Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Ned P.O.V

Ben had written to him to say that he is going to visit Winterfell.

He was glad, he missed his brother---the only family he had left, from before Robert’s rebellion. He had been devastated when he had left to join the Night’s Watch, even though he understood.

He still sees them sometimes, the ghosts of the past…

Father, working in his solar.

Mother, scolding him and Ben for a prank they had pulled.

Brandon, jesting with one lord or another in the Great Hall.

And Lya…sweet Lya, sparing in secret with Ben in the Godswood while he watched from the side; racing through the woods so fast you’d think she was half horse; Arguing with Father about how she didn’t want to marry…

He had been at the Eyrie for a long time, and he still felt like this. He could not imagine what Ben must have felt…

He was also curious about the people which Ben wanted him to meet. He hadn’t been specific, but he could tell that they were important. In fact, they were the whole reason Ben was coming. He wondered who they were to convince the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch to leave his post and visit his childhood home?

Though he needn’t wonder any longer, just at that moment the horns signaled the coming of his brother.

Ned rushed down to the courtyard just in time to see Benjen enter though the gate, riding on a horse. He was dressed all in black as befitting a member of the Night’s Watch.

Behind him were a few other men of the Night’s Watch along with 5 men and women of varied ages, some of them were still children while others were grown up, all were on horseback, they were also dragging a cart behind them, and there was another boy sitting on the cart.

Ben dismounted and immediately embraced Ned.

“Brother, I have missed you.”

Ned hugged him back, memories of the last time they had embraced like this flooding his mind. It had been just before Ben had left for the Wall. Ned had not wanted to let go, yet he did, because he knew this made Ben happy and his brother’s happiness was more important than his own.

“So did I Ben--so did I.” He replied to his brother, his voice hushed.

Then Ben stepped back and bowed “Lord Stark.”

Ned sighed internally, he hated these courtesies, yet they were necessary, so he nodded in return and said, “First Ranger.”

With that over Ben finally turned to the reason he was here. Ben led him over to the six people who didn’t belong to the watch. “These are the people I wanted you to meet, they are…”

“Lya?!” The word escaped from his mouth before he had time to think it though. If he had, he would have noticed that the women who looked like an exact copy of his sister was still in a way Lyanna never was, and there was a coldness in her eyes which Lya never possessed.

“No, it’s not our sister. It’s actually…” Ben tried to explain, but he was cut off by the women.

Her words took Ned a moment to process, yet when he did, it simply confused him more.

“Hello, father.”

Ned brought them all to his solar and gave orders to not be disturbed by anyone.

The strange people spread out across the room.

The man who looked like a younger version of himself had been carrying the boy who had been sitting on the cart since he couldn’t walk. He dropped him on a chair and went to sit on the chair closest to the fire, the eldest women sat next to him. The youngest boy remained standing next to the man, acting more like a wild animal than a person, snarling at any stranger who came close. The second girl who he had mistaken for his sister stood in a corner, half hidden in the shadows. The remaining boy sat in a chair opposite the fire.

“So, do any of you care to explain?” He was completely at a loss.

“I will,” a woman with red hair who looked just like a younger Catelyn spoke, “We are your children, except---older, as we are from the future…”

“How is this possible?”

All of them turned to the older version of Bran (or at least he guessed it was Bran, the man in front of him seemed cold and distant, and when he spoke, it was with a voice near devoid of emotion, nothing like the sweet summer boy Bran was now). “After our death, I used my magic as the Three-Eyed-Raven to pull us together, but something went wrong, and we ended up in front of a weirwood tree just beyond the wall.”

Ned still didn’t understand but decided to let the matter pass for now.

“Wait, you said after your deaths? How did you die?” What had happened to his children?

“I was stabbed to death by Roose Bolton after the Freys betrayed me and broke guest rights.” Robb winced, probably remembering the pain of having a knife buried in your chest.

“Why would you need to interact with the Freys? They are sworn to the Tullys, not you.” Walder Frey has a reputation for being a slimy weasel, but that should be Hoster’s problem, not Robb’s. And breaking guest right sounded a bit too extreme, even for the “late” Lord Frey.

“It’s a long story…” Robb looked hesitant to enter the specifics.

“He got crowned as the King in the North, then he rescued the Riverlands and was crowned as their king as well.” Sansa answered for him.

“Less King in the North and more the King Who Lost the North.” Arya snarked.

Rickon let out a laugh, while Robb looked angry. “That’s enough Arya, be polite to our brother.” Sansa berated.

“You’re speaking up for him? After he abandoned you in that nest of Vipers and forgot about you?!” Arya didn’t understand.

“I didn’t forget about her; I was busy fighting a war if you noticed! A war to rescue Sansa! Also where were you then?” Robb refused to back down.

Arya was not pacified: “If the point was to rescue Sansa, then keep marching to the capital rather than fight a war in the Riverlands and the Westernlands! As for me, I was with the Hound, he took me to many places in the hope of ransoming me. We were at the Freys when the wedding happened. Later, when I returned to Westeros, I extinguished the male Frey line for what they did.”

“Oh,” Robb paused “Thank you.”

“Wait! What do you mean by you extinguished the male Frey line?!” Ned couldn’t imagine his brave little girl killing anyone, let along an entire House!

“We should get back to the topic at hand.” Jon steered the conversation back. Looking at him, Ned felt both proud and sad. Proud that the he had grown into such a fine young man and sad that Lya was not here to see.

“I died after Ramsy Bolton shot an arrow though my heart.” Rickon decided to go next. His voice trembled slightly, and Ned’s heart broke at seeing his sweet little pup broken like this. Whoever this Ramsy is, he deserved to die. Though hadn’t Rickon said that he was a Bolton? A Bolton killed his son! He should never have trusted them!

“You all left! Only Jon came back for me, the rest of you all left and never came back! You p--p--promised!” his voice broke at the end. Sansa rubbed his back soothingly, calming him, while Robb looked apologetic.

Jon looked guilty “I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you time.”

“s’okay, at least you tried,” Unlike some others. Ned could almost imagine the part Rickon left unspoken.

Sansa spoke up to fill the silence. “The rest of us all died when the White Walkers came.”

“The White Walkers? They are only legends, myths, meant to frighten children into obedience.” Ned was doubtful.

“I wish,” Jon said with a bitter laugh “however this threat is very real, I’ve killed a few of them myself.”

Ned gaped. His son (for Jon was his son) had killed ancient creatures straight out of Old Nan’s stories. If he hadn’t known Jon so well, he would have thought that he was japing. Now however… “If what you claim is real,”

“It is.”

“Then we need to prepare for winter.”

“Not just winter,” Robb stepped in “we also need to prepare for war.”

“War? War against who? The kingdom is at peace.” Ned didn’t want to think about another war. Not when they had already taken so much from him.

“It won’t be for much longer. Jon Arryn will die in a few years unless we stop it, and Robert will die soon after leaving the kingdoms in turmoil.” Bran stated.

“But Robert has heirs, three of them, they couldn’t have all died?” Ned still didn’t understand.

“But they couldn’t be Robert’s heirs if they’re not Robert’s children, could they?” Bran kept pressing.

“But—what do you mean—how could they not be Robert’s?” Ned was getting increasingly confused.

“Because they are the product of incest between Cersei and the Kingslayer. Truly, why haven’t anyone wondered why none of the royal children resembled the king even slightly.” Arya’s scathing answer finally solved his question.

Ned’s eyes widened “The queen, she’s cheating on Robert?! I must write a letter; I have to tell him what’s going on!” Ned scrambled for quill and paper.

A dainty hand pressed against his, stopping his movements. “Father, think for a moment, if you tell the King, He’ll kill Cersei, the Kingslayer and Joffrey yes, but he’ll also kill Myrcella and Tommen. They are sweet children, blameless for the crimes of their parents. Do you truly wish to kill them?”

Ned paused, while it was true that the Queen and the Kingslayer deserved to die for their crimes, is it honorable to condemn children for the mistakes of their parents? He has no doubt that Robert would kill them all is he finds out. He still remembered his smile after seeing the bodies of prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys.

“You’re probably going to think this is cruel, but I would suggest just letting Robert kill them, after all, isn’t it worth it to sacrifice the lives of two children in order to save the tens of thousands of people who will die in the war?” Arya’s voice was serious, and Ned felt sad at the thought that his child was truly considering the murder of two children, even if she made sense.

“But even if they die, there will still be war. Is it still worth it?” Sansa reasoned.

“I guess not.”

With a sigh, he put the quill down. “Then what do you propose we do? We can’t let it continue like this. If you came from the future, could you stop this war?”

“The Lannisters are power greedy and will stop at nothing on their path to win the throne. Stannis and Renly will also declare themselves king. Renly could be reasoned with, but Stannis will never bend, and we need the dragonglass on Dragonstone.” Jon dashed his hopes.

“So war is inevitable.” Ned let out a sigh, resigned.

“Unfortunately, yes, so the only thing we can do is make sure we win.” Sansa’s voice was firm.

“So which side will you choose?” Clearly not the Lannisters, maybe Stannis? He’s the rightful heir after all. Honor dictates that the North Supports him.

“None of them. We have our own king after all, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.” Sansa’s answer surprised him.

He asked, “Who do you mean?” at the same times as Jon shouted, “I’m not doing it!”

“You know?” He asked, staring at Jon. The truth he had been hiding all these years… Had it finally come out?

“Yes, I do, Uncle.”

“What?” Clearly Robb didn’t know, though Sansa, Arya and Bran were unfazed, they had clearly known already. Rickon was looking at Jon, wide eyed, so he probably didn’t know either.

“I’m not the bastard son of Eddard Stark and an unknown woman. I’m the legitimate son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. They were married in secret by the High Septon, after Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia Martell.” Jon explained.

“How did you find out? Did I tell you? Or maybe it was Howland?” As far as he knew, the only two people who knew this secret were himself and his friend.

“You died before you could, and Lord Reed did come to find me, though he was not the one who first told me.”

“Then who did?”

“It was me.” To his surprise, it was Bran who spoke. “I saw what happened at the tower of Joy.”

“How is this possible?”

“Like I’ve said, I am--or at least I used to be the Three-Eyed-Raven. I could travel to any point in the past or present and sometimes even the future. I saw the truth in a vision. Then, one of Jon’s friends who had been studying at the citadel found the High Septon’s journal on which the marriage between Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark was recorded, proof of Jon’s legitimacy. Thus, making him the heir to the Throne.”

“Well, I don’t want it!” Jon was annoyed.

“Too bad, you have no choice. You’re the best candidate for the throne and the best way to consolidate power against the Ice King. You know what we’re going against better than anyone, and you would be a good king! Better than Joffrey and Stannis for sure.” Arya growled at him.

“Think about it Jon, this is our greatest bet to save everyone! Isn’t that what you wanted, what you fought so hard for last time?” Sansa’s approach was softer, but still persuasive. 

“It’s also what got me killed! Or have you forgotten that fact?” Jon was still hesitant, but he was wavering in his resolve.

“It was not trying to save people that got you killed, it was the horrible people who did the deed, and your lack of awareness of the dark side of the world.” Sansa retorted.

“I still don’t like it.” Jon grumbled.

“Well, you don’t have to like it, you just have to do it.” Arya said.

“Maybe we should continue this later, the day is getting late, and it’s almost time for dinner. In fact, why don’t all of you join me and your mother for a private dinner later?” Ned suggested, hoping it can diffuse the tension.

“Of course, we’d be honored to accept father.” Sansa said, before all but pushing a grumbling Jon out of the room with Rickon tagging behind.

Robb went next, carrying Bran, since Jon had left already, Arya followed him.

Ned sighed, rubbing his forehead, before calling for ale.

Third person P.O.V

The Stark siblings went to Robb’s room, due to it being the largest.

They settled down in various places. Robb placed Bran in an armchair by the window with a view of the Godswood, then settled down on the hard-backed chair next to the table. Sansa sat on the bed, pulling Rickon down next to her, Jon sat on Sansa’s other side. Arya leaned against the wall in a shadowy corner.

“I don’t want to go!” whined Jon, “She’s not my mother.”

“It’s just a dinner. You can just ignore her—Just, do it for me alright?” Sansa soothed.

“Arrggg. Fine. But it’s only for you.” Jon consented.

Sansa threw her arms around him, “Thank you!”

A small smile surfaced on Jon’s lips.

“I don’t want to go either,” Rickon muttered “I, I don’t—They left when I was so young—I don’t even remember them any more…When I think about home and family, I think of Osha and Shaggy and Jon and Sansa. Not them… I—I don’t feel anything for them anymore.”

“Oh Rickon.” Breathed Sansa, pulling him into an embrace. Rickon leaned into her, sniffling slightly. Jon wrapped his arms around both of them, providing a feeling of safety and love.

As Sansa leaned down to whisper quietly to Rickon, her dress—already worn from the long journey between Castle Black and Winterfell, torn open slightly in the back, revealing the scars underneath.

Bran, Arya, and Jon had already seen them and weren’t surprised, and Rickon was in front of her unable to see, but Robb---Robb let out a gasp of horror.

Sansa spun around to stare at Robb, and in doing so, revealed her back to Rickon, who let out a snarl “It was that fucking piece of shit wasn’t it?”

“Who?” Robb A simple word, a question, yet the anger bubbling just below the surface was clear to all of them.

“Yes Rickon, most are from Ramsay, but some are from the Kingsguard.” Sansa’s voice was calm, as though they were discussing the weather rather than the scars on her body.

“The Kingsguard? Sir Barristan would beat an unarmed girl? And why would King Robert order you beat, and why didn’t father stop him?” Robb asked, unbelieving.

“Not all the Kingsguard did it. Sir Barristan had been dismissed already and the Kingslayer was away. The Hound refused as well. And it wasn’t King Robert. It was Joffrey. After the King’s death and father’s imprisonment there was no one to stop him. Every time you won a battle, he would take it out on me.”

Robb’s eyes were wide, his voice trembling “I‘m sorry, I--I didn’t know, I’m so, so, sorry, I—I failed you—I lost myself in all the duties of being king and forgot what was most important—I was such a fucking idiot—” “You were ”Jon muttered under his breath, Arya and Rickon nodded along and even Bran had a look of agreement on his normally impassive face. “—Yes, yes I was—I…Oh Sansa…You— You must hate me now.”

Sansa’s voice was calm on the surface, yet all who knew her would be able to hear the tremor underneath. “You are my brother; I could never hate you. For a long time, I was angry, you were my hero, and you left me in the jaw of the lion. But when I became Queen of the North, I finally understood. A ruler has so many responsibilities that you feel yourself being pulled apart. You must take care of everyone, from the pheasants to the lords, from the merchants to the farmers, from one side of your kingdom to the other. You have so many duties that you lose track of who you are and what is most important. So---I forgive you. You were a great commander, but you were not a good brother or a good king.”

“I think that’s clear. After all, I died, didn’t I?” Robb’s voice was mocking, mocking himself. Though it soon switched to a more serious tone “And, thank you for forgiving me Sansa. I can’t, I—I don’t deserve it, but, thank you. Thank you so much.”

In response, Sansa hugged him, and Robb hugged her back, wrapping his arms around her tightly, as though she would slip out of his fingers at any second.

“I’m sorry too…” Sansa whispered, her voice gradually becoming stronger “I shouldn’t have—I told Cersei that we were leaving…”

“You what?” Jon exclaimed 

“I know,” Sansa groaned “I want to go back and hit myself and ask her ‘how could you be so stupid, so naïve, a silly little bird who sang songs for your family’s murderers.’ I hate myself so much. Every day I live with the guilt that I had doomed Father to his death.”

“You weren’t the only one who made mistakes, we all did in one way or another.” Bran sighed “I lost myself when I became the Three-Eyed-Raven, and I hurt a lot of people, I can see now that I made a lot of wrong choices, and… It was mostly my fault that we lost. I didn’t do enough to prepare for the present, too lost in visions of the past, and it doomed us.”

“I lost myself as well.” Admitted Arya “Just in the house of Black and White. I was so caught up in my revenge that I became No One, but I couldn’t---I couldn’t let go completely, not like they wanted me to. I kept needle, and then, when they gave me a mission to kill an innocent child, I choose to leave and become Someone.”

Jon glanced up at the expectant gazes his siblings sent his way “It’s my turn, isn’t it?” “Aye” Robb answered. “Fine. I love Daenerys, and I don’t regret it, though I won’t do it again, now I know we are actually related,” he shivered slightly at the thought, “But bending the knee without consulting anyone was wrong. I betrayed the trust the lords and ladies of the North placed on me,” Jon turned to Sansa “and I betrayed the trust you placed in me. For that, I’m sorry.”

“Well, now that that’s finally sorted out, we should prepare for dinner.” Robb offered cheerfully.

Bran shrugged, he unlike Rickon, did remember his parents, but after so long alone or under Blood Raven’s tutelage, he no longer cared about them much. However, this was a good opportunity to get the lord paramount of the North fully on their side, so he wasn’t against going. “First though, can someone build a chair with wheels for me? I would prefer not to be carried everywhere.”

“I’ll go talk to a carpenter in Winter Town,” Arya offered “I stole some gold from Father’s solar.” She ignored her sibling’s gazes “What? He won’t notice, and he doesn’t need it anyway. The chair should be done before dinner if I leave now, it’s basically just sticking wheels on the sides of a chair.”

“You should hurry then, we’ll make some other preparations, and we’ll prepare some suitable clothes for you” Sansa told her.

Arya wrinkled her nose “I’m not wearing a dress.”

“And we’re not going to make you!” Sansa retorted “I’ll find some boy’s clothes which fit your status and your size, now go!”

After Arya left, Sansa started flipping through Robb’s wardrobe, muttering to herself. None of the interrupted, knowing that they wouldn’t be much help.

Arya started flipping a knife in her hand, while Jon started playing a game of Crevasse with Robb, Rickon watching from the side.

Soon Arya returned, and together, they went off to dinner.

Chapter Text

Ned P.O.V

Catelyn was nervous, he had told her about their older set of children, and he had warned her that they were very different. He didn’t want her to panic, but he would rather she be prepared, though, even he didn’t know the full extent of their experiences.

“Are they here yet?” Cat’s voice was tight, her hands clenched so hard against the arm of the chair that they were white. 

“They’ll be here soon.” Ned assured, though he too was extremely nervous. He had no idea how this dinner will go. These adults are not the children he raised and loved. They were near strangers, but they were still his children, part of the family, with Stark blood flowing though their veins, and that will never change.

Just when Ned couldn’t hold it anymore and was about to get up to look for them in their rooms, there was a knock on the door of his private solar, and Sansa’s voice floated through the door “Father, Mother, we’re here. May we come in?”

He heard Cat let out a sigh of relief and answer “Of course you may.”

One by one, the children entered. He heard a gasp from beside him and turned to look at Cat. She was staring, wide-eyed at them, her face pale. He knew that they looked different, but he didn’t think that it would have such an impact on his wife, though he guessed that it was reasonable, he was often busy with the duties of a lord, so it was Catelyn who watched them grow, and Cat who knew them best, so the changes affected her the most. He hoped that they didn’t reveal everything about their past to Cat, he had told her the bare minimum, and he wasn’t sure if she could take it if she knew the whole truth.

Sansa entered first, wearing a stunning grey dress, embroidered with silver direwolves, with fur sown on the sides in classic Northen style. The Sansa he knew preferred the flowery Southern style, but this Sansa was clearly as Northen as any of her siblings. Rickon followed behind her, staying close to Jon, his eyes wary, he was wearing a slate grey tunic and green pants. Arya came next, pushing Bran in front of her, he was seated on a strange contraption, which Ned could only describe as a chair with wheels. Bran was wearing a white tunic and trousers with weirwood leaves embroidered with red threads. Arya was dressed in an ash grey shirt and trousers; boy’s clothes, a fact which made Cat mutter under her breath. Last came Robb, dressed in a deep blue surcoat and black pants, looking every inch the king he later became.

Sansa reached the table first, she curtseyed before taking a seat on Ned’s right.

Rickon reached them next, he seemed reluctant, and his only response to Cat’s gasp of “My baby!” was a muttered “Mother, Father.” Before taking a seat next to Sansa. Ned realized that Cat was going to be disappointed if she thought that her youngest child still held affection for his parents. The look he sent towards Ned and Cat was the look one gave to a stranger, with hints of anger. From what his children had told him, he guessed that he had left when Rickon was still too young to remember things properly, but he didn’t understand why Rickon didn’t know Cat as well, perhaps she had left too? Though what reason had pushed her to abandon her children who she loved more than anything, he could not guess.

Next came Arya and Bran. He heard Cat’s muffled sob as she turned to Bran, her favorite child, no longer able to walk, yet Bran gave no sign that he had noticed or cared, his face an emotionless mask. He, like all his siblings, seemed to no longer care about their parents, the only thing they cared about was each other. For all that they bickered, their love for each other was clear, and the tension between them had lessened significantly compared to that afternoon. He could see Cat’s disapproving gaze, aimed at Arya. He knew that she was not pleased with Arya’s boyishness, and wanted her to learn the womanly arts, but that will never be Arya. She was too like Lyanna, willful, free, and her life had been nothing like what Cat had envisioned for her. She had adapted and learned to survive, just like all of her siblings, and if Cat didn’t accept that, then their relationship will be very rocky. Arya pulled a chair aside and pushed Bran into the space next to Catelyn before taking the seat next to him.

Robb followed his brother and sister, out of all the siblings, he seemed to be the only one who cared about them at all. Though even he was cold and distant, and he seemed to be especially angry at Cat, though Ned couldn’t guess how she might have offended him. He like Rickon, greeted them with a “Mother, Father.” Though his voice was softer.

Jon came last, wearing black doublet and trousers with black embroidery, except that on a closer looked, Ned realized that the embroidery wasn’t actually black but a deep red, a hidden way of making his heritage clear to all those who knew to look for it. He gave a curt greeting of “Lord Stark, Lady Stark.” Before taking the last seat.

“What is that bastard doing here?!” Catelyn hissed. Whatever she felt about her children, it was clear that her hatred for Jon had not changed. Ned winced, he had forgotten to tell her about Jon’s heritage and he was regretting it immensely right now.

Jon smiled, though there was no hint of joy in that dark smile, only bitterness. He turned to Ned, and Ned felt his heart jerk at the anger in Jon’s dark grey eyes, Lya’s eyes… His eyes… “So, you still haven’t told her then? Don’t worry I will. Lady Catelyn, unfortunately, all your hatred for your husbands bastard has been---misplaced. After all, he’s not even my father. Only an uncle who’s lied to me for 16 years. So you’ve wasted 16 years of your llife torturing an innocent child who’s been lied to just like you. I wonder how that weighs on your conscience, or are you so cruel that you don’t even have a soul? Surely that must be the case, as you did pray for the death of a baby.” He was still smiling, yet coldness radiated off him in waves.

“How dare you speak to me this way!” Cat hissed, her face red with anger “you may not be my lord husband’s son, but you are still a lowborn boy, and I’m a highborn lady, so mind your tone!”

Jon smirked, spearing a piece of venison and popping it into his mouth. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m actually the legitimate son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, heir to the seven kingdoms, so I actually rank higher than you, you miserable women.”

“Jon, you shouldn’t speak to my mother that way.” Robb scolded lightly.

“And why not?” Jon turned to Robb, and Ned glimpsed the bubbling rage just beneath the surface. “She is responsible for her actions. Besides, she was the one who freed the Kingslayer and lost you the war. If it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have needed to appease the Freys, and there would never have been a Red Wedding. You wouldn’t have died.”

“Perhaps, but she is still our mother and deserves some respect.” Robb replied evenly, neither of them caring about Cat who was currently pale as a sheet from the bombard of information sent her way.

“Respect is earned, and she hasn’t earned mine.” Jon replied, not backing down.

“Please, can both of you stop arguing?” Sansa cut in, she pressed a hand to her forehead, clearly exasperated. “We’ve finally managed to talk some problems out. Can we not restart the argument due to her?”

“Sansa! Where are your manners?” Cat had just recovered slightly, and immediately heard Sansa, her most courteous child, speak in such a tone about her! Sansa’s mother! Ned winced, thinking about how she must be feeling right now.

“The were beaten out of me by the King’s guard and later my second husband. And I assure you, they aren’t gone, it is simply that you do not deserve it. You hid us from the true world, thinking you were protecting us, yet our naivety caused us to suffer more than you can imagine. Those of us who lived till the end were the ones who learned to adapt and grow. The others died, and it was in a large part, your fault. This is your home and you had good intentions, so I can forgive you for now, and I’m sure Jon can refrain from speaking so rudely as long as we are here as guests.” She gave a pointed look at Jon, who sighed but nodded. “However, if you ever treat Jon like you did before, none of us will treat you like our mother ever again.” Robb nodded in agreement, as did the others, all except for Rickon.

Ned’s youngest son had been very quiet though the entire exchange, he was shaking slightly, and the look in his eyes reminded Ned of an corned animal. All of a sudden, he let out a piercing wail of distress.

Everyone froze, turning to face the youngest child.

“Rickon?” Sansa spoke his name tentatively, reaching out to pat him on the back. The young boy cried, burying his head in his elder sister’s lap, “You’re all going to leave again, aren’t you?” He asked in a shaking voice punctuated by sobs.

“Of course not little brother. Why would you think so?” Sansa questioned continuing to comfort him, drawing circles on his back.

His sobs gradually quieted, turning into sniffling. “You’re all fighting, when you’re angry at each other, you leave, and when you leave, you never come back!” His voice rose to a howl at the end.

“Oh my sweet baby!” Cat cried, reaching out to their youngest son, her arms out stretched to hug him…and then she froze. Rickon, her son, shied away from her! Choosing to lean into Sansa instead.

Rickon didn’t even seem to notice what he had done. It had simply been the natural reaction of a boy, traumatized by war and betrayal, to lean away from things he didn’t trust and towards people he did. Yet what Ned couldn’t understand was what could have caused  Rickon to change so drastically that he no longer trust Cat, his mother who birthed him, fed him, raised him?

Cat was clearly heartbroken by her son’s refusal. Her face was ashen white, her trembling arms hovered in the air, unsure whether to pull back or reach out. In the end, she did pull back, her expression worried. Watching as her youngest sobbed in to her eldest daughter’s chest, Sansa not complaining a word about how he was ruining her dress, completely focused on making sure her little brother felt alright.

“Are you pleased now?” Arya looked up from her plate, grey eyes flashing like knives. Once, she had reminded Ned of Lyanna, fierce, wild, free, like a winter storm which couldn’t be contained, but no longer. Now she was what Lya never was composed, silent, calm (at least on the surface), she was more like ice, sharp and cold.

“After we finally managed to make some progress in accepting each other, you two acted like children, restarting the argument, and in doing so made our little brother cry. I know you are both angry, but that is not an excuse to act like this! This is our second chance, and you will not ruin it!”

“I, didn’t…” “It wasn’t like that…”

Sansa raised her head and looked at hem evenly, while Arya fixed them with another glare, Their feeble protests died down instantly.

Having nothing else to say, the girls fell silent, Jon sighed, leaning back, arms crossed, while Robb opened his mouth, thought for a moment, and closed it again, and, for a few moments, all was quiet other than Rickon’s quiet sniffles…

The silence was broken by Bran, speaking for the first time during the meal, his voice cold and emotionless. “We only have 2 years before the war begins, winter not far behind. Time is short. If we were to fail again, there will not be another chance.”

The voice of her sweet caring child, so detached, so different, seemed to change something in Cat. She looked at the children with a haunted gaze, and Ned knew that she had finally accepted what he had been trying to tell her since he first explained: These were  not their children, at least not as they know them. These were men and women grown, taught too much by life and war to love their Father and Mother as a child should.

The rest of the dinner past in silence.

Soon, all the children left, one by one. Cat, after moment of hesitation, left as well, still pale. And finally, Ned was left alone with his thoughts.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. He could simply ignore what they had said and try to cling on to the fragile peace so many had sacrificed themselves for but risk the world of ice and death that they had spoken of come true. Or he could believe them and prepare the North, yet the risk was no smaller. Had they lied or been mistaken, for he no longer knew them well enough to trust them completely, then he would have become a traitor for nothing, and more importantly, he was so, so, tired of war…

He drowned his cup of ale.

Jon P.O.V

It was almost dawn, but Jon still couldn’t sleep. He often found it hard to sleep nowadays with too many things on his mind. Tonight, his thoughts were about Dany. He didn’t know what to think of her anymore. He had once loved her and thought that she was the only one who he would ever marry. But then he learned that she was his aunt and the thought of being with her suddenly seemed wrong. He knew that marrying within the family was a Targaryen tradition, but he had been raised as a Stark, and Stark blood flowed through his veins as much as Targaryen.

He sighed, rolling around, careful not to wake anyone. The stark siblings all had their own rooms but sometimes they would sleep together on one bed, mostly Robb’s as it was the biggest. Tonight was one of those nights. All the siblings were in a pile in the middle of Robb’s bed, and Jon didn’t want to wake anyone else up at this gods-be-dammed hour.

At least that was what he thought until he realized that he wasn’t the only one awake already.

A shadow slowly untangled itself from the pile and clambered to the edge of the bed before jumping lightly to the ground. It started pulling clothes on, its movements soft and careful, barely making any noise at all.

“Arya?” He hissed in a low voice. For who other than his sister could move so stealthily?

The shadow froze. “Jon?” Arya’s voice replied in an equally low whisper. “Why are you awake?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Jon replied, rolling off the bed and landing on the floor.

“Well, I could ask both of you the same question.” A new voice joined their question, Robb’s voice.

“Fine, I was thinking about my list, and especially about the Boltons. Father won’t approve of killing someone who hadn’t committed any crimes, though I’m sure we can find something proving that they are guilty. Besides, even if they aren’t actually, we could always make something up. But simply killing them will be too kind, though Father will never agree to torture anyone, so it will have to be done in secret. We could fake his death then bring him somewhere where no one will find him or hear him, after all, I’m sure all of us want a chance to properly greet him.” Arya growled, continuing to pull on her clothes. “And you two?”

“I was thinking of Dany.” Jon said in a low voice. He heard Arya make a noise of understanding. “Robb?”

“The Wedding and…Jenye.” Robb’s voice choked for a second. He was slowly disentangling himself from the others, though his movements, not as gentle as Arya’s, caused a growl of annoyance from Rickon. “Arya, where are you going?”

“To go train.” Arya replied, reaching for a copy of Needle, which she had had the blacksmith forge. “The less people know about us the better, and almost no one goes to the training field this early.”

“Well, wait up, I’m coming too.” Jon said, putting on his own clothes. He needed something to clear his mind, and training was a great way to do it. “I’ve been meaning to spar with you. I never had the chance last time, what with the white walkers and the Dragon Queen.”

“Aye, me too.” Robb added, also hoping off the bed. “I can’t sleep anyway, and I want to become better, so if anything happens again, I can protect those I care about.” Jon shared that sentiment. Maybe if he had been faster, stronger, better, he could have saved more people, stopped his first death, or saved Ygritte.

“Well come along then.” Arya leaned against the door frame, arms crossed in front of her.

Jon grabbed Longclaw, which had somehow traveled with them, and headed out the door. Longclaw along with Catspaw, were the only weapons which had came with them, perhaps due to the magical properties of Valyrian steel. Yet after a moment of consideration, he switched to a normal steel sword, as Valyrian Steel will give him an unfair advantage. Robb grabbed a long-sword, and followed him, Arya bringing up the rear.

The three of them went to the training yard. It was empty, just like Arya predicted. They quickly stretched before getting ready to spar. They formed a three-way duel, Robb shouted “Three. Two. One. Go!” before rushing forward. Jon too rushed forward, he felt exhilarated by the trill of battle. On his left, he could see Arya rushing him, he side stepped, parrying her next blow, ducking under Robb’s swing. Arya stabbed at him, yet halfway though, she turned the tip towards Robb, Robb barely managed to get his sword up in time, stepping back to get some breathing space, Jon swung at Arya, but she folded into a forward roll, coming up behind him, He spun around and the two engaged, the yard ringing with the clash of swords. Soon, Robb joined in and they struck, parried, stabbed and dodged in a deadly dance of steel, until…

“Who are you?!” A shout came from the edge of the courtyard, a voice which Jon knew extremely well, as it was almost exactly the same voice which he heard coming from his own mouth everyday….

Jon spun around. In front of him stood a younger version of himself, along with a younger Robb, Bran and Arya. Jon wanted to hit himself, he should have remembered that when he was young, he had came to train every morning before the sun came up, so that he wouldn’t meet anyone, especially Lady Catelyn. Sometimes, Robb and Bran would tag along for extra training, and Arya would also follow so that Jon could train her in secret before her lessons. However, with everything which was going on (the upcoming war, the Long Night, and being king…) he had forgotten to consider what had happened to the original Starks. It seemed that they were still here, though the two sets of Starks haven’t met yet due to the fact that the older Starks were trying to avoid being seen.

It was clear from their reactions that their parents hadn’t told them anything and that this was as much a surprise for them as Jon and his siblings.

“Umm… Hello? I’m Jon Snow.” Jon said, unsure how he was supposed to interact with his younger counterpart.

“What do you mean you’re Jon Snow? I’m Jon Snow! And why do you and your friends look like me and my siblings?” The younger Jon was confused and suspicious, slowly edging forward, the others following him, hand against his sword hilt, eyes narrowed.

Jon (the older one) tried to explain “Well, actually I am you, or you are me, same thing. I’m guessing that your parents haven’t explained to you yet, but we’re older versions of you and your siblings.”

Jon sighed at his younger counterpart’s still suspicious expression. Clearly it would take more than this to convince them. “You could come with us back to our room. We will be able to explain better there. This is not a conversation we should be having where everyone could hear us.”

He half expected Jon to refuse, but he clearly had the sense to realize that there was no way that someone would attempt to kidnap him in his family’s castle, and followed, though his eyes kept darting around uneasily. The younger versions of Arya, Bran and Robb followed as well, and his Arya and Robb brought up the rear.

By the time they came back, the others were already up, Rickon was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes half closed, hair messy, still not completely awake. Bran and Sansa were seated in armchairs next to the fire, quill and paper on the table in front of them, discussing plans. None of them seemed particularly worried about where they had gone. He was sure that Bran was in at least some of the ravens of Winterfell and had been keeping an eye on them. His younger brother had retained his abilities as an accomplished warg as well as the ability to traverse though the weirwood trees, though not nearly as well as before, allowing him to retain his emotions and thoughts. This was probably the reason they didn’t seem surprised when their younger selves entered the room.

Sansa (his Sansa) stood up, facing the new arrivals, hands clasped. “Please have a seat.” She gestured towards the empty chairs, “We have a lot to explain.”