Greetings folks! I am truly sorry for the late update, but now I have a beta, Gin no Kitsune, who has been amazing!

Anyway on to more important things, THANK YOU GUYS! For your quick response to my plea for help, it means the world. It also helped that you were all pretty much in agreement about what you wanted.

Enjoy!


Eddard

"Bran!"

I couldn't believe my eyes. Before me sat my own brother. My brother who has been dead for almost two decades. Did I mention that I couldn't believe my eyes? I ran around the pond, determined to at least make use of this opportunity; even though it was a dream. Bran stood up and spread his arms to greet me just as I grasped into him in a fierce hug.

As I let go of my brother, intending to introduce him to my children, I saw them engaged in their own reunion with the boy still sitting on the stone. The pure happiness shining in their eyes made me pause. It had been a long time since I saw any of them content. There had always been this underlining tension or mistrust. I cleared my throat, breaking the emotional moment. They all turned to me. The smile on Arya's face nearly blinded me.

"Father, this is our brother, Bran!" The enthusiasm barely contained in her little body.

"Technically I do not exist, Arya." The boy, Bran, said amused.

"Well, Father. This is our brother, Brandon the non-existent." Robb said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"That is as good a name as any, I suppose. With all the Brandon's on our family tree we must somehow distinguish between them." The boy, Brandon, sighed. At my side, Bran simply laughed.

"Well this is my brother, Bran," I introduced. "Bran this is my eldest son Robb and younger daughter Arya."

"Oh, I know. Have been watching them a fair bit." Bran answered, his shark-like grin turning serious. It caused me to frown with confusion as Bran began to explain.

"There is awfully little to do when you are dead. You get bored really quickly. Especially people like me that have some kind of a 'higher purpose' and cannot succumb to the final sleep of peace."

"Wait a minute. I remember you." Arya claimed as she scrunched up her face.

How could she possible remember someone she had never met before?

"You were the Stark that I saw before I woke up. You sent us back!" Arya exclaimed and pointed at Bran.

"Well, yes and no, little wolf. I kept you from succumbing to the final sleep. When my dearest nephew here made his deal I knew I did the right thing so I decided to give you some parting words."

"What have you seen?" I asked Bran. By the look on his face it could not be anything good. Bran looked towards Robb and Arya, both of whom gave a solemn nod, then to the younger Brandon.

The direwolf moved closer as the younger Brandon leaned over. He grabbed the fur at the direwolf's neck and the direwolf carried him over to the pond. There the boy got situated before looking me straight in the eye.

"There is no way to undo this."

The seriousness in his tone and expression threw me off a little but I nodded, unsure of what he was talking about. Brandon then put his hand torturously slowly over the pond, then lowering it slowly. I started to ask myself why he was torturing me so. Robb, Sansa and Arya had all told me some of the lives they led, why would I want to see the proof of it? As Brandon touched the pond his eyes turned all white and the pond rippled. Images started to appear. I was transfixed.


As I saw myself, sitting at my desk in my solar with Sansa before me, confusion began settle in.

"Sansa, the King and I have arranged a betrothal between yourself and Prince Joffrey."

She beams at the other me and almost jumps for joy in her seat.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! I am marrying prince Joffrey! This is a dream come true!"

I did not know what this was but it only served to fill me with dread.

She is packing her trunk, with Nymeria sitting and watching her every move, when the door opens and Jon stepped in. He hands her a long, thin sword. A bright smile crosses Arya's features. Jon then says:

"Remember the first lesson of sword fighting."

"What is it?" Arya asked eagerly.

"Stick 'em with the pointy end."

The boy, Bran, is standing in a window at the top of the broken tower, watching the golden Lannister twins engage in pleasures not meant for sibling relations. Suddenly the Queen screams something and the Kingslayer grabs Bran. Some words are exchanged but I am unable to hear. What I do hear is;

"The things I do for love."

The Kingslayer pushes Bran out the window causing the boy to fall down in a broken heap on the frozen ground. Then the direwolves howl.

We are standing at crossroads, Jon and I, perched atop our horses.

"Who was my mother?" he asks.

"When we meet again, I will tell you about your mother."

"There is another wolf." The snide voice and blonde locks of Cersei Lannister are seldom misplaced.

"She does not mean Lady, does she? No, Lady is good! Lady did not do anything!" Sansa begs, tears streaming down her face as she clutches my hand.

"Lady is innocent!" Arya screams outraged.

Walking outside, I watch myself, barely holding down the contents of my stomach, as I bring a knife to Lady's neck and efficiently end her life.

Looking around I see the Wall, stretching far in both direction. Castle Black is before me and new recruits, consisting of thieves, rapers and murderers, are practicing. The master at arms shouts to the recruits:

"Look at this one, he has lived in a castle his whole life, always warm and pampered. He even has a castle training. What say you boys? Should we give him a lesson of the real world?"

No sooner did he say that, did all the recruits swarm Jon with their training swords, aiming to maim.

Arya was running away from Goldcloaks, running for her life. Her little sword in hand. She was stopped by a fat boy.

"You are the Stark girl they are looking for. I will get a pretty penny for you."

He then makes a grab for Arya. But she is quicker and stabs the boy with the sword. The boy falls down, hands over his wound and shock clear in his eyes as they glaze over. His final breath leaves his lips.

The scene shifts to the throne room in King's Landing, far more golden than I remember but still the similar. Atop the throne sits, or rather slouches, a golden boy with a crown with a smug expression on his face. Sansa is on her knees before him and the whole court.

"Please Your Grace, I ask mercy for my Father. I know his crime and he must be punished, but all I ask is mercy."

She pleads. She pleads for my life. She never should have had to. The shame that fills me is unbearable.

"He is calling you south." Theon states. Robb looks at Theon, a letter in is hands.

"O, I will go south; with the might of the north behind me. Call the banners!"

Suddenly, all I see is white snow and animal skin. Jon is standing by the fire with another man. The man is looking at a map hanging at one of the animal skins.

"We have to go south. Only death awaits us if we stay on this side of the Wall. White walkers and whigts… terrible, terrible fate."

Jon only nods, even though the man cannot see him. Suddenly the man turns to Jon in earnest.

"You will help us won't you, Snow? You would not tattle us to the Watch."

"Of course not Rayder. I have left the watch behind."

Looking around the throng of people, I vaguely recognize the houses of King's Landing. Up on the steps of Baelor stand the Kingsguard, the Small Council, Cersei Lannister and the King, Joffrey. Amongst them stands Sansa, smiling demurely at the King. Looking around for Arya, I see her behind a statue in the middle of the courtyard. There is commotion and I see myself being dragged up towards the platform. I do not hear what I say but the reaction of the crowd is not a favourable one. The king holds up his hand, asking for silence before delivering his speech.

"My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch, stripped of all titles and powers. There he would serve the realm in permanent exile. And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."

He smiles at Sansa and I breathe a sigh of relief, but that is short lived.

"But they have the soft hearts of women! As long as I'm your King, treason shall never go unpunished! Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!"

The crowd roars its consent and Ser Ilyn draws out Ice and takes off my head in one swift motion. I just stare in horror. Sansa, who had been begging the king to reconsider, faints and Arya cannot take her horror filled eyes off of my mutilated body. I felt like emptying the contents of my stomach but cannot rip myself away from the horror show playing out before me. The last thing I see before the scene changes is the king's sadistic grin as he watches my head roll down the steps.

I am standing amongst the northern lords, with some river lords in the midst, as a great argument is going on. Suddenly the GreatJon stands, shouting for silence. Spitting on the ground, getting the other Lords to laugh, then continuing, he draws his sword and points at Robb at the head of the hall.

"There sits the only king I will kneel to! To the King in the North!"

"The King in the North!" is echoed by all in the hall as they kneel at my son's feet. Northmen and Riverlords alike.

"The King in the North!"

At this moment I had never been more proud.

Jon, back in the black garb of the Nights Watch, stands with his back to a pole in the courtyard of Castle Black, surrounded by Black brothers. One by one the step up to him and stab him in the abdomen.

"For the Watch."

The chant echoes through the night and they leave him in the snow. Bleeding. Dead.

I see Robb standing before a weirwood tree that is most definitely not in the north, judging by how broken and gaunt it looks. He has the Stark cloak around his shoulders and a few other people stand with him. Catelyn, Theon, the Blackfish, Edmure and a woman I do not recognize. Then a man leading a woman comes up the path to the weirwood tree and Robb smiles, but the woman hesitates to return it. During the whole ceremony she keeps looking at the woman, who I am certain now is her mother, and her mother just keeps sending her warning looks. I have a very bad feeling about this.

"What is that?" comes a voice of a young boy as he approaches Sansa in the snow. Looking around I recognize the Eyrie and the falcon brooch on the boy's cloak, which makes the boy the youngest Arryn.

"It is Winterfell, Lord Robert." Sansa says and shows a snow castle resembling Winterfell greatly.

"I cannot recall what it looks like, I am trying to remember."

Suddenly young Robert stands up and kicks the snow castle down…

Winterfell is burning. Chaos ensues, the clang of steel meeting steel, screams of women and children, smoke everywhere and the banners of Bolton and Greyjoy proudly on display. Men adorned in the colours of both houses strike each other down and in a faraway corner. Trying to pass the raging battle and run out the gates are two wolves, a man, a woman and two boys. Bran and Rickon. Tears streaming down their faces at the state of which their home has fallen to.

Jon steps inside the hall and all sound dies out.

"You… you are dead…?"

One manages to stutter.

"It appears the gods are not finished with me."

Jon answers and sits down with a bowl of broth in hand.

There is a battle going on. Nothing else could be this much chaos. There are trees all around and men in Lannister armour fight northmen with great difficulty. It seems to be an ambush. I see Robb hacking and slashing away at men around him and Grey Wind tearing out their throats and I cannot help but be filled with pride. My boy is doing well. A movement out of the corner of my eye catches my eye. There I see the Kingslayer putting down men like a kitchen knife through butter, and he is heading for my boy. A feeling of dread washes over me. This cannot be it, my son dead by the Kingslayer's hand. I cannot take my eyes of scene before me and to my relief the Kingslayer is apprehended and dragged away in chains. I sigh in relief. But I did not enjoy it for long.

Again this damned Throne room. What could it worse this time? The whole court is there and that bloody prick still sits on that thrice forsaken throne.

"Ser Meryn!"

A knight of the Kingsguard steps forward and lifts an armoured hand as if to strike someone.

"Leave her face. I like her pretty."

The bastard says with a sinister smile. I was going over all the ways to kill someone painfully, and believe me, there were many, when I heard the first slap and pained cry. A very familiar pained cry. My head whipped around so quickly I thought I had given myself a whiplash as I took in the scene unfolding before me. There are two Kingsguard stripping and beating my daughter. My daughter!

A red haze passes over my eyes and I charge, only to find the scene become blurry. It is then that I remember the pond and a new wave of shame fills me.

Then they bring out a whip. I flinch at the crack that comes as it connects with my daughter's bare back. Another thought sticks me; back? Whip?

"Sansa on the other hand has up to thirty slashes across her back that can be after no other than a whip, and those scars are not very well healed either as they are more transparent than any of the other scars amongst them."

They are a whisper in the back of my mind, Maester Luwin's words, and a new crushing wave of shame washes over me, along with a good amount of guilt. It did not lessen with the prick's parting words.

"You will answer to every one of your traitor brother victories."

I see Bran being held by Hodor, the stable boy, and Rickon holding a hand of a wildling woman I did not know.

"No! You cannot go!" Rickon shouts, distraught.

"Rickon, I have to, it is important that I get to the tree." Bran answers calmly, trying to soothe the little boy.

"No! Then you won't come back! Father left with Sansa and Arya and they did not come back! Mother left and she did not come back! Robb left and he did not come back! If you go then you will not come back!"

I hear the tune before I see anything. That gods be damned song, the Rains of Castamere. But what I see fills me with so much terror, I wished I had never looked in the pond in the first place. I recognize the great hall at the Twins, Walder Frey sitting at the high table laughing away at the carnage before him. The lords of the North are being slaughtered, and the same woman from before, now with a little baby bump, gets stabbed repeatedly in the stomach. But the worst was not over. Robb stands in the middle of the floor being filled with arrows. Every arrow was like a stab in my own heart. Then Roose Bolton walks up to him and a flare of hope surfaces in my heart, only to be crushed so harshly as Bolton drew a sword and plunges it in my son's stomach.

"The Lannister's send their regards."

The quiet drawl of the leech lord is drowned out by a shrill scream. I look up and saw Cat, my beloved Cat, watching our son die before her eyes, her cutting some girl's throat only to have her own cut by a Frey. Tears flood my eyes and I cannot take it any longer. This is enough. Unfortunately, the pond was not finished and I find myself looking anyway.

There is carnage everywhere, blood flowing in rivers, bodies everywhere, anguished cries and the Stark banner on fire. I see Arya ducking behind a barrel as s few men with crossbows run over to an enormous wooden cage, aim, and shoot. The last howl of a direwolf can be heard echoing through the night. It seems to keep echoing in my ears, never seizing. As Arya turns around at a chant, her eyes fill with horror. I follow her gaze and I freeze. There, atop of a horse, was the body of my son, with the head of his direwolf attached instead of his own. And the chant replaces the dying cry of a wolf;

"The King in the north!"

It was far more mocking this time around.

Rickon is lying in a cave, surrounded by Shaggydog, and looking out in the snow-covered forest. Then the wildling woman appeared, hands full of rabbits.

"Why can I not go with you to hunt, Osha?" Rickon asks. The woman, Osha, smiles.

"Because the people of Skaagos are not very friendly, little lord, and you are much safer here."

Skaagos? What on earth is my son doing on Skaagos?

Arya stands before a large door, half white, half black. She just looks at the door as if contemplating the world's problems. The door is vaguely familiar but I cannot seem to remember. Then, as if having made a life changing decision, Arya ascends the few stone stairs and knocks. It is only when the door opens to reveal only darkness that I remember: this is the House of Black and White, the home of the Faceless Men.

There is snow everywhere, as far as the eye can see. Only one sturdy weirwood tree is up ahead. Hodor is carrying Bran and a girl I have not seen before follows after them. They find a cave underneath the tree and as they walk in, they see the tree's roots, spanning miles all around the cave. A man sits in the roots; an ancient man.

"You are the three eyed raven?" Bran asks.

The man opens his eyes and answers;

"I have gone by any names; greenseer, bastard, Lord Commander, Bloodraven… but my mother called me Brynden. I have been waiting a long time for you."

There is a plain field. Armies on two sides, facing each other. One displaying Bolton, the other Stark. Rows and rows of men armed and ready for battle. Jon stands before the Stark side ready to lead them into battle and the other side a man who looks suspiciously like Roose Bolton. Suddenly, the Bolton drags forth a boy, Rickon, lifting a sword to his neck. Then he pushes Rickon away from him and Rickon runs towards Jon. Then an arrow flies passed Rickon's head. I watch in horror as arrow after arrow flies passed him, barely missing by inches. And then the worst happens. An arrow hits its mark. Then another. And another. And Rickon moves no more.

A village, again clouded in snow, and blood, black brothers and wildlings fighting side by side. It is madness. Who are they fighting? Themselves? Out of nowhere Jon is thrown across the road as a tall, white, ice man with eerily ice blue eyes stalks towards him. He swings his sword at Jon who manages to duck and then bringing his own sword up to meet the White Walker's, but barely. The last thing I see is those ice blue eyes staring me down as Jon lay lifeless on the ground… again… dead…

The boy, Brandon, sits by a magnificent weirwood tree, his hand on its bark.

"Old Gods, masters of Destiny, Time and Life. I, a humble servant, ask for a gift, an opportunity for direwolves to run around the North again, to prosper as they have done for eight thousand years before. A change to continue for another eight thousand years. I ask, I beg, I plead, please hear my plea."

A single tear runs down his face and I cannot help but feel for him. He is a lone wolf, asking for a pack.

"There is a price."

The voice seems to be everywhere at once, strong and imposing to the point of suffocation. But a determined expression crossed Brandon's features.

"Anything."


Finally the water stilled and no more images flashed across it. I was grateful for I was barely keeping it together. Or perhaps I wasn't. Maybe it was just an illusion my mind made up and I am truly curled up in a ball, in my own vomit, on the forest floor and bawling my eyes out. Guilt, shame, disgust, it was all floating in my chest, clouding my mind and the biggest coherent thought I could muster was;

I failed.

A hand on my shoulder caused my downward spiral to come to a screeching halt. I opened my eyes and looked up into my brother's solemn face, so like my own. His eyes shone with worry and flickered to his right a few times before I worked up the courage to follow his line of sight. And it broke my heart.

Robb stood rigid. His face frozen as if carved from marble but a snowstorm raged in his ice blue eyes. All happiness had been sucked out of Arya as she just stood there, a dead look in her eyes. I suppose that is a Stark trait, I should know, I do that too. When a Stark gets upset he puts on a frozen marble mask and you don't know what to expect anymore. With that mask on a Stark is the most dangerous.

Young Brandon still sat there on the stone, absentmindedly petting the great direwolf beside him, and if I ever doubted he was a Stark before, I couldn't now. He had the frozen marble mask on. And he looked exactly like a younger Robb.

I swallowed back the despair, locked it away and put on my own mask.


Bran led us towards the pond and I was already dreading the journey back.

"Will I see you again, brother?" I couldn't help but ask.

Bran turned to me.

"The future is never certain. Maybe we will, maybe we won't. But rest assured brother, you will never walk alone."

I couldn't help but smile.

"When did you grow so wise?"

Bran's only answer was a broad grin as he clasped a hand on my shoulder, the other going behind my head and touched our foreheads together to make sure he had my attention.

"Now remember brother, honour is all good and dandy, but you are no Arryn. You are a Stark of Winterfell and ice runs in your veins. Those southern flowers wilt at the mere thought of a long winter while we relish it. We have weathered the storm for thousands of years and will continue for thousands more. Honour is not going to keep you warm when winter comes. Prevail brother, live for the both of us. Winter is coming."

We locked eyes as I returned our house words, a warning and a farewell all in one.

"Winter is coming."

With that Bran grinned one final time and pushed me in the pond. Figures, that he would push me back. I bet he has been waiting for it the whole time.

The journey back was much the same as the journey there. Extremely dark, cold and I was panicking even if I was better prepared for it. Finally surfacing I could hear Sansa's frantic calls as well as Robb and Arya popping up around me. Clambering out of the pond and being assaulted by a worried Sansa, I settle against the weirdwood tree. The cold, biting wind seeping through my soaking clothes soothes my troubled mind. The lives my children led. Full of danger, full of blood and hunger and loneliness. Devoid of all love or affection and worst of all, separated. They were the lone wolf. The lone wolf that died.

The earth began to vibrate a little and the direwolves looked to the south, ears alert. The king must have arrived.

"You girls go, greet the king. We will be right behind you." I say and wave them away. I had to have a word with Robb. They both give us a worried look before turning around and disappearing into the trees. I wait a few minutes, just to make sure they have left and then ask quietly;

"Is it true?"

I see no need to beat around the bush.

"Is what true?"

He is avoiding me. It is all in his body language. How he sits a little too stiff but still hunched. How he tactfully ignores me and just plays with Grey Wind. He is hiding something and preparing to lie. He never was good at either to me. Could fool Cat though, maybe she is just so easily fooled.

"Have you tactfully ignored your lady wife's existence, disregarding her feelings, treating her as a common criminal, with disdain and revulsion?"

He retreats further into himself and a slight flush of shame enters his cheeks.

"She is a southerner." He barely mutters.

I sigh and sit next to him.

"And so is your mother." I remind him gently.

"And she does not understand the North," he retorts petulantly.

"No, she doesn't." I admit. "And probably never will. She is too set in her ways. Her silly southern ways. But I love her. It is not a love that is sung in the songs. It is love that grew from respect, from hard work and iron will to make things as easy as possible for you and your siblings. Marriage is hard work, Robb. It is constant compromising, constant communication, putting your partner's needs before your own, taking your partner's opinion into account. It is hard. But the foundation of every successful marriage has to be trust. You cannot assume nor can you decide what your partner wants. You have to trust that she will do well by you and do the same in return." I say seriously hoping that at least some of it penetrates the mile thick walls he has whenever his wife is mentioned.

There were a few moments that we just sat there in pensive silence.

"You know, I never thought I would be disappointed in you but now I cannot help but be. You dishonoured the name Stark with your treatment of Lady Margaery and you dishonoured all teaching your mother and I have tried to give you."

There was a light sniffle and I saw Robb roughly brush a tear from his eye. He swallowed a few times before forcing out;

"I am sorry."

"Do not say that to me." I begin, turning Robb towards me. Grasping a hand behind his head and making sure he has all his attention on me, I continue very seriously; "Say that to Margaery. She is the one you wronged, with her lies your salvation."


What do you think? Up to your standards? Makes up for the late update?

Until next time!