1. Rewinding The Wheel.
"Sansa Stark, Queen in the north, You stand accused of attempted murder, you stand accused of treason, against Crown and kin. The penalty for your crimes is death."
With the last member of his pack about to be struck down, the Chained Wolf snarled, as he fought harder then he had in a long time , against the spell binding him to the three eyed Raven, but he cannot get free, every time he makes some progress he is instantly sucked back and pressed to the tapestry of time beneath him, above him, in front of him, behind him, surrounding him on all side.
No End.
No beginning.
A prisoner.
Forced to follow the threads of time and watch as the world turned so very cold and so very dark, as blood flowed and blue fire burned the living and ice quelled screams and returned the dead, as the last of his surviving pack scattered to the winds, and darkness started to creep on his view of the past, present and future.
Sharp pain bit into his skin, Sansa was suddenly before him the same dagger that had almost taken his life long ago in her hands tearing open the flesh, where the Night King had marked him, serving as an anchor to the body of Brandon Stark once more, the stillness, pain and magic of the wound for a moment drawing forth the part of him that used to be the boy so loved by his family. Granting him the control he had lost so many years ago.
What a beautiful terribly lonely thing forever had been, was the first coherent thought in Brans Mind, It was dizzying finding himself again and he frantically tried to hang on, tried to find his way around the chaos. Find a way around the voices and an endless loop of memories from before and yet to come.
He was-
He was.
BRANDON STARK!
Bran! If there is any part of you that's still in there brother. Fight, Bran! Fight !
He was trying... but it was so hard.
The Three eyed Ravens was so much stronger then him.
Still he Tried to take what he knew, to figure out where it had all gone wrong, make out some meaning and maybe, dear gods, maybe he could undo it, stop it from ever happening while he still had time.
His mind suddenly recalled the tower of joy, how his father had responded to his call.
More images came to him and he began to think deeply while he was still in control,he had to come up with a way to save them all from himself now.
He thought hard about what to do to help not only his family, but the souls consumed by the war of the five kings, the long night, the reign of the three eyed raven and after a many moments of contemplation, an answer appeared before him in the flames that sprung to life surrounding him and in them he saw a fledgling dragon on her precipice. Not yet living, nor dead. The beginning of an idea came to him.
He nodded to himself and transported his his mind to beginning again.
This was it! This was what he had missed before due to the brutal onslaught of memories imprinted into his mind by the blood Ravens take over.
Yes, that could work.
What had Master lewen said about war. His voice creaking, but steady filled his ears suddenly as if he was right there with him.
In times of war. A single grane of rice can tip the scales.
One soul could be the difference between victory and defeat. Lord Brandon remember that.
And before him was the soul he sought.
In saving this one soul, he could alter the fate of thousands.
He wished there was a way to save everyone, but there would still be losses. One great loss he couldn't risk changing was before him now, because he could see where preventing his Aunt Lyanna's death led.
The destruction of house Stark all over again by Robert Baratheon hand.
But maybe he could save the daughter and earn her forgiveness that way.
There had been two children born at the tower of joy, not one.
The first born had been a girl. A creature not only born of magic, but with magic. So Powerful, it burned bright like the sun.
In the tower again Bran made his way to the cradle in which the fledgling she dragon lay still and almost unmoving but for the Rapid and irregular breathes pulling the tiny chest in at the ribs, below the breastbone, and above the collarbones, her tiny lungs unable to take in air.
The wet nurse Wylla in her haste to bring Jon into the world and stop his aunt Lyannas bleeding had not noticed that the girl babes airways had not been cleared and the she dragon child would die in seconds as she had before Brans farther arrived again if not helped.
He knew what to do now.
He would not allow the child to die or history to repeat it self.
For the humanity to survive the long night. The dragon need three heads.
The pact of fire and ice had to be reconstituted and tied together by blood.
He reached out to bind the mind of the wet nurse Wylla to his will. Moving her body as his own he reaches for the girl child and tilts the babes head back gently, seal his mouth over her mouth and nose. Blows five times into the baby, until finally the child cries out a fierce cry.
A pair of violet eyes open and darkness retreats in defeat.
He looked to what had changed and what hadn't and smiled.
Everything was so much brighter now.
Caw! CAW! What have you done? Cawed a Three Eyed Ravens from the window sills of the tower before they flew at him and beat their wings angrily at him.
"What had to be done to make sure you never win! Bran shouted using his body to shield the fledgling dragon away from the flock of angry ravens digging their talons-and beaks into his flesh, keeping some distance between them.
Only to see the she dragons eyes flash gold and The Ravens fly backwards as if attacked by an invisible force, throwing the winged creates so hard into the tower wall that they fell boneless on the floor and stared at the she dragon in horror, before flying away, cawing darkly.
He stared down at his little protector in awe and smiled with joy he had been incapable of feeling in many a years.
A true protecter of the realm she would be.
But the balance had to be maintained.
And only death may pay for life.
Bran can now feel his leaving him as recompense and with little time he has left Branden Stark transferred all that he had been witness to on to the child's mind. The memories to be unlocked when the she dragons magic deemed it was time.
The brand of the Night King too now her burden to bare.
888
Lyarra Snow awoke with a jerk, breath and heart racing, a strange and familiar pain emanating from her hand shaped birthmark.
The scent of roses, blood and fear imprinted on her mind.
The words. Promise me! Ringing in her ears.
This was the fifth time she'd had that dream in the past week. And every night it was the same, except, this time she had seen a boy she could have sworn was her brother Bran, his face a few years older and bathed in blood.
The wind outside her chambers howled and roared. It sounded as if wolves and lions were at war.
Unease twisted her stomach and panic blurs her vision as her hand clutch the material of her nightdress. She stared around her small shabby room, with its second hand furniture and piles of books and papers strewn everywhere half expecting the older Bran to be there, staring down at her as he had been in her dream. The moon shone in through her thin bed curtains, the shadows they cast on the floor letting Lyarra know it was a lot earlier than her usual wake up time.
still she cautiously and more than a little ungracefully tumbled out of her small bed and made her way to the window and threw the shutters open carelessly and with all of her strength, only to cringe at the loud bang it made in the silent castle.
Lyarra shivered at the cold, moved away from the window and swiftly and silently dressed, put her winter boots on her feet and cloak around her shoulders and walked out of her room as quietly as she could so as not to wake Jon in the room next door.
She would not get any peace in her room, so she was going to the only place she felt at home in winterfell.
The Library tower.
As Lyarra made her way across the courtyard towards the tower the burning of her hand shaped birthmark increased, so much so that she faltered in her steps more then once.
The cold sips into her bones.
The winds whispered in her ears Winter is coming.
If she were anyone else Lyarra would think the strange happenings around her lately to be ill omens foreshadowing impending doom.
But Lyarra Snow does not believe in, Gods, Destiny or Prophecy. As for omens. There is no such thing as an omen. Destiny does not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that. Right?
888
Deep in the North beyond the wall in the lands of always winter the ice shifted and cracked then a a pair of inhuman blue eyes snapped open.
The Night King had woken up from his centuries long sleep, ready to make the world of the living weep in fear.