Sansa

"My child, you are beautiful."

Sansa checked herself in the mirror. Mother had styled her long, auburn hair. As always, her skill was way beyond hers.

Every braid was perfect and symmetrical. Mother knew what fashion fit her best, since Sansa bore her complexion.

"You are perfect, Sansa! You can find a handsome prince like this!" Jeyne giggled.

It was only natural. She was made to be queen. Sansa could feel it: she would wed Joffrey Baratheon, heir to the throne. Their rule shall be remembered for decades to come, and their love will be eternal.

The door opened. Her father strode in, looking as if he had not slept.

"Ned! What happened?" Mother exclaimed, "Why weren't you in the keep yesterday night?"

Father sighed, "Many things happened, my love." He eyed Sansa and Jeyne, "Girls, I need to speak with your mother. Sansa, go find Jorund. It is nearly time for your lessons."

"Yes, Father."

The two friends walked through the corridor, "I wonder what Father had to say to Mother. I've never seen him so haunted."

"Perhaps it's a mystery!" Jeyne fantasised, "A hidden tomb, a family drama! It could be anything!"

Sansa giggled, "Well, it isn't so far-fetched lately..."

Her eyes suddenly fell on a handsome man, who accidentally bumped into Jeyne.

He was tall and robust, with jet-black hair and a well-trimmed beard. Jeyne blushed, somewhat embarrassed.

"Sorry! Didn't see you there!" He said.

Before he could go on his way, Sansa called him out, "M-My Lord, what is your name?"

Gods, I stammered! He will think I am just a stupid little girl!

Sansa expected a mocking remark... that never came.

"I am Rogar Barstark. A pleasure to meet you, Lady...?"

"Sansa Stark. Lady Sansa."

Gods, he's my cousin!

"Oh! You must be the sister of Robb! He talked much about you."

Sansa sighed in relief. It could've been worse.

"May you want to know each other better...? Mayhaps near a cup of tea?" Sansa proposed.

That seemed to catch Rogar off guard, "Yes... certainly!" He laughed, "Even if I would prefer a mug of ale."

"Thank you, my Lord." She curtsied, "I have places to be now. Enjoy your stay at Winterfell, cousin."

Rogar grinned and waved as he walked away.

Sansa exhaled, "Gods, I almost humiliated myself before him."

Jeyne approached her, "You did well, Sansa," She then giggled, "Now do it with the prince!"

Jeyne then went her own way, as she had to attend accounting lessons with her father. Sansa didn't know if Jeyne would eventually replace him, she wasn't good with numbers.

This time, it was her who bumped into someone. Unfortunately, it was Maester Luwin carrying multiple books, which fell to the ground.

"Gods almighty!" He exclaimed, "Sansa, are you well?"

She got up, "Yes, Luwin, thank you..."

Her gaze lingered on a fallen book. It was so old that most of it was rotten. The cover didn't have a title, but Sansa felt a strange curiosity arising...

"Maester, may I pick up this tome?" She asked.

"Well... if I had someone to help me analyse these ancient texts... it would make my job easier, let us say."

Sansa took that as a yes, so she thanked Luwin and continued her way.

Sansa reached the Godswood, where she found Jorund alone, meditating by the Heart Tree.

He opened an eye, "Sansa, you're early today, what happened..."

"... Or what have you found?" He said, eyeing the book.

"I don't truly know, Jorund. I took it from Maester Luwin's pile some time ago, I felt it might be important."

The God raised an eyebrow, "Come here, child. These sensations must not be ignored. Let's discover what this is, together."

Sansa sat alongside Jorund, and began browsing the book. "What... does this mean?"

"That appears to be the dialect of the Shadowrunners, a wildling tribe. I wonder why the choice of such obscure language..."

Jorund furrowed his brows, "This... is an account of shapeshifters..."

"What are those?" Sansa asked.

"They are similar to wargs, but instead of wearing their companion's skin, they rather... physically become him. They are commonly referred to as druids in the legends."

"You've done well to find this, my child. This is an important testimony of the magics of old, a relic."

Sansa felt proud. She finally did something to help out! Now Arya wasn't the only one to have discovered something incredible.

Jorund rubbed his chin, "Though, I wonder why you felt an attachment to it... that probably means that fate brought you to find it, a force not even Gods can predict."

Fate... is she fated to be a shapeshifter?

Sansa felt uneasy, "What do you mean, Jorund? If I can't even warg, how could I shapeshift?"

The God chuckled, "Sansa, you're truly a gentle girl. Trust me, I've met a shapeshifter before."

"What?" Sansa asked, "How?"

Jorund looked melancholic, "It was during the Age of Heroes, when we Gods walked among men... when we were younger... and foolish."

"But that's a story for another time. Sansa, push yourself to your limits. Humanity is a race driven by passion, everything is possible if you will it."

Sansa nodded energetically. Robb can lead men, Jon can fight, Bran can warg, and Arya is fierce.

Sansa will find her way. Shapeshifting or not, she will do as much as her siblings.

"Then teach me. Where should I start?"

"That's the spirit!" Jorund said, "I will teach you the Shadowrunner dialect. There are some differences in the runes, but their spelling remains the same. If you already have a strong grasp on the common old tongue, then you will have no trouble with it."

Sansa spent some days with Jorund alone, learning with him. Slowly but surely, Sansa's understanding of the Shadowrunner language improved.

Then, after two weeks, she was ready.

"Well, I think we can begin reading the book now." The Old God announced, "I already gave it a read... I must say you found a gold mine of knowledge."

Sansa blushed slightly, "Thank you, Jorund. From where should we start?"

Jorund opened the tome. He searched for a specific page, and traced the important passage, "In order to awaken a person's shapeshifting powers, a ritual must be undertaken. If it fails, then they are not a shapeshifter."

Sansa gulped. Shapeshifting is dependent on the person's blood, if she was unlucky...

"Come by the Heart Tree, Sansa."

She did as the God said. She slowly approached the Weirwood and sat down.

"Now, drink this." He handed her a strange paste, "It's made from the sap of the Heart Tree. It has a bad taste, but it's necessary."

She took the bowl and drank. Gods, he wasn't lying, the taste is horrible.

But she started feeling... lightheaded.

"Now, touch the tree's bark, and repeat after me."

They started chanting a long, complicated mantra. With every word that was spelt, the more Sansa felt drowsy, until darkness enveloped her.

The Wolf Kissed by Fire

A girl fell.

At first, she thought it was a bottomless pit.

But then, she felt the soft grass below her.

The girl rose. Unfamiliar with her surroundings, she wandered aimlessly in the vast plains.

Fear, confusion, and... inadequacy.

The girl was lost. In environment, as in purpose.

She questioned her abilities, and for another time, she felt...

... Inadequate.

She saw a queen, moving the girl's limbs, as if she was a puppet.

She saw a mockingbird. At first, he chirped a song of hope. But then, it morphed into a malicious laugh.

The girl was defenceless. She cried, as all her loved ones abandoned her.

She was alone.

Yet, she didn't lose hope.

She adapted according to her surroundings, and morphed to survive.

The queen was strangled, her lover's hands wrapped around her neck. All lies she had prepared did not matter, as all her plans were in tatter.

The mockingbird suffocated in the dark halls of a black castle. The fires enveloped him, and the song became grim.

The girl found her way back. She may be changed, but her home...

... Was the same as before.

Sansa

She opened her eyes. She was lying down, Jorund seated near her. He had a serene look on his face; he was almost smiling.

Sansa did not understand what she saw in her dream. Everything felt jumbled... but a question did arise.

"Did it work?" She asked Jorund.

"Take a look yourself." He said while pointing at the pond.

She hastily crawled towards it, hoping to glance at her figure.

She saw a girl with grey hair and eyes.

Sansa's mouth opened in stupor. I did it!

"This is only the beginning, Sansa." Jorund approached from behind, "You still have much to learn. Continue like this, and you will master this gift."

Sansa could not divert her gaze from her reflection. She ran her hand through her now black hair, savouring its new texture. Funnily enough, now she looked more like a Stark.

"Are you listening?" Jorund asked, a bit annoyed.

"Y-Yes, I understand." Sansa answered

"Good." He smiled again, "Now, let's practice."

Theon

Theon rode alongside Robb and Bran through the Wolfswood. The brat wanted to explore the unknown paths of the forest, hoping to find something 'amazing'.

If he thinks pine cones and bushes are amazing, then he's having a good time.

He and Robb dismounted and sat on a fallen tree's trunk, while Bran still rode around the nearby clearing.

"Father seemed troubled this morning, I wonder what happened..." Robb said.

"Mayhaps he received news from the Wall," Theon theorised, "The last rangings were risky for what I know, perhaps they didn't end well."

"I doubt it," Robb answered, "From the last reports, the Lands of Always Winter seemed almost deserted. Uncle Benjen was disturbed, he said that there always was at least one stray tribe who ended up near the Wall."

Theon shrugged, "I know not, honestly. You're the future Lord of Winterfell, 'tis normal you know more than me."

Robb eyed him strangely, "Theon... are you well? These last weeks you've been-"

"I'm fine." Theon interrupted him, "I'm... just not in the right mood."

Remember this day, Theon Greyjoy. It will be important.

Theon saw a child staring back from the nearby pond. He ignored it.

"Theon, I can tell you're not fine. You aren't japing lately, and Ros-"

"This is not your problem." Theon put an end to the discussion.

The two remained silent for some minutes, only the wildlife filling the emptiness.

But then, Robb froze in place.

"Where's Bran?"

Others take me.

Theon rose, and searched the tracks of Bran's horse. "It seems he has gone this way," Theon said, "I'll go find him."

Robb seemed to retort, but Theon was already gone.

Bran seemed to have followed a faded path, probably thinking he would find something old.

The lad was too perceptive for his own good.

After some time, Theon reached a clearing. Bran was there, but...

By the Drowned God, Wildlings!

There were three of them. What troubled Theon was the one with white hair. He was nearly double his size, and carried an enormous battle axe, surprisingly well made for a Wildling. They unhorsed Bran, and bound him. He's being kidnapped. Theon probably wouldn't endure against so many enemies.

Still, in an unreasonable decision, he revealed himself to the captors, "Hey! Goatfuckers!" He bellowed, "In the name of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, release your hostage, or I will gut you!"

It didn't work well, as the first Wildling charged at him. He clumsily swung his hand axe, which Theon easily parried with his sword. The bugger was stabbed in the heart, and fell to the ground, lifeless.

The second wasn't much either. He only had an improvised club, which shattered at the third clash with Theon's blade. He finished him off, opening his throat.

"You're quite skilled, kneeler." The broad man said as he gripped his battle axe, "'Tis a shame to split ya'"

"You're no match for an Ironborn." Theon bluffed, "What's your name, savage?"

"Har! Quite confident for a kid." He said, "I am Tormund Giantsbane, Mead-King o' Ruddy Hall."

"Why so south?" Theon asked, "From what I can understand, you seem to be an important man beyond the Wall."

"Mance Rayder needs a hostage," He answered, "And I will bring him one."

"So, you seek to gain leverage on Lord Stark to come south." Theon concluded.

"Aye, 'tis for our own good. You wouldn't understand. Southerners are always more interested in their schemes than the true enemy."

Perfect, Theon found his leverage.

"Are you talking about the Others?"

Tormund's eyes widened in surprise, "And what do you know about the Others?"

"That they are coming, and with them, the Long Night."

Tormund lowered his axe, "So, you know what we're fighting..."

Theon felt the urge to attack, now that his guard is lax. But something held him rooted in place, "Yes, we know. Much has happened here. Our lords are staring North, not South."

Tormund eyed him carefully, as if considering something, "Let us do like this. I will free the boy, and I will forget that you killed my companions. But I wish to speak to Lord Stark. Do you accept?"

Theon sheathed his sword, "Deal."

Tormund tossed his axe, "You won't regret it, southerner. The boy is next to the horse, go unbind him. What is your name?"

"I am Theon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands."

The two shook hands, "You would've made a worthy opponent. Care to spar later, Theon Greyjoy?"

Theon smirked for the first time in weeks, "As long you don't split me with that axe."

"Har! You have a good sense o' humour, Theon Greyjoy. Odd enough for a kneeler."

"And you're strangely reasonable for a Wildling." Theon japes back.

The two laughed merrily, as if they were old friends.

Bran was watching their exchange wide-eyed. The brat probably couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Theon undid the bindings, and was surprised by a hug from the wolf pup. "Thank you, Theon." He said, "I was scared... I thought you were going to die..."

Theon chuckled softly, "I couldn't leave you to your fate, your brother wouldn't forgive me."

The three made their way back, passing by the same path as they came.

Theon glimpsed at the nearby pond.

A slightly older kid stared back.