"It's a terrible thing, what happened," said Wyman Manderly. "I can't imagine it would have been easy, for the two of you."
Ned exchanged a glance with Benjen. "It wasn't," agreed Ned. "But it's over, now, and Sansa can look forward to her marriage with Theon Greyjoy."
"And good riddance with the Bolton bastard!" exclaimed the Greatjon. "The Gods know we don't need someone like that as Lord of the Dreadfort, especially with the Long Night coming."
"He might even have brought back flaying," agreed Manderly.
It was almost amusing to see the two bannermen who were the most separate culturally agreeing with each other. Perhaps if it hadn't been over Ramsay Snow, Ned would have found it truly amusing. But with Roose Bolton having already left for the Dreadfort, well before any of the other lords had departed, Ned couldn't help the coil of worry in his chest.
Roose Bolton was always going to be a threat, regardless of whether they had left Ramsay alone. He had conspired with the Lannisters to murder Robb and Catelyn, and take the other lords of the North hostage, to become Warden of the North, without any provocation. Ned kept reminding himself of it, but it still didn't sit any easier in his chest.
Howland Reed sat straighter. "Speaking of the Long Night," he said, "it seems to me that if any castles still have records of the first, then it would be the one built by Brandon the Builder himself."
"We've searched the libraries already," said Ned. "Maester Luwin just about turned the entire tower upside down, looking for information. There's nothing."
"But the Library Tower isn't the oldest part of Winterfell, is it?" pressed Howland. "Winterfell must have been built and rebuilt a hundred times over, over the centuries. Perhaps it's only in the oldest parts of the castle that the truth remains."
Benjen met Ned's eyes. "The crypts."
"The oldest parts are collapsed," said Ned. "It will take time to access them fully. But – we can try." Something like a cross between anticipation and dread settled in the pit of Ned's stomach. It was the best lead they had, one that they had never had before – but the idea of venturing into the depths of the crypts unsettled him. And he would have to take the girls with him, because if anyone knew what was relevant, it would be them, even though every instinct in him rebelled against it.
"Winterfell isn't the only castle that dates back to the first Long Night," said the Greatjon. "Last Hearth does, as well." The Dreadfort, too, thought Ned, though he expected that Roose Bolton would be of little help.
"The Nightfort is the oldest castle on the Wall," said Benjen. "It's been abandoned for a long time, though, and it was rebuilt many times – I don't know if there would be any writings left."
"It's worth a try," said Ned. "Perhaps you should look at manning it again, with the fresh men coming to the Wall."
"Hopefully, we'll be able to man more of the castles than just that," said Benjen. "If we're to have any chance, we'll need to man them all."
"The King will be in Winterfell soon," said Ned. "When he hears of the situation, he'll send more men north to man the Wall. All of Westeros will be ready to fight the Walkers when they come."
"The Age of Heroes come again," said Catelyn. Ned turned to see her standing in the doorway. She entered to sit by his side. "I never much wanted heroes, but it seems I've no choice in the matter." A peaceful life, raising their children and ruling the North; that was all he and Catelyn had wanted since they had married, so long ago now.
"My lady," greeted Manderly, inclining his head slightly. "You spoke very well at the meeting."
"She always speaks well," interjected Ned.
Catelyn gave him a small, pleased smile. "It is an important issue, my lord," she told Manderly. "I knew that it would be difficult for anyone to believe, but I hoped that my word – that of an Andal – might sway more people."
"It certainly did that," rumbled the Greatjon.
"We were discussing searching the crypts and having the Nightfort searched for information about the Others," Ned told her.
"They were both built by Bran the Builder," explained the Greatjon.
"I'm aware, my lord," said Catelyn. "Was Storm's End not also built by Bran the Builder, according to legend? I know that most maesters do not believe it was, but most maesters also believe that the Nightfort and Winterfell weren't built by the same man."
"Another thing to speak with the King about," said Ned, nodding. "If Bran the Builder truly had a hand in Storm's End, it's possible he left something behind there."
Catelyn turned to Benjen, Manderly and the Greatjon. "If you will excuse us, my lords, I would like to speak with my lord husband." She waited for the three men to shuffle out of the room before she turned back to Ned. "I think that you should send someone else to the Wall."
"Sansa and Arya both say that Jon is our best chance of treating with the Wildlings," said Ned, his shoulders tensing.
"I mean in addition to the boy," said Catelyn. "I won't lie and say that it will not ease my mind, having another of our children on the Wall while Jon Snow treats with the Wildlings – but I trust Sansa and Arya's judgement. I have to. So no, Ned, that is not the only reason I have for sending someone else."
"What else?" asked Ned, his tone still wary.
"Sending one of our trueborn sons to the Wall shows that we are serious about the White Walker threat," explained Catelyn. "While you and I know why you can't go yourself, there will be some who see your absence as Winterfell not taking the threat seriously. If we send one of our trueborn sons, then it demonstrates that we are."
"Robb, then?" asked Ned. "Bran?"
Catelyn hesitated. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "Bran is so young, but if things go wrong while you're in King's Landing, we need Robb here."
"Things won't go wrong," promised Ned. "I am as prepared as I can be, Cat. I won't wait for Robert to die to break the news. Sansa and Arya will be both be there to advise me."
"Cersei Lannister is still the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Westeros," said Catelyn. "We cannot underestimate that family, Ned. It's one mistake that we made the other time, and half our family died for it."
"I won't," said Ned. "Like you said, we have to trust Sansa and Arya's judgement, and I will. I promise." Catelyn pressed her lips together, not meeting his eyes. "Cat. I swear to you, on the old gods and the new, that I will not make the same mistakes that I did the other time."
Catelyn almost smiled, and said, "That oath still means you can make new ones."
"I have no way of knowing what those mistakes will be, so I can't promise you that," said Ned. "I would if I could, though. You know that I would; that I wouldn't do anything to harm you or our children."
Catelyn's eyes squeezed shut, and she turned her back to him. After a long moment, she whispered, "Then why have you not acted about Jon Snow?"
Ned's heart skipped a beat. All he could think was she knows, she knows – but that was impossible, he realised as his rational brain caught up with the rest of him. "Jon wouldn't do anything to harm our children."
"Oh?" asked Catelyn, her voice icy. "He took our children's birth right when he allowed himself to be crowned King in the North. It was Bran's by right, and even if they didn't know about Bran's survival, then the crown should have fallen to Sansa. It was her birthright and he took it, just like I always warned you."
"Sansa and Arya both say that they supported him," said Ned. "You said that you trust their judgement."
"They shouldn't have needed to support him!" cried Catelyn. "It should never even have been a question. The lords should have never seen him as an option when he had a trueborn sister sitting right next to him."
Ned's breath caught. He didn't know how to argue that; she wasn't wrong in her assessment, even if Ned struggled to imagine Jon actively setting out to steal his sibling's seat. More likely, he thought, that one of the Northern lords had named him and he hadn't protested when Sansa hadn't. But Catelyn was right in that, too; by all rights, Jon shouldn't have been an option.
Before he even had a chance to formulate a response, Catelyn continued, "The only reason I have not asked you to remove him from Winterfell is because I know that we will need his help, no matter what my feelings are. But something has to be done, my lord."
"What do you want me to do?" he asked. "Do you wish for me to punish him for something he hasn't done? Even Theon, who remembers what he did in the other time, I only sentenced to squire for Ser Rodrik and to help Bran and Rickon with their studies. What would you have me do to Jon?"
Catelyn deflated. "I don't know," she whispered. More clearly, she said, "I don't know, my lord. But can we risk him taking my children's rightful place?"
The fire in Sansa's chambers was roaring wonderfully warm. Sansa was crammed into her bed with Bran on one side, Arya on the other, and Rickon at her feet, because he had seen the other two lying in bed with her and refused to be left out. Jon and Robb were on the few chairs she had in her room, and the direwolves had all crowded into the room, and were lying half on top of each other by the fire. Sansa wasn't sure she had ever seen her chambers so full, but she also couldn't remember the last time she had felt this safe and warm.
"They were magnificent," Arya was saying. "We couldn't have fit them into the courtyard. I was so jealous that Jon could ride on one."
"Rhaegal," remembered Sansa. "He rode Rhaegal, named after Rhaegar Targaryen."
"Little ironic, isn't it?" said Robb wryly. "Riding the dragon named after the man who kidnapped our aunt."
"The other options were riding a dragon named after Viserys Targaryen or a Dothraki warlord," said Sansa, her voice dry. "Daenerys told me a little of her brother, while we tried to find an accord. I don't think he was any better a namesake."
"I'm more caught on the fact I rode a dragon at all," said Jon.
"Oh, you did more than that," jeered Arya. Robb choked on air at the innuendo while Jon gaped at her openly.
"More than ride?" asked Rickon, peeping up at them with wide, innocent eyes.
"He helped look after them," said Sansa quickly. "Like how Theon has to help take care of the horses." Arya opened her mouth, a smirk still on her face, so Sansa cut her off. "And you can't talk, or did you not spend our last few hours with a certain blacksmith?" Arya's mouth snapped shut.
"She did what?" demanded Robb, as Jon crossed his arms as if he was ready to threaten the blacksmith here and now.
Arya buried her face in her hands. "Oh, gods, Sansa, you really had to go right for the throat, didn't you?"
"What blacksmith?" pressed Jon. "Is he here in Winterfell?"
"No," groaned Arya. "He's in King's Landing, far from your reach." Jon and Robb both huffed, sharing a look. "Oh, for the love of – I was a woman grown! I thought I only had a few hours left and I started it, you bloody idiots." Jon looked faintly ill at the thought of Arya starting anything of the sort.
"Maybe I'll have to join you when you go to King's Landing," grumbled Robb, though only half-heartedly.
"If there's one thing you should know about Arya," said Sansa, "it's that trying to forbid her of anything will only make her want it more."
"He's not an it!" said Arya hotly, at the same time as Robb conceded, "That's true."
"What about you, Sansa?" asked Bran, snuggling closer. "Did you find anyone?"
Sansa swallowed, looking down. "No," she said, softly. "I'm afraid I didn't, Bran. But that's okay, because I found you again, and Arya and Jon and Theon. I wasn't alone." There was silence for a moment, as Arya laid her hand against Sansa's shoulder. Sansa let herself smile as she leant her head against Arya's.
Robb broke the silence, saying, "But back to the blacksmith. I need to know his name, at least."
"What, so you can tell Father?" scoffed Arya. "I'm not an idiot, Robb."
"I didn't say you were," said Robb, looking put out.
"You married a girl from Volantis," intervened Sansa, taking pity on Arya and Robb both. "It was a love match. Talisa, her name was."
"Talisa Maegyr," supplied Arya. "They say she was kind. She was a nurse, I think." Robb whispered the name to himself with something like wonder in his voice. Arya smiled. "Left a comfortable life in Volantis to become a nurse. I think I would have liked her."
"I think I would have, too," said Sansa.
"Then I hope I'll meet her again," declared Robb. Sansa couldn't quite meet his eyes, so she looked down at her hands. She wasn't sure how to tell him she already had other plans for him. But the girls I've picked out for him are good people, too, she reminded herself. Meera protected Bran, Wynafryd seems to be decent, and Margaery – unlikely a match as she is – was always kind to me and to the smallfolk. He can be happy with them.
"What about me?" asked Bran. "Did I have anybody?"
"And me!" exclaimed Rickon, though Sansa thought it was more because he didn't want to be left out than any actual interest in girls.
"You were too young, Rickon," said Arya, "and no, Bran."
"But we can fix that," Sansa added quickly. "Shireen Baratheon's about your age, isn't she?" It was a good match to make, since it tied them more closely to a powerful Southern House, should the worst happen. Bran would be betrothed to the second in line to the Iron Throne when Cersei's infidelity was exposed. It might even discourage Robert from seeking any other betrothals between House Baratheon and House Stark, or at least pacify him when he discovered that he couldn't marry Sansa off to Joffrey.
Bran made a face. "I don't have to marry her anytime soon, do I?"
Arya snorted, not even bothering to pretend to cover it with a cough. Sansa shot her a look and said, "Of course not. You're both still too young to be married."
"Good," said Bran, slumping back down in the bed.
"I remember wanting to name my children -" started Sansa, but was cut off.
"Oh no," stage-whispered Arya. Sansa drove her elbow into Arya's side, and Arya half-groaned, half-laughed.
"I wanted to name them after all of you," said Sansa. "When the Tyrrells tried to marry me to Loras, I used to dream about having children that were like having you back." She spotted Robb hiding a smile, and she cocked her head. "What?"
"Nothing," said Robb, shaking his head. "It's just – that's the most Sansa thing I've heard you say in months, dreaming of marriage and children." Sansa ducked her head. "I hadn't realised that I'd missed it."
"I still want them," she said, quietly. "It's just that I can't see how I can bring children into the world, knowing what's coming, and still be a good mother."
Robb's eyes widened slightly, and he looked down to the floor. "Then I shouldn't meet Talisa Maegyr," he said. "Or if I do, I should tell her to go home to Volantis while she still can." Sansa's heart squeezed painfully in her chest at the thought: Robb giving up a chance at happiness to keep his happiness safe. It was stupidly noble, but oh so Robb.
"Come here," ordered Sansa, holding out her hand. He looked ready to protest, so Sansa repeated more forcefully, "Come here." Robb reluctantly stood up from the chair and took her hand, looking unsurprised when she tugged him down so he collapsed on top of the bed. Bran let out an 'oof!' as Robb landed partly on his legs, and Arya laughed with delight.
Jon was watching them indulgently, but with a closely guarded jealousy that Sansa would never have recognised the first time around. "What are you still doing there?" she asked pointedly.
Jon started. "I couldn't -"
"Yes, you bloody well can," said Arya, as Bran and Rickon started to call out their own encouragements.
"Arguing with our sisters in very unwise, Snow," said Robb, who was still rearranging himself in an attempt not to crush any of his younger siblings. "Gods know how you're going to find a spot, though."
Jon perched on the very edge of Sansa's bed. Arya rolled her eyes, pulling him down so that he was half-lying across her lap, head bumping next to Robb's. Bran pulled his legs out from under Robb as Rickon gleefully collapsed on top of Robb, aiming all of his weight for Robb's stomach.
"Good gods, Rickon, when did you get so heavy?" Robb complained half-heartedly, but his arms encircled Rickon automatically.
"You know that the only reason we have any chance at all is because of the two of you," said Jon, looking up at Sansa and Arya. "I mean, we all died in your time, but now we know what's coming. We can still win this. You can still have your children, Sansa, and Robb can still meet Talisa Maegyr if he wants."
"And I can still become a knight!" said Bran.
"And me!" added Rickon, again unwilling to be left out.
"And you, Arya?" asked Sansa. "What are you going to be doing?"
Arya hummed for a moment, thinking. "I don't know, yet. I just want to make it through, right now."
"We'll do it," said Sansa. "We'll do it, and my children will have to have names all of their own, because you'll all be here with me."
"Are we all ready?" asked Ned, glancing down and into the darkness of the crypts.
"Should your daughters be coming?" asked the Greatjon, his voice blunt.
"We're daughters of House Stark," said Arya tartly. "Those our ancestors in those crypts. What's your reasoning for entering Winterfell's crypts, again?" The Greatjon looked startled enough that Jon had to swallow back laughter.
"Let them come," advised Ned. "No doubt they'll follow us down if we tried to leave them behind."
"No doubt," agreed Sansa frostily.
"Then we should move on," said Ned. Jon gripped his torch tighter and followed Ned into the crypts. Arya walked beside him, Robb and Sansa only a step or two behind, and Benjen, the Greatjon and Howland Reed taking up the rear. The air chilled as soon as they stepped into the crypts. Jon resisted pulling his cloak tighter around himself, knowing that it would only grow colder as they descended deeper.
"It's been a long time since I was in here," murmured Sansa. Jon glanced back. Her face was pale, and she clutched at her torch so tightly her knuckles were white. He had forgotten, until this moment, that Sansa had died in the crypts, but it was obvious Sansa hadn't. She glanced nervously into the shadowy corners of the crypt, walking slightly closer to Robb than was necessary.
"They're all in the tombs," promised Robb. Sansa's lips puckered, and Jon knew what she was thinking as clearly as if she had said it aloud: For how long?
Jon glanced at Arya. Although she gripped her torch tightly, she otherwise seemed unbothered by being surrounded by dead men, even after everything she had seen.
"We need to keep moving," said Ned. "The tombs go deep, and I don't think any of us want to be in here any longer than we have to be."
"Of course, Father," said Sansa, her voice subdued.
They had descended another two levels when Arya spoke up. "Why do all the tombs have swords across their laps?"
"Old Nan always said it was to keep their spirits sealed in," said Jon. "Though I've got no idea why they thought that would work."
"No, but…" Arya trailed off as she approached an old tomb, peering up at it. "Placing a sword across your knees shows that you aren't offering guest right. Why are our ancestors refusing guest right?"
Jon's mouth opened, though he didn't have an answer. He exchanged a glance with Robb. Around them, Ned, Benjen and the lords looked around at the statues, more apprehensively than they had before. Suddenly, the faces carved into stone did not look as familiar as they had done, all of his life. They seemed to take on a new dimension, not like a Stark in their features, but something distinctly alien.
Even if Arya's right, these men would have lived too long after the Long Night to remember what happened, Jon told himself. They're Starks, like Robb or Arya or Sansa. They won't show us harm.
"Who are they denying guest right?" asked Sansa. "They couldn't deny us guest right, could they? We aren't guests in Winterfell."
"Maybe the Others?" suggested Robb.
"We might not be guests to Winterfell, but we're guests to the crypts," said Ned, his voice dark. "We have to be more careful, going forwards."
"There aren't any White Walkers hiding in the crypts," pointed out the Greatjon. "No matter who they're rejecting, they can't do anything about it." Jon saw Sansa and Arya looking at each other out of the corner of his eye; neither of them seemed reassured by the Greatjon's words.
The ground seemed to creek beneath under Jon's feet as they made their way further down, dust kicking up at his feet with every step he took. With each level, the dust grew thicker, until Jon thought that he could choke on it if he breathed too deeply.
"We'll be seeing the cave-ins soon," warned Ned, not bothering to look over his shoulder. "It's going to be dangerous. If anyone wants to turn back, this is the time."
"Couldn't find my way back even if I wanted to," grunted the Greatjon, to which Howland Reed made an agreeing sound.
"We should keep moving," said Arya, and Jon nodded in agreement. Ned cast a worried glance at Sansa, but in spite of her pale face and uneven breathing, she stepped forwards to stand in line with Jon and Arya.
"We'll all go on," she told Ned. A flicker of pride flashed through Ned's eyes before he nodded solemnly.
They picked their way carefully through the remainder of the tombs. This far deep, the features had been weathered away, leaving only faceless statues watching their progression with brittle, broken swords across their knees. Somehow, this felt worse than statues at the top of the crypts; the statues no longer felt like Stark ancestors, but an ancient, unknowable force. The broken swords were the only comfort; even if they somehow got loose, they wouldn't be difficult to repel.
Jon turned back to help Sansa over rubble, the partially collapsed remains of the roof. Arya scrambled behind Sansa, her breeches looking beaten and her hair a mess. Lady Stark might have a heart attack when she sees Arya, thought Jon, amused. Up ahead, Ned, the Greatjon, Reed and Robb were working to clear the path.
"Do you think we'll find anything?" asked Jon. He hated to think that they'd ventured so far down when there was nothing to find. The dirt above their heads seemed ominous, as if it would fall in any second.
Arya shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest."
"Lord Reed is right, though," said Sansa. "If anything remains, it'll be in the depths of the crypts, and we need all the information we can get."
"Girls, Jon!" called Ned. He and the others had managed to clear a small hole at the top of the cave-in. Howland Reed was already scrambling through it. It looked hardly large enough for the Greatjon to fit through, but he managed to cram his way through. Jon sent Sansa and Arya ahead of him, before making his was through the last of all.
"There's something up there," said Sansa, brushing dirt off of her skirt. "All boarded up, by the look of it."
Sansa was right; it was hard to see it in the low light, but someone had made an effort to place wood and earth across a narrow entranceway between two tombs, just as the crypts turned a corner. They were on one of the lowest levels, now, although not quite at the bottom – they were far enough down that they were in the levels Brandon the Builder himself had probably walked the halls of, building tombs and burying his family members.
Arya slipped away from the others before anyone could stop her, approaching the door. "I think it's newer," she said, surprise colouring her voice. "All this wood, I mean. It hasn't rotten away as much as the supports, and it's definitely been hammered in over the top of the door."
Silence met her report. Jon didn't want to think it, but he couldn't help but wonder: what had been hidden in there?
Silently, without any discussion, Reed and the Greatjon withdrew the daggers from their belts. It hadn't been easy to find enough dragonglass around Winterfell to create any daggers – there weren't even enough to go round. Ned took his dragonglass dagger from its sheath, motioning for Arya and Sansa to get behind the others. Arya made a face, but obeyed. Jon and Robb got to work tearing the wood from the door, the other men hovering behind them with daggers at the ready. The wood came free easily enough. It may not have been as rotten as the rest at this level, but it was still thousands of years old, old enough that it made Jon dizzy to think about.
When the wood was cleared away, Robb tried the door. It didn't move. Gritting his teeth, Robb backed up a few steps before throwing his whole weight against the door. It gave way and Robb stumbled into the room, Ned rushing in after him. Jon followed.
It was clear that the room hadn't seen life in generations: everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the air felt stale and still. Against one wall was shelves full of books, still in tact even after all these years, and most remarkable of all was a sword, resting against the wall opposite Jon, held up in what seemed to be a position of honour.
"Ice," breathed Ned, because there was nothing else that the sword could be. This had to be the original Ice, the one that had been replaced by the Valyrian steel sword somewhere above their heads. With a sudden rush of horrified understanding, Jon realised exactly where the name had come from.
Arya crossed the room and stared up at the sword with wide, flinty eyes. "This is the kind of sword the White Walkers used," she whispered. "The kind of sword that killed me."
"Why do we have a sword of the Others?" asked Robb, even though there was no one living who could provide him an answer.
"They sealed this away," said Sansa. "I always thought that the original Ice must have broken, but it wasn't. One of our ancestors purposefully sealed it away and hid the truth from the rest of us."
Howland Reed alone had moved to the bookshelf. Gingerly, he took down a stack of parchments. They had been discoloured by age, but otherwise seemed unharmed. "If there are answers anywhere, it will be in these."
"Be careful with them," cautioned Ned.
"Being sealed in this room must have preserved them," went on Reed. "The air is so still – water couldn't have gotten in and the temperature probably didn't change much in here. Your ancestor might be the one reason we have any records at all."
But why do we have an ice sword? Jon thought, but didn't bother saying, because no answers were forthcoming.
Sansa handed her torch to Robb and took some parchment from Howland Reed. With Robb holding the fire close to the documents, Sansa skimmed through the first few pages, murmuring to herself.
Jon went to stand before Ice. A chill seemed to emanate from it. It must be magic, he thought to himself. How else could it have survived all these years, rather than melting away with the summer? It was larger than a great sword, although not by much. Jon wondered if it was heavier or lighter than the Valyrian steel sword. Valyrian steel was already lighter than ordinary steel – was ice lighter again?
"Arya."
Sansa's voice cut through the still room, short and brittle. Jon realised that he had been reaching for Ice, and snatched his hand back and away from it. Arya was hurrying to Sansa's side.
"The Three-Eyed Raven watches us all," Sansa read aloud. "We cannot hide from him. We don't know how to escape him."
Arya stared at Sansa. "They're talking like -"
"Like they're scared of the Three-Eyed Raven," finished Sansa. "But Bran was the Three-Eyed Raven, wasn't he? He couldn't have been back in the first Long Night."
"He wasn't the first," said Arya. "That's why he went north, to learn from the one before him. They must stretch all the way back to the Long Night. But Bran was on our side. Why are they scared of him?"
Sansa scanned the rest of the piece of parchment. "A thousand eyes and one," she read. "Stay inside the keeps. The Heart Tree can no longer be trusted. He controls the Godswoods." She looked up. "It's a letter from an Umber to Winterfell. A warning, apparently."
"But Bran was trying to stop the Others!" protested Arya, desperation in her voice. "Why would we hide from Bran? Why would they hide from the Three-Eyed Raven?"
Sansa stared around the room with wild eyes. "What if he wasn't?" she whispered.
"What are you saying, Sansa?" asked Arya, her voice low and dangerous.
"He told us a hundred times over that he wasn't Brandon Stark anymore, just the Three-Eyed Raven," said Sansa. "The first time I spoke with him after I came home, do you know what he said to me? He said that I looked beautiful, the first night Ramsay - " Sansa broke off with a shudder. She wiped a tear furiously from her eyes before she continued. "He didn't hug me at all. He barely hugged you. Does that sound like Bran to you?"
"Who else would it be?"
"What if…" Sansa licked her lips nervously. "Bran called us 'sister' when he sent us back, but he never called us that after he became the Three-Eye Raven. So what if it was Bran, or whatever was left of him, that sent us back, not the Three-Eyed Raven? What if Bran overpowered the rest of the Three-Eyed Raven to send us all back? What if that's why Ramsay came, too? Because Bran couldn't control it enough, because he wasn't truly in control, and he accidentally sent Ramsay with us, because he had technically sworn an oath to me, even if he'd never had any plans of fulfilling it."
"But then what was the Three-Eyed Raven planning?" asked Arya.
"I don't know," said Sansa. "I don't… But we have an ice sword, here in the crypts, sealed away."
"It could be a trophy," said Ned. "The first of the Starks may have taken it from the Others as a prize."
"Then why seal it away?" fired back Sansa. "We've been telling the world winter is coming for thousands of years. If there was any proof that the White Walkers had existed, it was that sword. So why would one of our ancestors be ashamed of a trophy?"
"You're saying that we got it from – what? A trade?" asked Robb.
"I don't know!" exclaimed Sansa. "I don't know. But I think the story is a lot more complicated than what the Three-Eyed Raven told us. I think there's more to the Others than wanting to destroy the world's stories."
"You think the Three-Eyed Raven lied to you all," said Ned. "What motive could he have for that? Assuming that there is a way to communicate with the Others – because how else could we have made a trade? – why would the Three-Eyed Raven lie to you all? What's his motive for all of this?"
"The answers, if there are any, will be in these," said Sansa, holding up her stack of parchments. "We need to read them all before we do anything else."
Arya gasped, sinking to her knees.
"What?" asked Jon, dropping to his knees beside her. "What is it?"
"If the Three-Eyed Raven is evil…" said Arya. She looked up to meet Sansa's eyes. "We've been meeting in front of the Heart Tree. He knows. He knows everything."
Arya threw the door to the library tower open and sprinted up the stairs. She could hear voices calling for her, and footsteps following her, but she didn't pause until she reached the top of the stairs, scanning the room for only half a second.
Maester Luwin was at the front of the room, lecturing from a book, while Bran and Rickon sat next to him. Theon was kneeling next to Bran, saying something to him quietly. Arya ran to Bran's side, knocking Theon aside in her haste.
"What the fu -" started Theon, before cutting himself off at a look from Luwin.
"Are you okay?" demanded Arya, looking over him for any signs of the Three-Eyed Raven's influence, like it would be visible.
Bran looked at her, curious but a bit bemused. Good; that was good. Emotions meant that the Three-Eyed Raven hadn't gotten to him yet. "I'm fine, Arya."
The footsteps pursuing her stopped at the entranceway. Arya glanced up; Ned was in the doorway, with Robb, Jon and Sansa crowding behind him.
"You'd tell me if you had any strange dreams, wouldn't you?" pressed Arya. "If you had any dreams about ravens, for instance?"
"Not one," said Bran. "What's going on?"
Arya slumped, dragging Bran into a bear hug. "Tell me or Sansa the second you wake up from one, alright? Promise me."
"I promise," said Bran, even though it was clear from his voice he had no idea what he was promising.
"Maester Luwin, could you take Rickon to finish his lesson elsewhere?" asked Sansa. "And send Mother and Lady Brienne here, while you're at it."
Maester Luwin bowed his head. "Of course, Lady Sansa. Come along, Rickon."
"What's going on?" asked Theon, his voice weary. "I thought you were all just going down into the crypts."
"We were," said Sansa. "We found documents, and…" Sansa shook her head in disbelief. "A sword made of ice."
"Like -?" started Theon, unable to say it aloud.
"Like the ones the Others used," confirmed Sansa. "Uncle Benjen, Lord Umber and Lord Reed are bringing some of them up now, but we'll have to make return trips – especially since we had to chase after Arya instead of bringing some up for ourselves."
Arya jutted her chin up, unrepentant. "I had to see Bran."
Sansa sighed, coming to kneel by Bran herself. "Are you sure, Bran? Sure that you haven't dreamt of any three-eyed ravens?"
"I swear it," insisted Bran.
"Wait – Three-Eyed Raven as in Bran?" asked Theon. "I mean, the other Bran."
"No, not Bran," said Sansa. "There's been one more of the Three-Eyed Raven, and – well, let's wait for Mother and Brienne to arrive, so we don't have to explain it twice."
"It is very important that you tell us, Bran," said Ned, his voice solemn. Bran nodded, wide-eyed, his face beginning to pale. Robb sunk into the chair Rickon had just left, rubbing his face tiredly.
"I can't believe we might have cocked this all up," he said, voice muffled by his hands.
"We?" repeated Sansa. "No, this is on Arya and me. You knew nothing. We should have guessed."
"How could we have guessed?" asked Arya. "He was helping us; he sent us back. How were we to know?"
"But he told us a dozen times -" started Sansa, but was interrupted as the door opened again. Catelyn and Brienne entered, surveying the room quickly.
"Something's wrong," stated Catelyn.
"Very wrong," said Sansa. "Gods, Mother, we might have doomed us all."
Brienne blanched at Sansa's words, but Catelyn held firm, her eyes widening only a little. She strode across the room and took up Maester Luwin's old seat, looking more like a queen in it than Cersei or Daenerys ever had. "Tell me everything."
"We found documents," said Ned. "They mentioned the Three-Eyed Raven."
"What Bran was, in the other time?" checked Catelyn.
"It's what we thought he was," said Arya.
"There is more than one Three-Eyed Raven," explained Sansa. "Bran was taught how to become the Three-Eyed Raven. The line stretches all the way back to the first Long Night."
"Except that what we read in that parchment didn't match up with what Bran – or what we thought was Bran – told us," said Arya. "Whoever it was writing that record, they were scared of the Three-Eyed Raven, as scared of him as they were of the Others."
"I'm going to be as evil as the Others?" whispered Bran, pulling away from Arya.
"No!" exclaimed Arya. "No. You still saved us, remember? It was you who sent us back."
"I think that the Three-Eyed Raven is like…" Sansa hesitated. "It's like a castle, that's been added to a hundred times over. Maybe more has been added to it than what it began as, but it's still a castle, you see?" To Bran, she said, "It's like if they added a Maester's wing to a castle that had never had one before. You're the Maester's wing; you're the good part." To the rest of the room, she said, "I think that when we were dying, Bran managed to take what was left of him, inside the Three-Eyed Raven, and sent us back. So it wasn't the Three-Eyed Raven that sent us back, it was Bran, using the Three-Eyed Raven's abilities, and he tried to send people back to help us. That's why Arya and I were told to stop everything, and Brienne and Theon were only told to fulfil their oaths – their oaths to us, to help and protect us." Sansa paced back and forth across the room. "Except Bran couldn't fully control it, or maybe the other parts of the Three-Eyed Raven tried to sabotage him, and that's why Ramsay was sent back, because he did swear an oath to me, even if he never had any intention of fulfilling it."
"We'll stop this," promised Arya. "You're never going to become part of the Three-Eyed Raven, Bran. I'll die before it happens."
"I don't understand," cut in Catelyn. "How does this make us doomed?"
"The Three-Eyed Raven can see through the faces of the Heart Trees," said Arya, "and Sansa and I have been talking in front of the Heart Tree since the first time we woke up back here. The Three-Eyed Raven knows everything."
"That still doesn't mean we're doomed," said Brienne. "The Three-Eyed Raven, regardless of whether it was Bran or not, was helping us against the Others."
"Was he?" asked Sansa.
"I'm sorry?" said Brienne.
"What did he do against the Others?" asked Sansa. "He told us that he was what the Others were pursuing, but we don't have any proof of that. He didn't tell us much about their movements; he didn't help Arya or me when we were – he didn't tell us any information that could have persuaded Daenerys Targaryen sooner or Cersei Lannister at all. What did he do to help us?"
Theon and Brienne sat silent at that, dumbfounded.
"A monster stole our brother's body," hissed Arya. "He stole Bran's body and he's been spying on us all this time."
"But none of this means that he was working against us," pointed out Catelyn.
"What more proof do you need?" demanded Arya.
Catelyn held her hand up. "I believe you," she said. "But you're missing several puzzle pieces, such as: what was the Three-Eyed Raven doing, if not helping you? And why do you think he was lying about the Others' motivation? Why did the First Men go back to using the Godswoods, if they were so scared of the Three-Eyed Raven watching them?"
"We found a sword in the crypts," said Ned. "It must have been the original Ice, because… because it was made of ice, like the weapons of the White Walkers." He glanced at Sansa. "I'm still not convinced, but Sansa has suggested it is evidence of a trade."
"Why hide it?" asked Sansa. "Father says it may be a trophy, but why would our ancestors have hid a trophy? No, I think they had to have been ashamed of it, and that only makes sense if we won it peacefully, somehow – as part of a trade, or as part of a peace agreement, or something. We've been warning people of the coming winter for thousands of years, and why would we hide away the proof of the White Walkers' existence if there wasn't some kind of shame attached to it?"
"None of that means that we traded with the White Walkers, or that we had any kind of agreement with them," pointed out Robb. "How would we, anyway?"
"The Night's Watch deserter said that they spoke to each other," said Jon. "Maybe our ancestors learnt it, same as we could learn any language."
"What kind of agreement would we have made?" asked Ned. "There are holes in your theory."
"But not the inescapable kind," said Arya. "We might be able to find answers in the crypts."
"Do you believe Sansa?" asked Catelyn, looking directly at Arya.
"I'm not sure," said Arya. "All I know is that the Three Eyed Raven isn't who he said he was, so we can't trust anything he said. But the Night King didn't offer any parley…" Nothing fits together, thought Arya in frustration. If the Three-Eyed Raven was a threat, was he the same threat as the Others? Was he a separate threat altogether?
The Old Gods were meant to be the ones living in the weirwoods. Where did they fit into all of this? Did they exist at all, or had it always been the Three-Eyed Raven rustling in the trees, leading people to exactly where he wanted them?
For all of that, though, some things fit far too well for Arya to dismiss them. Sansa's theory made sense: why else would Ramsay have been sent back? There was no way Ramsay Bolton would have ever even considering helping to stop the Others. If it had been the mistake of a boy who couldn't fully control his powers, or the deliberate sabotage by someone who could, then the puzzle pieces began to slot together.
"Robb said, once, that the White Walkers now probably aren't the same as in the Long Night," said Jon. "Perhaps this Night King is more ruthless than the last."
"Perhaps," sighed Ned. "We need more information."
"But we have enough information to say this: we must be careful in what we say before the Heart Tree," declared Catelyn. "Avoid it whenever you can."
"We can't," whispered Sansa. She cleared her throat and repeated herself. "We can't. If we suddenly stop discussing things before the Heart Tree, then he'll suspect that we know."
"So we keep feeding him information?" scoffed Arya in disbelief.
"Some," said Sansa. "Not our most important plans and our secrets, of course. Sometimes we might even deliberately mislead him. But if the Three-Eyed Raven is a threat, we need to keep him unaware that we're on to him for as long as we can, so he has less time to outmanoeuvre us."
"Sansa…" Ned shook his head, his forehead creased with worry. "I know that you have played the game of thrones and that you have won, but if all of this is true, than the Three-Eyed Raven will be far beyond anybody else in Westeros. He will have had millennia to plan. It might be best for us to remove ourselves from his game altogether."
"But we can't remove ourselves from his game," argued Sansa, jutting her chin up defiantly. "Don't you see? Whatever his game is, it has to do with the Others. So long as the Others are marching on us, we are a part of his game. The only option we have is to outplay him."
AN: It's NaNoWriMo next month, and I'm going to be working on an original project for it. I've been trying to get ahead so there should be a chapter next month, but we'll see! Just warning you guys in case I do end up disappearing for a while.