Prologue
"It's peaceful in here," Olyvar spoke in broken tones, as Alysanne tried her best to keep the pressure on his wounds. The blood coming from his torso was colder than humanly possible, but she refused to accept what her mind was telling her.
Everything is cold. Everything is lost.
Olyvar Frey was two years her senior, however, his sweet face and kind nature made him look younger. He had been Robb's squire before he was her loyal sworn-shield.
"We should stay here forever."
She looked around clearing, the moonlight shining almost mockingly upon them, the snow-covered fields giving the ancient place, imposing yet beautiful. It reminds me of Winterfell.
"Where are we Aly?"
"We are in the Isle of Faces, Ollie," She said softly, trying to keep the despair out of her voice. Her heart tightened painfully. How long has it been since someone called her by her childhood name? Aly. It sounded foreigner.
"It's like in the stories. Those you used to tell in the war camp." He said with a pale smile. "Aly, I'm cold." He whispered softly as his eyes closed.
"Olyvar." She called for him but knew in her heart that he would not answer her.
She left a familiar presence next to her, sniffling her, while she gazed at the fallen knight. Olyvar, who had been born of Walder Frey's seed, but had proven his loyalty to Robb and to her thousand times over. Sweet, kind Olyvar, who helped smuggle her out of the Riverlands, who crossed half the known world with her.
"He died protecting me," she whispered.
He named his son after Robb, she remembered. Robb Rosby, for Olyvar burned every association with his father's house, taking his mother's name. His young wife had died when the cold of winter took advantage of her weak post-childbirth body. He could be with his son, instead, he chose to fight a losing battle. He had always been kind to her, and she had always failed him.
"I need to bury him," her voice cracked. "I need to bury him. He deserves that much."
She desperately looked around, but there was nothing but trees and snow around her. I need a digging tool. She had her shortsword still in procession, whilst Dark Sister was by some weirwood tree. She had thrown it at a white tree in a black rage when they arrived at the isle. But her fine blades would do little for digging graves.
I need to bury him. He's all I have left. I need to bury. The words kept repeating over and over again in her head, and Olyvar was no longer Olyvar.
He was Lord Eddard, pulled down as Ilyn Payne came close with a sword, as Joffrey's words ran over her brain over and over and over until all she could see was a bloody sword.
He was her kingly brother hugging her and promising that he would see her after his uncle's marriage, and they would take back their home.
Her wild Rickon who had hugged her legs and begged her to stay before she left him forever.
Her fearsome Dacey, who always stood by her side, and was the best protector a person could ask for. Who promised to bring some souvenir from the Twins, but took all Alysanne's laughs instead.
Her fearsome Dacey, who always stood by her side, and was the best protector a person could ask for. Who promised to bring some souvenir from the Twins, but took all Alysanne's laughs instead.
Her passionate Oberyn, who married her as an equal and gave her propose when she had been lost.
Alys Karstark and Alysane Mormont, companions of youth, and friends for life. Who fought for her when she didn't believe she had any strength left in her.
Arya and Dany, her sisters in all but blood who believed and loved her above all.
He was her loving Domeric who defied all and wed her.
Her Domeric, who loved her when she was a bastard, for she loved art like him and had a beautiful mind, and a dreamer's soul. And begged her to never give up on love as he lay dying on their bed.
He was Jon.
The feeling fur against her tearful face jolted her back to the present. She was shaking. Her hands were blue. Her fingers trembled. Every part of her body ached even more. She looked at the snow-covered soil, marked with scratches, where her hands had been just beforehand. Did I just try to dig a grave with my bare hands?
"There is no use to it child. The ground has been frozen for moons." She turned her face towards the soft voice. A woman, as short as a child, with an inhuman look to her, appeared before glazy gaze.
"I need to bury him," she repeated the words.
The woman-child didn't understand. I didn't bury Lord Eddard, or Dacey or Robb. There were no bones left from the Fall of Winterfell, only empty funerals for Jon and Arya. Dany's body had fallen from her dragon in a last attempt to take down the enemy. And so many others. Too many others.
"I need to bury them." Her voice cracked.
"There is no point child. Let them go." She tried to still her soul, but all she could do was feel the pain in her heart. She dragged her body to Olyvar's, unclasped the pins she had given him, and pull the cloak from his cold body.
"He loved this damn cloak." The fine piece of cloth was made of red velvet and lined in white fur. It was ripped beyond repair and for some reason that pierced through her heart. She covered his body as best as she could. "It was his wife's wedding gift." She explained to the still night. Or was it daytime? It was so hard to tell nowadays. She tried to think of words to say. She had given so many speeches.
You always know what to say to a crowd, Dacey's voice teased her, it sounded like long-forgotten happiness.
Lady Catelyn used to hate how easy I could make people listen to me.
"It is unnatural Robb, a bastard girl commanding armies, worse people follow her. You need to send her away." The cold memory did no longer hurt her. Robb had not listened to Lady Catelyn, he had trusted her worth.
"Your Grace, we need to treat your wounds." The soft voice kept on talking, and she felt Winter caressing her face.
Her wolf was so alike Ghost that it was impossible to tell them apart, but somehow she always knew how. They were the true twins, unlike her and Jon that were as easy to tell apart as the sun from the moon.
Winter lost Ghost, and she had lost Jon.
Perhaps we died with our twins. She gripped the familiar white fur until her fingers could only feel pain. Her tears froze within her bony skin. I never got to ask Jaime if he felt this despair over losing Cersei. I almost feel sorry for killing her.
"I cannot live without you Jon." It had not been the first time she said those words. But there were no dark grey eyes to flinch at the words now like he did when he left her for Castle Black. Nor warm hugs and battered eyes when they saw one another after years.
"We were so different Jon, the bastard twins of Winterfell," she told the dead body that was not Jon, "but we were still two half of one soul. A soul was not meant to be torn in half."
"Come to somewhere warmer, child. You will die out here." The ageless voice kept telling her.
I shall see you soon Jon. Tell our family to wait a little more. I shall fall into your arms again Domeric.
"I need to see my brother," the command left her lips in a steel tone. Winter stood beside her, silently offering her support. She climbed atop her tired and injured wolf, taller than a horse and stronger too. Not even Old Nan would imagine they would grow this large.
She held onto to Ghost was they passed through white tree after white tree until they found themselves in a circle of weirwood trees. She climbed off Winter, who immediately fell asleep. I'm sorry old friend. She petted her wolf, noticing the dark red stains on the fur.
She sat in a branch of the largest of the trees that stood in the middle of the circlet. Her sword had somehow found its way to the main branch. She pushed her arm towards it. The light steel felt familiar in her arms, but not even the sword brought her strength. Another woman-child with nut-brown skin and mossy green slit eyes offered her some strange porridge. She could not remember the last time she ate. She took the bowl without offering anything in reply. But the woman-child didn't seem offended by it.
The Order of the Green Men.
Ages ago she would have asked thousands of questions to this group of men, if they could be called that. She would beg them to tell her all of their secrets, and the secrets of the world. But that child had died.
Secrets came with a heavy price. That was one of the lessons she learned in a hard way. She paid said price far too many times. She no longer wishes to know more.
Her violet gaze turned to the boy on the tree who looked older than the crone. Her violet gaze turned to the boy on the tree who looked older than the crone. His body was unnaturally skinny, his face seemed to have lost all of its life together along with its color. A corpse. Her eyes grew heavier and wetter.
A decade ago we would jump at an opportunity to meet such people. What have they done to us? What have we done to ourselves?
"What are we supposed to do now?" she whispered. "Is this not a sacred place? If so, I beg the gods, any god, to tell me what shall I do?"
She got no answer from the tree. It was a monstrosity that could cover a house under its canopy. The face was carved to perfection. It looked haunted, broken, and ageless, but clearly female, regal, and refine in its beauty. It brought a strange feeling to her chest.
She casted aside the fantastical in favor of thinking of a more tangible problem: the men and women that followed her into this strange place. Alysanne could remember their empty eyes – broken eyes – staring at her, waiting for her, hoping for her.
They had some foods: herbs and roots as there was no meat in the God's Eye. The birds had long ago fled to find warmer places, so not even they could be cooked. Hunger was not the main problem. The cold was. The cold would kill most, others would die of wounds taken in battle, some of some sickness. Had she not been broken and bleeding, she would have tried to give some of the men the mercy of death. Maybe someone would do the same for me.
She doubted it. For better or for worse- probably worse - she was their leader. What a leader! Father and Robb, Dany, and Jon, even Val, they must be really proud of the legacy they left in my hands. She tried to form something close to a plan, those brilliant plans that made Robb and Dany pick her as their right-hand, but nothing came.
Don't you see that I can't guide you? I never wanted to be a leader, she screamed in the emptiness of her mind, at the ghost of her past.
Every bone and muscle in her body heavy and tired.
She was done. She died and came back to life too many times. Not like Beric or even Jon, who literally died and came back to life, but she was surrounded by darkness and rebirth all the same. I want to close my eyes and see my family. I want to close my eyes and forget all rest.
She let her eyes close and hoped they never opened.
A dark wood door stood in front of her, carved dragons decorated each spot. Alysanne smiled as she opened the door. The room was decorated in velvet and furs, not the usual heavy tones but warmer ones – green, yellow, brown, and cream. Nothing like the stone and cold she had been used to lately, and much more comfortable than the war tent she had slept in before. It was a familiar room, where she spent late nights talking of state affairs or sharing academic studies, of nights wrapped in warm arms, of whispered dreams of lovers.
The room was just like its owner. A dream of spring.
"Willas," she called to him from the entrance of her chambers.
He sat in her bed with her daughter in his arms. He wore simple, warm clothes. No roses or gold in it, but lined in fur. No silk, but heavy velvet and wool. His light brown curls were a mess, his golden eyes had seen better days, and his body was more thin than slim, but to Alysanne, he never looked more handsome. I've missed you, my love.
A cry made her turn, and she left tears warming her face.
"Daeron." She called him, as she ran to him. Her baby was crying. Why was he crying? "Tyrion, give him to me," she told her friend, who was failing to calm her sweet son.
"It's too bloody cold in here." Willas cursed. She did not know he was capable of such speech, especially in front of her babies.
"What are you talking about, there are three hearths alight." She told her lover. She looked at her Daeron, still in Tyrion's arms. His face was painful to look upon. He did seem cold. And so pale. Daeron was not pale like her. He had the warm tones of the Dorne. His father's coloring in all but his eyes.
"Find him another blanket Tyrion. Now!"
"It hasn't stopped snowing. According to Marwyn we are approaching the eighth day." Tyrion carried her baby boy to the nearest hearth.
"He needs more blankets. The one Jeyne sew for him. It is his favorite." She told them, but they weren't listening. Who in their right mind told Tyrion he knew how to care for her baby boy?
"There has been no news since Moat Cailin," Willas spoke softly, "do you think-"
"Where is it? Jeyne made it." She grew desperate, taking matters into her own hands, and pacing around, unable to hold anything in the room. "Find me the blanket. Jeyne's blanket. That she sewed for her and Robb's child. She gave it to me. Find it."
"It was our last line of defense." Tyrion ignored Alysanne as she dropped onto the floor, sobbing.
"We failed Tyrion. I am so sorry. But they had Viserion, and they killed Dany. And I was alone. So alone. I'm so sorry."
He still didn't listen to her. "Sansa Stark still sent no word?"
"I don't think ravens can fly in this weather, either way. Besides, Lady Arryn locked the Bloody Gate from the outside world after Hardying said he was going with his army to Moat Cailin."
"He's dead." She told Willas, having seen it with her own eyes. "He proved himself an Arryn in the end. Brave and honorable. And he listened to my orders without complaint, I was surprised by that. Tell Sansa her husband died a hero. She'll like that."
For a second she wondered if Sansa would mourn her husband. Will she cry in despair as she did when she saw Oberyn fall? Will she fall into pieces, almost starved to death, and bruise her own arms with her fingers as she did with Domeric? She doubted. I was made for mourning and despair. Sansa had little love for Harry the Heir with his bastards and paramours. Nor does she have a great deal of love for me.
"Lord Arryn is dead. So it's the vale army. And so what has left form mine They all death! We need to leave." She spoke trying to find the strength to raise, to collect their most important belongings, but she was failing to hold onto anything. "We need to run!"
"We know what we have to do," Tyrion spoke firmly.
"You're the lord Hand," Willas spoke, his courtiers mask on, but his eyes were empty. "The Queen and the princess gave you orders to follow, I am sure-"
"If we don't get news in the next couple of days, I am naming your Lord Regent." Tyrion kept going, not allowing Willas to refuse. "Those were Daenerys and Alysanne's orders. And we will take as many children and women as we can to Essos. Ser Davos had been preparing ships for this." Alysanne's heart cried out when Willas let out a broken sob. Tyrion came close to Willas and put a hand on his knee. The babes stare at once another as if they knew they shared blood. Like Jon and I, but for the fact they are not twins.
"I am sorry Willas, truly. I know how much you loved her, but we have to put aside our pain for the people. Those were their orders, and I'll be damned if I let our pain destroy all Daenerys and Alysanne built."
Crying out, she jerked awake. She was surrounded by white root, blood red leaves, and cold darkness.
"Why did you do that? Why are you so cruel?" she asked the Gods.
She closed her eyes and let the emptiness swallow her. Drowning in its darkness, letting the coldness wrapped around her like a fine cloak. But someone was calling her name, far away, repeatedly.
Jon? Is that you Jon? Are you with our family? Is Domeric with you? Tell Old Nan she was right. We were nothing more than summer children with no idea of what we really wanted. Of the heaviness of what we wished for.
The voice reminded her of the boy who used to join her in the library, begging for a story. She wanted to tell the voice so many things. She felt something warm and wet cleaning the tears in cheeks. She knew the smell. Winter. What had I told Jon back then when I named her. That it felt right. Stupid girl. What did I know of winter? The nose of the direwolf tried to tilt her head. She opened her eyes and found an old child wrapped around a tree. She left like crying again.
"Aly" a soft voice, like the child she remembered reading stories to, called her.
"Bran. Why are the Gods so cruel?" she rasped out between breaths.
Her brother's solemn look did nothing to stop her despair.
"I just wanted my garden of herbs and books and tinctures. That's all I wanted. And Domeric. Am I paying the gods for begging to them to make Father marry me to Domeric? I loved him, Bran. I know I did. Do I have to pay for loving him? Is it because I murdered Tywin Lannister? I killed Cersei too, does it count as Kingslaying? Am I paying for it as well? Is it because I was not truthful to Oberyn as a wife should?"
"Aly." Bran's voice was barely a whisper, but the silence allowed it to carry around them. We are the only ones left. Her sweet Bran, the brother she was most alike, who wanted to be a knight and defend those who needed, just like clever Alysanne wanted to leave her mark on the world, to be more than just another bastard.
"I just wanted to be more than another forgotten woman. I just wanted a page in history. I wanted Lady Catelyn and Sansa to look at me with envy. To have them bow to me." She confessed her darkest secrets.
"The dragons cannot die."
The dragons cannot die? Is that my crime? I was supposed to be the Blood of the Dragon, like Dany. I saw three dragons die. And soon so will I. The wound in her body would make it a reality, or she would use her last strength to drive Dark Sister through her empty heart. It would be a suitable ending. Poetic even. Sansa might even write a song about it, only I will be the ice queen, the witch, the villain who tried to usurper the right order of things.
How is that of all siblings it is Sansa I remember the best? Is it guilt? I didn't feel guilty for what I did, I felt empowered.
Last time she saw Sansa, they had screamed at one another, finding blaming the other of every horror that had ever happened, and calling the worse possible names. And they both learned how to use words to cut. And they were sharper than Valyrian Steel that day. When Alysanne arrived in the Vale, in the same way, Visenya Targaryen had done 300 years before, Sansa and her new husband were getting the Vale ready for war. But they had already won that war, and when Sansa had demanded to be Lady of Winterfell, as it was her birthright. She laughed in her face. All the cruel words and mocking smiles of their childhood coming back in that moment, where Alysanne had triumphed over Catelyn Tully's look-alike daughter.
"There is a Lady of Winterfell already. Arya of House Stark. She united the North with Jon. We root out the Boltons. Burned down the twins and avenged our family. She is more loved than Lyanna Stark ever dreamt. Even the Freefolk stand with her. Her children will be the Starks of Winterfell, Lady Arryn. You can keep your impregnable mountain."
"I was petty and cruel. I know it, but you know how Sansa is, Bran."
"Ice and Fire need to exist in harmony." Bran was making no sense. What did that have anything to do with Sansa? With Alysanne's crimes?
"The dragons cannot die."
The dragons were dead. Was he blaming me for that as well?
"Aly!" The sternness in his voice made her pain attention.
Bran was not Bran. His eyes pierced her with a newfound strength that shocked her. What did he see? What does he want of me? She had known the previous Three-Eye-Crown. She had learned a great deal from him. And in those eyes, not Stark grey, not Tully blue, but the moss green of those gifted by the Sight, she saw Brynden Rivers's blood gaze. Not the broken man locked into a tree, but the man who ruled the country for a quarter of a century and plotted for gods know how long afterward. The man she had admired for so long.
What are you willing to do for the realm?
"Aly, the dragons cannot die. A stronger kingdom with decades to prepare for the Long Night can stand to face them at the end. The dance cannot be stopped, but the outcome can be different. The ink isn't dry! I can turn the course of this river!"
His words made no sense. But the conviction on his voice that made her believe him. Made her understand what he needed of her.
What are you willing to do for the realm?
I am Alysanne Snow. Daughter of Eddard Stark. She used to whisper in the black cells of King's Landing as she waited for Cersei's judgment.
I will not spend the last of my days hiding and crying. I will not allow their deaths to for anything. The North Remembers and we'll get our vengeance. This shall not be our end. Our fathers and their fathers would spit on us if we allowed it so. We may leave now, but we shall return. Ten times stronger. And we'll show them what runs in our blood. She had vowed to herself, to Brynden Tully and Arya, to Tallhart and Manderly, to the Blackwoods and the Mallisters.
Fear cuts deeper than swords. Syrio had taught her and Arya.
She looked into Bran's eyes and repeated his words in her head. The look in his solemn eyes, so full of knowledge and but so grim, and she knew.
She knew he had a plan that she did not know or yet comprehend. She knew it would probably cost the little humanity left in her. Only death pays for life, and what they would do would require blood. A sacrifice. That would be the blackest of her sins. She knew it in her cold bones. They were in the God's Eye after all.
What are you willing to do for the realm?
"Will it guarantee us a victory?"
"Yes." He replied heavily.
What are you willing to do for the realm?
"What do you require of me?" I am more than willing to die, and if I have to take some with me. What are a couple of lives against the world?
"You will be born again, in another time. And you will prepare this country for the wars to come."
That was not what she was expecting. The dance cannot be stopped, but the outcome can be different. "You wish to send me to the time of the Dance of Dragons." The words sounded foreigner to her. She had seen dragons dance once, it had been enough.
"Yes. A leader to prepare us for the Long Night. Brynden Rivers came too late. I came too late. And neither of us knew what to do. The old secrets had been forgotten with the true enemy. But your blood is powerful enough that with the right sacrifice it can send you back and change the course of time."
I cannot do this again. I can't fight another war. She didn't have that strength, the iron-will. She was tired and broken. She had been ripped apart and mend too many times to have in her what it needs.
What are you willing to do for the realm?
"How?"
"You will be another person, with her own life and her own memories," Bran spoke with a gentle- human – tone. Like the brother she had long thought she lost. Bran who refused to fall asleep before she read or told a story, just like Rickon used to her begged for lullabies. "You won't feel the grief, the pain, and the suffering of this life in your soul that is a gift I can offer you."
"But I won't also remember Daenys nor Daeron." She whispered, her head bowing down with the weight of her words. Why does it have to be her? Why does she have to sacrifice the only two flames of hope she has left?
What are you willing to do for the realm?
Not this. Not them!
"A second chance Aly." She looked at Bran. "A chance to truly enjoy your life, a chance to find love, to see your children grow."
"What is the cost?" She spoke because she knew Bran, and by now knew how the gods work. She will not be convinced by someone into a path without knowing its costs. Daenys and Daeron are the cost. Her heart screamed at her head. You will be the biggest monster in existence.
"By changing the course of the river, it will destroy the old path."
"If I go back, time will change. People may not be born." She was shaking by the end, and not from the cold. Her heart called her all the horrible names in existence for even thinking of considering doing it.
"Yes. You will be sent to a child's mind. A child that wasn't supposed to live. I am giving you 200 years. Do not let the dragons die, and find secrets long forgotten."
Brynden Rivers and Melisandre came to her mind. Neither painted a good picture of an abnormally long life. "You want me to go back in time, have children, and find love. Only to see them die while I stay alive?"
What are you willing to do for the realm?
"Yes." He spoke with a heavy tone.
She tried to imagine what Jon would do. What father would do? What Arya would do? I don't know if Daenys and Daeron yet live. They are young children with their entire lives ahead of them. I will never see them grew up, wed, have children of then own. How can I live them to be orphans? She had seen the look on Bran's eyes when she mentioned them but refused to interpret it. She couldn't. If so the pointed end of Dark Sister became even more attractive. But I will kill them if I go through this.
"What will happen if I do not do this?"
What are you willing to do for the realm?
Was she truly willing to erase her loved ones – her children – from existence.
"We all die. Westeros will die. The narrow sea is freezing, and winter has come to Essos as it did to us. There are already plagues everywhere. And soon the army will cross. I cannot see past that."
She remembered the heart-stopping pain she left as her family slowly died, one by one, but also the love she left once she held her babies for the first. She remembered Winterfell, father's proud smile, Robb's warmth, and Jon's understanding, Sansa's dreamlike nature and Arya's laugh, Bran's curiosity, and Rickon's cheerfulness. The family she created with time. Daenerys's courage and Oberyn's passion, Tyrion's wit and Willas intelligence, Brienna's fairness, and Davos's loyalty, Ser Barristan dedication, and Shireen's kindness. Even Jaime, Stannis, and Sandor who proved to her that even fallen men could find in them to be heroes in the end.
Domeric's pure devotion, Dacey's hidden sweetness, Willas encompassing love.
Daeron's first steps. Daenys first word. Their first smile.
She could see it all like it was yesterday.
What are you willing to do for the realm?
"When do we start?" She asked with conviction, a drive she had long believe forgotten.
Author's Note: Appendices
Hello everyone, thank you for reading this story and I hope you enjoyed it. In case it is your first contact with it, this story was to be previously posted in the Game of Thrones section, but after some reviews I decided to post it in here, instead, and honestly, it should have been in here from the first.
As for Alysanne Snow, my main protagonist, I shall add now some considerations and backstory.
Firstly, in my first idea of the story, it was Daenerys who would be the one sent back, but for the plot going forward (on onto the past), it needed to be a Stark with Targaryen blood, the "balance of ice and fire". I had created the character of Alysanne Snow for a story that I had written some years ago and it all came together.
As for Alysanne Snow, she is, of course, the daughter of Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark, with much of the same childhood as Jon Snow. She was very close to Robb and Jon as the only people her age she befriended with as a bastard. She was studious and somewhat self-reliant. She wanted to be a Maester but women were not allowed to study at the Citadel, and she never got the support she wanted for her desire to pursue knowledge, for she was a woman and a bastard, something that made her resentful. As a child, she viewed Sansa and Catelyn as the "monsters under her bed", and with time her resentful went towards them, and she held a grudge for the rest of their lives.
She was also an archer and gifted in womanly arts such as dancing and music, but no matter how hard she tried could never match Sansa in needlework or poetry. She loved herbology, alchemy, math, and history, and most of all, any time of art.
Her favorite brother (besides Jon) was Bran, in this story, she had taken care of him for a year after his birth because Lady Stark suffered from birth complications.
She was wed for little more than a year to Domeric Bolton. He was her first love, and the first men outside Robb and Jon to accept her desire to study. She later married Oberyn for an alliance with Dorne, and became Willas Tyrell's lover, after taking King's Landing with Daenerys.
About the Prologue:
It follows the typical structure of a POV who dies at the end, even if we don't see the "death" this time.
Alysanne is fully aware she is about to die from the beginning, so her thoughts are a mess of trying to figure out an escape and survive, remembrance, and guilty. She, in a way, goes through the stages in this.
And confesses to the Gods (and/or Bran) her most grievous crimes, those too in a way say a lot about her character.
Some small details will be hints at what's to come in her second life, which will begin in the years prior to the Dance of the Dragons, and its build-up to it. For example, her constant mention of Arryn's comes from the fact she will be the daughter of one (Aemma Arryn) and will have close ties with them, and her relationship with her siblings (especially Sansa) will play a big part in the Dance.
I hope you stick around and please leave your review.