SANSA

Sansa knew something was wrong the moment she woke up. Her head felt like it was about to split in half and she was back in Winterfell, in a room she didn't know. She tried to sit up but collapsed back down before she managed to. A groan escaped from her mouth as the impact made the pain in her head sharper for a moment.

"Sansa!" the exuberant voice was her only warning before she was engulfed in an embrace by her brother.

"Robb?" she questioned, not used to her solemn older brother acting like this. The boy pulled away and she noticed the differences. Yes, there were the Tully eyes and hair but the features were slightly different, belonging to a stranger.

"No, not Robb," the boy rolled his eyes. "I'm Rickon, did you forget?"

"Rickon?" she repeated, her voice cracking at the end as she stared at him. But Rickon was only four and the boy in front of her was much older than that. What was going on? The boy claiming to be her youngest brother nodded and looked to the side.

"Arya, see? She woke up. She did."

"Wonderful," the voice that replied to him belonged to a grown woman from what Sansa could hear. And then the woman moved closer and Sansa gasped. It was Arya, but Arya who had grown into her frame. The dark hair and grey eyes, even the long Stark face were unmistakable. But Arya was supposed to be nine, two years younger than Sansa herself.

"What happened?" was the only thing that Sansa could think to ask. Arya looked down, a guilty look on her face.

"We went riding and your horse threw you down. You hit your head really hard and lost consciousness."

"How long?" she dreaded the answer. It must have been years if her siblings had changed so much. Another thought hit her. Her betrothal! What had become of her betrothal to the Prince?

"Two days. We all were very worried about you," Arya told her, handing over a glass of water which Sansa accepted gratefully. Her throat felt parched and she needed to keep asking. If she was unconscious for two days only, why had everyone changed so much?

"I'll go tell Sandor, he'll be glad to hear she's up," Rickon who had been watching her carefully spoke up. Sansa frowned.

"Who is Sandor?" she asked and both Rickon and Arya stared at her incredulously.

"He is your husband, remember? Big, ugly man with a nasty temper?" Arya told her with an affected nonchalance while Sansa paled. Her husband was ugly? But she was supposed to marry Joffrey, who was handsome and a prince. Her head throbbed and she closed her eyes to will off the pain. She didn't understand what was happening to her. "Sansa?" Arya's voice was much closer now and there was genuine worry in it. "Get Maester Denar, Rickon, now!"

Sansa wanted to ask who this Maester Denar was and why Maester Luwin wasn't called in. He had been the one to tend to all her injuries since childhood. And for that matter, where was her mother and father? Well, father must have continued on to the King's Landing to fullfill his duty. But her mother could have at least looked in on her. Unless she was with Bran. Yes, Sansa recalled now that Bran, too, had fallen and been unconscious for far longer than her. Still, a short visit from her mother would certainly help her sort herself out.

"Where is mother?" she whispered and Arya's eyes suddenly gleamed in realization.

"What is the last thing you remember?" her sister asked and even though Sansa found the question strange, she answered nonetheless.

"We left Winterfell with father and King Robert. The last camp we made was half a day away from the Neck. Now tell me where is mother? And Lady? Where is Lady?" strange how long it took her to remember her wolf. Arya sat down on her bed, taking Sansa's hand carefully into her own.

"Sansa, that was eleven years ago. Father and mother are both dead and so is Robb. Rickon is the Prince of North and you are his acting regent until he comes of age. You have a husband and three children."

It was too much in too short a time. The pain in Sansa's temples exploded and she succumbed to the oblivion.