She was shivering beneath her furs. The cold of the Other's blade had chilled her soul. She breathed slowly, for a long time, until she realized that she was alive and breathing of her own accord. "I'm alive," she whispered, not yet daring to open her eyes. The world was warm, a warm she could barely remember. Life had been so cold for so long. Something in the air seemed familiar, like a long forgotten dream. She opened her eyes and sat up, slowly as she was uncertain of what had happened. Then she remembered. She remembered her son, only six years old, being struck down by the blade of an Other. That same monster killed her only a few moments later. She remembered after that, when she was a living corpse, a thrall of the Other that had taken her soul. She remembered the world going dark.

Sansa sobbed, her body shaking with the force of her cries. Her sons were dead, little Robert and Eddard who had only known the winter. She pulled the furs close about her chest as she shook. When she calmed, she remembered that something was wrong. This is Winterfell, not the ruin it became, but my home. She ran her hands down her body and could feel the differences. There was substance to her body, muscle and fat instead of skin and bone. Her bust was smaller and her hips were narrower. She could feel no scars across her skin. She threw back the furs and walked around her room, looking outside to see the world below. There is no snow. This is the Long Summer. Am I dead? Is this the afterlife? She knew somehow that she was not dead. Death had felt cold, this was like walking in a memory.

"We're home again," a voice said behind her. She turned to see her slip of a sister hiding in the shadow of her doorway. "I killed you." Her voice was calm, controlled. "When you were under the Other's control. I was the one to set fire to you."

"Thank you." Strangely, it seemed like the best reply. She studied her sister, trying to determine how old she was. She looked as she had before disappearing from the Red Keep. "How old do you think we are?"

"You look the way you did before King's Landing, ten or eleven for you, so eight or nine for me."

"My sons," Sansa breathed, distraught.

"Your sons were never born. You haven't even flowered yet stupid." Arya spoke the last word with a smile, trying to cheer her up.

Sansa couldn't figure out whether she should laugh or cry. She walked to her sister and embraced her tightly. Arya's embrace was just as fierce. "I died a year after you," she whispered. "Starvation of all things." Sansa finally laughed at the tone of her sister's voice.

"Do you think that anyone else remembers?"

Arya pulled back from her sister and exhaled deeply. "Let's go find our brothers and see if they remember anything."

Brothers... Robb... Jon... Bran... Rickon... I'm home. Hand in hand, they left Sansa's room to search for their brothers.


I feel the need to state that Arya is not trying to be a jerk, she is trying to be positive in the face of loss.

I decided that the best way to tell this will be to have everyone's awakening first and then proceed. Bits of the past devastation of the world will be told through the various POVs. Initial POVs will be regional.