Sansa

She hated traveling. Really she always had, but her days with Littlefinger, being dragged through the Riverlands, the Vale, then the North, had fully soured her on the idea. And the fact that she hadn't even gotten to go to the North on this trip, just to Riverrun and then turning around to go back south, seemed unfair. She wished she could have seen Robb, and Ser Rodrick, and Maester Luwin, and Theon... oh, Theon. What would her family do with him? For now they had simply let him stay in the same position, but surely Robb and Mother were wary of him, given that Arya would have told them what he had done, how he had betrayed Robb. Mother had never trusted him, and understandably so, she supposed. The Greyjoys were known to stir trouble, and Theon had been swayed by his father before. He must never be allowed to go to the Iron Islands, then it wouldn't happen again. As long as he stayed with Robb, he would remember that he loved him like a brother.

And she wanted to see Jon, too. She had come to rely on him, in their time together as Winterfell, and she had missed him when he had gone beyond the wall, but that hadn't been very long. In the time since returning to the past, she had realized how useful she had found his counsel, even when she disagreed with it. And assuming he did get his memories back, she had much she needed to discuss with him. But she didn't get to see Jon, or Robb, or Theon. She didn't get to stay with Arya or Bran or Rickon or Mother or Father. No, she was here, all but alone, heading back to the most dangerous place in the realm. She appreciated Jory's company, but it wasn't the same. He was her father's friend, she might trust and respect him but she really didn't know him very well, and there were things he could never say to her because of her position. And he didn't know the truth. She alone in the capital would truly know what was happening. As they made camp for the night, yet again, Sansa looked out towards the East, where, far beyond her horizon, Blackwater Bay sat. They would be at King's Landing in two days, give or take, and she would have to play the naive young girl while also saving King Robert, bringing down Littlefinger, and convincing Queen Margaery she was to be trusted. And during that time, she would have to figure out exactly what it was she wanted. When the Great War played out and was won, when Daenerys was somehow dealt with, what end goal did she have in her sights? Her family's survival, obviously, but what about for her?

"Something wrong, my lady?" Jory asked.

"No. Just in a contemplative mood, I suppose."

"Ah." He nodded. "Your father often gets in those."

"And what does he do when he has an impossible question to ponder?"

"Asks for help, I suppose."

"Hmm." But she couldn't ask for help. Not with this. And certainly not here.


Arya

The closer they had gotten to Winterfell, the more relaxed Father had seemed. As they rode into the gates, he was smiling. But he wasn't quite as happy as Robb.

"Father!" he exclaimed, as soon as he saw him. He sounded like a child, not someone who had been acting as Lord of Winterfell. He was beaming as he ran towards them.

"It's good to see you, Robb," Father said, dismounting his horse and embracing him. "I've missed you."

Myrcella stood a bit back, smiling a bit awkwardly. She stepped forward and curtsied. "Lord Stark."

He nodded politely. "Lady Myrcella. I suppose I should apologize..."

"For exposing my parents' crimes?" she asked, her voice gaining a bit of an edge. "You only did your duty as the King's Hand, his response is his own choice. You could have told him straight away, but because of your mercy, my family lives. I do appreciate that."

He nodded. "Well, I hope you've found some happiness here at Winterfell."

She met Robb's eyes, and he smirked. She bit her lip, clearly holding back a laugh. "I think you could say I have."

Arya smiled at seeing them apparently getting along. The months since she had last left for Riverrun had apparently served her brother and goodsister well.

Robb turned his attention to Mother. "I'm sorry I couldn't be at the funeral," he said, embracing her.

"That's alright," she replied. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

"So we always say," he agreed, then smiled at Arya, Bran, and Rickon. "How fare my younger siblings?"

"I got to ride a galloping horse on my own," Rickon said with a grin.

Arya couldn't help but laugh. He had nearly fallen off the steed, having to be saved by Father, but he had been overjoyed all the same.

"Wow," Robb said.

"Sansa sends her love," Arya said.

He nodded. "Shame she couldn't come as well. It's been too long since we've all been together."

"We still wouldn't all be together," Bran said. "Jon's not here."

"Right," Robb said.

"Snow's probably off killing wildlings," said Theon, who had been standing quietly behind Robb and Myrcella. "Having all the fun."

Arya resisted the urge to laugh. If Theon only knew.

"Good to see you again, Theon," Father said. But there was a certain strain in his voice Arya could just barely notice. He, too, had learned what Theon had done to them in the other timeline. Would he act on it?

"And you, Lord Stark."

"How have things been at Winterfell in my absence?"

"Fine," Robb said. "Well, other than when we were under siege by the Boltons. But I dealt with that traitor Roose Bolton as I should."

Father nodded. "And you've been preparing for winter?"

"Of course. The Night's Watch keeps writing me with a desperate plea for aid, though."

"That's why I came back north," Father said. "Why don't we discuss it more after dinner?"

As they headed inside, Arya walked beside Robb. "So. Things seem to be going better with Myrcella."

He smiled. "Yes. We've got a game going."

"A game I'm winning," Myrcella said from behind them.

"We'll see about that."

"What sort of game?"

"It's kind of hard to explain," Myrcella said. "We're competing to earn more points than the other, but the points can be assigned for all sorts of things."

"Guessing what someone is going to say or do correctly," said Robb.

"Doing numbers well."

"A good practical joke."

"But only a friendly one," Myrcella quickly clarified. "Nothing cruel."

"No," Robb agreed.

"Riding," said Myrcella. "But that one's a little unfair in Robb's favor."

"You got points for singing," he complained. "I'm utter rubbish at that. It balances out."

Arya grinned. "I like this game. Who decides the points?"

"Oh, we mutually agree on them," said Myrcella. "Theon tried to cut in and start assigning points at one point, so we had to set a line and exclude him."

When they entered the hall for dinner and all took their seats, Arya couldn't help but smile. They weren't all together, but there hadn't been this many Starks in Winterfell for a long time. And that included Myrcella, now. It was one of the most joyful meals she could remember, with Robb telling Father about all he had done as acting Lord of Winterfell and Father clearly delighted to be back in his home, in the North.

After dinner ended, they bid goodnight to Rickon and Myrcella and she, Bran, Robb, Mother, and Father all went to Father's chambers. Summer stood guard inside the door while Grey Wind stood guard outside, making sure they could not be interrupted.

"So," said Robb. "We have to talk about the Night's Watch?"

"First," said Mother, "We have to talk about Jon."

He frowned. "Mother...?"

"Cat," Father said, his smile fading. "I don't think..."

"He has to know, Ned," she said. "It wouldn't be fair."

He sighed. "I suppose you're right."

"Know what?" Robb asked, frowning. "Has something happened to him?"

"Lots of things have happened to him," said Arya. "But that isn't what we mean."

"Then what?"

Mother exchanged a look with Father, then turned to Robb. "Jon isn't your brother."

"Mother, we've talked about-"

"No, I mean, he is your brother, of course, just... not by blood."

"What?"

"He's Aunt Lyanna's son," said Arya. "Aunt Lyanna... and Rhaegar Targaryen."

Robb opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.

"And they were married," Mother said. "So he's not a bastard. He's actually the heir to House Targaryen."

Finally Robb said, "Father?"

He sighed again. "It's true. And you must never tell. King Robert will have him killed."

"Of course," he said. "But... all these years... you kept this secret?"

"He promised," Bran said.

Father looked at him sharply. "Yes."

"I don't understand..."

"I truly do not have it within me to explain it all again," Father said. "You can ask Bran for the details, seems he's seen it all."

"Not all of it," Bran said. "But enough."

"Let's talk about the Night's Watch, then," Arya said. "Robb, we're going to make a trade. Get Jon released from his oath."

"Why?"

"Because it's not fair," Arya said. "Jon deserves better than to be stuck at the Wall. He's our brother. Also, we need his help. The pack must stick together. Winter is coming, and so is Daenerys Targaryen."

"Right."

"There's more," Father said, and he explained their plan in detail.

"The Watch will never agree to that," Robb said.

"It's unlikely," Mother agreed. "But we have to try. Even with the wildlings and Daenerys and her dragons on their side, your siblings barely defeated the Army of the Dead. And we may not get Daenerys."

"We have to, somehow," said Father. "I'll bring it up when I talk to her."

"When you what?" Robb asked.

"I'm meeting with her. After all the business with the Night's Watch."

"You're sure that's best?"

"I'm never certain what's best, Robb, but I do believe it is. We can only make our best guesses. I may not be an expert player of the game, but despite what Sansa seems to think, I am not a fool."

"She doesn't think you're a fool," Arya said. "But you can be too sentimental. Too trusting."

"I know," he said. "But I do sometimes know what I'm doing."

"It's good to have you back," Robb said. "I wish you could stay."

"Trust me," Father said. "So do I."