EDIT: Thanks to everyone who reviewed this story in its first day and especially to everyone who told me about the uploading error. I really appreciate the early awareness you guys gave me and hope you enjoy the story in its originally intended format!

Prologue

As he brushed the Valyrian steel of Ice, Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North sat beneath the solemn Weirwood. He knelt there, long raven hair covering where his tired graying beard met his ears. Sharp grey eyes watched his hand and whetstone slide across his sword's edge, nearly hypnotized amidst the quiet peace-respite of the wood. And yet, in a plane beyond his own mortal comprehenstion a decision was made that would define the destiny shared between himself and Westeros in its entirety. Man stroked steel, gods blessed wolves. The Wolf returned; just as he had been in his first life, gentle and powerful. This was the Quiet Wolf, and the debt of blood he was owed would be repaid.

Somber discs thoughtfully drifted along with the hand scrubbing away blood. His enemies hadn't the priviledge to see the gentle protective fog of his eyes when the Warden of the North was not a lord or warrior, but was 'Father' or 'Ned', but just the same even his family would never see the melancholy that flooded his reserved face. True disdain would rarely cross his icy features, but Ned Stark would never show the unwept tears of his silent dejection to anyone. He was the Lord of Winterfell, and Starks do not cry; because Winter is Coming. And while Lord Stark sat beneath what amounted to his family's sept, his bones felt the North's promise as the icy breeze flicked his skin.

The Weirwood murmured, "Dearest Eddard," and yet, strange as it may have been, Ned didn't seem to react whatsoever, his eyes still maintained the steady motion of his moving hand; his ears had not quite accepted the entreating words as reality. The Weirwood spoke to him with a dozen voices from children thought long dead. Though they had vanished, they are not dead, the Children still remain. The Children have come to Eddard with a gift.

The Weirwood continued whispering countless, nameless things. Realizing the noises were not the natural phenomenon of the forest, the eldritch nature of his circumstance seemed to bear down on and pressurize the Lord of the North.

A haunted Ned's ash eyes glazed over when more hushed words came. Whispers trickled memories as ghostly voices licked at the insides of his ears. A debt repaid, the Children say, the labors gone toward the promise of the father, the son who ended the war. And Ned Stark fell, all sounds faded until only the howling of a wounded dire wolf filled his heavy head, enveloping his failing consciousness.

Perched in the thick branches of a mighty oak, a small impish thing watched Eddard Stark slump over, sword resting in his lap. "And now it begins," the child-like being said, "The war can end again, just as the soul begins again."

The Children and the Weirwood and the Old Gods themselves, all gave blessings to the man. Blessings of memories and a life long since passed, a soul was returned, and with it the spirit of an honorable era far gone, with it the Quiet Wolf returns, and the blood debt he was owed would be repaid. His pack will be led by the just alpha, as it should have been throughout the challenges they were soon to face, but this time the Starks would have Ned, and the game of thrones would never be the same.

AN:

So that's the Prologue, it's going to be a Peggy Sue!Ned Stark story if you haven't gathered that already from the description and the general happenings within the story but I would love to have a beta to bounce ideas off of because I'm having a hard time deciding exactly how to describe his memories, but that's something I will have to discuss with the beta. I have half of the first chapter done, but I need to know if my ideas work or which ones to go with etc. Anyway, thanks for the view and please remember to read, review, and get your game on!