The Starks of Winterfell

by XxSevenSevenxX

305AL - The Starks never left Winterfell so that Ned can become the Hand of the King and the War of the Five Kings never happened. Instead, Robert Baratheon died in 300 AL, leaving his throne to the then 14 year old Joffrey. However, in those five years things have grown worse and having tragically lost their parents in an attack on Winterfell, the Starks and Jon Snow are alone.

1. Prologue

Prologue

They stood shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, watching the fire blaze as their childhood home fell to ruin. Five Stark children, and one Snow, forever bound both by blood and honor.

Winter is coming.

Robb, the eldest at two and twenty years, standing over six feet, his auburn hair a shock of curls against the white winter landscape. His face was worn and marred by scars and worried lines, battle wounds and signs of experience beyond his years. His blue eyes losing all their twinkle as he watched the lick of flames overtake the lower roofs of Winterfell.

Winter is coming.

Rickon leaned against him, a boy of ten now, and less than a head shorter than his eldest brother. He looked like a younger Robb, his hair every bit as unruly and his face holding the same hard stare; only a few tears welling in the corners of his eyes. His hands were buried in Shaggydog's fur, quietly calming the wild animal.

Winter is coming.

Sansa stood to the other side of Robb, her fiery hair hiding her face as she cried quietly into his shoulder. A slender woman of nine and ten years, her skinny frame had filled out nicely into a woman's body, and even crying she looked every bit the lady, graceful and soft.

Winter is coming.

Jon stood beside Rickon, his hand on his younger brothers shoulder, only a few months younger than Robb, he stood nearly two inches taller, his long lean body and unruly dark hair reminiscent of his father. His grey eyes were clouded with tears but he remained strong for his sister, whose hand he held tightly in his own.

Winter is coming.

Arya. She squeezed Jon's hand tightly, a girl of six and teen she was just on the cusp of womanhood, but felt more a girl than ever. Her hair had grown and thickened, laying flat down her back but her body had still yet to fill out, still slight and diminutive. She bite her tongue to keep away the tears, silently rehearsing her list.

Winter is coming.

The last of the Stark's, five and ten Bran sat high atop his horse. The most sensitive of his brothers, his heart broke not for his lost home but for the people of Winterfell; the people who relied on them. His coloring favored his mother but he was thin and lean like a Stark.

Winter is coming.

They stood together, parentless children, Robb and Jon barely even children anymore, without a home and without a friend in the world save each other.