Chapter Text
P.O.V Bran
Darkness.
Endless Darkness.
No! They wouldn’t be separated again! If they couldn’t be together in life then they will be together in death.
So he pulled, and pulled, and pulled, he used every piece of magic he had and then some. He pulled magic from the wall, from the dragons, from the red priests, from the weirwoods, from everywhere with even the slightest trace of magic. And he pulled with all his strength, straining against an invisible barrier. He pulled on the memories of his sibling, of happy days in Winterfell, when all had been well and they were Safe and Happy.
He pulled until he felt something give way.
But he had pulled too far, something was wrong. They were together yes, he could feel the others’ souls pulled close, Jon somber, Sansa regal, Robb resigned, Arya angry, and Rickon wild. But they were going in an uncontrollable direction, familiar, though he couldn’t remember where…
Suddenly, he remembered. he had experienced this sensation when visiting the past, except… this felt more real, almost like it wasn’t just thoughts which travelled but something more, something solid…
But there was nothing he could do about it, all he could do was to pull his siblings closer, for Jon was their brother, in spirit if not in blood, and no one could convince them otherwise.
The strange force dragged them along until suddenly a bright light erupted in front of them and they were suddenly flying flying flying, until they suddenly landed in the snow.
Pain erupted in his head. He couldn’t hold in his scream as the Three-Eyed Raven was dragged from him, returning to the weirwoods. No! He had to see! HE HAD TO SEE! He glanced around, the pain making everything spin, there, a weirwood, one of the largest he had ever seen. They must be beyond the wall, for there were no weirwoods of this size outside the true North. He struggled forward, using his arms to pull his useless legs behind him, trying to reach the tree. He couldn’t stop himself from screaming, the pain was tearing him apart, he was reaching, reaching for the tree, until suddenly, he was forced to stop. He could feel a hand grasping him, preventing him from moving forward.
“You can’t!”
The voice, though disoriented through the pain, is still recognizable as belonging to Arya.
“Why?” A choked cry, “I have to see!” The pain was receding, slowly but surely, as his mind got used to the empty space where the raven used to reside. But that wasn’t the point, the point was that HE HAD TO SEE! But his sister was stronger and would not let go no matter how much he struggled. “Just let me see!” A desperate plea, but his sister was not moved. “I won’t lose you again! Bran Stark died when you became the three eyed raven, now you are finally back, I won’t ever let go again!”
He paused, his sister’s words had struck something within him, the memory of Meera’s devastated expression when they said goodbye for the last time came to mind, she had said that he was dead too, had she not? Why? The Raven had done nothing but help him fly, why do they hate it so much? The pain was almost gone now, and he could see his sister’s expression clearly, it was almost the same as Meera’s. A look of anger and grief and sadness and pain. Pain, he caused…
His hand dropped. She let go. He managed to turn around using his arm to support himself and finally took a good look at his siblings and their landing spot.
Arya was right behind him, hence why she had grabbed him, she was half hidden in the shadows, one hand holding Catspaw, the other had just let go of his arm. Jon was standing just behind her, eyes narrowed, hand pressed against the hilt of Longclaw. Sansa was beside him, standing tall and straight, her posture perfect, yet with steel in her spine, surveying the lands around them. Robb was clutching at his neck where there was a raw red scar, gasping for breath. Rickon was half crouched on the snowy ground, choking on wounds that didn’t exist. His family, separated, once, but not anymore. Looking at them, he finally understood what Arya had been trying to tell him so desperately. The Raven had taught him to fly, to see, but in doing so, he had lost himself. And more importantly, he had lost his family.
Family, Duty, Honor. His mother’s words.
When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. His father’s words.
How could he have forgotten?
Tears rolled down his cheek, tracing the tear tracks already frozen there, yet this time it wasn’t tears of pain but tears of anger. Anger at himself. How dare he forget the most important thing of all? What was the point of a thousand eyes and one without his family?
He was jolted out of his thoughts by Sansa’s voice “Rickon!” She ran over to their little brother, lying on the floor, there was pool of blood all around him yet Sansa didn’t care, wrapping her arms around Rickon. Rickon hugged her back, sniffling into her shoulder. “You came for me. I remember Jon, he was trying to reach me, but—but Ramsay—the arrows…” Sansa lifted his clothes to reveal several scars, yet no open wounds, letting out a sigh of relief she whispered some comforting things to Rickon before turning back to the rest of the them: “Where are we?”
“This is north of the wall---- I swore my oaths to the Night’s Watch here” Jon answered, sounding pained. Bran guessed that he was remembering his past experiences with the Night’s Watch. He wonders how much this must be hurting him, to be so near the place of his first death.
“How did we get here? I’m dead-- am I not? The wedding--- the arrows--- Gods, Mother… Jenye” Robb’s voice was shaky, still recovering from having his throat cut open. “I think… I think I did it,” Bran drew back slightly at his siblings’ intense gazes “I just—I just wanted to keep us together in death like we could not be in life, but I pulled too hard and something broke and now we are here.” His voice gradually rose “Also,” He swallowed nervously, “I think we’re in the past.”
“WHAT!!!” The effect was instantaneous.
Sansa was the first to speak, and her trembling voice lit a fire with in all of them “Does this mean that we can…change things? Maybe we can even--- we can even save Mother and Father!”
“We could have our parents back!”
“And we can save the people we care about! People we lost.”
“I can save Osha---even though she won’t remember me…”
“And we can free the North at last!”
“And if we do it right, we can even win against the Ice King!”
“Wait…the Ice King? From the Legends of the Long Night? He’s real?!” Robb was confused, his brow furrowed.
“You died first, so of course you wouldn’t know. Giving up your life and leaving us all alone in the world, just for a lover, was it worth it?” Arya’s mocking voice sounded. Her face was impassive, but her eyes were glaring daggers at Robb.
Now that the initial shock had faded, there was no doubt a lot of issues to be solved, issues they never had the time to address during the war.
However, these issues will have to be dealt with later, since just at that moment, a group of Rangers and new recruits from the Night’s Watch arrived to swear their vows, and leading them was…
“Uncle Benjen!”
P.O.V Benjen
Benjen didn’t know what to think. On the way back to Castle Black he kept replaying the scene he had just experienced.
Benjen was leading a group of new recruits to swear their vows at the weirwood tree, for he still followed the Old Gods despite all that they had failed him. This was normally an uneventful trip, yet the scene they came upon was most definitely not normal.
At the base of the weirwood, there were six figures on the ground.
The eldest was a young man dressed in black, he had a sword strapped to his side and his face…Gods, this man looked almost exactly like Ned, though his features seemed sharper, more refined, reminding him of his long-lost sister. The second eldest is a girl with bright red hair and icy blue eyes, she reminded him of his good-sister Catelyn. The third eldest appears to be a young man with the same red hair and blue eyes as the women, but there was a raw red scar on his neck and the skin and clothes around it were stained red with blood. The fourth eldest was a girl with black hair and grey eyes, holding a dagger in her left hand, half hidden in the shadows of the weirwood. Benjen almost shouted his sister’s name before he stopped himself. The girl could have passed as a younger Lyanna, had it not been for the coldness in her eyes and the unnatural stillness of her body, for Lya was never still, always moving, a ball of energy and life…Gods, he missed her so much. Next was a boy with the same auburn hair and blue eyes as the man and woman. He was sitting on the ground, his arms behind him, keeping his body upright, and his legs were twisted in a strange position. The last was a boy of about 12, with the same coloring as the other boy, he was half crouched on the ground, snarling.
“Uncle Benjen!” the shout came from the man who looked like Ned, and his words made Benjen very confused.
He only had six nephews and nieces, and they were all at Winterfell, so who are these people?
And yet… These people matched what he remembered about Ned’s children, though the ages were wrong.
The eldest was Robb, who he guessed was the red-haired man, though he was the third eldest now, Jon and Sansa (or at least who he guessed was Jon and Sansa) were second and third, but now they are the eldest two. Yet the resemblance was undeniable.
Yet how was this possible?
“Uncle Benjen, what year is it?”
That was a strange question to ask, but he answered anyway, “This is 298AC.”
They glanced at each other, Joy in their gazes “This is two years before everything went to hell, we still have time.” Sansa, (or was it Sansa? She seemed so grown up now) spoke with a smile on her face.
Why were they acting this way, and where had they came from?
He had no explanation, and they refused to explain until they reached Castle Black, so all Benjen could do was to lead them back to Castle Black, leaving the other rangers to deal with the new recruits.
After they reached Castle Black, Benjen told them to follow Ed while he went to get Lord commander Mormont.
“Ed, take them to the Lord Commander’s solar.”
“There’s no need, I--- know the way. And, maester Aemon should join us as well” Jon looked apprehensive for some reason, yet he did know the way, so Ben let him be.
After getting the Old Bear and the measter, he rejoined them.
“So, now can you explain?” His curiosity had been grating at him the whole way and he wants to hear the explanation.
“Must I?” Bran looked around exasperatedly at his siblings, all of whom were staring at him.
“Yes, Bran you must. You did this after all.” Sansa was not amused.
Wait? His Brother’s namesake did this? How?
“Fine. We came from the future…”
“What?!” The others who were not the Stark siblings were stunned.
“…Pray do not interrupt. As I said, we came from the future, in this future, we all died, one by one. I was the last. After my death, I wanted to keep us together in death like we could not be in life, yet the magic went awry…”
“Magic? What magic?” Jeor asked, clearly Ben was not the only one who was confused.
“…and we ended up here.” Bran finished before explaining “As for your question, it was the magic of the Three-Eyed-Raven.”
“And what is that?” Ben still did not understand.
“The magic of the one with a thousand eyes and one.” Neither the Lord Commander nor Ben understood, yet someone clearly did.
“He is still alive?” Measter Aemon gasped.
Bran winced “Not exactly… He’s more weirwood than man now.”
“Who are you talking about?” Jeor and Ben couldn’t keep up.
“My Ancestor, Bryden Rivers. The Blood Raven” Ben froze, Bran’s magic came from the Blood Raven of all people?!
Yet Ben didn’t have time to dwell on this matter as there were more pressing things to deal with, for example: “Why did you come back?”
“Like I said, I didn’t mean to. But this is also a second chance---a chance to do everything right.”
“Does this mean that things did not go well in your last life?”
“Yes, it does.” Sansa took over now “In 300AC, Father will go to the capital to be hand to the king after the death of Jon Arryn and under Robert’s command. After the death of the King, Father was named a traitor and captured. He was later beheaded at Joffrey’s order. Robb raised the banners and marched to war, he won battle after battle, and was named King in the North, yet the Ironborn attacked the North and captured Winterfell.”
“I knew not to trust those Mother Fucking squids” Jeor muttered under his breath and Ben agreed whole heartedly.
“Meanwhile, after Robb married a minor Westernland noble and broke the marriage contract with the Freys, the Freys and the Boltons conspired to break guest rights and murder him at his uncle’s wedding.”
He could have sworn Arya muttered “Stupid” under her breath.
They succeeded, Robb, his wife and Mother all died at what was later called the Red Wedding. The rest of us all suffered in our own way as well. Rickon died in 303AC, and we all died eventually when the White Walkers came in 305AC. Basically. Everything was a mess.”
“So, what are you going to do now?” Ben wanted to know.
“Firstly, we should go to Winterfell and see our parents.” Robb’s suggestion met agreement all around in the form of nodding heads.
“Well, I guess I should write to Ned.” He wondered what his brother would think of his grown-up children. He doubted it would be good. Poor Ned.