Jon III

Jon had to admit, if he were an outsider, he would've been awfully suspicious of The Warden of the North, his wife, his heir, and his bastard son converging for hours on end every day in the room usually reserved for war councils. He would've speculated, gossipped, and shared, which, understandably, was exactly what the castle staff was doing. It was their fault really, they should've been doing it after supper, maybe, or in the wee hours of the morning.

Some people theorized they were discussing the fate of Winterfell, that Jon may become its Lord rather than Robb. Others thought that they finally became privy to the knowledge of Jon's mother, and that the Lady was so mad she was planning to send Jon as far away as possible. He'd heard that the family was pondering squireship for Jon, so that he could serve his trueborn brother when he became Lord of Winterfell. The gossip was endless, and the popularity of the subject around the castle left Jon without a doubt; they had to come up with a plausible explanation, and do they had to do it soon.

But first, he thought, a little attention should be paid to those left out in the meetings.

A breeze lazily drifted through the godswood as Jon corrected Bran's stance. Arya curiously looked on.

"You have to keep your weight evenly distributed, Bran. Don't lean forwards or back."

"I am!" Bran insisted, frustrated.

"No your not," Arya said calmly from the sidelines, but there was a smirk in her voice. He shot her a warning look, hoping that Bran hadn't detected it, but was too late.

Bran whipped around and stomped his foot, "Why don't you try it then, Arya? Because I'm sure you're a master archer!"

"I might as well be!" Arya retaliated, "Give it here, I want the bow." She dove for the wooden bow in Bran's hand, but he spun out of the way.

"No, you're not getting it! It's my turn, you'll have yours next!"

"Give. it. Here." Arya shot her hand out, wrapping her little fingers around the grip and pulling. The wood of the bow groaned in stress.

"Ok, stop it you two," Jon decided to intervene, "I brought you out here to learn archery, not to quarrel. Your mother and father don't allow this- one more fight and your screwed." They backed away.

"Speaking of that, " Arya said with a slightly suspicious tone, "Why are you doing this if Mother and Father don't want you to?"

"Yeah," Bran echoed, "Why?"

Because the Long Night still might come despite my intervention, Jon thought, Because there will come a time where you both must fight for your lives.

"Why not?" was what he said instead, "Bran, you're going to learn how to fight soon enough, there's no harm in getting ahead. And Arya," he hesitated a little here, trying to come up with a plausible excuse, "Whether anyone likes it or not, you'll eventually find your way to a weapon. Might as well train you instead of having you train yourself, yeah?"

The two children stared at him and he was struck with a thick sense of nostalgia. When had those eyes last been so innocent, so childlike? He remembered Bran's The Three Eyed Raven's empty chilling gaze and Arya's No One's hardened and cold eyes with a shiver.

He silently vowed to protect the siblings. Those eyes wouldn't see the horrors they once had, not if he had a say in it.

"Now keep your feet shoulder length apart," he instructed, "and keep your back straight."

He watched as Bran carefully pulled the bowstring back and narrowed his eyes upon a knot in one of the trees- their makeshift target. Arya was enraptured as well, but surely for different reasons than Jon.

Bran readied his fingers, shifted his feet, and stood up straight. Jon hummed assuringly. Bran wasn't the best archer before his fall, but he was hoping to change that. Even if Bran had to lose his legs down the line, he could still be able to practice archery in his chair. It would be very difficult and would require a ton of modifications, admittingly, but it would certainly be an easier way to protect himself compared to the sword.

The arrow flew from the bow and smacked into the tree with a thud. The wrong tree.

"Oh come on!" Bran shouted while Arya laughed in what was most likely schadenfreude.

They had a lot of work to do, it seemed. Jon vaguely wondered if it was himself that was the problem, not Bran, because although Jon was considered one of, if not the, best swordsman in the seven kingdoms by the time of his death, his bow-and-arrow skills left something to be desired.

Before the sword and spearmen would be sent into battle against the Others, archers would fire arrows encased in white-hot flame into the enemyƛ midst, lighting sometimes dozens on fire at once. He had always watched in fascination, and maybe a little bit of jealousy. Archers were crucial in the battles of Long Night, and, most of the time, they got to stay out of harm's way. Jon was always in the middle of things, swinging Longclaw with unbalanced vigor amongst blood and sweat and dirt and bodies. He would much prefer his siblings be the archers atop the walls, sending down lethal fiery arrows with unmatched accuracy than fighting the enemy head-on, sword to sword.

"How 'bout we take a little break," Jon suggested, "I don't think we're going to get much further in this session."

Arya groaned, "But Jon!"

Bran dropped the bow into the hard dirt and leaned against a tree.

"No need to whine," he said, "I have a fun idea to do instead."

They both perked up, looking at Jon with unhidden curiosity.

"What is it? What's your idea?"

"Go get Sansa, Robb, father, and your lady mother and I'll tell you."

Arya rushed off yelling about how she'll tell father and Robb, but Bran lingered behind, shuffling his feet.

"You want mother to come?"

Jon frowned. He supposed that if even young Bran would find it suspicious, they most definitely had to come up with some sort of cover story. Lady Catelyn's distaste for her husband's bastard wasn't necessarily a secret amongst Westeros, and her not only having meetings with Jon, but doing family activities with him was sure to raise some eyebrows.

"Yes," he answered carefully, "She is your mother, after all."

He peered at Jon for another moment, and the man was uncomfortably reminded of the Three Eyed Raven's all-knowing stare. Was Bran developing greensight abilities even now? They would be severely lacking, yes, but, similarly to warging, Bran could be having dreams, cluing him in on information he wouldn't be able to understand. Jon stored the thought in the back of his brain, deciding, when appropriate, teach the Stark children to harness their warging powers, and maybe help Bran with his greenseeing ones.

Bran grabbed the bow off the ground, turned, and ran towards the entrance of the forest.

"Arya! Wait up!"


The bluff was beautiful in the summer, Jon couldn't help but notice. The sun (oh the wonderful sun) reflected off the roaring river and illuminated the vibrant greenery around them. The cliff's limestone stood strong and dependable to the east, slanted enough to not be able to walk down it without sliding, but to still be able to easily get to the cave entrance.

"So," Robb started, "This is the bluff. Jon and I used to go here as kids. And Theon. We decided to bring you guys here as well."

Even Sansa, who was a few seconds ago complaining about her new dress getting torn by a pricker bush, was in awe at the sight.

"We've decided that this is going to be our emergency meeting spot," his father announced, "In case anything goes wrong, we meet here, okay?"

Echoes of confirmation were mumbled throughout the family.

"Now who could tell me how to get here again?" Catelyn asked, feigning forgetfulness.

"Go west to the river," Robb prompted.

"And follow it upstream!" Arya finished.

"And what does upstream mean?" Ned asked with a raised eyebrow.

The younger kids' murmurings were indecipherable.

"It means against the flow of the water," he supplied with a sigh.

They all nodded their heads.

"Jon, I thought this was supposed to be fun! Not a safety lecture!" Arya said, disappointment evident in her voice.

"Who said it wasn't fun?" He smiled, "There's a cave over there we could play in. Also, I spy a vine we could swing on. It's surely warm enough to swim."

Their faces lit up as the dashed to the bluff, trying to climb it determinedly, despite being hindered by their short legs and small hands.

"Well, I guess my dear wife and I should be heading back to the castle," his father began, "Gods know I can't keep up with those two."

"And I should be getting back to Rickon," Catelyn continued, "I don't like leaving him for so long with his nursemaid." Even with declaring this, the couple seemed to hesitate leaving. He and Robb nodded in understanding.

"We'll handle the little rascals, don't you worry a bit," Robb said.

"I've had more than enough years of experience dealing with them. I'm practically an expert by now," Jon admitted, "Go back to the castle and take in the peace and quiet. We've got everything under control here."

Ned's eyes flitted over to quarreling children in the mouth of the cave. He sighed, "Best be on with it, then."

But before they could turn around and make their way back to the castle, a messenger burst his way into the clearing.

"An important letter, my lord and lady, an important one indeed. Came just now, sir, I was told to bring it to you right away. Here it is, my lord, my lady, here it is, here it is."

He passed the thick parchment over to Jon's father, and his sharp intake of breath was audible.

Jon looked over his shoulder and felt his heart skip a beat.

It was marked with the Lannister seal.


They barged through the castle doors, startling a few servants. Almost everyone immediately stilled and unabashedly quieted in hopes of hearing what the commotion was about. They paid them no mind and continued at a quick pace to his father's solar.

"Sansa, please take the little ones to your Septa at once. If anybody stops you and asks what's happening, you shake your head and say you don't know. Clear?" Catelyn's voice sounded strained and rushed.

"Yes, mother," the ever-obedient Sansa replied, grabbing the arms of Bran and Arya and dragging them away, with only a little over-the-shoulder glance to reveal her curiosity.

Jon missed the Sansa who'd become something like a queen during the Long Night. A powerful, proud, confident woman, who'd suffered as much if not more than everyone had. She was a beacon hope in the darkness of winter. Shame she had been killed in that life, and has yet to get her head out of the clouds in this one.

His father opened the solar door, dismissing a loitering servant (who was undoubtedly going to try to eavesdrop with the excuse of cleaning that very specific piece of molding for an unusually long time) with a flick of his hand.

They all crowded around the desk, and he and Robb shared a look. It was a look of understanding on one hand and a look of agreement on another.

His father hastily broke the red wax seal and unfolded the letter.

"Read it aloud, father," Robb instructed with barely concealed energy (Jon faintly wondered whether it was the nervous or excited variety).

Ned's eyes briefly flitted over the letter's expanse before settling at the top. He sighed wearily.

"Dear whichever Stark who happens to read this first," His father began, eyebrows creasing in confusion.

Even though the greeting had scarcely been read, Jon was nearly convinced the letter wasn't written by Tywin. It had a certain Tyrion-esque charm about it, also one that sometimes possessed Jaime when he wasn't weighed down by the world around him.

Why were they writing? At this point in time, Jaime was the disgraced Kingslayer and Tyrion was known for nothing more than his impishness. What business would they have with The North?

He continued, " It has made itself clear that a week ago has not, in fact, happened yet, and I find that to be quite curious. In other words, I have found myself catapulted fifteen years into the past."

Jon gave a startled shout. Was it possible? That more than just he had been sent back in time to correct the future? Now that he thought about it, the Raven hadn't specified that only he would be sent back. He cursed himself for not thinking of the possibility before. The Raven had always been known to withhold information. What made him think that time was any different?

"Jon, did you know about this?" His father's voice surprised, confrontational, and maybe even a little accusing.

"I hadn't even thought of the possibility," he admitted, "but if the Lannister brothers are back, who knows who else is? People who survived up till the end, I suppose. Our opportunities- they just widened exponentially! We could do so much more even with just Tyrion and Jaime!"

"When did you gain lion-taming skills, brother?" Robb asked amusedly, "You, the Imp, and the Kingslayer. What a group."

"Their claws are just as sharp as ever, Robb, maybe even sharper. They just see the bigger picture now; they're looking beyond their own interests."

"A Lannister not acting selfishly?" Lady Stark scoffed, "What ever happened to them to cause that drastic change?" She shook her head, mumbling.

Jon nodded towards his father in an unspoken command.

Read on.

"If you do not know what I am talking about, stop reading now. Forget this letter, burn it if you must, dismiss it as the ramblings of a mad man. If you do, then I believe we have a lot to discuss. Please reply in haste if you know my predicament, either in experience or in stories. There are plans to be made, people to save, wars to prevent, and alliances to be formed."

"Some of which already created and outlined by ourselves," his father added, "in our responding raven we should explain them."

"I doubt they have gone without making plans themselves, too," Jon continued, "There are many distinctive things to sort out solely among the Lannisters, and having allies within the family will undoubtedly benefit us in that regard."

Like the whole incest thing, Jon thought wryly, along with Brienne, among other matters.

"I won't even require you wolves to trek south, " his father continued to read, "for I don't doubt that our disappearances could be excused by any number of things if necessary. Cersei is the only problem when it comes to that, but we remain untouched and free from her claws for now, strengthened by the memories of her madness and years in fighting a frigid war. She is one woman, and we are two men. We know her secret and we could shout it for all of Westeros to hear if need be. All she has is an indifferent drunkard man-whore of a husband."

The Lord of Winterfell visibly frowned at this, although Jon wasn't sure if it was the part about Robert or the part about Cersei that generated the reaction.

"She is the Queen, though," said a voice to his left. He turned to look at Robb.

"She could declare treason in an instant. And we've already established that the King can't even recognize what's right in front of him," his brother continued.

Robb was right- Cersei traditionally had more power than they did. She had executive control, and troops to call to arms. Their little ragtag group, though? They had the power of pure unadulterated will. They had the power of the past, the power of the gods, the power of the people. If situations escalated to the declaration of treason, it would be really up to Tywin Lannister to decide which way the odds would lean. And that was truly unpredictable. Would he side with his daughter? His sons? Jon hoped it would never come to that.

"There's always a chance..." Jon replied hesitantly, "but I trust they could escape Kings Landing if it comes down to it. And if they die, well, I suppose we could employ the help of a red priest or priestess. Reviving people is always a tricky and hard business, but if R'hllor plays a part in this, which I suspect he does, it's most definitely a possibility."

"Do you believe in this R'hllor? Really?" Lady Catelyn asked, "Didn't the Old Gods bring you back here?"

Jon sighed, "Most directly, yes, the Old Gods brought me back in time. But what the Raven did...the amount of power...I can't rule out the involvement of other gods. And I have seen the sun god's work in action, I was brought back to life after dying by a red priestess, after all. I suppose I believe in more than one religion, then," he concluded, "I believe in what has proven itself to be true."

He had actually never thought about it before. The Old Gods he would consider his primary religion, an "if you could only choose one," if you will. But R'hllor? The Seven? The Drowned God? He couldn't discredit their existence. He nodded at his father to continue the letter.

"I do understand that this letter will generate unprecedented amounts of hubbub around the North, and would like to propose an excuse: We are curious about whether we could buy ice and sell it down south for monetary value, that is all. Tywin Lannister will send his sons, Tyrion and Jaime, to broker a deal. Whether his sons will come back from this expedition? Well, that's not up to him, now is it?"

He quietly snorted at Tyrion's words. He knew that even if one of the brothers return south, one would unquestionably stay north. Back then, he would guess that Tyrion would be the one to stay, drawn like a magnet to a world beyond the reaches of his sister and father, but now he had to guess Jaime to be the eventual one.

Jon winced, thinking of how terrible it must be for his friend, having to be around Cersei constantly. Staying North would be a much-needed reprieve. He blinked back into attention when his father spoke.

"We certainly have enough ice to go around," he said, "We may actually profit from it. That is if the offer seriously stands."

They nodded in agreement. Jon could barely fathom selling ice to the south, haunted by the memories of ice stretching as far as the eye could see. The fact that such a substance could be desirable baffled him personally, but he could still understand its uses. If you mix the frozen substance with salt it would stay colder for much longer, not terribly inefficient for transportation.

"We pledge allegiance to Jon, for the ultimate goal of the prevalence of light over dark. Best regards, Tyrion and Jaime of House Lannister," Ned finished.

Well, Jon thought, that was certainly a welcome surprise.