AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello lovely readers! So I did a few updates to the story in general this week. One: i added OC because of a few complaints. And two: Rating gone up to M. Gasp I know! It's not as innocent as you think. But if I'm being honest, while there's not gonna be explicit smut (as far as I know for now) there is violence, language, supernatural and sexual themes that I think anyone under 15 yrs shouldn't be reading.

Another thing, this chapter will contain spoilers for season 6.

And also some fluff. But mostly tiny, eetsie little angst with some minor exploration of Nadia's gifts.

Now... reviews:

Czarinakristi: I'm glad you're intrigued. Yep Nadia is not a blabber. It will become painfully obvious with time, I think, why she's like that - it's hinted in this chapter a little. I for one think that she could easily blurt out all she knows to these people - as is the case with othsr storiea of this nature - but how inclined would they be to believe her. They say they want to know what she knows but at the same time don't trust her; Cat is a perfect exampls of being privy to Nadia's warnings and still ignoring it. The Twins... yes I look forward to that too.

Jean d'arc: i totally agree with you. I never thought about it like that, but i know how much Tyrion respects Catelyn as he has told Sansa before. I wouldn't say they are working together in this story. Simply Cat learnt of the repercussions of her actions and found that Nadia was true to her word. So out of guilt, to ammend things before they become "set" she arranged for Tyrion's trial to be moved up, and to be a trial by combat, arranging Bronn to fight for Tyrion.

ColdHeartAngel: i PMed you already but for everyone else... i have not considered Nadia attempting to set Robb up with others, namely Margaery or Daeny. Nor will it happen for the reason that Nadia and Robb are endgame at the moment, and also because Daeny's not ready to come to Westeros before season 6; her development is a crucial factor in the storyline and Nadia respects this and doesn't wish to take Daeny of course - that said she will push for an alliance with Daeny at a later stage. Margaery on the other hand is the reason Sansa gets to break away from King's Landing since her wedding is called off and that is something I also want to maintain.

ChildOfDreams: should i take your bewilderment as a compliment, the same way that George R.R. Martin seems to thrive when we question why he continues to kill off characters we love?

Now... onto the story...

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gamw of Thrones or any of its characters. These are ths property of HBO and George R.R. Martin. I own Nadia alone.

NADIA

"What are you writing?"

Her fingers still the lead point, her eyes glancing up from the page to meet Bran's. Curiosity shines in his blue eyes as he studies her cursive scrawl from where he rests in Silas Quent's arms. She raises a brow at them both. "Where's Hodor?" she returns. Bran looks over his - or rather Silas' shoulder - to where Hodor chases a leather ball with Bran and Shaggydog around the atrium. "Ah," Nadia says, seeing this.

"Mind if I leave him with you?" Silas inquires politely, belatedly adding "my lady" with a sheepish look.

"Nah, I don' mind." She looks to Bran, with a warm smile, "I'd love the company, seeing as Rickon's ditched me," and then back to Silas, "And I'm no lady." She really stresses the "no" giving him a mock-warning look. The young man returns it with a suppressed grin - trying to look all the part of a serious guard. Of course by this point, Nadia's become a little familiar with some others of Winterfell's guards. At some point Robb has made it known that he'd taken her as a ward; and she supposes that entitles her with a faux nobility, given that most guards and servants she's met in passing have referred to her as Silas has, as a "Lady". Cool at first, but the title had quickly grown to irritate her. Once Theon realised this, he started to tease her about it relentlessly… and it seems some of the younger guards had also taken to doing so. Specifically Silas Quent, who she's come to learn is something of a good friend of the boys.

Not for the first time, she watches him with great intrigue as he walks away from her, wondering what role he has to play in this great game, given his name is not one she recalls from her world. A cynical, morbid part of her wonders how long till he's also dead.

"Well?" Bran's voice catches her attention. Silas settled him onto the bench across from where she sits perched upon the railing astride the atrium yard. "You didn't answer my question."

She looks confused for a short moment, before recalling his curiosity at the pages in her hands. Glancing down she frowns at them, momentarily forgetting what she'd been doing in the first place before the interruption. Clearing her throat, she answers, "Work. For Maester Luwin?"

He tilts his head. "What sort of work?"

"Uhhh, it's kinda boring. Do you really wanna know?"

"Yes."

"Okay… um, well, he's asked me to take a look at some of his notes about his patients. See if I could link it to some of the diseases in my world."

"Have you?"

"A bit, yeah." He nods, curiously staring at the pages in her hands. Swinging herself over the railing, she moves to sit beside him. "See, this person complained of sharp, pain through his chest, neck and jaw. Said it only happened when he was out in the fields. Maester Luwin says the guy was a little on the heavier side, and kept complaining about this for three months before dying suddenly in his sleep."

"Okay… well what did Maester Luwin do?"

"Treated him with milk of the poppy at first. Took away the pain but the guy started to have breathing problems also. So Maester Luwin suggested rest and made draughts using comfrey, wormwood and sometimes grape seed."

"But they didn't work?" Bran says, frowning. He tells her he's heard of this before. A person's heart would stop suddenly from over-exertion. It was common enough amongst farmers down south, having to spend their days toiling away in the hot sun. Usually milk of the poppy would help with the pain but they'd all die eventually. "You're right. It does help with the pain. Just like Maester Luwin put in his notes. But pain isn't a disease on its own. It's an indication that there's an underlying problem with our bodies."

"Then treating the pain wouldn't cure them." If Nadia's honest, she's rather surprised that a ten year old could keep up. But then she's always thought that Bran was a rather clever boy. He may have once aspired to be a great knight, but he's also come across to her as a bit of a bookworm. "What do you think it is?" he asks her.

"Coronary Artery Disease. It occurs when the blood vessels supplying our hearts are occluded. Blocked. See the heart pumps blood to the body by vessels called arteries…" she goes onto sketch a haphazard heart with it branching arteries and converging veins, explaining the mechanism of the cardiovascular system to the ten year old, as if he were first year Medical Student. And just as she suspects, Bran keeps up with her, keen to learn; he has a refreshing thirst for knowledge that makes her think that perhaps it wasn't random that he'd been chosen to inherit the role of Three-Eyed Raven, someday. When she's done with her little lesson, he poses the question, "How do the arteries become occluded?"

"Fat deposits in the arterial lining rupture and harden, forming plaques known as atheromas. These continue to rupture and grow, slowing blocking of the artery an-"

"-And then heart doesn't get adequate blood flow or oxygen so the muscles slowly die. And that causes the pain," he surmises with a nod as if certain of his statement.

Nadia offers him a broad grin, "Exactly?"

"So how do you treat it?"

Her grin slips off. "Unfortunately, most of the treatment is unavailable in this world. But little things can be done. Changing diet. Keeping fit. I've been talking Maester Luwin about the properties of some of the substances he uses with treatment, tryna match them up to medication in my world. So far, I've only been able to identify Grape seed extract for treatment."

An odd look settles over the ten year old's face. One of deep thought. His eyes float away from her towards the sight of his little brother running about, laughing brightly with his games. "How many other diseases have you identified?"

"A few. Not really sure about the number."

He nods again. "Your world sounds so… advanced, compared to ours," Bran says.

A frown tugs at her lips, not quite sure where Bran is going with this. "Bran?"

"Do you… do you think, you could fix me?"

Her heart drops. She says nothing and it causes him to turn those devastatingly blue eyes to her. The hope that dares in shine in them is utterly heartbreaking. But not nearly as heartbreaking as her answer, "No."

He doesn't say another word. He simply stares at her a moment, his face drawing a blank and then turns his gaze away, staring into the space, letting her words rattle about his little head. Nadia lays a careful hand on his shoulder, rubbing gentle circles into it. She's not blind to the quivering pout at his lips, to the watery gaze he tries to hide from her. "Bran," she whispers gently, pityingly almost. "My world is making leaps and bounds to overcome what you have. But at the moment we're still decades away from a cure - at the very least. Some things are just… irreversible."

A tear trails down his cheek. "Hey," she tugs at his chin, entreating him to face her. He does so reluctantly, but still refuses to draw his gaze up to her own. "Bran, just 'cause you can't walk, doesn't mean you still do incredible things with your life. You're a Stark. Starks are fighters, leaders."

"A cripple can't be either."

"Who says? You can do whatever you put your mind to. You're a smart kid, Bran. You have an imagination like nobody else. You'll figure it out. I know you will."

A couple quiet seconds hangs in the air between them, only disturbed by the sound of Rickon's laughter, Shaggydog's wild barks and Hodor's "Hodor!". But finally, Bran does muster the strength to meet her gaze. And when he does, he asks, "It's my sight isn't it? The dreams I have? The Three Eyed Raven? There's a purpose for it all, isn't there?" When she doesn't answer, he continues, "He told me you wouldn't say anything. The Three Eyed Raven did."

Nadia can't help the flush she feels. Nor the small weight of guilt in her stomach. It's one thing knowing what the others will or won't do. It's another for someone else to predict her own actions. "Oh really? What else did he tell you?"

"That we're connected."

She frowns at this. Hell no. She does not want to be connected to the shit storm that's coming. And especially if heralds notions of pedophilia on her part. Bran's cute. But in a he's my baby brother sorta way, not the boyfriend-material way. "What do you mean?"

Bran shrugs. "He didn't say. Just that our roads lead to the same place."

"And what is that place, exactly?"

"I don't know." He says it too quickly though. Not to mention he looked at his feet.

"Bran," she pushes, her voice taking on a stern edge that would have made Catelyn Stark proud.

"What does it mean?" he rebuts, refusing to answer question.

"What are you talking about?"

"Why did the Three-Eyed Raven come to me?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know." Because she honestly doesn't. She knows he chooses Bran. She knows what Bran will come to learn. She knows that he has a role in the War against the Dead. But why him? Well… "Honestly, that's like me asking why I of all people got dropped into your world and why I all of sudden can see death. It's a mystery. But it's something we gotta deal with, and hope that someday we get the answers we want. Figure our way out of this mess."

Bran nods again, his face assuming that look of deep thought once more. "Do you think the Three Eyed Raven has all the answers?" he asks again after a moment.

She grins sombrely. "I bet he does. And if he's anything like me, he'll probably tell fuckall."

Her eyes widen. "Don't tell your brother I'm teaching you bad words."

Bran grins. "I won't." Nadia releases a breath of relief. Robb just barely tolerates her let alone likes her, apart from a few moments of lingering affection (no doubt just him being a gentleman and her being undeniably attracted to him because, fuck it, he is hot even if his attitude is a bit stiff towards her). Bran's voice breaks her out of those thoughts: "But how much are you really not telling us?"

She stutters, managing only a few "ums" and "wells" before being interrupted by the sound of a door slamming open and enraged footsteps storming towards them. The young woman barely gets a glance at their new companions when a rough hand winds its way around her upper arm, drawing her to feet and slamming her against the nearest wall. She barely hears the sound of her papers fluttering to the grounds, her charcoal rolling along the stone; she barely hears Rickon's and Bran's shouts of surprise, nor a familiar Ironborn ordering Hodor to take Rickon away. She's far too caught up in the dark eyes - reflecting her own - crinkled with fury, with disappointment; a dread rises in her and catches in her throat - a dread that she'd once thought she'd never feel again. 'It's not him! It can't be…' another hand grips her right shoulder, it's grip so tight she fears it might break through her skin, holding her in place, pushing her harder against the wall.

Her captor's asking her, no, hissing questions at her. His voice low, dangerous. His voice quivering with anger. But all she hears is white-noise. Nadia's far too paralysed in shock, in memories she'd spent months burying. The grip on her tightens unbearably so. He shakes her harshly, her head colliding with the wall once again. Another wave of adrenalin floods through her again. 'Run!' Her mind screams at her body. 'Run you idiot! Run!' but she stays frozen.

"Answer me!" the man shakes her again. This time it works to dissipate the fog before her eyes. Those brown eyes, so unbelievably like her own, swirl torridly, melting away into a pair of startling sapphire blue. She wants to release a breath of relief but her heart's still pounding in fear at the eerily familiar situation. A gloved hand settles on Robb's shoulder firmly. "Robb," Theon says, but the Stark simply rolls the Ironborn's hand off his shoulder, unwilling to tear his heated glare from her face. "Well?" he growls impatiently. Her brows furrow a little, confused by his question. Confused by this all.

Bran's voice rings clear in that moment, "Stop it! Stop! Can't you see you're frightening her?"

She watches Robb reluctantly tear his gaze away, a look of bemusement crossing his features as he glances at his brother then back to her again. As if her skin is fire, he snatches his hands from her immediately but does nothing to retreat from her personal space. Robb fixes her again with that glare of his, disappointment and hurt weighing heavily in his eyes. "My father is in prison. I could have warned him." Something catches in her throat. Nadia can barely muster a sound let alone words to express herself. Hell she barely has a coherent thought now. All she knows is the sound of her pounding heart, the feeling of blood rushing to her head, the sensation of drowning overwhelming her. "Do you have nothing to say?" Robb growls, slamming his hand against the wall just beside her head. Nadia flinches. She can't help it. He snarls at her smaller figure. Disgusted by the very sight of her. "Get out of my sight," he hisses lowly.

She doesn't stop to nod, ducking beneath his hand to make her quick escape. She's speed walking, jogging, running. It's not till she feels safe - as safe as she can - behind her chamber doors, does she she releases a shuddering breath. Her back collapses against the wood, and it's only then that she realises her cloak - Robb's cloak has fallen away at some point during her mad dash. Her navy blue cardigan hangs practically off her shoulders completely, like the flimsy rag it is.

Collapsing against the foot of her cot, Nadia brings her knees up to her chest. She doesn't wonder where things could have gone wrong. Doesn't wonder at her own stupidity for breaking the rules she'd permitted herself to keep all for nought. Those thoughts will burden her mind much later that night.

For now, the girl holds herself and wills away memories of what once was the darkest hours of her old life. She tells herself, with an aching heart, that she is safe.

At duskfall, the ravens took the sky. Nadia watched from her cot, a blank expression upon her face; the familiar feeling of defeat in her stomach. Now hours later, with skies black and the moon blazing white in all its lunar glory, Nadia finds herself unwilling to seek the comfort of her bed and a sketchpad in her hands. No, her mind is far too restless.

Seems someone else is too, given the knock at her door. For a moment, she considers not answering, afraid it's Robb come to shout his frustrations at her. Then again, she might as well get it over with. She doubts he'd be forgiving her silence any time soon, especially should Ned Stark bite the dust. Granting entrance to whoever it is, Nadia turns her attention back to the flames. The cold is slowly becoming more than she was accustomed to back in Melbourne, and she's been forced to stay indoors more often, the fireplace burning nearly 24 hours most days now, just to keep hypothermia at bay. Sighing into the heat, she almost scoffs incredulously at the misted breath that escapes her lips.

Behind her, the door scrapes against the stone floor - another aggravating factor to her coldness - as it opens and shuts. Glancing over her shoulder, she catches Rickon's eyes, throwing him a welcoming grin. Tilting her head, she gestures for him to come join her by the flames and he hurries to her side, Shaggydog padding at his side. The little six year old assumes his place curled against her side, her arms wrapping around his tiny figure pulling him closer to the share in the heat of the fireplace. True he's more accustomed to Winterfell's chills than her, but still she can feel the shiver of his cold skin.

Shaggydog nuzzles against her hand, resting his head on her thigh. Nadia sends the small beast a soft smile, her fingers brushing through his soft fur, black as her own hair. One emerald eye stares up at her briefly before turning back to the fire. 'That's one thing from the books,' she thinks to herself. She'd been surprised by how little from the books actually translates into this world; as far as she's concerned the TV series holds more truth, even how everyone looks is almost identical to the actors cast as them, save for a few features here and there. The only real differences from the show, that she's noticed, is that Robb's hair is lighter, only just appearing more like his mother's rather than almost black as in the show, and longer too; in fact he looks rather like Cossimo Medici. Theon looks almost like he does in season 6, save for the lacking tortured look in his eye… it almost kills Nadia to see them so lively and joking and kind, knowing how far they both will have fallen.

Rickon huffs, nuzzling his head into the crook of her neck. This isn't the first time the littlest Stark's come knocking at her door, restless and missing his mother's touch. Sometimes she even finds herself wandering the halls to Bran's room, following Summer who'd been pawing at her door to get her attention. She thought it'd irritate her but truthfully she never slept much before anyway and she genuinely enjoys the boys' company. While Rickon is still childish, he reminds her of all the fun she'd have playing pretend at his age; Bran on the other hand, with a curious mind, is quickly maturing and keeps her fascinated with his questions and stories.

Rubbing Rickon's arm, she quietly asks, "What's wrong?"

He sniffles, lips pouting in a fashion that brings to mind a kicked puppy. "Father and the girls left. Jon left. Then Mother left. Now Robb's going to leave. No one's going to be here."

That confirms the ravens then. Robb really is going to war. 'What an impulsive prick,' she thinks bitterly but without any passion; her guilt simply weighs in more on her.

"That's not true," she coos, brushing at his tears. "You'll have Bran and Shaggydog and Maester Luwin and Hodor."

"And you?" His blue eyes bore into hers innocently. Hopeful. Biting her lip, she goes to nod but pauses. Would she? Could she? Knowing what she knows… "I don't know."

His tiny hand grips hers tight. "Promise me," he begs, "Promise me you won't leave us also."

"What does your father say about promises?"

"Never make a promise you can't keep."

She nods, a bittersweet smile dancing on her lips as she looks at his sad, sweet face. His lips tremble and she fears he'll pull away from her, just as he did Catelyn all those weeks ago. But he doesn't. Perhaps it's as he says, he's too afraid to lose anyone else. "Why does Robb have to go? Why can't he order someone else to go?"

Tan fingers brushing back his curly locks, she sighs. "You know why," she mutters. Pouting again, Rickon nods. "Because our way is the old way," he answers. Humming softly, she offers him a tight smile, hoping it will offer his some comfort in this truth. At the back of her mind, the cogs begin to turn however. Rickon has posed her a question she's been struggling to answer for some time now. Should she follow Robb into battle and bloodshed, knowing his tragedy has already written itself, or should she stay behind in Winterfell, protect the boys to the best of her abilities and aid Bran in his destiny with the White Walkers, whatever that may be. She doubts she can do much for an entire army, especially when the leader refuses to trust even when she doesn't give him reason not to. Rickon on the other hand… she can protect him Ramsay's arrow. For starters, she'll have to teach him to duck and weave.

Her brooding is interrupted by Rickon shuffling under the cloak to readjust himself, so that he's leaning against her more. "Will you sing me another lullaby?" His big blue eyes plea with her and in a moment of weakness she finds herself giving into his pout. How on Earth Robb managed to put up with that manipulative look for so many years, from nearly all of his siblings, she will never understand. Wrapping her arm around him, she pulls him closer to her; resting a hand on his head, her fingers play with his curly auburn locks as she begins to hum a tune…

"Maybe some moments aren't so perfect

Maybe some memories not so sweet

But we have to know some bad times

Or our lives are incomplete

Then when the shadows overtake us

Just when we feel all hope is gone

We'll hear our song and know once more

Our love lives on

How does a moment last forever?

How does our happiness endure?

Through the darkest of our troubles

Love is beauty, love is pure

Love pays no mind to desolation

It flows like a river through the soul

Protects, perceives, and perseveres

And makes us whole

Minutes turn to hours, days to years and gone

But when all else has been forgotten

Still our song lives on

How a moment lasts forever

When our song lives on…"

At some point she stops singing, her exhaustion causing her to drop into a hum as her gaze steadies on the hearth. Soft breaths fill the silent atmosphere. Smiling gently, she drops a kiss onto the bright auburn curls. He seems so peaceful, his cherub face so innocent. She misses that. Misses being a child. Her fingers brush at the point between his brows. No crease, no crinkle. 'Peaceful dreams, then,' she imagines. Stroking his cheek, she can't help but wonder what his young mind must be dreaming. Her peace is interrupted by a burning sensation behind her eyes. White clouds her vision of the sleeping boy in her arms, something akin to camera flares blinding her. Nadia shuts her eyes, shielding them with her right arm. It's a long while till the burning fades and she removes her arm, dropping it into her lap. Her lap where Rickon no longer lies. "Rickon?" she glances up to see where the little boy could be hiding, only to find the walls of her room have melted away into a beautiful summer's day in the Winterfell tilt yard. "What the fuck?" she breathes, turning in a circle. She hears laughter behind her and turns.

The fireplace flickers as before, casting fantastical shadows against the stone floor. Nadia blinks quickly. Her room is as it is. Rickon sound asleep in her lap. Shaggydog wags his tail, tilting his head curiously at her as if to ask her "What just happened?"

She shakes her head at herself. Slowly untangling herself from Rickon, Nadia picks up the six year old and moves to the door.

Once he's safely tucked in his own bed in his own room, she pops her head into Bran's room. He too is sound asleep; his face is peaceful, sweet in the little moonlight that shines into the room. Nadia allows a small smile on her face at the sight.

Her back stiffens, sensing the presence of another behind. Quickly shutting the door, Nadia spins on the spot to face her companion… only to come face to face with no one. She could have sworn though…

Perhaps her gifts are beginning to affect her sanity. She scoffs at that. 'Beginning.'

She turns down the hallway, slowly making her way back to her chambers. She'd noticed how empty the hallways were before, save a few guards wandering about, but now without Rickon's soft snores and Shaggydog's padding feet, the halls are absolutely silent. Hauntingly so.

A cool breeze brushes against her, goosebumps prickling her tawny skin. Nadia wraps her arms around herself, her fingers working hard to rub some heat into her skin. She silently scolds herself for not thinking to throw on a cardigan at the very least.

A shuddering sigh escapes her pouted lips. She's so cold that her breath turns to fog. Another breeze winds itself through the tunnels, brushing her back once again, few tendrils of her dark hair fluttering against her cheeks. Her feet come to a stop.

'Tunnels?'

Dark shadows stretch over the walls, encapsulating her in blackness. The only light is that of the torchlight every ten metres of so, threatening to dissipate into tufts of smoke with every little gust of wind that winds itself down the stairwell and corners of this house of the dead. For the second time this night, she exclaims quietly to herself, "What the fuck?"

'How...?'

How is a good question indeed. However seeing it is one she finds herself asking increasingly recently without a decent answer to show for it, she tries not to dwell on it so much. Instead she decides against her better judgement to explore. 'This is the point in the horror films where the pretty girl gets hacked to pieces by a murderous psychopath. Good thing I'm not that pretty,' she thinks, somewhat humourously.

Grave upon grave she passes. Nadia barely spares a glance at the statues and plaques of the deceased. They all say the same thing: Stark.

Some are Kings. Some merely lords.

All dead.

It sends a shiver up a spine. Nope. Just another breeze.

"Promise me..."

Nadia's head snaps behind her.

"Promise me..."

To the right.

"Promise me..."

To the left... which is just a brick wall. She frowns.

"Promise me..." the woman's voice echoes again.

Straight ahead Nadia deduces. Again, against her better judgement she follows it. But the further she goes, the softer it gets, escaping her ears. She tries to hasten herself, ears straining to lock in on the mystery woman, but eventually all she hears is silence.

"Great," she mutters to herself. "Hmmm... definitely losing my fucking mind," Nadia grunts. She goes to turn back and try to find her way out these catacombs, when her eyes befall the grave next to her.

Damn.

She could almost imagine long, curly locks, as dark as her own but far more elegant; dark gray eyes, appearing as cold as obsidian one moment, then as wild and tempestuous as a raging storm the next; and of course a crown of blue roses.

Lyanna Stark.

'The woman with all the real secrets,' Nadia whistles. In all honesty, she dislikes Lyanna. She was a selfish homewrecker that caused an entire country to go to war for her so-called honour. A little Helen of Troy. At least Helen had the decency to admit that her betrayal (if it could be called one, given that she was basically hypnotised by Aphrodite) was a shameful act.

The only good thing to come of Lyanna was Jon.

Nadia releases a deep breath. "If only you could talk," she whispers to the marble-like face, "...what would you say? Shed some light on this cluster-fuck of a story I'm stuck in?"

The stone eyes seem to bore into hers and, for a frightenjng moment, Nadia almost believes that Lyanna's ghost would actually make itself known to her. But the moment passes all too soon. Nadia sighs, a sad grin tugging at her lips. "You got out good, yaknow. 'M almost jealous of ya. Wherever the hell you are, you can just sit back and watch the game. Promise it'll be a killer." The girl briefly chuckles but the sobres up quickly. Clearing her throat she adds softly, "Bad joke. Sorry."

Pursing her lips, she feels awkward all of a sudden. As if this is an actual conversation with an actually human being.

Yup. Definitely crazy.

"Well," she forces out. Her fist curls, resting gently on the other woman's grave.

It's the last thing she remembers.

When Nadia comes to, she's back in her cot. Her black cloak draped over her gently.

A/N ... Well... few little hints in there. Like what did Nadia do to attempt to change the story despite initially not wanting to? And why not tell Robb? PLEASE Review to lemme know what else you found and what you think. And if you likey, don't forget to follow :D.