Robb

He didn't turn to look at Roslin or Maester Luwin, instead choosing to merely look out over Winterfell, the sounds of life returning to normal filling his ears. People were repairing walls, pouring fresh dirt and gravel over spots of dried blood, tossing lumber that couldn't be salvaged into piles to be made into kindling, and refilling the supplies of arrows and other deterrents. Though he couldn't quite hear the sounds of life he knew they were out there. At the forge Mikeen was working on new swords and shields for the houseguards while fighting the desire to look over more carefully the weapons of the Iron Born that had been gathered, with the first being the blade that Robb himself had claimed in the battle. Jory, having arrived two days after the battle after serving notice to Lady Dustin of Barrowton that Robb's father demanded an audience for her to explain her lack of support in the war effort, was somewhere on the walls barking orders at the men; despite what even Ser Rodrik had told him Jory still held it as a black mark that the Iron Born had managed to get through the walls of Winterfell and he would never allow that to happen again. Cooks and bakers were going about their daily tasks to feed all the people within the castle as well as those brought in to help with the repairs, while outside the main walls of the castle the people of Wintertown buried their dead and took stock of what had been lost, wailing and cursing the Gods that their child or sibling or parent had been slain.

Cursing the Gods. It was something Robb could understand quite well in that moment.

"Once," Robb finally said, "Old Nan told me that the Old Gods carry a scale and a man's life is weighed. From the moment he is born he is judged. If his father was cruel and wicked then already the tally would be against him. He would have to work all the harder to prove that he was good and just or the Gods would seek to punish him for not just his sins but those of his kin. Everything we do is about balance, she said, for while a man can find himself trapped under the light of a cursed star more often than not it is his own sins that bring about pain. Maegor the Cruel was a kinslayer and a traitor to those that bent the knee to him and as a result his heirs were born dead, twisted beasts to reflect his own monstrous actions.

"But it wasn't just evil men that suffered. Old Nan was quick to remind me of that. 'All men suffer for only the Old Gods may live without pain or loss' she told me. Because a man simply can not have only good in his life… the scales will be balanced. If one has had too much happiness or claimed too many victories a price must be paid, the debt fulfilled. That's why mighty warriors will be stricken with diseases that leave them feebly twitching in their beds bleeding from every opening. While beautiful ladies will turn into twisted wizened crones. Why the most powerful and just of kings, who can heal kingdoms and bring about golden summers, can't protect their own children from an early death. The Gods will demand balance from us all."

Luwin cleared his throat, "Your grace, we have sent riders to search-"

"My father lost much of his family and in return he was given strong sons and daughters… my mother lost not a single child. He then received the greatest honor a man can be given in the Seven Kingdoms. He was made Hand of the King by his dearest friend. But to pay for that the Old Gods took Bran's ability to walk. My brother Jon was finally freed of the taint of being a bastard but it meant having to leave us all behind." He turned, not enough to actually look at the two of them but enough to make it clear that this time he actually was addressing them, "And I don't care what my mother says or what the rest of the nobility think Jon was my brother and a Stark LONG before Antony did what the rest of us were too cowardly to do." He looked back at Winterfell. "My father became the first King of the North since the dragons came. I am now a prince and one day will wear the crown. But Sansa and Arya were made the coin to pay for that blessing. I found love," here the bitterness left his voice because he couldn't find it in himself to be angry about Roslin, who had been during the last few dark weeks the sole light in his world, his Stone Wolf that supported him as the world felt like it was tumbling all around him. But then sadness crept in again. "But it cost me Rickon. He was snatched from me." He looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers, still remembering how he'd barely touched his baby brother's hand before he'd been stolen away. He dreamed often of saving him, of being just a bit faster, stronger, able to pull him away from the damn portal. "He returned to us and you'd think the fact that we lost nearly 30 years with him would be payment enough but no… to bring him back it cost us Bran."

They hadn't discovered that until nearly a day after the battle, when one of the servants had finally realized that no one had gone to see to Bran since everything had happened. There had just been so much to do, to deal with. Not just the Iron Born and the aftermath of their attack but the arrival of Rickon with two Children of the Forest, a talking raccoon, and a nature spirit that was now living in the Godswood's heartstree. Those five had left all of Winterfell reeling, trying to comprehend what it all meant. And it didn't help that none of them were what would have expected merely being told of their arrival. Still, Robb had been horrified that his brother had been left alone in the tower and gone up there himself to give him the news… only to find his bed neatly made and his drawers empty of some of his clothing. The castle had been scoured and that's when the other missing had been discovered… Hodor, who some had feared to have died in the Iron Born attack but now appeared to have left with Bran, along with the wildling Osha, and of course-

"We will find Bran," Roslin said. "And at the very least he isn't alone."

That though didn't give Robb any comfort. "He has those thousand-times-damned Reed children, who I know are the ones that convinced him to do this. Filling his head with tales of visions and altered fates." Finally Robb turned to look at the two of them. "Maester Luwin, has a rider been sent to Greywater Watch to demand answers from Lord Reed concerning his children's actions?"

"He has, your grace," Luwin said with a small bow. "But you must remember that messages to Lord Howland are always delayed due to the nature of the castle-"

Robb waved off what the maester was going to say. The problem with Greywater March was that it was a floating castle, always moving and drifting. That made it nearly impossible to siege, of course, but it also made it impossible for ravens to find (Robb idly wondered what the maester of Greywater must have thought about that) and almost as difficult for messengers to locate. It was very likely that Robb would be as old as Rickon was now by the time Lord Howland finally answered.

"He has Osha and Hodor as well," Luwin stated. "The wildling woman may have been a threat when she first arrived her but she has shown she is devoted to the children. She mourned greatly Rickon's disappearance, did she not?"

"She did," Robb admitted. The wildling woman had threatened Bran and that would always be a black mark against her, but in the time since she had been respectful to him and willing to assist Robb's brother in all his needs. She had been utterly heartbroken that the 'wild pup' had disappeared and Maester Luwin had told Robb that she'd even suggested things for him to investigate, old legends and fables, that might hold the key to saving Rickon.

"Hodor may be simple but he will be loyal as well. And from what the trackers have reported they are headed North, not South, meaning they will run into less threats and will cross through friendly lands. Messages have been sent to the Umber and Karstark lands, among others, that they should keep a fair eye out for your brother and his party."

Robb though was unsatisfied. "The Kingslayer is with them." He shook his head in disgust, slapping the windowsill with his palm. "The fucking Kingslayer! What madness mad them take that man with them!?"

"We don't know that Jaime Lannister went with them," Lywin stated, trying to sound reassuring and failing utterly in Robb's opinion.

"The scouts found no signs of anyone moving towards the South. The only tracks were of Bran's party and Asha Greyjoy and hers were solitary; besides, she'd never help the Kingslayer, she'd kill him herself and take his head." And, he thought, thank the Gods hers had gone in the opposite direction of Hodor's. "We know there is a secret passage just below the Kingslayer's cell that Bran explored. And Jojen Reed would select that bastard purely to vex me. Jaime Lannister is traveling with my brother, there is no doubt about that." Robb pinched the bridge of his nose. "How wonderful that I get to inform my father that not only is one of his sons missing and the other now an adult but that I lost the biggest prisoner we'd taken in this war. The only thing that could make it worse is if I revealed I was becoming Cersei Lannister's cupbearer."

"The Lannisters didn't really seem to care about Jaime so it's not that bad," Roslin reasoned.

That had been rather confusing. Robb and his advisors had assumed that Tywin Lannister was plotting something to free the Kingslayer and that's why he'd sent such a dismissive letter, knowing that they'd never actually act on his declaration. And yet as the months had gone by and the only thing to happen to the Young Lion was his beard grew out Robb had been at a loss at how Tywin Lannister could be so dismissive of his son being held captive, especially when he'd razed the Riverlands to save the Imp.

Shaking his head and walking over to retrieve two dark fur cloaks, Robb passed by Roslin and handed her one before motioning for her and Maester Luwin to follow him. He knew better than to offer the older man something as he would simply wave him off. "I want to talk with our guests."

As he swept out of his father's solar (and he wondered if he'd ever feel as if it were truly his and couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken father to think of it as his and not Gradnfather Rickard's) and into the hall, cloak draped over his left arm (never his right... after Asha Greyjoy he'd never risk preventing himself from swinging a blade ever again) he did his best to smile to all those that passed. It would do them no good to think him a dour prince prone to brooding and without any hope in his heart. Even if he felt no desire to celebrate he knew that the much of Winterfell was in a victorious mood. There had been loses, of course, but they looked to him to give hope, not remind them of their ills. He would not be the Aegon Dragonsbane of the North.

That said he also did his best to keep the smile small and genuine and not put on any princely airs. Memories of that murderer Joffrey and how he'd moved about the castle with his nose in the air, not even trying to hide how superior he found himself to those in the castle rushed through his brain. He still remembered how it had taken until the day of the King's Party leaving for the bastard to come to his father (for mother had refused to leave Bran's side) to apologize for not coming sooner to ask what he could do to aid the family. Robb had witnessed it and even if it hadn't come so late that father was already in his riding leathers the way Joffrey had spoken the words had burned in Robb's soul. The boy's cheeks had been a bright red and rumor was that the Imp had smacked him about in order to get him to pay them that pathetic courtesy.

'Never will I allow my son to act in such a manner,' he swore to the Old Gods, reaching down and stroking Grey Wind's head as his direwolf moved to walk beside him. 'Should a child of mine ever believe them above even the most basic of common courtesies I will disown them and send them to the Wall. I'd rather my line die than produce a Joffrey Of The North.'

His strides led him to one of the smaller gathering areas in the castle. The archway, made of gray stone etched with running direwolves, opened onto a hall two stories tall with empty columns that had once been covered with all manner of banners and tapestries. Maester Luwin had told him and Jon once that this was the dancing hall, where the princesses of the King in the North, back in the Age of Heroes, had learned with their ladies in waiting how to move about the floor in time with music. Though much smaller than the Great Hall of Winterfell it would still allow 5 or 6 couples to easily spin about without risk of collision.

Robb didn't know when it had been abandoned. He knew that Sansa had never used it, though he imagined she would have loved to do so, but father was not one for balls and grand dinners where lords and ladies would glide across the floors on nimble toes. Uncle Benjen had told him that father had only danced once, long ago and far from the halls of their home, and that he had promised his partner a second dance… but now she was in the gave and thus he would never dance again. Of course Robb didn't see his aunt dancing as all the tales of Lyanna made it clear that she would have rather wrestled with a white bear than be caught in a dance hall spinning about like a Southern flower. Perhaps the generation before, when his grandfather Rickard and his great uncle Horward had lived in Winterfell; he vaguely remembered seeing in the crypts a statue of a young woman named Alyla who had died in her youth around the time of his grandfather's youth who might have liked to dance and would have needed such a place.

Now though the hall wasn't as empty as it normally would have been, for a new occupant had taken up residence, Robb pausing and standing in the archway to observe him. Rickon, dressed as he had been when he'd first reemerged from the portal, was moving about the hall though if he were 'dancing' it was a way Robb had never seen before. Even with his limited knowledge of balls he could tell that how Rickon was strutting through the room, arms sometimes stretched wide, hips gyrating and thrusting like he was fucking the air, and his head bobbing about like a duck that had taken a blow to the skull, would not be welcomed at any Southern celebration. The air around him was filled with strange music; instruments never before heard in Westeros coming not from any living band but a strange box made of blue and white resin. Rickon had called it a 'wokmin' and apparently it could play back music from the realm of the Children of the Forest on command.

'If one can call that music,' Robb thought as his brother began to shake his head back and forth, wiggling his fingers. Roslin, Luwin, and Grey Wind all stopped as well, drawn to the spectacle like travelers coming upon two wrecked carriages that had their drivers screaming at each other. One didn't want to watch, for it wasn't proper, but couldn't turn away.

"Hail (hail)/What's the matter with you feel right/Don't you feel right baby/Hail, oh yeah/Get it from the main vine, all right/I said-a find it, find it/Go on and love it if you like it, yeah/Hail (hail)/It's your business if you want some, take some/Get it together baby!/Come and get your love!"

Shaggydog, sitting and watching as his returned master bobbed about the room to the music, let out a growling huff. Rickon suddenly turned at that and glared, jabbing his finger at the direwolf. "Hey! Those too are great dance moves!" Shaggydog barked and Rickon's eyes narrowed further. "No, you are the one that is wrong! Not my fault you have 4 left paws!" This time his direwolf snapped his jaws, no where near Rickon but the message clear. But Robb's brother was having none of that. "Hey! None of that shit, Shaggydog! It's not too late to replace you with one of those sickle-clawed dragons Yondu showed me a few years back. The blue one really liked me-" The direwolf let out a snorted huff but laid down. "Knew you'd see it my way... oh, hey Robb!"

He tried to smile, he truly did. He knew that he should be happy. His brother had been returned to him, alive and well. Except he'd wanted Rickon back. The little boy who had trailed after him utterly confused about what was going on and who liked to roll in the dirt with his direwolf and who would howl at the moon because he thought it was funny. Instead he'd gotten a man grown, a man he didn't even know.

Rickon, sensing Robb's mood, walked over and touched the wokmin, the music suddenly stopping. "Sorry... I guess you and I haven't really talked since..." he didn't say anything but rather just rubbed his throat.

Robb's checks flushed with heat. "I'm sorry-"

The older man held up his hand. "I get it, okay? It's a lot to take in. I mean, for you its been, what... a few months? For me it's been over 20 years. Sure, I got to watch you from time to time, but it was rare because if I tried to do it in real time you'd be moving like this-" he began to make an exaggerated raising of his arm, slow and fluid with an odd look on his face that managed to make Robb smile despite all his conflicting emotions, "-and other than for some laughs that isn't real fun. Then the portal opens up and I pop out taller than you and much better looking and totally ripped-"

"Excuse me?" Robb said, raising an eyebrow. "Better looking?"

"Well... yeah!" He gestured at the two of them. "I mean, no offense Robb but have you looked at us? You are nice and all and I'm sure Roslin's happy with you." He looked past Robb towards Roslin, who Robb was annoyed to find was actually smiling at Rickon's statements. "You are happy with him, right?"

"Completely."

"You aren't upset you didn't get some of this?" He flexed his arms.

Roslin laughed at her good-brother's actions. "Not in the slightest."

Rickon turned his attention back to Robb. "So you have nothing to worry about there, as your wife likes skinny guys with no muscles, but still... it must be crazy to see that your baby brother is... SO much hotter than you! Like... totally 10 out of 10 on the sexy scale."

"I know most of those words yet they still make no sense," Robb muttered.

His brother wrapped an arm around him. "Don't worry your curly little head about it! Your Uncle Rickon will get you all taken care of!"

"I'm still older than you, Childrens' magic be damned."

Rickon though didn't hear him. "We'll start with your outfit... you need some color in there. I get it, I really do. Stark colors, got to represent." Rickon thumped his fist against his chest. "But there is nothing saying you can't spice it up a little! Maybe some nice blue on the doublet? We could do a sea wolf on there, mother and father's houses merged together? The boots have to go, you need something much nicer than that… I'd suggest a long coat but hey, that is mine, so made a cape? With sparkles and tassles to make you… oh so pretty."

Normally Robb would have been rubbing his temples after hearing Rickon's long rambling rundown of what he should be wearing. And yet... he could help but smile.

"Hey... I did it, didn't I?" Rickon asked.

"Did what?" Robb asked.

"Gave you something you've been lacking since Jon left for Iron Pointe and Theon went with father... someone to trade insults and jokes with."

In that moment it dawned on him that yes, yes he had been missing just that.

"But you, good-sister?" Rickon slid past Robb and looked Roslin up and down. "You are perfect just the way you are."

"…the female Children of the Forest warned you about insulting what a woman wears, didn't they?"

"What?" Rickon exclaimed. "No! Never!" But under his breath he muttered, "Tell Fignut that her branchhat is crooked one time…" Plastering a smile on his face, and rubbing his nose which Robb only now noticed looked to have once been broken and then reset, he moved to stand before the three of them. "So, have any of you actually talked to my friends about what they all are or do I have to give the massive info dump?"

Luwin cleared his throat. "Prince Rickon, could you try at all to talk like a proper young man?"

"Prince Rickon… huh, weird to consider that I've gone from being called 'Stupid little shit' while some of the Children debated eating me to a Prince. Neat. As for talking normal I was going to ask you the same thing." Now Robb did feel the urge to rub his temples while Roslin merely smirked and Luwin looked at the newly returned man and for the first time in ages wore a look of exasperation. "Anyway…" Rickon said, making a rolling motion with his hands to signify that he wanted them to answer his question.

Robb lips pulled apart and his lower jaw pulled back slightly so that his top and bottom teeth lined up perfectly. His eyebrows flicked up and down several times before he finally spoke. "Only to Rocket, and I can't believe that I am using a raccoon as a source of information, and Groot but I suppose that since Rocket was the one translating for him I can't really count that, since he could have made it all up."

"Actually you can count that as two. Rocket has to be honest with what Groot says or… well…" he rubbed the back of his head and grimaced. "You don't want to know. So what did the little rubbish bear tell you?"

"That he was a product of someone trying to warg into a raccoon and that the Children and the Old Gods felt pity for him."

Rickon nodded, growing somber. "Yeah. Nasty business, that. I don't know all the details myself, Rocket doesn't like to talk about it. One of the few times he'll actually clam up. Even the Children don't press him on that. But whatever happened it made him one of the smartest assholes in any of the realms and dimensions. You let him look over our defenses?"

"Yes, though Jory and Ser Rodrik weren't pleased with the idea of something they'd normally use to practice their aim barking orders at the builders."

"Tell'em to suck it up," Rickon stated bluntly. "My wagon? Rocket. My crossbows? Rocket. He's a cocky little shit but when it comes to building things there is no one better than him. Give Rocket a week and this will be the most defensible castle in all the Seven Kingdoms. And believe me when I tell you… we need it to be." He motioned for to Robb continue on.

"Groot is a tree spirit."

"Well that one is obvious," Roslin stated.

Luwin quickly chimed in. "Yes, I do believe I've read about them."

"And as for Gamora and Drax he said they were Children of the Forest who were… bonded with the honorable dead?"

Rickon sighed, walking over to a chair and sitting in it, though because he had to be a brat about it he purposely sat on it backwards, his arms resting on the back of it. He waved at the three of them to take a seat and didn't say a word until they did so, Grey Wind ambling over to lay down next to Shaggydog. "I shouldn't be the one explaining all this. Problem is I'm the best one to, considering who came. Well, Gamora would be a better pick but… yeah, I'm the best one right now to explain everything." He paused, grasping for the right words. "So the portal I went through. We need to start with that. There are two different things we are dealing with: realms and dimensions. Sometimes the names get interchanged but they shouldn't as they are…ooo, they are completely different. The Nine Realms are like the Seven Kingdoms. You travel down the right road, go over the right bridge, and you end up in another one. Dimensions are overlayed on top of each other. Right now there are… just a ton of dimensions all sharing the same space. Where we are sitting right now? In one dimension there are the Children sitting in a grove. In another the Faltine are scheming on how to dominate anything they can find. Another almost like our own except the beings that live there are twisted and altered versions of us who have their morality flipped. Another has the White Frost. Yet another that cipher demon that I really don't ever want to run into. The point is that the portal links this dimension and the one of the Children.

"Bran the Builder was tasked to create Winterfell to protect the Portal after the War for the Dawn. The war between the Children and the First Men was caused by the Men destroying the Children's portals to their own realm… that's why they destroyed OUR way to travel, like the Arm of Dorne. Eye for an eye. But the War for the Dawn forced everyone in the Nine Realms, and the Children, along with a few other dimensional hoppers, to work together and they came to see that they weren't all that different. Yondu, the leader of the Children, knew that the Others would return again and the Children would need to return. That's why I was taken… Yondu knew that so much time had passed that he'd need someone to explain things to all of you, someone who was still 100% human. I spent nearly 30 years training not just to fight the Others but to make sure all of you were ready as well." He tapped his forehead. "All the lost knowledge of Westeros? Got it up here."

The three of them grew quiet, digesting just what Rickon had said. It sounded so outlandish, that the mythical enemy of man could return. That the Others, the White Walkers, the Cold Ones, could be preparing even now to march on the North. And yet there was Rickon, nearly 30 years older than when Robb had last seen him, allied with a talking raccoon, a tree, and two green warriors.

"What can you tell us about the Others?" Luwin asked.

Rickon sighed, throwing his head back as he did so. "Okay… so this is going to sound bad at first so please let me get it all out. And also keep in mind that sometimes when some of the more learned Children begin rambling on about things I tend to zone out and begin thinking about stuff like what would happen if everyone in Westeros got to put their House Sigil in a gladiator ring and let them fight it out? I mean, you'd think the Mormonts would win with a bear or maybe the Lannisters with their lion but the Tyrells have flowers and who is going to attack a flower? Maybe the stag if he were hungry but I'd wager that the lion would eat him first. And what about the Kraken? Would we have water there or just let him flop about? Unfair either way, really. And then you have swords and shields and stuff and I SO wouldn't want to be the guy picked to get flayed so that the Boltons could enter-"

"Rickon, sweetie?" Roslin said, tapping his knee. "Focus."

"Right, right," Rickon waved off his thoughts. "…so I could just dance around it but frankly I don't think any of us have the patience for that so I'll just say it: the Children and the Others are merely two separate groups of the same species."

Luwin stared at Rickon for several moments. "You…" he paused, gathering himself. "I mean, it was always thought that there was some connection. More than one Maester who studied the mystical and darker arts believed that the Others were a creation of the Children that rebelled against them. But one and the same?"

"Then why don't they resemble each other?" Roslin asked. "At least… the myths I've heard speak of the Others as tall, otherworldly beings made of ice. The Children were described as brown and green and small of stature."

"Okay, so this all dates back well beyond any of us. Before the Starks were even THE STARKS and were merely, "Oh hey, hiya Stark!". The species both the Others and the Children, known as the titans, aren't truly physical. They aren't ghosts or wraiths or anything like that but they also aren't flesh and blood like us. In their own dimension they have to create solid land for people like me or Rocket so we can actually not, you know, fall forever in the void. But they liked visiting our realm and REALLY liked visiting Westeros. I'm not sure why and I don't think they even remember why anymore. The point is that when they visited they would need to take on a physical form. They did that with the native race that lived in what is now the Seven Kingdoms: a small pygmy race with brown and green skin who lived in the woods. They would find one who died and bond with them, trading sharing a body with a second life. Both would merge and create a new being; two sets of memories, one new life going forth. The pygmy race had no problem with this because for the most part they all just wanted to hang out in the forests.

"Then the first men came and began to cut down the forests and threaten how life had gone for all of them. And you have to understand how radically different the First Men were from the species that would become the Children and the pygmy race. It would be like… putting someone for Yi Ti and someone from the Riverlands together and saying "Arrange a wedding according to your customs". It would be a disaster. So the two began to fight, waging war and spilling blood and then one of the titans decided that enough was enough and he was going to do something drastic."

"He bonded with a dead human, didn't he?" Robb asked.

"Not just any First Human. A powerful one, a man the Children call 'The Could-Have-Been-King', for had he lived he might well have united all the First Men. But instead he died. But rather than give him the choice of bonding with him this titan decided that he alone would be in control. He locked away the soul, dooming it to torment, and instead arose as the sole controller of the man's mighty body. And he found that with that new form he could do far more than any titan had ever attempted. They had been masters of life, helping teach the pygmies how to bring plants and animals back from the brink of death. This titan decided why not go a step further? Why not raise the dead themselves? And as he had learned from his host body… what good is another soul getting in the way?"

"And thus wights were born," Roslin said, shivering and wrapping her cloak around herself.

Rickon nodded. "Some of his race thought this was a great idea and began to do the same. They saw this as a way not just to win the war but to do away with needing others. Why make agreements and pacts and force yourself to compromise when you could be master of not just yourself but all around you? But the rest, who would become The Children of the Forest, were horrified. Yes, the First Men were destroyers but even they didn't go against the laws of nature itself. For even they had to obey the will of the Old Gods and their commandments. But their brothers and sisters refused to back down, arguing that the Children were weak, unwilling to do what needed to be done. So the Children cast them out… and proclaimed them no longer part of their great tribe. They cursed them to never walk the forests again, to never feel the warm sun on their skin. If they loved the cold of corpses then they would only know the cold. They were the Others, the outsiders. And to the one that started it all, who proclaimed himself now the Night's King, they gave a new name."

"And that was?" Robb asked.

Rickon swallowed. "The Mad Titan. Or in their language… Thanos."

Robb didn't know why but the uttering of that name, even though he'd never heard it before, made a chill run up his spine.

"The Night's King," Rickon continued, "targeted the pygmies first, wiping them out. He thought that with them gone the Children wouldn't be able to stand against him. That they'd join him. He never imagined they'd only go half way… to go to the First Men and explain the danger they were all in. And they certainly never assumed that the First Men would agree to share their bodies with them, should they fall in battle. Thus an alliance was made: Yondu, the leader of the Children, allied with Bran the Builder, Joramun the King of the Free Folk, and Azor Ahai. When one of their number would fall in battle they'd allow a Child to join with them so they might rise again and fight. In the end they won… but the Night's King and his Court weren't easily defeated. They had experimented on men and beasts and… other things… and it cost the living much to stop them." Rickon shook his head, eyes shut. "I've never asked about it much because I can tell how much it hurts the Children to talk about that. But the point is that the Night's King and his Court were driven back and forced to sleep; the best the heroes of that War could hope for. And in that sleep they healed. Occasionally one would awaken and cause havoc… and that is why the Children have remained vigilant. They have trained and taken others to train with them. Rocket and me? We aren't the first they've grabbed. And Drax and Gamora aren't the first Children to select men and women of Westeros and bond with them in order to prepare."

While Roslin and Maester Luwin digested this Robb circled back to the subject of the Children that had come with Rickon. He had been thinking about them a lot and what Rocket had said, of them choosing the honorable dead. It felt like a hand was gripping his heart as his mind began to piece things together.

"Rickon," he asked, his tongue feeling fat and heavy in his mouth, "who were Drax and Gamora before they bonded with the Children?"

His brother winced and Robb KNEW. "You… should talk to them about that-Robb!" He leapt up, hand outstretched, but Robb had already leapt from his chair and run out of the room, the sounds of Rickon and Roslin and Maester Luwin calling for him to wait bouncing along the stone walls. But Robb didn't stop… he kept going, pushing past servants as he threw on his cloak and burst outside, looking about with wild eyes, Grey Wind coming up next to him and nudging him with worry.

"Ser Rodrik!" Robb called out. "Where is Gamora?"

The old knight seemed startled by Robb's question. "The green lass? Well-"

"I need to see her, now!" Robb declared.

"Alright, alright," Rodrik said, trying to calm him down before he turned to a guard. "Runald, you see where Gamora went?"

The guard nodded. "She said she wanted to see the Crypts. I didn't see the harm in her going and honestly I didn't think I could stop her-"

Robb didn't hear the rest, instead leaving Ser Rodrik and the other man in his wake as he ran like the demons of hell were on his heels.

The Crypts of Winterfell had seen more guests in the last few months than they'd seen in years. First it had been his desperate need to open the Gate once more and bring back Rickon, to undo his failure. Later, after his brother had returned to him, there had been unease about allowing such an unknown thing to exist under their feet without someone to watch it and sound the alarm. Even though Rickon had told him that day when he'd revealed his true identity that the Gate was safe Robb had still ordered it watched.

But now he found that the guard that was supposed to be down in the Crypts standing at the entrance, shifting from one foot to the other in nervous agitation. Robb didn't even bother to slow down to ask him what the matter was. He knew. Gamora had come through and no one stopped that woman when she was determined to do something. While he hadn't been around the Children much he had been receiving reports about what Rickon and his companions were doing each day. Rocket was up on the walls building who knew what, Drax was either fighting in the yard or eating alone in his room, Rickon had been visiting everyone he could find (apparently he'd spent an entire day with Old Nan, commanding her to listen for once as he told her grand stories), and Groot had become the talk of Wintertown, visiting the children gifting them with flowers never seen North of the Neck. As for Gamora she had separated herself from her companions for much of her time in Winterfell, quietly wandering the halls and not caring who told her where not to go; she simply did as she pleased and if a guard was foolish enough to get in her way she tended to break bones.

Going down into the Crypt Robb pulled his cloak around him and finally slowed his steps, his stomach dropping to his knees as he saw her. The woman was something out legend. Green skin that was only broken up by raised silver tattoos that gracefully arched about her face, hair that was at one moment red the next purple, and black leathers including a long coat similar to Rickon's. There was a sword strapped to her back and several smaller blades on her hips and attached to her boots. She appeared to be a bringer of death except in that moment she was looking at Sansa's statue with a look of utter vulnerability.

"I wondered when you'd finally come to talk to me," Gamora said softly. "I wanted to come and see you myself but… I'll admit I was scared. As strange as it is for me to admit that. We are going to fight the Others… we are going to battle creatures that truly can be called monsters… and I am not scared. I am ready to do what I must to save this world. But talking to you? Heh. That scares me."

Robb took a step forward, the candles that were lit to bring a bit of light to the Crypts making his shadow dance about. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see my statue," Gamora stated, gesturing to her right. "I heard it wasn't a good likeness. I agree. Far too still."

"Then you admit it?"

"That I was a Stark?" Gamora nodded her head, keeping her back to him. "Yes. I was. And perhaps I still am. It is… hard to consider, this merging. It makes things very confusing."

He took a step forward again only to stop, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He'd known… he'd known since he'd seen her but not wanted to admit it. Rocket had hinted at it, Rickon refused to say it… but he'd known. "Then it is you… was you…" He clenched his eyes shut, hating himself for his weakness but unable to stop the waves of sadness that crashed over him. The long face, the mischievous eyes, the slight smirk, the craving for battle… "Arya."

Gamora though let out a quiet airy laugh. "No."

Robb froze.

"And I do not mean," she continued, before he could express his greatest fear, choosing instead to speak it herself and deny it all in the same moment, "that I was her and now I am not. This body was never your sister's, Robb. But I understand how you could have come to that conclusion."

"Then..." his head hurt and he felt relieved and angry and confused and frustrated all at the same time. "Then who the fuck are you?"

"Before all this?" Gamora asked. "As a titan I was Whoberi." She let loose an amused huff. "I know. What a name. But you don't care about that, you care about the human who makes up the other half of me. Hmmm. The names I had when I was her. I was the Blue Rose of the North. The Wolf Maid. The Future Lady of Storms. The Queen of Love and Beauty. The Knight of the Laughing Tree. The Lady of the Tower of Joy. The Mother of Jon."

She turned and smiled sadly, her own tears flickering in her eyes.

"My name… was Lyanna Stark."