Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to the characters, locations, or plots from Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective owners without whom this fanfiction would not have been possible. All reviews are welcome.
The Three Sisters, a collection of three islands nestled in the Narrow Sea close to White Harbor, had always been Alara's home. Their rugged beauty was matched only by the harshness of their winters; especially over the past seventeen years. The remnants of humanity clung to these islands, their only escape from the relentless grip of the Second Long Night after the battle with the Night King and his forces decimated the North. From the moment the remaining people of the North evacuated Moat Cailin, where the final battle for the North took place eighteen years ago, Jon and Sansa led what remained of their people to the largest of the three islands. Alara thought of her parents often, they were the last King and Queen what remained of the Seven Kingdoms would ever know.
And now, as she stood beneath the ashen sky, Alara looked up at the moon. It cast a feeble glow upon the desolation that was once the Seven Kingdoms. Standing near the edge of one of the rugged cliffs of Long-Sister, she stared at the parts of the mainland visible from her vantage point. She knew very well that the journey she was about to undertake was unlike any she had faced, especially since the longest time she had been on a ship was when she travelled between the islands with her parents. Alara still smiled at the thought of Jon and Sansa; as well the stories they told of the old days. Stories which her Uncle Bran would often tell her after the King and Queen perished during an outbreak of a virulent form of the pox.
Taking a deep breath, Alara calmed herself. The world outside the Three Sisters was a frozen wasteland, where the dead roamed freely. In order to reach Winterfell… in order to complete her mission… a mission that sounded impossible to her. It seemed that her Uncle Bran, the Three-Eyed Raven, had discovered a way to change the course of history, to undo the cataclysm that destroyed the world around them. Bran explained to Alara that within a sennight, the residual magic in Westeros would be at its peak, allowing for the opening of a doorway into the past. Bran told Alara that he would be able to send her to a time just after her grandmother, Catelyn Stark, left Winterfell for Kings Landing with Ser Rodrick. When asked why not send her further back to a time before her parents left Winterfell, Bran explained this spell was unstable even if a great deal of magic was being used.
"Sending someone further back may unravel time itself," Bran had said, "the taking of Tyrion Lannister is the key point in time. Prevent it, and there is a great chance the War of the Five Kings could be avoided."
"Could be avoided, Uncle?" Alara asked nearly a moon ago.
"There will always be some uncertainty, my niece," Bran said looking up at her from his wheeled chair, "my mother taking Lord Tyrion was a key flashpoint. When you reach the past, explain everything to Robb. He will believe you…"
Alara was unsure if Robb would believe a complete stranger, and she said so to Bran. Bran simply smiled and said, "tell Robb that whenever I tell a lie, I always look down towards the ground. And if he still does not believe you, tell him he was responsible for making Sansa cry when he scared her in the crypts… something that not even my parents knew because Robb bribed her with lemon cakes from the kitchens." Alara nodded her head while laughing at the story.
Bran explained she would have to reach the godswood in Winterfell within a sennight, a month from when they first spoke about the mission. He further explained that the gateway to the past would be the pool at the foot of the Heart Tree in the godswood, a place that would be teeming with ancient magic by the time he cast the spell.
In the present day, Alara took in a deep breath as she stepped onto the small fishing vessel that would take her to Whiteharbour. After nodding at the captain of the ship, they set off on the gentle waters where there was already a thin film of frost that would ripple with the water. As the vessel sailed towards the port city of Whiteharbour, Alara moved to the rear of he ship and looked up to see two figures at the edge of the cliff where she had earlier been standing. "Goodbye, Uncle Bran... Uncle Samwell," Alara whispered as she raised her arm over her head and waved. Putting her arms back down, Alara doubted she could be seen from such a distance in the dark, so she smiled and then returned to the forward section of the ship where she stood near the bow, her arms resting on the wooden railing.
As she leaned on the railing, Alara reached into her thick woolen cloak and took out a fascinating piece of technology brought to Long Sister by a group of three Yi-Ti'sh merchant vessels that had escaped the destruction of Gull Town by the Night King and the three dragons of the dead Daenerys Targaryen. The merchants from Yi-Ti heard about the last King and Queen of Westeros having made the Three Sisters their home and a refuge for the people of Westeros. They travelled to see Jon and Sansa for information on what was happening in Westeros, and after having been told of the danger Westeros faced from the Night King, two vessels sailed to Yi-Ti to warn the mysterious country in Essos while the merchants and crew of eh third ship elected to remain on the Three Sisters. These foreign merchants and crew brought with them new technology, methods of defense and offensive technology, new methods of food cultivation which was extremely useful, as well as several other improvements which Jon had given permission to implement.
One of the pieces of Yi-Ti technology brought to the Three Sisters rested on her hand; a compass. This particular compass was a gift from a merchant Alara had come to know as Sifu Lee. She had seen the man practicing a strange form of self defence when she was nine namedays and begged Jon to ask Lee to teach her. She had already started training to defend herself under Jon's watchful eye by the time she was eight namedays after all. So Jon approved, after having asked Sansa of course, and asked Lee to train Alara in this foreign art of defence and offence. The compass was a marvel of craftsmanship, its intricate design foreign to Westeros. Sifu Lee had shown her how to use it, explaining that it would lead her North, no matter how treacherous the terrain. Back on the fishing vessel, Alara clutched the compass tightly in her gloved hand as she leaned on the railing and looked out at the distant shore line of Westeros.
The wind whipped through her dark hair, tugging at her thick fur-lined cloak with its hood folded back behind her head. She slipped the compass into the inside lining of the cloak before she slightly adjusted the leather armor, etched with ancient runes of the First Men, that covered her body underneath the cloak. Bran Stark had commissioned it for her, explaining that these runes held power which would keep her hidden from the eyes of the dead, including the Night King and his two Queens of the Dead, Cercei Lannister and Daenerys Targaryen. It was a precious gift, and Alara felt the weight of her mission pressing down on her shoulders.
In addition to the armor, she carried a valerian steel dagger with a dragonbone handle, it was the very blade that had once been intended to kill her Uncle Bran. It was a symbol of her family's history and a weapon of great power. Yet, the most remarkable gifts were the spring-loaded blades made from Valyrian steel, now concealed within her bracers. Some of the crew of the Yi-Ti ship which remained were also craftsmen, one of whom was asked to engineer these unique weapons for her, and their deadly beauty was a testament to his skill. However, they were a weapon of last resort, meant to surprise any foe who underestimated her.
Finally, there was Longclaw, her father's sword. Jon Snow had given it to her with a heavy heart, knowing that his time was drawing to a close. He, along with his wife, would pass away two days later. The sword had a storied history, and Alara knew she had to wield it with honor and purpose. Ultimately, it would be an old knight from the Stormlands, who came to Longsister for refuge, taught her how to use Longclaw.
But there was one more gift, one that Sifu Lee had passed to her with a solemn look in his eyes a few days ago. It was a satchel containing six objects, each referred to as a "bomb." There were small spherical objects with a thick oiled string sticking out one end. Alara had never seen anything like them, but Lee assured her they were powerful tools that could change the course of history. She accepted them after being shown how to ignite an extra seventh piece using the pieces of flint sewn onto the thumb and forefinger of her gloves. She also knew that her training in unarmed combat under Jon and Sifu Lee had been a grueling process, but it had made her more than capable of defending herself. It would be with all her gifts in tow that Alara set out on her journey. The compass pointed north, toward White Harbor, the nearest major port. The journey here was uneventful, but Alara suspected the journey from Whiteharbour to Winterfell would most likely come with its own unexpected issues.
Hours later, Alara reached White Harbor; and she was aware this was just a stepping stone on her path to Winterfell, and the true challenges lay ahead. After raising her wool filled hood over her head – there was also a thick layer of wool which outlined the edge of the hood and warmed her forehead and cheeks. She then took out her compass before beginning her long walk to Winterfell by followed its unerring direction. Eventually, she would leave White Harbor's stone walls behind, her footprint in the snow vanishing due to the cold breeze carrying the upper layer of snow to cover them up.
The road to Winterfell was no road at all; it was a perilous path buried beneath layers of snow and ice. The bitter chill of the North gnawed at her, despite the warmth of her rune-etched leather armor, cloak, and her hood. Alara's breath billowed out in frosty clouds as she trudged onward, her every step a battle against the biting cold.
But it wasn't just the cold that posed a threat. The dead still roamed these lands, their glowing blue lifeless eyes scanning for any signs of the living. It was the magic of the First Men's runes etched into her armor that kept her hidden from their gaze. As Alara moved, she could almost feel the protection they provided, like an invisible shield that concealed her presence from the walking dead who only needed to detect her presence before swarming her… at least that would be the case according to her Uncle Bran.
Her journey was a lonely one. She met no other living souls on the desolate path, only the occasional wight stumbling through the snow, its glowing cold blue devoid of purpose. When they drew near, Alara moved with a silent grace, slipping past them like a ghost. It was a dance of survival, her footsteps muffled by the snow, her breath held in anticipation.
The Valyrian steel blades concealed within her bracers were deadly but it was weapon of last resort; and Alara hoped she wouldn't need them. She knew that every confrontation with the dead carried the risk of drawing more of them to her location. Her mission was to reach Winterfell before the sennight passed, and she couldn't afford to be delayed by battles against the relentless wights.
As the days passed and the landscape grew more desolate, Alara's determination never wavered. Her thoughts were filled with the words of Bran Stark, that the knowledge and the fate of her world rested on her shoulders. She had been given the tools, the knowledge, and the purpose to change the past, to prevent the War of Five Kings and the devastation that had befallen her world.
Each night, she made camp in the shelter of an abandoned cottage or beneath the skeletal branches of a long-dead tree. Her dreams were haunted by the faces of those she had lost – especially her father and mother, her Uncle Tyrion, Aunt Brianne; followed by the faces of so many others she had left behind on LongSister. She held within her mind the memories of a world consumed by death. But she pushed on, driven by a relentless resolve that refused to be extinguished.
Finally, after days of grueling travel, Alara nearly reached her destination. She stool a the edge of Winter Town with Winterfell looming some distance away, what remained of the ancient castle's darkened towers standing like sentinels against the stark, snow-covered landscape. The godswood, with its ancient heart tree and the pool that would serve as the doorway to the past, beckoned to her.
Alara knew that her journey was far from over as she took a deep breath and began to take larger strides as she hurried towards the castle; the true test lay ahead. The sennight was drawing to a close, and the moment of Bran Stark's sacrifice was fast approaching. Alara couldn't afford to be too late, to miss the doorway and be trapped in a world where all she loved was dead.
Reaching the wide-open gate into Winterfell after several minutes, Alara stopped at the threshold and took a final glance at the rune-etched armor that had kept her hidden from the dead while her heart raced with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. As she stood still, taking deep breathes to calm herself, Bran Stark's words echoed in her mind.
"Alara," Bran said after he presented her with the armour, "once the spell is cast, most of what remains of magic in Westeros would be funneled into opening the portal, and thus the protection offered by the runes etched into the armor would temporarily fail."
Despite the warning, Alara reassured Bran.
"I can handle it, Uncle," Alara had said.
Back in Winterfell, Alara knew she had to await the signal before jumping into the pool at the godswood. Taking a deep breath once again, she stepped forward, her heart filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty. The godswood awaited, and with it, the chance to change the course of history. The castle grounds were a haunting sight. Large debris lay on the ground covered in snow, some of the walls remained collapsed from the battle in Winterfell, a battle that was lost within a half hour, and led to the abandonment of the castle. The army of the living escaped to Moat Cailin, with the dead closely chasing them. Moat Cailin would be the site of the final battle by the people of the North… ravens begging for aid at Moat Cailin were sent to the Houses of the South before the fall of Winterfell, but there was no reply. Not a single Southern army came to aid the North in Moat Cailin; so when the loses in the Battle of Moat Cailin were piling up, the decision was made to use the escape tunnels beneath Moat Cailin and escape to White Harbor before moving to the Three Sisters. The South was left to fend for its own, after all they left the North to die; and so many people had died that day. Alara could only imagine her how her Aunt Arya must have felt dying side by side with Jaime Lannister and most of the Free Folk as they covered the retreat from Moat Cailin.
Alara pushed those stories aside as she walked past the many bodies that lay scattered on the ground, their forms covered in a blanket of snow. The remnants of humanity that had once sought refuge or fought within Winterfell now rested in a frozen slumber. Alara's gaze briefly fell on one of the fallen, a face now blue and very well preserved, but there was no time for mourning. She had a mission to complete, a world to save. Alara continued to cautiously walk through thee castle; even though these bodies were now unmoving, Alara was aware they would be coming at her without mercy if she hadn't been wearing the armour.
Alara continued onwards in silence… silence was a good thing she reminded herself… until she could see the entrance to the godswood in the distance. She breathed a sigh of relief when all of a sudden there was a loud THUM that echoed throughout the castle as the ground beneath her feet violently trembled.
'What the…!' Alara thought to herself as she stumbled sideways but managed to keep her balance. However, the continued trembling forced the dead all around her to rise from their sleep. She could see bodies moving all around her as they began standing up on the snow-covered ground. She hard inhuman sound from above, so she looked up at the covered walkways where shadows with glowing blue eyes were shuffling around as if searching for the very thing that woke them from their slumber.
'I need to run,' Alara though to herself. She did not dare not speak… not now when she was so close to completing the first part of her journey. As she prepared to run, the trembling stopped. Suddenly, there was a bright blue pillar of light that shot into the heavens, illuminating the landscape around her with an eerie glow. Alara's heart skipped a beat as she realized that the moment had arrived.
'Uncle Bran did tell me to await the signal before jumping into the pool,' she thought to herself as she breathed out, her breath visible in the frigid air. With a deep breath, she steeled herself for what was to come. The dead – at least the ones who were already moving about directionless where she had been standing staring at the pillar of light – turned towards Alara.
"The armour's magic is temporarily gone," Alara said before pressing her lips together and breaking into a run. Alara's footsteps were quick and sure as she weaved through the awakened dead. Their grasps reached out for her, pale blue fingers brushing against her cloak; but she moved with a grace born of desperation, narrowly avoiding their clutches.
Finally, she reached the entrance to the godswood, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She raced through as Wights continued to rise all around her. These Wight then chased her until she reached the pool at the foot of the Heart Tree glowing with a blue hue. However, what she found upon reached the pool sent a shock through her veins. There must have been dead bodies nearby, and those dead must have awakened when the pillar of blue light appeared. As screams and moans of the Wights chasing her from behind drew closer, Alara could only watch helplessly as Wights stepped into the pool. Panic surged within her as she realized that she might be too late.
"No, never too late," Alara Stark whispered.
Without hesitation, Alara reached into her satchel, her fingers closing around one of the mysterious bombs Sifu Lee had provided for her. She remembered the instructions he had imparted before her journey, as well as the careful demonstration of how to activate the bomb.
While making a run towards the Wights rushing into the pool, she placed the oiled thick string close to her thumb and forefinger. She snapped her fingers, the pieces of flint sparked and lit the string. She watching a flame light up the string; the fire was travelling down the string - with a hissing sound - towards the black sphere.
"Once you have lit the string, you count to ten and then throw it into a group of people for maximum effect," Sifu Lee had said. And that's what Alara would do. Nearing the pool, she hurled it with all her might toward the group of Wights preparing to rush into the glowing water. The bomb landed with a thud, and Alara wasted no time pushing past the gathered dead, their outstretched arms just inches from her, as she rushed past after pushing them away. Without thinking, Alara jumped into the pool just before there was a violent explosion which rocked the godswood.
The force of the blast was immense, and Alara felt herself hurtling through a maelstrom of light and energy. The explosion ripped through the wights that were just about to enter the pool after her, scattering them in all directions. It was powerful enough to have the trunk of the Heart Tree be ripped apart, causing the great tree which stood for thousands of years to fall into the pool; effectively blocking the other Wrights rushing towards the pool from following Alara to the past. As the world around her dissolved into chaos, Alara held her breath while clinging to the hope that she had made it in time, that her journey to alter the past had not been in vain.
It would be moments later that Alara found herself surrounded by cool water. The maelstrom of energy and light was now gone, only to be replaced by walls of the pool which was glowing with a blue hue. The glow pulsed for a few moments before it faded away and the runes on her armour glowed brightly for a moment, lighting the water that surrounded her before fading away.
Alara wasn't sure what the glow meant as she looked up at a blurry blue sky past the surface of the water. Bubbles escaped her mouth and nose as she slowly breathed the air out of her lungs. She could already feel her chest burning as she began moving her arms and legs to swim to the surface. However, instead of moving towards the surface, Alara felt herself sinking towards the bottom of the pool as more air escaped her mouth and nose. Alara came to a realization that the heavy cloak and hood was weighing her down, forcing her to sink to the bottom.
As quickly as possible, Alara began undoing the straps connecting the cloak to the armour. Just before pulling the last strap free, Alara grabbed the compass in the lining of the cloak. Once the compass was in her hands, undid the final strap. Almost immediately, the cloak, as well as the connected hood, slipped off her armour. Her body felt lighter as she looked down and watched the cloak sink to the bottom. Just before she began swimming up, she caught a glimpse of strange rocks near the left side of the pools bottom reflect the light of the sun above. Already feeling her chest about to burst, Alara ignored the sight of the four oval shaped rocks and hurriedly swam up towards the rippling surface of the pool.
As Alara broke through the rippling surface of the pool at the foot of the Heart Tree, she opened her mouth and sucked in a deep breath. She could immediately feel the warmth in the air in spite of the cold water which had her raven colored hair pressed down onto her scalp, the very same water which soaked in through sections of her armour and soaked her under-cloths. Although she was slightly shivering, Alara still smiled at the bright sunny day complete with a cloudless clear blue sky. Finally, she had reached the past. Opening her eyes to look towards Winterfell's godswood stretched out before her, her heart fell at the sights of Wights – the very ones who stepped through the pool before Alara did - ambling towards the silhouette of Winterfell's walls and the dark outline of the castle itself.
Panic surged within her as she realized that the wights were going to reach the castle if she didn't do anything. Hurriedly scrambling out of the pool, Alara stood up while drawing Longclaw… her gloved hands gripping the wet leather handle. Alara knew she had to stop them. With her Valyrian steel blade, Alara moved with lightning speed and with practiced ease. The ground beneath her was still slick from her emergence from the pool, but she couldn't afford to slip. She advanced toward the approaching wights who hadn't stopped moving and turn towards her.
'The protection of the runes etched into the armour must have returned,' Alara thought. She took advantage of her good fortune as she used Longclaw's blade to cut through their frozen flesh with deadly accuracy. Not being able to sense where the attacks were coming from until it was too late. The Wights would turn towards her direction, but they were unable to locate her. Alara fought with every ounce of strength and skill she possessed, her blade flashing under the bright sunny day as she weaved and dodged while cutting one Wight after another. The wights fell one at a time, their bodies crumpling down to the ground upon being sliced by Longclaw. Alara was determined to protect this moment in time, to change the course of history.
With all the Wights unmoving on the moss and leaf covered ground, Alara turned towards the pool which was no longer glowing with the blue hue.
"Does that mean the time travel spell is broken?" Alara whispered to herself as she slipped Longclaw back into its scabbard. She then looked down at her armour and the etched runes, "it must be, especially since the Wights could not see me until it was too late."
"Yes, niece." Alara spun around upon hearing the familiar voice of her Uncle. Her widened at the sight of Bran standing a few steps from her. Alara was surprised, after all he was standing… he was standing without his wheeled chair anywhere in sight.
"Uncle?" Alara whispered as she took a step forward.
"I am not really here, Alara," Bran said with a small smile on his face. Alara stared closer and realized she could see through the figure of Bran standing there. It wasn't too much, but she could see shadows of the trees behind him. "This is the last vestige of magic left from our time; with the Heart Tree destroyed, the conduit for the magic was destroyed."
Alara felt tears gathering in her eyes. Bran raised her after the deaths of Jon and Sansa, and now he was gone as well. Bran had already told her that his sacrifice was needed for the spell to work, but Alara's heart still ached.
"You are what remains of our hope, Alara," Bran said. Alara could hear the sounds of voices in the distance, the sounds of barking, sounds of boots rushing towards the both of them. She refocused her attention to Bran who continued to speak with a soft and ethereal voice "You've taken the first steps, Alara, but your journey is just beginning. There is much you must do to alter the course of history. Remember what we talked about; the players, events, the secrets."
Alara nodded, "I remember, Uncle."
"I have a couple of surprises for you," he said, his smile widening, his words cryptic and intriguing. Alara's brow furrowed in curiosity. "Surprises you will encounter when the time is right."
Just before Alara could ask about these surprises, she could see Bran starting to fade just as several figures rushed through the trees. She could see them now; two boys – one with bright red hair and the other with dark brown, one carrying a sword and the other a bow with an arrow already nocked, there were about eleven guards in the colours of House Stark, an old man in a brown robe with links of chain around his neck panting as he stopped next to the red haired young man, and then there were the direwolves. Alara nearly laughed out as she watched the direwolves surround her, waiting for the command to either attack or stand down. She had never seen a direwolf, of course Jon and Sansa would tell her stories of their wolves but she had never seen one. And here there were three.
"Who are you? How did you get…" the red haired one spoke before stopping suddenly, his eyes fixed on the figure wearing gray and black turning around to face him. He stepped back while whispering, "what… what are you?"
Alara watched as Bran turned towards each of the direwolves growing at her. "Greywind, Shaggydog, and Summer." Upon hearing their names being called, the direwolves seemed to step back, their growls turning to whines while their tails dropped down towards the ground. "It is good to see you all again." Alara watched Bran turn towards the men in front of them and speak, "Robb, Theon, Maester Luwin… oh have I missed you all."
"Who are you?" Theon asked, confusion etched on his face. However, it was the person Bran identified as Maester Luwin who stepped forward with a look of realization before speaking, "Brandon? Little Brandon?"
"Brandon?" Robb said as Alara heard whispers from the House guards. Robb continued, "as in Bran? Our Bran?"
"He's still in bed… and a child," Theon jumped in.
Before Robb, Theon, and Luwin could press him for more information, Bran's form faded even more to the shock of everyone, including Alara. Bran turned towards Alara and nodded his head, "take care of yourself, Alara."
"I will not fail," Alara whispered as Bran started to dissipate like mist in the wind. Alara's heart ached with a mix of loss and determination. She had come to the past to change the fate of Westeros, and she would honor her uncle's sacrifice by completing her mission. When the last remnants of Bran's spirit vanished, Alara turned towards a stunned Robb who was staring where Bran had been standing until now. Robb turned his head towards Alara and whispered, "Who… who are you, girl? What just happened?"
Alara looked around at the figures staring at her. She recalled Bran saying there were spies in Winterfell who answered to the Spider and to Petyr Baelish in Kings Landing. He said that these spies mostly resided in one of the Wintertown brothels while a limited few, including a couple of children without tongues, were servants in the castle. Bran had even provided her with their names which she had to memorize. Luckily the number of spies were not that many since they hated the cold. He also told her not to reveal her true identity until the spies were neutralized; however, she could use an alias until then. "When you are certain the spies are executed, only then reveal your true self to only Robb… and only in father's solar," Bran had said a few days before Alara left the Threesisters.
"You have spies within Winterfell and Wintertown," Alaya said much to the shock of everyone present, "I will not reveal my identity or the nature of my mission until those spies are neutralized." Alara stepped forward before continuing, "all I will tell you is that I need your help. So please, may we speak privately?"
Jon, Castle Black.
Jon understood what his Uncle Benjen and father, Eddard Stark, meant when they asked him to delay in taking the oaths of the Nights Watch. He had seen with his own eyes that the Watch was made up of criminals from thieves to rapists to murderers. They hadn't wanted him to waste his life away in a glorified prison, they wanted him to explore the world, marry, have children of his own. But Jon didn't want to have children who were Snows, and his father had every opportunity to legitimize him. Of course, he couldn't blame Eddard too much… his wife Catelyn would have never approved it. Jon told himself he needed to stay with the Watch despite his misgivings, there were still some honourable people in the Watch.
'The Lord Commander and Uncle Benjen are just a few,' Jon thought to himself as he was encircled by the new recruits who had accompanied him to the Wall a month earlier. He glared at the sneer on the face of the Master-of-Arms at Castle Black, Ser Alliser Thorne before turning towards Pypar who Thorne had ordered to attack Jon as part of the training. Jon knew he could take on any one of these new recruits, after all he was trained by the best in Winterfell. Pypar attacked, and Jon brutally took him down with a smirk on his face. Thorne then ordered Grenn to attack him, and Jon took him down as well after breaking his nose.
As Grenn was taken away, Jon readied himself for the next attacker. However, none came… in fact, he felt as if there was something constricting his throat. He dropped his training sword while Thorne yelled at him to pick it back up. However, Jon couldn't answer since he couldn't breathe as he gasped for air. He brought his hands to his throat while falling down onto his knees. He heard the voice of Tyrion Lannister calling out for him, he heard the Lord Commander, who had been watching the training, call out for the Maester. Suddenly, the constriction that blocked his throat was gone just before he screamed out in pain when it felt as if red hot fire place pokers were being stabbed into his head and every part of his body. He fell screaming onto his side before everything around him turned dark.
Sansa, The Red Keep.
Sansa stared at the wooden doll her father, Lord Eddard Stark, had just handed to her. It was made of wood and indeed looked beautiful. But her anger at him and at Arya for the death of her direwolf, Lady, was simply too raw to push down. Sansa erupted at Eddard and telling him she was too old to play with dolls anymore. Her outburst even had Septa Mordane shocked and she had to slightly raise her voice at Sansa; that she needed to respect her father.
"May I be excused?" was all she asked as she looked down at the plate of food in front of her. How could she eat? Lady was dead and her father had killed her. If only Arya had lied… then Lady would have been spared. But no, Arya had to tell the King that Joffrey was at fault. Oh how Sansa was angry at her sister. She didn't want to see Arya... if it was up to her, she would ask her father to return Arya to the North where she could continue her savage ways.
As she got up off her seat, Sansa walked around the table and past the chair where the Septa was seated across from her father… Sansa couldn't look at her father, or else she would yell at him once again. However, when she was just about to pass the back of the Septa's chair, she stopped and brought her hands to her throat when she felt it constrict. She gasped for air while turning to face her father who jumped off his seat and rushed around the table just as she was about to fall onto her knees.
"Sansa!" she heard her father yell.
"Sansa!" Septa Mordane yelled as well when the red haired girl fell into her father's arms while gasping for air.
Suddenly, Sansa felt her throat clear just before she felt what could only be described as hundreds of red-hot pieces of iron stab into her body and head. She released a blood curdling scream while bring her hands up to both sides of her head. Through her tear-stained eyes caused by the immense pain, Sansa saw Arya rush back into the room. Sansa closed her eyes while Ned called out for the Maester, her own screams ringing in her ears.
Samwell, Eastwatch-by-the-sea.
Samwell Tarly was surprised to find himself back in the past. Of course, the pain that coursed through his body minutes ago was something unexpected as well. When he woke up on the wooden deck of the ship nearing Eastwatch, he first caught sight of Edd. The very same Edd who died years ago from his perspective. Stunned silent, Samwell slowly stood up with the help of some of the other new Nights Watch recruits and found himself staring up at the Wall in the distance. He remembered this moment… how could he forget the day he would arrive at the Nights Watch for the first time.
He turned and faced the others staring back at him as if he was a mad man. Shaking his head, Samwell turned towards the Wall once again.
'Alara was the one supposed to travel back through time, why am I here?' thought Samwell to himself. This was not the plan, how had Bran sent his soul back into his younger body. And when had he done so. Samwell remembered watching Bran lean back on the Heart Tree in the south side of Longsister before whispering the spell, and then stabbing himself in the heart. Samwell had watched Bran's blood flow from his body and towards the thick roots of the tree before there was a violent quake. He remembered hearing people screaming from the Winterfort and the nearby villages before he had a sensation of falling down a deep dark tunnel.
'What did Bran do?' Samwell thought as he stared at the Wall. Now he had to make a decision, he could find a way to travel all the way to Winterfell and meet with Alara there, 'I know she made it through… she is the daughter of Jon and Lady Sansa after all.' Or he could go to the Nights Watch as his father desired. 'At least there, I could help the Lord Commander, Jon, Lord Benjen, and Maester Aemon after I tell them of future events related to the Army of the Dead.'
Samwell knew he had about two hours to make a decision. He just hoped to make the right one.
TBC
