A/N: A slightly shorter chapter than usual, but also perhaps not the most tumultuous. Timeskips will start to accelerate from here on out as we enter a part of the ASOIAF timeline that's somewhat sparsely populated. All aboard the Changes Train - next stop, reconciliation. Enjoy!

Ned

Brandon sulked for a month. In that, he hadn't changed at all. Ned felt guilty at times, thinking ill of his brother – his lord – but it would be a lie to think that Brandon had changed entirely after his imprisonment. He was colder and cleverer, and his letters to lords the realm across said as much, and that was something, but he was still the wild and tempestuous man Ned knew. And he spent that month snarling at anyone who asked him what was wrong, riding out to hunt or search out wildling raids himself even when everyone encouraged him not to. He avoided Catelyn and Ned and Tyta, and Ned hardly saw him until the month had passed and one day he dropped his wine on his newly-made boots because Cat and Brandon had just walked into the great hall together.

Smiling.

It was a cautious little smile, that was true enough, but compared to the past few months it was like seeing the face of the sun after a grey, dark winter day. Then Cat heard the clatter of Ned's goblet striking upon the floor, and upon turning her head Brandon looked too, and suddenly both were laughing. Ned wondered if he ought to feel offended at being the source of their amusement, because it was very clear they laughed at his wine-covered toes, but then he decided that was foolish of him. If all it took to further mend his brother and good-sister's marriage was some wine slowly seeping down his boots, he would gladly upend a flagon on his feet.

"Ned," said Tyta, coming into the hall, her voice rather confused, "Why do you have wine on your feet?"

"Perhaps he's had too much," suggested Brandon, an impish look in his eye. Cat snickered. Tyta raised her eyebrows.

Ned sighed and failed to restrain a slight smile. "I have had none at all, yet I do not regret the spill. Seeing the two of you so merry does a far sight better towards my mood than Arbour grape."

"There is that," Brandon agreed. He frowned suddenly, thinking. When he spoke again, his words were slow and reluctant. "Ned. I- I had forgotten what it was like to have someone that held me accountable. Without Father… and I did not take you for his place in such. We are brothers, but we spent so much time apart. All that time you fostered with Jon Arryn, I did not know you. Yet I am grateful to the Eyrie, for you are a better man than I, and the more honourable of us both. I am grateful that you are here to tell me frankly when I overstep." He cast a glance at Catelyn, whose laughter had stilled at his serious tone. "I am not a calm man; nor am I always motivated by good. But you have already set me on the better path once, and I would not turn from it again. I dishonoured the name of Stark with how I treated my wife, this I know. I would have you promise to help me from doing any such thing again."

"I will give no such promise," said Ned, and Brandon's eyes shot up to meet his, "Because you need no such words, Brandon. You said the words yourself – we are brothers. There is nothing in this world that will ever change that, and I will ever be at your side, whether to agree or to argue. You are not so evil a man that I would be bound to assist by word only. Tempestuous, aye, but then you were raised the heir to Winterfell, and I was not. We are brothers. We stand together always."

Brandon knew what he left unsaid. Winter is Coming. Ned's brother nodded and turned his attentions towards breakfast. Ned did so as well, bending to pick up his forgotten goblet only to find it already returned to its place on the table. Tyta caught his eye and smiled, and Ned smiled back. The air seemed lighter, cleared of malcontent and anger. He could only be thankful Brandon had listened. Brandon was right; they had been strangers bound by blood for a while, rarely seen together, but their blood was Stark blood, and that bound them tighter than any words. He would always assist his brother – his lord – with anything he was able to. The pack survives, and the lone wolf dies. There was yet trouble brewing in the Seven Kingdoms; restless supporters of dragons and whispers of the Targaryen children escaped to the east. The Starks would stand strong against any new threat. That much, Ned did promise.

Tyta

Stepping from the maester's tower onto spring grass and meltwater mud, Tyta abruptly realised she couldn't remember the last time she had thought about her family. Winter had a strange way of making empty days pass in a blur of business, and somehow all she could remember of the last three years was a cross between boredom and frantic errands, between hours spent idly sewing and days of crazed running when some new snowfall or wildling raid brought chaos to the keep. But truly she hadn't thought at all about the Towers in years. She wondered if it was still as terrible a place as always, and decided it must be for it would be as long as Lord Walder was alive. She wondered how long Bethany Rosby had left, and said a silent prayer that was confused as to life or death being its purpose. She wondered suddenly if Lythene had ever married that fat rich Southern lord she had wanted so badly.

Tyta's feet made loud squelching sounds as she pulled them free of the muck, heading back for the keep. Cat was no doubt waiting on her, trying valiantly to keep Jon and her little son Robbard to a single room as they explored the use of their legs. Jon was the elder by a year, but little Robb gave no mind, determinedly trundling after the older child and inevitably landing both of them in some new scrape or injury. Now that the snows had finally melted, the boys were impatient to explore the world outside, like kittens seeking the details of the world for the first time.

Tyta was certain the moment they were let out the chaos would not end for weeks. They have more energy than year-old colts. The boys were exhausting, even with Cat and Tyta working together. Tyta restrained a small smile as she passed into the keep. Exhausting, but loveable. She would cherish the memory of Jon proudly presenting both Cat and Tyta with spring snowflowers no doubt gathered by a guard, with Robb standing by with yet more of them. They were sweet boys.

It was a much better thing to think about than the Crossing, she decided. The only thing she was grateful to her father for, the only thing he had ever done that she appreciated, was the day he decided to be his usual cantakerous self and stop the army of the North on its way home. She stilled missed Morya, and Bethany in that strange pitying way, but they were vague wisps in her memory. Her mind was filled with newer, brighter faces, the faces of Cat and Ned and Brandon and Benjen too, even though she had hardly met Benjen before the youngest Stark brother had left for the Wall.

Tyta wondered if that made her a terrible person, to have forgotten her family so easily. Not so loyal, after all. Just like a Frey. It was a strange thought. No one in the Crossing was loyal to anyone but themselves, all those hundreds of cousins and aunts and uncles and fathers and mothers and siblings crammed together into that castle, all of them circling Lord Walder and trying to fight their way closer. Winterfell had been a jarring shock, yes, not lessened in the least by Brandon's stormy character or the rocky beginnings of his marriage with Cat, but it was calmer still. Safer. Tyta trusted its people like she had never trusted those of the Crossing, and that was worth more than she could ever put into words.

Besides, she decided, her family was here now. It was only a matter of time before it was formally so, anyway – she was fifteen now, and surely if the wait was much longer it wouldn't just be Lord Walder eyeing them suspiciously. Some small part of her thought she ought to be quite a lot more excited, but that part of her was small indeed. It wouldn't change all that much, she reasoned. I already live in Winterfell, I already know those who will be my family, I already do much of the same tasks – what could change so much? Her mind was filled with Lythene's giggling suddenly, whispers emerging from memory of Lythene recounting wild deeds in hidden alcoves, and even though she was doing nothing save walking through a corridor Tyta blushed. She know of it, vaguely, but little save uncertain hearsay and a septa's admonishments on wifely duties.

Tyta shook her head and determinedly cast the troublesome thoughts out of her mind. It was all something she would deal with later. Now she had something rather less disconcerting to think about – namely, the fact that Cat had opened the door ahead of her, and Jon and Robb were already tearing down the corridor. Tyta met Cat's eyes for a moment. Both turned and sped off after the boys. Gods, but they moved fast.

Just, Tyta reflected, like time.