Patient

"Never cut a tree down in the wintertime. Never make a negative decision in the low time. Never make your most important decisions when you are in your worst moods. Wait. Be patient. The storm will pass. The spring will come," Robert H. Schuller

Ned Stark had the faint wish, just a faint one, to grab the two shoulders of the two shouting Lords and smash their two heads together.

Cat, Cat who was so elegant and the epitome of refined, who hardly lifted her voice unless seriously provoked, looked half tempted to do it herself. Perhaps that would cease the useless squabble between the two. If his wife dropped her elegance for but a moment. Jon and Robb for their parts looked at the screaming match with faint impatience and exasperation. Theon looked ready to call for more wine, he was so entertained. Bran looked uncomfortable with the conflict, kind child that he was.

Sansa for her part simply wrote with a calm expression.

She wrote furiously but impossibly neatly, her letters precise and with a slight flourish, quill a steady scratch across her parchment. He knew she only wrote the relevant dialogue between anyone, and which of their bannerman or guests had uttered it. The second pile of parchment was her general impression of those present, the nuances of their expressions, who would oppose what measure at what capacity, and which lords seemed to hold ill feelings to who beyond ancestral animosity.

Ned thought the first recording to be prevalent and useful. To know what was said by who against or for what made the negotiations of such things much easier, and a way to remind those amongst his bannermen who had an exasperatingly short memory what they had just agreed on. The second set of notes, however, gave Ned an impression of what his daughter had learned in her time as a hostage. Sansa had learned to be critically aware of others, to the point of being constantly analyzing the majority of the people around her.

"I learned in a den of lions for nearly three years to be aware of the moods of others. One ill mood led to beatings, the other to public humiliation and biting amusement at having little Sansa Stark beneath their heel. Sometimes both. After my escape, Petyr held me for two years in the Vale. Educating me to use what I had learned into becoming… Perfect in whatever role I had to take. A mummer must gauge her audience, learn how to draw their attention, and their moods to manipulate them."

If Ned ever saw Petyr Baelish, he had no idea if he could restrain himself from running the man through with Ice. He lusts for Catelyn, obsessed with her from boyhood, wishes to rule the Seven Kingdoms at whatever cost to the Kingdoms and would have taken my Sansa, my babe, and mold her to be a tool of such conquest. Ned felt little to no thought to suffer such a man. Roose Bolton, he could understand to an extent. Roose Bolton would have lost his son. And Roose held little love for Ned nor his way of ruling if holding a grudging respect. The ancestral bad blood between the Boltons and the Starks had obviously helped matters little. Walder Frey had long held an ill reputation of being a man who suffered little insults, invented slights by any men who so much as looked in his direction and had long been said to be resentful for the poor standing of his house. Sansa telling him that Lord Tywin Lannister had offered both Bolton and Frey to essentially have control of the Riverlands and the North made him understand what had completely swayed them to betray the King they had pledged themselves too. That was something that would easily sway most men. Theon had been as many boys were eager to assert their manhood with little to no understanding of the consequences and by all means more than suffered as a result. How much, Sansa refused to say, but the look in her eyes had been amongst the most haunted that Ned had ever seen, and that, was telling enough.

That made them all swayable men, ambitious men, but by no means destined to turn away from them.

And Ned had no wish to spend the rest of his life slaughtering every man that could turn turncoat. It would be a futile exercise. Sansa's knowledge of possibilities and advice simply had given them a list of men and women to sway to their own favor. Or to keep a close observation of. Not to murder outright for things they could do. It was a matter of honor, why kill those who have yet to turn against them? Why destroy that which had yet actively turned wrong? Especially those who had turned in very specific conditions. Unbidden, Ned turned to look at Domeric Bolton, the lad just entering adulthood. He was quiet, and much like Sansa was scribbling away at the parchment in front of him. Every other moment he would place a hand on his father's arm, or lean forward to whisper something in Roose's ear. He looked well enough, very northern, and spoke seldom to the Lords during the meetings. During the hunt he had ridden his horse with a grace that had impressed Ned, and been actively chasing the stag they had brought down, his lance being the first to pierce the hide. His lance being the one to strike it dead.

The pride on Roose's face had been evident, the love slightly less so, but had been present nonetheless.

The fact that he was but a boy and he would be killed by the man that would kill little Jeyne and Beth, maim Theon and hurt his daughter within the next few years made Ned feel strange. He seemed like such a young boy, despite everything. Too young to be murdered by his own brother. Sansa had only mentioned that the best course would be to keep the boy alive and away from his insane brother. Ned had few options regarding that, but the most obvious answer was to keep him at Winterfell. Roose would be amiable, Ned was sure, if it hinted at further prestige for his House. Signal him out some way that showed favor... Domeric Bolton looked up, silvery eyes keen and perhaps sensing Ned's gaze. The lad offered him a smile, and it was surprisingly amiable, surprisingly bright. Ned returned it and nearly laughed when the lad rolled his eyes at Lord Karstak and Lord Umber, who were currently snarling at each other.

The North would be very short of men if he went off killing people for future or possible slights, he thought, his resolve solidifying. Sansa had been very earnest of this. Robb and Jon had taken their own decision in trying their damndest to sway Theon to stay loyal to them. Ned had seen it, had seen their reaching out to the Greyjoy boy, and had felt his heart lighter for it. They would try, try for the sake of North, and for the greater good.

Petyr Baelish was another matter.

"Petyr was relentless until his death."

Baelish would never stop, Ned knew this as surely as he knew anything. Every action, every movement that Sansa had described had led Ned to gain an impression of a man with little love of anything, grand ambition for everything… He was the type of man to strive to rule everything, even if everything was dead. The fact that the actions of one man would destroy the tenuous balance of the Seven Kingdoms, lead to the death of the majority of his family, his men, his people- Unbalance the world in the wake of the Second Long Night to come… Ned had little doubt that such a man could not live, despite the fact that he was innocent of any crime that Ned knew of presently.

But what to do with such a man, so far away from here?

The letter from King Robert, tucked away in doublet, burned into Ned's flesh.

When Luwin had brought it to him, Ned had automatically hidden it away. A reflex of years of concealing details of grave consequences from his family.

… I want to see you, Ned. After whatever you need to arrange for Winter is done, send a raven to King's Landing. I am coming down, the entire court be damn. It's been too long since I've seen you.

King Robert coming to Winterfell three years too early was something Ned did not relish. For all intents and purposes, the man he knew the boy, as per Sansa's words, was long gone. Perhaps he has been gone since he sneered at the bloody cloak holding the babes of the man Lyanna loved. He had become too consumed by the past that never was and would bring dangerous people into their home. Queen Cersei was one, and would without a doubt be forced to follow her husband to visit them. Anyone else in the court was a possibility, and few in the Royal Court were neutral figures that would not see their actions as some sort of suspect. Varys with his whispers could be dangerous, take their plans, and see shadows and civil unrest in them when all they were working for was the salvation of North in face of the Long Night. Stannis and Renly and their possible future of wanting the throne. Baelish with his determination and ambition. Joffrey as a cruel claimant becoming King and setting chaos. A mere boy that would have taken my head.

In honesty, Ned was very much in the same mind as his daughter- to strive for the survival of the North and be damn anyone else. But unfortunately, their kingdom was a border between the rest of the world and the horror beyond the Wall. He could not dismiss the rest of the six-kingdoms wholesale either. Despite the relative independence the North held in comparison to the South, they were still connected to the current Kingship. Robert would come. Robert would come and unsettle all they were striving for, complicate matters of the North, and drag the South into their struggles whether they wished it or not. The South was already present, through Hoster Tully and the Tyrells. Everything was changing and despite her fore-knowledge, Sansa seemed all too aware of that, all too knowing of how that information was useful but not infallible. But the early coming of King Robert was an event that was even more changing and possibly disastrous.

Ned was certain he could convince the King to delay such a trip for a few moons after the rest of the North would leave Winterfell, but no more than that. Two years before Jon Aryn's death, at Ned's farthest estimation. Robert had never been patient, and Ned had gathered that trait had only become worse after he was crowned.

The thought of seeing Jon Aryn, possibly preventing his death-

Am I so selfish a man? To want the man who became like a father to me to live?

Ned could not lie to himself and think himself not tempted. His honor demanded he try something, anything, to keep the man that had practically raised him alive. It would keep the North out of the capital's affairs far longer, true, but in all instances, he was sure that Robert coming North would mean to leave his Hand behind. Any inquiry on Ned's part for his former guardian to come to the North, to abandon his duty, would seem out of character. Leaving the capital was something Jon rarely did, and a frivolous visit North on Robert's whim would be no exception.

No, he had already made his decision regarding Jon Aryn.

Jon would more than likely die by his wife's hands. And Ned would try to keep his own family alive in the wake of that. With Lysa as unstable as Sansa said, Ned had no doubt that even without Baelish, Lysa Aryn would become a kinsalyer as she had in Sansa's memories. The circumstances of her marriage horrified Ned and had left Cat very quiet for a very long time. Ned had no doubt that it had shattered some of the esteem she had for her father. The fact that she had kept a certain distance from Hoster since his arrival, despite her obvious longing to find comfort in him had only confirmed in his mind that Cat had finally begun to understand what had happened to their daughter as truth, instead of a delusion he had mistaken for truth. The fact that she had insisted her father not sit with them during the Official Negotiations, despite being family, as she would have demanded before, made Ned suspect that Cat had made her own decision as well.

"What is this foolishness that I hear I must sit with the Tyrells instead at your husband's right?!"

Lord Hoster's face was red, his weathered hands clenched.

"Lord Hoster-"

"I am asking my daughter, Lord Stark, on the issue of dishonoring me in front of the entirety of your bannermen. As I was told it was at her own insistent that I sit amongst the foreigners," he spat.

"You are not present as my Lord Father, but instead as a Lord come to discuss trade agreements. Please understand our need for separation. The Northern Lords would suspect us of favoring you to the detriment of the North and I wish nothing of the sort," Cat spoke with a firm air, her eyes staring straight at her father.

She was poised and standing tall. She looked everything a lady should look, attempting to not insult a Lord as she instructed him what to do. It was very composed for a woman who had been caught unawares. Lord Hoster had evidently heard of their daily family meeting before the discussions would begin and had come to them an hour later than the start, coming into the door despite the protesting guard who insisted he stay away. Poor Robb had stood with wide and startled eyes, a swear on his lips, Jon had hunched his shoulders to stay as unobtrusive as possible, while Lady Brienne had moved from her place away from the window to hover near Sansa. Ned had frozen at the Riverrun's Lord intrusion. Sansa had quickly covered their plans of importation of dragon glass, and their possible sources of smiths to forge them into usable weapons in mass, with her arm and hair in a way that made her look like a tired girl half-asleep, her lids drooping but looking perfectly surprised at the appearance of her Grandfather as she lounged over her desk.

Hoster looked confused, a little offended at Cat's words, even as his daughter moved forward to pour him a glass of wine. His goodfather took it and immediately drank from the goblet a displeased look on his face.

"But Cat, I am your father. Your Husband must favor me-"

"No, Father. Not if the cost is the detriment of the North. We stand just before the coming of a Winter that could be two decades, if not longer. We cannot afford to divide the North because of a perceived slight. You will sit with the Tyrells. It will not due for you to undermine Ned."

Lord Tully's brows furrowed, and he stepped forward. He smiled at his wife as if placating her, the image of a father ordering his daughter.

"You are Lady of the North. Has your father no place at your side? I had to learn from a maid of my seating and of this meeting of the Household that you neglected to inform me of. I would have thought my console would be worth more than a stranger," he cast an obvious and dismissive glance toward Lady Brienne and a frosty look at Jon, "...and a base-born boy."

It was Sansa who spoke next, shifting papers awry in a movement that looked completely natural, even as Lady Brienne moved in front of them to conceal them from Hoster. It spoke greatly of their relationship, of the fact that Brienne had learned their closed-off daughter to the point of following her direction without words. And it eased Ned's heart to know even in the face of such horrific circumstances, Sansa had found someone loyal to be at her side.

Sansa smiled sweetly and pretty and it was only because Ned had witnessed her true smiles before her remembrance of the future that he saw it for the empty thing that it was.

"Grandfather, Mother meant no insult. We wanted you to sit with us, we swear it," she said, voice sweet as a bird's song, "But what will it say to them to see a Southron Lord so esteemed in comparison? It means little to you, but us Northerns are an independent lot. We will sit together at mealtimes, just not during the meetings to make the divide clear."

Despite his obvious offense, Hoster smiled at Sansa's little plea, at the way she latched herself onto his hand, her two small hands clasping at his.

"Sweetling," Hoster's voice was warmer, calmer, "Can you not see how I should not be away from the family? What does it say about your mother if she doesn't want her father with her husband?"

Sansa kept her smile, squeezed Hoster's hand.

"Family, Duty, Honor. But in this case Duty must be ahead of the others. Our duty is to show our people that we worry for them, not have the esteem of another Realm on our minds. Would you not ask the same of us if it was the Riverlands?"

"Sansa makes a fine point, Father," interrupted Cat, softly, reaching over to place a hesitant hand on Hoster's shoulder.

"Cat-"

"The North must see we aim to serve them without Southern interference."

"... Very well, but I insist that I sit with the family during meals."

"You must sit with me grandfather," Sansa said.

Hoster looked at his granddaughter and his eyes went softer at the seemingly young girl in front of him.

"Of course, sweetling. You are such a clever thing, just like Cat at your age. She was all but running the Household, and I can see you would have flourished just as she would have."

Sansa smiled sweetly and fully, even managing a flush to her face as Hoster looked down at her with obvious approval.

The morning meeting went well, the two bickering lords soothed by his wife, with soft compliments, and than sterner words. They had finally moved on from the Glass Gardens to the improvement of the roads between the Keeps and the major points of trade of the North, to the slightly easier agreement between everyone. As most men left the hall to stretch legs, to leave room for the servants to clear the tables and fill them with the midday meal, Ned turned to find his daughter to show her the letter he still kept concealed in his doublet, and what he planned to do with such information. She was half-way out the hall, Brienne following swiftly behind her. Lady Margaery of House Tyrell was on her heel, a look of determination on her lovely face. She had dogged Sansa's steps since the Tyrells arrival in Winterfell, obviously determined for friendship and if Sansa were to be believed, information for what was really occurring in House Stark. But Sansa had, for the most part, avoided devoting much time to the Lady Margaery despite the girl's obvious inclination.

He followed them, watching with amusement as the flood of leaving Lords and Sansa knowing Winterfell so well allowed her to leave Lady Margaery behind. He followed until they were alone in the hallway, Lady Brienne at Sansa's side. It was in the hallway, with Sansa going to a window that overlooked the godswood, that Ned was struck with a feeling of… A feeling of warmth as Sansa closed her eyes, hands on the windowsill. She tilted her head slightly as if she relished the feeling of the light on her face as if it was everything good in the world. Light touched her face, basking the soft curve of her cheeks, the fair arch of her brow. It made her beautiful hair appear like metal in the sunlight, her pale and creamy skin so much paler and clear.

A look of serenity crossed his daughter's face.

It was a look that was rare. And it crushed something inside Ned to remove it from her face. He took a breath and stepped forward. Lady Brienne blinked at the sight of him and gave him a quick, functional sort of bow. He returned it with a nod, his eyes still on Sansa as she basked in the sunlight.

"I never knew sunlight could ever be removed from the world," she said quietly, without a sign she was alarmed by his approach.

"Winters can take the sun from us for a few moons at a time, even the milder ones."

She still did not open her eyes, and only sighed at his words.

"No sun will greet us, not for two years perhaps more."

Her past assertion of the amount of time the sun had left lingered in Ned's mind constantly. In the winters he had lived through, the sun had never been gone for so long, even in the North. Even in the harsher winters in his lifetime, the sun had disappeared for the maximum of six moons, before appearing constantly for the same amount of time. The prospect of being sunless for such a long time was a daunting one, and he had set Luwin on the research of plants that would survive in long periods of darkness, and so far most his research had yielded some success, and with the new heating system from the Keep extended to their glass gardens, no one within Winterfell would starve if they were prudent. And that he had little doubt his people were.

Ned sometimes thought of how his children had never seen the sun in the last two years of their lives. That Arya, Jon, Bran, and Sansa had endured darkness for two long years with dwindling supplies, more and more mouths to feed, and the monsters of their childhood fairytales clawing at them from all sides. With dwindling hope, and with Daenerys Targaryen coming to them with dragons and armies at her back. That they had lost the War against the Others in such darkness and conditions. Such darkness that no doubt had no chance of easing even if the Others had not defeated the North.

Sometimes when he looked at his daughter, he thought for all her resilience, for all her talk of surviving and banding the remains of the North together with her remaining siblings, that Sansa too, had lost hope. That she had only not the luxury of showing her loss of faith in surviving the Second Long Night for the sake of the people who had called her Queen. Now, here, he hoped that he could instill some life into her, that he could bring her faith and hope to what had once been his gentlest child.

"We will endure," he can only tell her, he swore to her. Swore to the very gods every day as they went to pray together.

Sansa gave a smile, warm and so hopeful it stole Ned's breath. That is what he wanted to see in his daughter's face. That was what he wanted her to able to be. Some of that little girl he had been raising up into this point. Some of that hope that had blazed so brightly when she had whispered, "The North remembers," all those moons ago.

"I dare say we might. You wished to speak to me?"

She opened her eyes and turned to him, that smile still on her small face. Ned swallowed, hand coming for the letter in his doublet, striding forward to hand it to his daughter. It was not a long letter, not truly if you excluded Robert's reminiscent rambling of the Greyjoy Rebellion, but Sansa read every line, examined every nuance of the curve of the letters written by some scribe as the writing was done in a hand that Ned did not recognize. Her fair brows furrowed as she finished, shattering her peaceful and beautiful smile. She looked up at him, her eyes darker in the wake of the news.

"The King wishes to come to Winterfell," she said, softly.

Ned nodded, shamed at the fact the man that had been like a brother to him would cause so much turmoil to his daughter. Blue eyes, once soft and open, looked dark and closed to him.

"This upsets you. The King, coming to Winterfell."

Her eyes danced with a million thoughts, her eyes flickered about as if searching for people who were listening to them. It was only until Brienne nodded that she returned her gaze to him, flat and dark.

"It does. But not as much as you concealing it from the family. How long have you had this?"

"I did so because I have been struggling with the knowledge of what this opportunity gives us. It arrived this morning, before the meeting."

She blinked, and though her face was closed and perfect like a mask, he knew that she must be confused by his words. He sighed. Ned had long thought to be an example to his children and to protect them from the darkness he knew was so prevalent in the world. But Sansa was not a child to be coddled from the darkness of the world any longer. In that, his counterpart in the future that was her past had failed miserably. He had tried to protect all his children and had thought he would be there to protect them for the rest of his life. He had never expected his life to be so short.

And for any of his children to be outside of the North for long until their adulthoods.

To see that his dubious protection would have blinded them and ill-prepared them for the world that lay outside Winterfell… Well.

"I believe it is time for your mother to write a letter. Connect to childhood friends."

Sansa sucked in a startled breath, and Ned could only look away in shame. He did not relish this. He did not want to be such a man that plotted and lingered in the muck. He had always striven to comport himself in a way that would inspire loyalty, to be honorable in all matters. That was the legacy he wished to give his children. It was the only way he thought to live, but when he had promised Lyanna he would protect her son he had set a precedent that he would stop at nothing to protect those he loved. Besmirch himself if necessary. Be treasonous to the man he had called his friend. Lie to the world to keep his nephew whole and alive. When he had seen this letter, he knew that an opportunity had arisen.

"Petyr was relentless until his death."

"Father. I believe you are right. Mother has told me she has thought more and more of her childhood in the wake of this long winter to come."

Sansa crumpled the letter, her small hands shaking as she turned once again to the window. She placed them there one hand on the letter the other curled into a small fist, the only indication of her displeasure at his concealment of the letter. Her profile looked completely at ease, but he knew that her mind was whirling with plans and adjustments to the prospect of the King coming to Winterfell before the death of his Hand, and the prospect of eliminating Petyr Baelish, as Ned had just proposed. Tentatively, he placed a hand on her's.

She flinched.

His daughter flinched at his touch and Ned wanted to run every man that had hurt her through with Ice.

"Forgive me."

"Do not conceal things from us. It will only divide us," was her measured response.

"I know. I fear that I have made a habit of it."

"You must break such a habit, Lord Stark," said Brienne, quietly, speaking for the first time.

Ned blinked at the fierce look on the young woman's face. She was a quiet person, Lady Brienne of Tarth. And though she stood out on the nature of her unconventional appearance she had made a habit of not speaking much, deferring to Sansa more often than not. Reacting to nuances of her daughter's command with the ease of someone who had done it for years. She rarely put forth her own opinion, and Ned had taken it for a young woman with little to say.

Now he knew it was because she had tempered herself for the sake of his daughter, and she had reached her limit.

"Queen Sansa has known much betrayal in her life, has known too many people concealing things from her for the sake of her comfort or for their advantage and-"

"Brienne, enough. Do not discuss such things in the open," her daughter's voice was sharp, and she met Brienne's frustrated gaze with her own even look.

Lady Brienne's upper lip trembled, and her face flushed in a blotchy way that unflattered her. She turned her head away as Sansa reached out and clasped one of her fisted hands. Then Sansa looked out the window once again.

"No fighting. No conflict between us. I have had enough of that in my lifetime."

Ned bite back another apology. Instead, he squeezed her hand as gently as he could, and Sansa's still expression thawed slightly as she leaned towards him. Without pausing Ned carefully embraced Sansa. And was heartened when she wound her arms around his waist. The tension had not left her body, entirely, but the fact that she made motions toward him made some part of Ned feel better.

"Father, promise me never again? I have been as forthright as possible. I do not want to see secrets tear us apart."

"Bran is still at risk of becoming the Three-Eyed Raven. I know not if we can prevent it."

Ned's hand trembled at the frightened look Sansa could barely conceal. He felt that was the most fantastic part of his daughter's tale, the parts that which she barely believed herself. She believed that the Southern Wars had killed them all in the end, she believed that Winter was Coming, but Ned thinks part of her did not believe what her younger brother had become.

"Are you-"

"He spoke to me. He spoke to me and for a moment it was the same. I pray it was just the Greensight, that it was not the Three-Eyed Raven seeking to take him for the sake of the Old gods once again, to whatever end it truly was for… But we cannot be sure. I know some things are unpreventable and I fear this may be one of them."

"What do we suggest?" asked Cat, voice tight.

"We keep Bran from losing the use of his legs for one. We make concessions if we must take him beyond the Wall ourselves. But we do not lose hope that his purpose was in our memories, not in our new future."

"I promise, Sansa," he said, thickly. Another promise Ned would try his damndest to keep. No matter what it would cost him, "I wished to tell you first in the event Hoster insists being a part of the household meeting."

Understanding passed through her eyes, and her eyes narrowed slightly as she pulled away. She gave a frim nod.

"Thank you, Father. Mother will... Mother will be made to understand?"

How will Cat react, to have to join in a plot to kill a girlhood friend?

"I am sure seeing him will be enough to convince her of what he is capable of."

Sansa took a shaky breath, and Brienne made an aborted motion as if she was going to press her hand on his daughter's shoulder. The swornshield only clenched her jaw and let her hand fall. She looked away, her eyes bright. Sansa hunched her shoulders but for a moment then threw them back and lifted her chin in an elegant gesture. She was stronger than steel, his eldest daughter, but it had so many facets and cracks that it could be torn apart at any moment. Fragile and strong. She was both infantile and adult in mind, and not for the first time Ned wondered if both she and Lady Brienne were a little mad for all they had witnessed and lost.

Ned felt mad, at times, from the horrors he had witnessed as too young a man. Seeing the caved chest of a man he would have called good-brother had he and his sister just been patient and spoken to someone; gasp and claw at his breath and whisper his sister's name in that pitiful, lovelorn way as he choked on his own blood. Seeing the red cloaks cradling the small bodies of the blameless princess and prince and the indifference Robert had shown them. When he had seen his sister bleeding on the birthing bed smelling of roses and blood and begging for the life of her son... When he had watched poor Asharya clenching Brandon's little girl in her arms, this small, dead, and pale and wane thing that had never breathed its first breath. A dead look in her violet eyes as she took her brother's sword. When he had held the ashes and cracked bones to bury his father and eldest brother, nearly three years after their deaths…

He knows not the horrors his daughter had witnessed. Oh, she had told the grand strokes- and in her most emotional moment, she had said what he suspects what had pained her greatly... But Ned knows the gentleness of his daughter had survived admission the cruelty she had endured. She had tempered her experiences or kept them silent altogether if they had nothing to do with the new future they were forging together.

A future Ned suspected would lead to War with the South no matter how carefully they tread, and a future that Sansa saw as unavoidable.

In Sansa's eyes, despite her words of unavoidable connection to the South… I think she sees the North is already its own Kingdom. I do not know if that makes me her King. By the gods, I hope not. I do not think she should see me as such with the entirety of my mistakes carved into her through the memories of a possible lifetime, or future. I know she still loves me as the flawed man she can so clearly see, and I can see the esteem in the way she watches me at times. But I do not think she sees the makings of a King in me. Ned was glad to not be such a thing. When Robert had taken the throne, Ned had been utterly relieved, wanting only Winterfell, his sister, and the babe he knew Cat had within her.

But with the changes Sansa so ardently sought, Ned wondered if Northern independence was the only solution when Robert died. Ned would gladly pass the crown to Robb if it came to such a thing. He had been King before in possible future, at five and ten, King in the North, with a crown of swords and runes of the First Men. Taken that title for the first time in three centuries. It would be fitting for Robb to be King. If he learned temperament from his future-counterparts actions, Ned had no doubt he would be a good king. Already, he was taking steps to be such a man.

"May I be excused?" asked Sansa, smiling wanly, ever courteous.

Ned gave her a nod, but not before leaning down to press a firm kiss on her brow. Her smile turned, not wane or forceful, but softer. Smaller, but truer than the one she had used. She gave a slight dip of her head as Brienne gave a crisp brow, and Sansa linked their arms. With one last fathomless look, his daughter and her sworn shield, Commander of her Queensgaurd, retreated.

Ned stared after them and replaced the letter in his doublet. His heartfelt unsettled and his mind ran in circles over what was to come.

AN:

EDIT: 06 MARCH 2022

DUE TO MY SHENANIGANS I accidentally leaked this chapter in one of my other stories. I meant to publish this once I was finished with my updates, but at this point, it feels cruel not to give it out now that it's been seen by other people.

SO. YEAH. THIS will be the last update until I finish my edits.

Anyway. We have another Ned POV, and can I say I love this man? I knew the twist was coming when I was reading the first book and watching the show, but leading up to his death always gutted me. He was such a good character. Ugh.

Also, um, this story is not dead? I know I don't update often, but I was reviewing the previous chapters, and have other stories that need revision. I am not apologizing for the delay, just stating a fact. I appreciate the concern for people who have privately PMed me with concerns but trust me when I say that the Sweetly Sung Queen is very much active.

I just am not a prolific writer.

It's also not up for adoption. If you want to write your own time-travel fic, you all are welcome to it, as it isn't exactly an original concept. The characterization and some of the circumstances are of my own mind, however, and I ask kindly that people bring their own interpretations when it comes to their own fanfictions.

Anywho, the next chapter is more or less half-way done, AND I am working my way through the one after that. So when I finish my updates, I should have a backlog of a couple of chapters...

The Next chapter, Distance, is a Sansa POV and includes a sewing circle of the Ladies of the Reach and the North:

Arya wields a needle, not the needle, and Brienne contemplates poking out Olenna Tyrell's eye with Cat's knitting needles, and Cat accidentally triggers Sansa.

~Be Well, Be Safe,

Moon Witch '96