2 weeks later

Jon watched Sansa in the sitting room of their bedchamber, sitting beside the hearth in a great plush chair, playing with a shirtless baby. Sansa was in short sleeves as well, her shoulders and bosom exposed, and her hair was scooped up on top of her head in a mess of braids. On the table there was a platter of grapes, wine, cheese, and bread. She sang softly to the child, who had a head of dark hair, and bright blue eyes.

Jon himself, looked down, crouching on the rug. There was a toddler, there with gingery brown hair, looking up at Jon, smiling brightly.

"Come now." Jon heard himself say, as he urged the child forward. As the child waddled forward, Jon noticed it's perfectly round eyes, shockingly purple.

"Jon." a voice said firmly. Jon looked away from his child, to the corner of the room. A raven tapped at the glass of the room. Jon looked back at the baby, urging him on with a smile. The baby cooed, and then carefully planted one chubby foot into the white fur carpet in front of him.

"Jon!" the voice said again, and Jon looked up. Bran stood there, at the window. Stood, Jon wondered, blinking at his brother.

"Bran!" he said, delighted.

"Come help me, Jon." Bran pleaded. "I'm in Queenscrown, and I need you, Jon, please."

Everything about the room shattered, and Jon woke up, sitting up straight, gasping for air. Sometimes, when he awoke suddenly, he had the same horrid gut wrenching feeling he had when he awoke from the dead. Like his whole body was different, dipped in the ice water of reality.

He grabbed at Sansa, shaking her.

She groaned, squinting her eyes up at him.

"What?" she whispered. Then she snapped into consciousness, and sat up as quick as he had. "What is it?" she demanded, her voice stronger now. "What's wrong?"

"Bran!" He said, grabbing her shoulders. "He's close, he's just south of the wall." he jumped from the bed, dressing as quick as he could.

"How do you know?" Sansa cried out at him as he hurried through the room.

"I had a dream, Sansa." he said. "And I know it sounds..."

"Ridiculous." she said.

"I don't care." he laughed, buttoning his coat around his shoulder. "I'm not going to miss the chance. Even if there's a chance, Sansa, a tiny little one...I'm not going to miss it."

"Go then." she sighed. "It's not too far, is it?"

"Less than a day on horseback. I'll be back this time tomorrow." he said.

"I can't go with you?" she demanded of him.

"Leave Winterfell without a Stark?" he asked her. She frowned.

"Arya could stay." she said.

"Arya is coming with me." he said, shoving clothes into a sack now. "You can't sword fight on horseback, and the road is dangerous, even with our banners. And a carriage would slow us down."

She frowned again.

"I'm bringing him home, Sansa." he said, bending over to her suddenly, grabbing her face with his hands. She saw then, the sureness of his words. He'd seen him, she now had no doubt.

"Go." she said. "Be safe."

He kissed her forehead, and made for the door. She heard him yelling orders, waking the men up, rousing his men behind him with a sort of eagerness she could only attribute to the thrill of battle. The determination and confidence she so admired in him.

She fell back asleep quickly, curled around the warmth Jon's body had left behind.

The snow, as they grew closer North, turned into a thick slush, and then hard chunks of ice. But they drove the horses on, against the storm.

Arya stuck close at Jon's side. The journey was long, and seemed only longer because of what may lie at the end of it.

The snow began to lessen closer to Queenscrown, and they were able to ride faster, and with more confidence.

Finally, as the sun began to sink, Jon made out the Queenscrown inn in the distance, alight from within.

"We're nearly there." he shouted over the wind. The group of men urged the horses on faster.

They neared the inn, and the way the town was positioned, created an alcove of protection from the wind. It was eerily quiet, Jon noticed.

"You're here!" a voice called out suddenly, and Jon saw a figure in the contrast of the light against the hall behind it. He and Arya dismounted first, and walked up to a girl with curls as black and wild as Jon's, covered in wildling style cloaks. "He must have called to you." she took Jon's hand, and pulled him inside the Inn. Nobody seemed to look up as the troop of rescuers clammored in. They all looked odd, Jon noticed, going about their chores, eating, or relaxing, in odd dreamlike movements. Their eyes, he realized, were glossy, and pale.

Before he could ask, Meera pulled him up the steps towards the rooms above. She led him and Arya down a hall, and then into a candlelit room.

"Bran!" Arya screamed, delighted. She rushed him, falling on the floor beside him, waiting for his equally excited response. But instead, he didn't move, but stayed silent, staring at the ceiling.

"What's wrong with him?" Jon demanded of Meera.

"No, it's alright, he's...he's okay, he's just not here, right now."

Jon moved quickly, throwing Meera against the wall and pinning her with an elbow.

"What did you do to him?" he demanded.

"Nothing!" she screamed. "Listen to me, listen to me, he's the three eyed raven. He's travelling, through time most like. In a vision sort of thing. You dreamed him, didn't you?"

He stepped back, looking at her in surprise.

"That's the only way he can communicate, when he's like that. He called for you, and you came."

"Who are you?" Arya asked.

"Meera Reed." she replied. "My brother and I helped...helped Bran. I've seen you, before, Jon Snow." she nodded at him. "At Craster's Keep."

"You were there?" he asked, his voice hollow. "Was...was Bran?"

"He needs to be near a Weirswood tree, to get out of it, I think. The godswood, at Winterfell."

"We will take him, then."

"Strap him on my horse, and then she can ride with you." Arya said. "Gather him, we need to hurry." she called to the men as they walked into the room. They bent, a couple scooping up Bran's angular body with ease.

"Meera." Jon said, his voice softer now. "I'm sorry for shouting. Your mother, she came to see me. She told us about you."

"I can explain everything, if you want." she said. "On the way to Winterfell. Everything I've seen."

Sansa awoke the next day, hardly having slept a wink. She awoke to the sound of horses in the courtyard, and the cries of men. She scrambled from bed, pulling on only a cloak over her nightgown, and pulling on her boots without lacing them.

She didn't care if she was supposed to be a proper lady of the house. Right then, it didn't matter.

She saw men walking out of the gates, and to the right, in the direction of the godswood. She rushed down the wooden stairs, and through the courtyard, slipping on ice every few steps.

"Sansa." A voice said, reaching her her. She whipped around, to see Ser Davos looking down at her.

"Where?" she sputtered.

"Take a breath, m'lady, your...brothers-" he glanced around, for affirmation nobody was listening. "Jon is taking Bran to the godswood, with Arya. They are fine. Bran...Bran is in a state."

"A state?" she demanded. "Is he ill?"

"I don't believe so." he said, still holding Sansa's shoulders. "Go see your brother, fine, but know he isn't there to greet you right now. So he wouldn't be one to mind if you properly laced your boots, to keep the snow out."

Sansa took a breath, and nodded, sinking to the ground to tie up her heavy leather boots.

"And take this." he said. "I'm heading inside, anyhow. Gods aren't my area of expertise." he layered his cloak atop hers, and she was grateful for the next layer of warmth.

"Thank you, Ser Davos." she said, bowing her head slightly. And then she rushed from the castle gates, and down the hill towards the Godswood.