A/N: My brain and its knack for coming up with insane ideas should be blamed for this, not my poor hand that had to be mentioned brain's slave, nor this story.
Note: the collection of snippets will form this story. Each snippet is either in a different time frame, or speaking about a different person. Also, this is mostly written for fun, so not much plot here.
"Well? Aren't you going to welcome me with open arms or something of the sort? I'm your ancestress, which means I spent hours upon hours in pain pushing out your ancestor and am the reason you exist, you ungrateful little-!"
Ned regains his voice, and before she can complete that insult (because he knows that she will spew out an insult), "Welcome to Winterfell, Honoured Ancestress, we invite you to our humble abode."
Catelyn does not understand why he believes the woman, but no one but Eddard knows what is happening. The Gods are playing a huge cosmic joke on his life, and they've resurrected the one Stark they didn't want in the afterlife. At first, when he sees her, he wonders why; she looks pleasant enough.
Then his ancestress opens her mouth.
Ned has never been more grateful for his lessons in propriety.
"My Lady," because even Cat can understand that attire, "On what grounds do you claim to be the honoured ancestress of Lord Stark, seeing as, at the moment, she is dead?"
Gods dammit, Cat! I don't want her chastising my ear off again!
"On the grounds that – I repeat – I spent hours upon hours in pain pushing out your husband's ancestor and am the reason His Grace exists."
"What is your proof?" She stiffly asks. Ah, Cat is getting affected too.
"Well, my entire appearance, blood soaked sheets, and a family tree." He nearly chokes when she mentions the second proof; and he has to admit, they look a lot alike.
She then shows the family tree, which clearly shows her as the wife of Brandon of the Bloody Blade, and mother to Brandon the Builder.
Catelyn faints.
Robb is taken with his many generations past grandmother, who for appearances' sake, they are claiming as a distant aunt. And by distant, he means a daughter of Brandon Stark, and granddaughter of Artos Stark and Lysara Karstark. No one knows about who their children are, so they wouldn't question it: after all, if a Stark claims she is family, who are the Southrons to oppose the fact? The North will be told the truth.
"If she is Brandon the Builder's mother, shouldn't the lady be dead by now?" Lord Glover brings up the most valid point.
"Do I look dead to you, heathen? I am here, in the flesh, and for the last time, I am Kyra Stark, mother to Brandon the Builder, wife of Brandon of the Bloody Blade!" this is punctuated by a bang on the table that makes everyone but Maege Mormont flinch.
"I like her." Lady Mormont decides.
Lord Manderly throws his hands up in the air, "I believe you, if only because you caused Lady Mormont to say that."
Why does he feel that the North is about to dive headfirst into insanity?
Only the North knows she is Lady Kyra Stark, honoured ancestress of Houses Stark and Karstark; all of South thinks she is Lady Kyra, granddaughter of Artos Stark. But sometimes, Ned just wishes to go to the godswood and ask 'why'.
It is like there is, as he has said before, a huge cosmic joke being played on him.
"What do you mean Torrhen Stark knelt to a darned Valyrian?!"
By now, he has decided to cut his losses and just let things happen. Life will, and one day, he'll get used to it.
"Exactly that sentence, grandmother." She insists he call her that, so who is he to refuse? That she scares him enough for him to agree with her anytime remains blissfully ignored. He further adds, "They had three dragons."
"And what of our magic? The direwolf army?"
Magic? Direwolf army? The North has neither of those, and besides, direwolves are extinct and magic no longer graces the land. He accidentally says that out loud.
"What?! I have half a mind to call a war council right now to discuss what this realm has gone through when I was away!"
"Then listen to the other half of your mind." He dryly comments. And yes, she is no longer that frightening to him.
She cuffs him over the head, and the servants have the good graces not to comment if they saw their Lord in a headlock by his ancestress.
"I listened."
Catelyn knows that Lady Kyra has seen her glaring at Lyarra and Lynara Snow. But the Lady Stark can't help it: those two girls are proof of her husband's infidelity, twice over, even if they are twins, there are still two of them to remind her by existing.
"I wonder what you'll do to my grandson when he tells you the truth of their birth...why not learn now."
Cat goes along, if only because she thinks that the woman who managed to seduce Ned will have her identity revealed.
But the answer that she gets, the truth of their birth, shakes her to the core. They are actively committing treason. Two Targaryens are living in the walls of Winterfell. Her good-sister's children are alive.
Needless to say, Lady Catelyn Stark also becomes a traitor to the crown within a matter of hours. More importantly, she is safeguarding her nieces, and that's all that matters in the end.
Besides, they say Prince Joffrey is a little hellion. Perhaps one day one of those two will sit on the throne. Lady Kyra says they'd make better queens than Joffrey would make a king; Robert is...incompetent, drunk, thick, lustful, the list goes on. Yet the bonds of friendship are strong, so they will not dethrone Robert Baratheon.
His son, though, is free game.
Sansa Stark is born with a cry that makes her mother wince. Lyarra and Lynara are overjoyed to have a little sister, but Robb asks if they can exchange her for the newborn Torrhen Karstark; Ned promises to consider.
Kyra knows what would've happened to this family had she not intervened, the Gods showed her that and it is not pretty, but if she has to act like a terrifying half-insane woman to keep her family safe, she'll damned well do it. That the way everyone seemed to walk on eggshells around her in the start, and now have just resigned themselves to her nature is amusing, well, that's just a wonderful plus, isn't it?
She has warned them about the Long Night, and they're thankfully working on ways to protect them and theirs, which includes a lot of experiments, restocking, and things of the sort.
Now, about magic and that direwolf army...
Really, the Faith's spy should've seen it coming.
The North is rebuilding itself, for lack of a better word; they're now growing crops and other edible food where they can, getting their naval supply in tip-top shape (and they can always use the Ironborn, who are getting bolder by the day, as scapegoats should the Southrons come sniffing), fortifying most of the castles and keeps they can, mapping out all of the North so they can see what is and what is not needed to be done and getting better trade relations. Basically doing all they can to turn the North into an economic and militaristic powerhouse.
And, with additional encouragement from Lady Kyra, all the Northerners are corresponding with each other – even the Lady Catelyn from the Riverlands agreed, as it would be best to know one's future subjects, or know what is going on.
A perfect example is that Robb learned from Alys Karstark, who learned from a Maester Aemon at the Wall, who was told by Lord Commander Jeor that Jorah Mormont is courting Alanna Tallheart after wearing her favour at a tourney in Tumbleton. Of course, Robb could've learned this from corresponding with Alanna like Lyarra, who apparently was given the perfect details of the full tourney by the Tallheart lady.
What the Faith was concerned with was that Catelyn Stark hadn't yet asked for a Septa despite having two daughters, Sansa and Arya. The poor Septon Chile had to inform the Faith's spy to kindly take a leave and that the Lady Stark has decided to give them all the needed lessons herself, as she finds the Septas' attitudes towards baseborn children, which two of the girls are, is unwelcomed in these halls. Oh, did Robb laugh himself silly when he overheard.
Jaime Lannister is bored.
When he first joined the Kingsguard, he was given promises of glory and splendour. Yet her he is, guarding a drunken king who is only drinking more wine, and probably not caring about the next petition being made. But Jaime is caring about it, because he has to care about it; why? Because the King, in all his unimpressive intelligence, has decided he is to look over the petition instead of his Hand who is taking a "well-earned break".
Things get more exciting, however, when the High Septon comes in with a woman.
"The North is turning blasphemous, Your Grace!"
When the North is mentioned, does King Robert make himself a little helpful; "Wha? How? Why? Ned's a good man; wha' idio' say he blashfemis?" It takes all he has not to keel over laughing or crying or both. If it wasn't for Robert screaming "Lyanna" out so loud or getting drunk on her nameday even more than usual, he wonders if it is really Ned Stark who is the Northern Love of the King's Life.
"They refused a Septa to teach their young daughters!"
"The North follows the Old Gods." Jaime pipes up.
"Yea'. Zhey don' even fo'ow 'our fai'h!" Robert slurred, ever ready to defend Ned's honour that everyone from the King to a washerwoman in Essos knows exists with a burning passion. On my life, he's getting drunker in front of the High Septon.
"The Lady Stark does!"
"Maybe she converted." He carelessly throws out.
The High Septon begins spewing his pounds of useless dung; to the Lannister, it is clear as day he wants a spy overseeing the activities of everyone everywhere. Anyone worth their salt should know that.
But the North is about to get more interesting. He just knows it.
Perhaps he can ask Tyrion to go there; run away from their father's...Tywin-ness, and join whatever craziness is happening north of the country.
Ser Barristan Selmy dislikes the King. That is a fact.
However, sometimes, he just wants to bang his head on a wall at Robert's antics. Apparently, he and Lord Eddard Stark have a long standing joke about White Walkers, the Long Night, and a direwolf army.
The King has, in all his ability, thus made it legal to own an army of direwolves, own a spy network, recreate Valyrian Steel (or at least try to), and remake an ancient metal that used to be available in the North but is now mysteriously extinct. Just what is Lord Stark doing?
And it seems Lady Kyra Stark is in the midst of most of the...events. Events that include: the bastard twin daughters of Lord Stark being legitimized as Starks, the North being given permission to hold councils of their own whenever they want without informing anyone, being allowed to throw out any person they think is an outside spy, Domeric Bolton being fostered in Winterfell, and finally, Moat Cailin being rebuilt by permission from His Grace, the King.
The North is, also, with Robert I Baratheon's permission, essentially ruling itself and being part of the Seven Kingdoms in name only.
He wonders if he can just run off from this...job...and live there forever.
Daeron Stormborn Targaryen gets a single raven, and decides to change his life.
Prince Daeron,
Come to Winterfell. We assure your safety, just don't bring your ponce of an older brother.
Lady Kyra Stark
So, without further ado, he dyes his hair a bright blue for the while, and leaves the Pentoshi Manse in the middle of the night. Let Viserys do what he will; Daeron wants no throne, only a hearth and safety.
He is welcomed in Winterfell without any hesitance, they do not label him for the actions of his ancestors, and for that, the Prince is grateful. And if Lyarra Stark (formerly Snow) has become his best friend, he's rather sure he won't be killed for it; threatened, maybe, killed, no.
After gaining enough trust, he's told of who Lyarra Stark is – Visenya Targaryen, also known as his niece. Still, Targaryens are Targaryens, so he does not really care. She doesn't either, to his immense relief.
Aegon Targaryen, Young Griff, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, dreams of a girl with moonlight pale skin, eyes of amethysts, and hair dark as the night sky. He has only a name: Lynara.
Years upon years later, Jon Connington is dead, and all he thinks is I need to get to Lynara.
Lord Monford Velaryon is his first destination; he describes her, and tells him her name, and recognition passes the man's eye.
"Lynara Stark, formerly a Snow, one of the twin bastard daughters of Lord Stark. But, of course, that is the best disguise they could come up with – you were dreaming about Rhaellys Targaryen, daughter of Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark, your half-sister. Go to your kin, lad, I've heard Daeron Targaryen is there too!"
Who would've thought that there was a secret Targaryen gathering in the North?
Maester Aemon Targaryen of the Wall knows.
Daeron, Visenya, Aegon and Rhaellys Targaryen all under one roof, and that too the Usurper's best friend's, even more surprisingly, Lord Stark is a loyalist.
Except, he is not a Targaryen loyalist. He is a Stark loyalist, and the Targaryens are more convenient for the Starks than the Baratheons.
Recently, a treaty between the giants, Northmen, and wildlings has finished, with much help from Lady Kyra. Perhaps he'll live to see his kin retake the throne.
Robb Stark, fourteen-year-old Heir to Winterfell, is sitting in a family meeting that consists of his parents, his equally fourteen-year-old cousins, Lyarra and Lynara (it was decided that the Stark children will be told the truth when they turn eight), his twelve-year-old sister, Sansa, his nine-year-old sister, Arya, his seven-year-old brother, Bran, and his four-year-old brother, Rickon. And of course, no one should forget Grandmother Kyra.
"So," Grandmother begins, "I have decided that, since you all are so close, and since the North needs to remain safe, there will be certain intermarriages. Sorry, Sansa, but no Southron marriage for you," she smiles apologetically.
"It's no matter," the redhead waves off, "I think I'd like to remain home."
"Ah, alright! Robb, I have eyes, and thus, you and Alys Karstark will be wed." He feels like jumping with joy at that, "Bran, what do you think of Meera Reed?" his little brother blushes heavily, "I thought so too. Rickon is still too young for that. Sansa, I know as well as you do, that Domeric Bolton isn't just a passing fancy." His sister gets a panicked look, "So I'm allowing it," she calms down.
"And Arya." Grandmother Kyra smirks, "How about Edric Mormont? I'm sure you'll love Bear Island."
Arya nods cheerfully.
"What about Lyn and Lya?" Sansa concernedly asks.
No! Already two of my sisters are matched, not the other two as well!
"I thought you had an eye for romance, my dove."
Sansa's eyes widen, "Aegon and Daeron?"
Robb's head whips to stare at his heavily blushing cousins/sisters as he gapes; how could he not have seen it?!
If those Targaryen boys are severely hurt the next day, well, no one can blame him, can they?
Lya and Lyn are extra difficult for the whole of next week.
Theon Greyjoy expected to be a hostage. And he is, to the South; here in the North, he is taught to be one of their own. Lord Manderly allows a little sailing, but he is in Winterfell for the most part.
And they can always bond on their shared hatred of Lannisters.
(He will never forget that kick aimed at Asha by a soldier in Lannister red. He will never forget Tywin's cold eyes as he votes for all of House Greyjoy to be extinguished.)
Lady Kyra is a wonderful person, and he easily believes that she is an ancestress and not an aunt by the changes she brings.
Giants, wildlings, Valyrian Steel, Icycle making, a direwolf army...really, by this point, he would betroth himself to Wylla or Wynafred Manderly to get an alliance. That's the amount of wonders he's seen in the North.
And not even to begin about the four Targaryens roaming around with their dragons or the bloody terrifying and pregnant Alys Stark née Karstark with access to direwolves (thank goodness they don't hurt anyone until ordered by a Stark or if that "anyone" hurts a person they're protective of).
Lyarra didn't mean to hatch the dragons.
She is just taking a walk with Daeron, having all around fun, and then there is an incident that she will not repeat with a fork, a tulip and the gifted dragon egg, and ta-da! Four dragons are born.
She has never believed that Vermax laid eggs in the crypts of Winterfell, but now she is forced to reconsider, looking at the four baby dragons.
The first is hers, named (quite aptly) Azantys, and blue and gold in colour; Lynara gets a red and black one which she names Aegarax; Aegon's is cream and green in colour, and she bears the name Solthys with pride; and Daeron got a pure black Black Dread reborn he named Terrax after Jaenara Belaerys' dragon.
Grandmother Kyra laughs.
Uncle Ned puts his face in his hands, and through his muffled voice she hears, "Couldn't you have waited until after Robert left, and not before?"
"It was an accident!" she defends.
For some reason, her uncle starts banging his head on a wall.
"You've gotten fat."
Ned looks pointedly at Robert's own stomach, and then both friends laugh.
"So, Ned, introduce me to your family!" the Northern Lord is surprised, he thought Robert would demand to be taken to the crypts first. Oh well, he'll begin.
"This is my honoured Aunt, Lady Kyra Stark, daughter of Brandon, and granddaughter of Artos Stark," he gestures to grandmother.
"Your Grace, it's good to see the man who's able to sit on that darned chair. I hope it's not terrible?"
Robert lets out a booming laugh, "Oh it's uncomfortable and darned, alright. I like her."
Ned quickly continues, "This is my lady wife, Lady Catelyn Tully." She gives a curtsy, "My son and heir, Lord Robb Stark, and his wife, Lady Alys Karstark, and then there is my grandson, Edwyn." The trio bow, curtsy or gurgle happily, "My twin daughters, Lady Lyarra and Lady Lynara Stark," again, perfect curtsies, "My younger daughters, Lady Sansa and Lady Arya Stark," curtsies, but this time a little wrong, but they're young and Arya is Arya, "My youngest sons, Bran and Rickon."
"That's a huge happy family you've got there, Ned!" his old friend claps his back.
"You're all tired from your journey, I'm sure, so I'll have Ned and the servants show you the way to your chambers for the week. And don't think you're getting out of that round in the practice yard from me, kids."
A collective groan from all his children – save Rickon, who is just five namedays old – can be heard, and Queen Cersei raises a brow, probably at the girls in the practice yard.
Darned Southrons.
(And now he is acting like Grandmother Kyra; maybe these are the woes of old age after all.)
Boom!
In the library of Winterfell, Tyrion Lannister jumps up a few feet, while Lady...Sansa, was it, doesn't so much as raise a head.
"My Lady, could you explain that?"
"Ah, I believe they are trying to recreate Valyrian Steel or Icycle Metal, I'm not sure which."
He gapes.
"You'll get used to them."
Boom!
The redheaded Stark gives a sigh, "Ah, Icycle Metal it is. We lowered the amount just yesterday! I don't know how they managed to do it with lesser direwolf sneezes than before..."
...Direwolf sneezes.
"Could you explain?" He finally gains his voice.
"Ah well, a few direwolves from the Northern Direwolf Army – that the King legalized, I assure you – sneezed once, and it made a small strip of Icycle Metal somehow. The experiments are still going on, though, as we unfortunately haven't uncovered the secret yet."
"Icycle Metal?"
"A thought-to-be extinct metal only found in the North."
As in the Land of Always Winter, or this North?
"You're a genius, Lord Tyrion! I'll inform Aunt Kyra immediately about this discovery made by your mind!" with that, the blue-eyed girl hurries off.
...What just happened?
Ugh, he isn't drunk enough for this. Where's the Arbor Gold?
A year later, Robert Baratheon dies, but he has already learned of his wife's infidelity an hour before, so when Joffrey tries to ascend as King, four dragons burn him alive.
Kyra is unaffected; she's seen what he can do.
Aegon takes the throne, with Lynara/Rhaellys by his side, and gifts Daeron and Lyarra/Visenya Dragonstone.
Jaime Lannister takes the black, Cersei is executed after a walk of penance, Tyrion becomes Lord of Casterly Rock and gets Myrcella and Tommen Hill as his wards, and Tywin (with Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch) is given to Dorne to do as they please.
The North is given its independence, and Lord Robb (Ned resigned after Robert left, without being able to convince him to become Hand) becomes King Robb, husband of Queen Alys and father of Prince Edwyn.
Kyra Stark is promptly made Hand of the Sovereigns. The Iron Throne is bought down (It's more trouble than it's worth, and too damn uncomfortable, I assure you.) and in its place is a double throne, for both the king and the queen, who now have equal rights.
The White Walkers come, but with four giant dragons, the legendary Icycle Metal, hordes of Valyrian Steel and a direwolf army, Westeros is saved.
Then the King and Queen burn down the Iron Bank on Kyra's advice.
"And this, my dear sweet children is how Grandmother Kyra saved the world." Queen Rhaellys/Lynara tells her grandchildren, Daeron, Jaehaerys, Aegon, Daena, Alysanne and Rhaenys.
"It's awesome!" little Rhaenys breathes.
From behind, her daughter Kyra the Younger laughs softly, "That it is."
A/N: So, how was this? Please review and tell me what you feel about this one-shot.