then?"

She thought about it for only a moment. "Lady."

"She can't speak or manage things, though."

"True. But... the realm will be fine. The Tyrells can handle daily affairs. The big issue to manage will be Daenerys."

"I suppose that's true enough." He frowned. "I'll think on it."

Chapter Text

Arya

By the time they reached Eastwatch, Arya had to admit to being nervous. Even having been the one to kill the Night King herself, once, the thought of going beyond the Wall still unnerved her a little. The magic of the old gods was strong here, and that wasn't the type of magic she had grown most familiar with. And she didn't want to think about what she would learn once they reached the old man, if he was going to somehow prove that what they had done was actually wrong. She hated that thought; she had saved her family, and many others, and that couldn't be wrong, could it?

The boat docked, and Arya took a breath and stepped off. It was cold here, too, and she wasn't used to that; she had thought that as a Northerner she was used to cold, but the Wall was colder than Winterfell.

Robb came up behind her. "Are you ready?"

She sighed. "As ready as I will be."

"I'm worried about you," he admitted.

"Don't be. I've done lots of dangerous things."

He snorted. "Just be careful out there. Both of you," he added, as Bran came down to join them.

Myrcella followed right behind Bran. "Maybe we should have a little faith in them," she said. "We have our own difficult journey ahead."

"We do," Robb agreed. He bent down and kissed Arya and Bran on the head. "I hope to see you soon."

"Me too," Arya said, giving him a hug. Then she and Bran were mounting their horses, and their three guards rode up behind them. They rode through the castle, and she could feel all the eyes watching her. But the commander knew why they were there. He gave them a nod and then directed an order, and the gate opened. Trying to push back her hesitation, she rode alongside Bran into the lands beyond the Wall.

"We did it," Arya said, looking at her little brother. "Are you ready?"

He nodded. "Let's go find Bloodraven."

Jon

He knocked and waited hesitantly for the old man to open the door. "It's Jon, is it?"

He frowned. "How did you know?"

"I can sense these things," Aemon said. "What brings you to me?"

"Our scouts report that Mance Rayder approaches, and Eastwatch has, as you know, informed us that my brother and his wife are en route. I will be leaving soon, and don't know if I'll return to the Wall or not."

Aemon nodded. "A choice you'll have to make."

"Yes." Jon sighed, wondering what he dared say. "You advised me on a choice once before, in a timeline that never came to pass. Because my sisters changed the past. Went back and saved my father from his downfall."

Maester Aemon stared at him for a moment. "They changed the past?"

"Yes. And gave me back my memories of another course of events. One where I learned-learned my true heritage."

"The identity of your mother?"

"And of my father, as it happens." Jon took a deep breath. "Maester Aemon, my father lied about siring me. The man who actually did-well, it was Prince Rhaeger. Your brother's great-grandson. My mother was Lyanna Stark."

Aemon blinked at him for a moment. "How did you learn that?"

"My brother saw it. Bran. He's a greenseer. And me, I-I am your kin. And I wanted you to know before I left, in case I never see you again."

The old man studied him. "And to think all this time I thought Daenerys was the only kin I had, and you were here all along."

Jon nodded. "There is much I do not know about that side of my family. I suppose you didn't know Rhaegar."

"Never met him," the old man confirmed. "Never even met his father, and only knew his grandfather as a boy. But I knew Egg."

"King Aegon V."

"Yes, but not to me. He was my brother, and my closest friend. I loved Daeron as well, and the girls, but Egg was always the one I was closest to."

"Didn't you have three brothers?"

His face darkened. "Yes. But Aerion was no friend. The dragon dreams turned him cruel."

"My grandfather was cruel too," Jon said. "He murdered my other grandfather, and my uncle. It's a strange thing to think about."

"Indeed," said Aemon. "But Jon, you must find Daenerys. She is the one my brothers dreamed of, I think. The one who will bring back the dragons and save us."

Jon hesitated, wondering if he should tell Aemon what Dany had done, then decided against it. He didn't need to know that. And maybe Jon could still save her. He didn't believe she had been born a bad person; circumstances had made her thus, and could be changed. "I will find her," he promised. "My father-well, Ned Stark-is going to meet with her."

"For peace?" Aemon asked.

"Yes, for peace."

"Good."

"In case I don't see you again," he said. "I want you to know that I admire you, and I'm glad I got to know you."

"The feeling is mutual," the old man said.

Jon left him, and went outside to wait for Mance to arrive with Ygritte and Tormund. The gate opened, and they rode through, the eyes of all the Night's Watch glaring at them. Jon went to meet them. "Have you approved our deal?" he asked Mance.

"As long as the Northerners are on board," he said.

"We're going to do our best," he said. "My brother brings the assurance of Winterfell to help with that."

Mance nodded. "Well, then. Let us hope it is enough. Because the Long Night approaches."

Jon nodded, and his mind drifted again across the Narrow Sea.

Sansa

Father was staring at King Robert like he had grown an extra head. "Is a tourney really what the realm needs right now?"

"It will bring great joy," he said. "A celebration of the security of the royal line."

"Indeed," said Renly. "What a wonderful day it will be when my niece or nephew is born."

Father glanced at him, then back at Sansa. She met his eyes, hoping she could convince him to go along with Renly's plan. She understood his hesitation, but Robert was an obstacle to peace, friend or no. She had saved his life, and hoped Father would repay her by helping get him off the throne. "Yes," he said finally. "That will be a joyous day."

Sansa smiled at that. It all but assured her he was on her side. Had he been trying to keep Robert on the throne, he would have kept trying to talk him out of it, though the damage was already done. Lords already flocked down to King's Landing to compete, and Margaery was mere weeks away from giving birth. It wouldn't really be possible to unsend those birds. Still, Father acquiescing meant he was choosing to appeal to the king, and that meant he would attempt to sway him. Sansa only wondered if she should tell Renly and Loras that she knew of their plan, was trying to help them with it. She wavered on how they might react to that. She also didn't know when they might try to convince him, or if they already had; she had told Father to wait until the babe was born, when he was in his best mood, and also hope that it was a boy, which would make him more inclined. But Renly didn't even seem to care.

Loras looked over at her, raising his eyebrows quizzically. He seemed to know she had plots inside of her. He hadn't yet asked Father for her hand, perhaps also waiting until the tournament, or perhaps wondering if he really did want another schemer in his family.

Robert was oblivious to everything, laughing and joking around with everyone. He could never see his enemies around, not Cersei or Varys or even his own brother. Yet he had seen Daenerys, been the only one who did. Had he predicted it, or had he made her his enemy? How should they deal with her? The time when they would do so was getting closer.