When Jon had first woken up, Arya and Robb had been in the middle of an argument, which Jon's light cough had ended in a heartbeat. Robb had immediately rushed off to find Maester Luwin and their father, leaving Arya to squeal with joy and hug Jon repeatedly, much to Jon's ribs' discomfort. And then Robb had returned with the Maester and Ned, and the adults had kicked the children out of the room. Maester Luwin had poked and prodded Jon for some time before letting his father question him about what he remembered.

Truthfully, all Jon remembered was riding in the Wolves Wood with Robb, and then his strange dream, but it wasn't like he was going to mention the latter half to his lord father. But it seemed what he did tell him wasn't enough for the Lord of Winterfell. He had frowned, dissatisfied, and then badgered him some more. Asking questions Jon didn't have the answers to. He tried to tell him as much, but Ned Stark wouldn't hear it.

"I'm telling the truth," Jon said again, growing tired of the constant interrogation. It had been a day since he'd woken up, and five since the 'attack', and still his father couldn't let it go.

"I need you to try, Jon," his father pressed. "Really try."

"I have," Jon snapped, a faint flame of anger smoldering inside him. "And nothing's changed. I don't remember seeing anyone, I don't remember hearing anything, I don't even remember falling from my horse," he ranted. And finely, for emphasis, he added, "I don't remember anything." Suddenly tired from the effort of yelling, and sat back hard against the pillows resting against the headboard. He turned away haughtily from his father, eyes glaring instead at the windows which were throwing pale afternoon light into the room. From his side, Jon could hear his father heave a sigh, clearly exasperated.

"Fine," he heard his lord father say, his tone annoyed and clipped. "I'll leave you to rest then."

Glancing back at his father, Jon watched as he rose from his chair and headed towards the door, casting a final glance over his shoulder at his son before leaving. Jon was tempted to say something before the door shut behind. That he was sorry, or that he hadn't meant it. Anything to not have his father look at him with such disappointment. But Jon didn't, and the door closed behind his lord father.

At first, his dream was just sounds and colors, a jumbled mess of noise that Jon couldn't, nor didn't really care to, make sense of. But then it settled into something more distinguishable. He stood in a crowded quart yard, staring up at the steps in front of a large building. Warm bright sunlight shone from above, and the smell of perfume and sweat mixed together to form the most uncomfortable of odors. Up above, he saw a few people standing on the pulpit in front of what Jon assumed to be a sept. It was an immense sept though, larger than the tallest tower at Winterfell. One man, a thin gaunt being, was dressed in fine clothing, finer than his looks would have him assume, and was being held onto by men in golden cloaks. A fat man stood behind him, most likely the Septon. Behind him stood a cluster of gold cloaked figures and a tall boy with a thick head of golden hair. From his distance, Jon couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw the royal crown perched on his head. That was odd. Wasn't Robert the king?

Jon continued to watch however when the man held between the gold cloaks was thrust down to his knees, his hands tied behind his back so he couldn't resist.

They're going to kill him, Jon thought with sudden realization. Slowly, he started moving through the crowd to get a better view of just who the king was sentencing to death. It must have been someone important if it was before the doors of the sept. People were screaming all around him, crying words such as "traitor" and "villain". Just before the sword was swung though, and through the din of the crowd which was distracting him, Jon managed to make out the clear face of the last person he would have expected to see there, with look of despair sweeping over his features. The man lowered his head, exposing leaving his bare neck for the executioner. And Jon could only watch, petrified, as the sword descended onto his father's head.

Arya had taken to spending much of her time with her recovering brother, even sneaking out at night to stay with him in his room. She had found a way to do it so that both the guards and her father would be happy. Well, her father was only happy with the arrangement because he was unaware of it. Her normal sentry, Davin, let her go as long as he followed her there, and led her back in the morning before the Lord and Lady of Winterfell would notice her absence from her bedchambers where she should have been. And this night was no different.

Davin had led her to Jon's bedchambers just after most of the castle had gone to bed, keeping her in his line of vision the entire walk there. He had apparently learned his lesson the first time round, much to Arya's displeasure. Now she sat with Jon in his room, the faint glow of a single candle giving off enough light for Arya to see Jon's face. He had fallen asleep just under an hour ago, right in the middle of her talking too. At first, Arya was annoyed, but then she remembered just how tired he had looked when she had entered. And then she had felt bad for making him stay up and listen to her going on about the day she'd had. Then she had settled back in the thick squishy chair by the side of his bed that her father normally sat in when talking to Jon, and pulled a blanket around her to keep out the cold. It wasn't horribly chilly in the castle, seeing as the rooms were kept nice and cozy by the hot springs it was built over, and the ever burning fires in the hearths scattered all around the keep. But Arya was small and thin, so a blanket seemed reasonable.

Now it was late into the night, and Arya couldn't fall asleep. She had shifted positions near a thousand times, but to no avail. She was starting to give up on the idea of sleep when a sudden sound from the bed drew her attention.

It was Jon. His brow was creased into a line, as if he were troubled. His lips were moving ever so faintly, and fingers twitching anxiously at his sides. At first, Arya had thought he'd woken up, and was simply in pain. But on closer inspection, she knew that was not the case. He looked to be having a nightmare.

"Jon?" she whispered softly, leaning forward in her chair, her blanket falling from her shoulders and to the floor. She received no response. "Jon," she tried again, her voice harsher and sterner. Still nothing. Then he gave a quick spasm of his head, jerking it to the side and whimpering, as if in pain.

Arya couldn't take it anymore. She rushed forward and grabbed onto his shoulder, trying to shake him awake. "Jon!" She cried. "You're having a nightmare, wake up!" she shook again, hoping to rouse him. Finely, after a third shake, his eyes snapped open.

He was breathing heavily, eyes unfocused as they flit around the room. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost. Then, his eyes landed on her, and she felt him relaxed some under her touch. "Arya?" He breathed, still disoriented from just having woken up.

"Yes," she nodded. "You were having a nightmare, Jon," she said, trying not to sound too panicked. In truth, she hated seeing him like this, and it scared her. But she couldn't let him know that.

"Father," he muttered. "I saw father. He was below a great sept, the king, he was..." Jon could hardly even finish his sentence he was so shaken.

He sounded terrified, Arya realized. Like he had actually seen something awful happen to father with his own eyes. "Father's fine," she said, trying to reassure him. "He's here, in Winterfell."

Jon let out a huge breath at her words, running his hands down his face. "It felt so real though," he sighed. "Just like the others." The last part seemed to be added in an afterthought, much too quiet for most to hear. But Arya, with her nine year old ears, heard him perfectly.

"What others?" She asked, suddenly weary. She wasn't exactly sure what he had seen, but whatever it was, it couldn't have been good. And if he had been seeing "other" things, well then it definitely wasn't good. Jon removed his hands from where he'd been rubbing his eyes and locked them with hers, his face frozen in weariness, as if he'd let slip a secret he wasn't supposed to. For all Arya knew, he might have. When he didn't respond, the young lady of Winterfell asked again. "What others, Jon?"

Jon sighed, defeated, and looked away from her. "It doesn't matter little sister," he said, trying to brush it off. "It's nothing."

"You're a terrible liar," she accused, and none too gently. If she wasn't mistaken, she could have sworn she saw a ghost of a smile from her brother at her words.

After a few moments of silent debate of his part, Jon finally let up, turning back to her. "Fine," he said, his tone clipped. "But would you sit down first? You're making me uneasy." Arya rolled her eyes, but complied with his wishes anyway.

"Alright, so it started nearly a month ago," he started, his tone becoming serious. "I've told Robb this, but he didn't take it all that seriously. At first it was just snippets. Images of seemingly random things that had no connection to me. But then they started getting specific. I dreamt that I was standing in front of an icy wall, with a winter rose perched in a crack. And when it started bleeding, I was filled with fear. I can't even describe it," he said, his voice almost haunted. "And then, when I was unconscious, after I was attacked. I saw a women giving birth in a tower, somewhere far south of here. She was bleeding badly too." He looked off into the darkness, his mind having gone somewhere far off in thought.

Attempting to drag him back, Arya spoke up. "And then what? What else did you see?"

"I wasn't sure at first, but I saw a head rolling down the steps of a sept. At first, I wasn't sure what it was, but now I am."

"So what was it?" Arya asked, leaning forward unconsciously in her seat. Jon remained silent for a few moments.

Taking a deep breath to gather himself, Jon looked Arya in the eye with a stare so deep Arya thought she might drown. "I saw the king execute our father."