The polite thing to do when some one is trying to kill you is be paranoid. Unfortunately, no one ever accused Jon of being sensitive to such things. Rather, he never afforded to be sensitive to homicidal intentions as Lady Stark wanted to kill him half the time between breakfast,lunch and dinner. He got desensitized to murdorous intentions.

Thus, when umpteenth number of blond shit pointed him in the way no one is going during hunt in kingswood, Jon shrugged it off as good intentions of a nice colleague guiding him to lush game. He never even considered that southrons did not hunt with out drums and hounds. If that was all, it would have gone well for him.

At the very best, he would have been lost in forest, at the worst, he would have been found by bandits or their ilk, but he would have been able to defend him self and run in a pinch. Alas, it was not to be. Jon Snow had to be a bleeding heart, had to follow that elusive white streak he has seen.

He had all but a second to feel the dejavu before that white streak ran past him. It's not a streak at all. It's a small white fawn. He could feel the eyes on his back and danger to his person before he can even see or smell the predator. The predator strolled languidly in to the view.

It's a lion, not just a random member of the pride, but the complete two fifty pounds or so weighing mass of muscle with paws size of his head and jaws that could probably snap him in half. Jon chose this particular moment to find his own brand of morbid humor by wondering if he is going to follow in steps of the great stark legacy and die as soon as he stepped foot in south.

After all, he only had one puny wooden spear to face the lion with, which is probably quite hungry, eyeing him and the fawn with the same glib expression of 'yay, dessert'. He just held his spear at his side. Stupid, he knew. Sensing the prey giving up, the lion took a great leap towards them.

Jon took a step forward, held his spike the only way he knew at the moment, standing and strong. It must have been the reverse karma for all the bad luck he had since birth – for this one time, fate favored him like no other time. The lion impaled it self on the spike, Jon just bent backwards, tried to scramble out of it's way, but his legs are still trapped under the lion.

Yet, the lion is dead. He still couldn't move his legs. Slowly, the adrenaline rush faded away, Jon was left there with lion blood soaking through his boots and breeches. He gathered him self, after some futile efforts, he pulled him self from under the lion. It's head was damn heavy. He picked up the white fawn, which laid there helplessly with an injured leg.

By the rules of the hunt, he should have killed it. Yet, the fawn is but a babe barely grown, it's pelt almost never seen snowy white, it's eyes, a soft black and gray. In that moment, Jon felt a strange kinship with the strange animal, which would have been quite out of place in any herd. He decided then and there he is going to spare this animal, if possible find a place where it can spend to it's old age comfortably.

He tore his shirt and made a bandage for the fawn's leg, sat waiting by the lion's dead body. Sooner or later, the huntsmen and the hounds will be here. How could they not with all the blood that stank to seventh hell. So, Jon sat there, waited and waited some more. Had it been any but Robert Baratheon that has entered the clearing first, they would have booted Jon out of his place and claimed the bounty for them selves.

Luckily, it's Robert who entered the clearing. When he realized that Jon has killed the lion with naught but a spear, he laughed and laughed some more. The king gave him a hearty slap in the back, which almost saw Jon fall face first in to the ground. He held fast, he couldn't break the little fawn any more than needed.

"We aught to kill her now, little Ned!" the king told him as he looked at the fawn.

Jon just couldn't bring him self to do it.

"Please, your grace. The stag is symbol of your house. The white fawn is a symbol of rejuvenation and fertility. Please, it's bad luck to kill her." Jon pleaded.

The king smiled at him.

"There is no helping it, is it? You are as much a bleeding heart as your father, aren't you?" Robert said as he looked at Jon fondly. Jon kept his puppy dog eyes full force. Ti's do or die.

After a moment, Robert chuckled, ruffling Jon's hair.

"Aye, little Ned. You can keep her. God knows, all the ladies are going to coo over her and curse my name if I were to kill her." he said exasperatedly. Then turned around started ordering every one arranging for the dead lion's transport as if he hadn't considered killing the fawn at all.

Jon couldn't wait to write to his siblings about all that happened to day. Robb and Arya would be envious, Bran will be awed and Sansa will worry. It all would have ended with naught but a simple lion pelt gained if the king hadn't chosen to make a bloody epic battle out of it.

As soon as they went to the castle, King announced a feast in Jon's name, which set half the servants glaring at him angrily. Not that king wouldn't find some thing else to feast about. Then, he went on making a toast to Jon alone.

"To Jon Stark, the Dark wolf and lion slayer." the king raised his cup and drank.

"To Jon Stark." some said with non-committal expression.

"To Dark wolf." the Arryn men as they raised their cups and drank.

"To Lion Slayer." a particularly vindictive bunch toasted as they sniggered at Lannisters.

Jon him self was allowed only watered down wine, courtesy of Jon Arryn. If it was up to Robert Baratheon, he would have had a full flagon of dornish red.

It was wrong to have thought it would have been over and done with a simple feast, none any more aware of him than they were before. Jon found to his lament it is not so.

Every where he went, the girls giggled at him, some even threw flirtatious smile his way. Jon was blissfully unaware, but every squire around him threw him a dirty glance at least once.

Then, to add fire to the oil, Barristan the bold him self met Jon on the training field. Jon did not know what to do with all this new found fame and attention, but he decided to take Sansa's advise of 'if you can't avoid it, enjoy it' spirit. After all, it would be easier to recruit men to his cause if Sansa ever came up with another crazier quest. For now, he stayed, poured kings wine, trained with best of realm's knight, shadowed for the man who truly ruled the realm and best of all, answered to the name stark. Life couldn't get better, he thought to him self.


Life couldn't get worse, thought Sansa to her self. While the rumors generated a steady flow of skilled men in to winter-fell, Sansa realized most of them are useless, intractable and worst of all, chauvinistic. She told them to either suck it up or get out of winter-fell, the ones who choose to remain mostly tended to be useless.

She did not realize the biggest flaw in her plan till Mikken actually approached her and asked if there is some thing she did not tell him about steel formula. It is then that she realized the fault of her thinking. While some of the little things are achievable, like her hot air balloon with the surprising discovery of unicorn egg goo, it's not the same with every thing else.

Yes, she knew a thousand parts of iron and four to two parts of carbon made steel. Knowing it, and making it in reality or entirely different things. The carbon, had to be added to the furnace in such a manner it does not burn out. Kind of like trying to pour hot oil in to fire and hoping it wouldn't catch. Then there is the fact that this upped melting point for steel, and they can't generate the required amount of heat in the forge as it were.

She knew of electricity and it could be generated by turning magnets at a perpendicular angle to each other, but that's the extent of it. How one is supposed to create and work with electricity from that, go figure. She knew glass could be generated by melting sand. What kind of sand? Will the glass not shatter with heat variations? There are way too many questions, not enough answers.

It is with all these problems, she finally told her self enough is enough and sneaked her self in to maester's chambers. She needed a break. Septa Mordane is trying extra hard these days as Sansa almost completely lost her interest in any kind of womanly arts and focused almost entirely on what she termed as 'unwomanly business". Sansa entirely stopped praying in the sept just to spite her. What can you say? Sansa the surgeon is not Sansa the silly.

She may have liked the same womanly pursuits of beauty, but she didn't become queen-bee by being sweet and kind. It had been some thing she never told any one, but working star charts and winter year calculations always calmed her. Yes, strange, she knew. Even so, she excelled at this in school, and she sat with a chart denoting the years each summer and winter lasted and set about calculating from past eight thousand years.

Even with the most latest technology, they haven't been able to predict winter years correctly. How ever, there is a method called morino and yettler, where in the winter is never shorter than Morino, and never longer than yettler. This method is called unscientific and non-proven, but it's fun to calculate. Best of this is there are no real calculations involved, just a lot of mix and match guessing.

Even so, she calculated her winter years, arranging every thing by the blocks of five hundred years, eventually figured the next winter is going to be thirty six years. That's almost half the life time. Considering most men and women this world died young. Yes, from disease and war, still, they died young.

"The next winter is thirty six years!" Sansa gasped in surprise just as maester Luwin came in along with Lord Stark.

"You can not know that child. No one can predict how long winter is." maester Luwin told her kindly.

Unfortunately, he caught Sansa Stark at a bad time in a bad place. If there is one thing Sansa hated more than any thing, it is being told she is wrong.

Thus, she sat down both her lord father and Maester Luwin and explained away her data and her method of calculating the winter's length. Slowly but surely, as they them selves calculated the years, the Lord and maester both came to believe in Sansa. She thought nothing of it at the moment. She thought nothing of it till the time she went to sleep.

It is when she woke, the true trouble began. She now held two memories, one, where she is being taught the morino-yettler method of calculating winter, another, where they taught princess Sansa of winter-fell invented the method, the same way of calculating winter years. Dread pooled in Sansa's stomach as she realized she is changing history. All this changing history business is not so fun any more.


Every one who reviewed: Thank you. You guys are the best & I love you all.

The grumpy guest: if you are that bothered - copy, fix , credit, post. I have a name fetish, as long as you name things carefully and well, I don't care how much you copied.

To all my faithfull readers: Thank you all for your support. Sorry this chapter is so off the point, or not in the spirit of the beginning. Sooner or later I had to write other's adventurous arcs, consider this a beginning.

I will do a list of summary in the next chapter. I kind of don't like doing tedious stuff, so I'l post-pone at the moment, how ever, i'l do it some time.