Ringing, he heard ringing in his ears. How could he hear ringing when he was dead? Oh gods, had Melisandre found him and brought him back because they needed him to defeat the Night King? There were voices all around him, confusing him, through his eyelids, he could tell there was light, daylight, he could feel it on his skin. How? Had he slept through the rest of it, and it was over. He felt a slight pain in his leg, but not like it was, in fact the pain in his head was worse. He opened his eyes to see two faces looking down at him. Gods, had Robb and Theon come to get him? Had he already taken them? Then he realised this Theon wasn't the Theon he'd seen only a few hours earlier, and Robb was not a corpse.
"You alright?" Robb's face was full of concern. The younger version of Theon on the other hand could be relied on for being a complete twat, he burst out laughing.
Jon put his hand to his head and sat up. "What happened?" he screwed his eyes up, trying to adjust to the brightness and see where they were.
"You were too busy with that runt of yours Snow." Jon looked down and saw Ghost, but as a pup squirming in his cape. Theon laughed, but quickly stopped as Jon heard hooves approach.
"What's going on?" came the voice of Ned Stark. Jon looked up, his throat going dry.
"Jon fell off his horse father." Robb told him.
"Jon?" Ned raised an eyebrow.
"Ghost was wriggling about in my cape and I fell...Lord Stark." Jon lied, not having a clue what happened. "I banged my head, and I might have knocked my leg."
"Can you get up?" Ned asked as Jon passed Ghost to Robb, who now had two pups in his hands. Jon stood and began to walk around a little, the pain quickly easing. "Yer can still ride." Ned looked down. "Now get on with yer. Skies will be going dark soon, and I'm sure the girls will want to meet their pups." with that Ned turned and rode off. Jon mounted his horse and Robb handed the tiny white direwolf to him, which had stilled in his arms. He wrapped Ghost in his cape and they continued their ride back to Winterfell, giving him time to think.
What had happened? One minute Jon was laying in the snow in the Winterfell courtyard, dragons above, a broken leg and an army of dead about to slaughter him. He'd put the dagger in his heart like Bran, or the Three-Eyed-Raven had told him to. He thought it meant death, but Bran had been cryptic about the purpose of the dagger. He'd said something about them being able to stop the army of the dead, but it was hours ago. He couldn't remember word for word. Had he sent Jon back to a time where he could start to plan sooner? Giving them all a better chance of survival with longer preparation. Except there was one problem, he was only one man. Nobody would believe him and he was still young, for this was definitely the day they'd beheaded the deserter of the Night's Watch and found the direwolf pups. Jon took in his surroundings, they were just outside Winterfell, the grass was still green. It must still be late summer, maybe early autumn. Gods it was so long ago he honestly wasn't entirely sure. Matters weren't helped by the shocking headache he'd gotten from the fall, or was it from falling off a dragon.
The three of them urged their horses forward, catching up with the rest of the group, just in time for them to reach the gates of Winterfell. He heard a squeal and little Rickon had grabbed Shaggydog from Jory while images ran through his head; of a young boy running through a field, suddenly an arrow piercing his chest just before Jon was able to get to him. It looked like it did all of those years ago, before Theon and the Bolton's had damaged it. This was the castle he grew up in. Jon was so confused, he hadn't had time to feel any emotions at seeing the people he'd loved and lost. It felt like a dream, and if he allowed himself to become attached, he'd wake up screaming. He'd dreamed of his family before, so this was nothing new, except for the fact he was supposed to be dead. Deciding to enjoy dreaming about his carefree youth, he climbed down from his horse. In the courtyard Lady Stark was waiting for Lord Stark, alright, maybe jon wasn't going to be entirely carefree. Then he noticed his sisters, no cousins, he had to remind himself. Arya and Sansa were waiting for them, for the direwolves he believed. He was right except something was strange, instead of seeing an eleven year old Arya and a thirteen year old Sansa, he saw a faceless assassin with the look of Arya. Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell with the look of a young Sansa. Their posture wasn't that of children, it was that of the women they'd become. When Jon looked at them, they clearly recognised something in him. Did he look different too? Jon suddenly felt self conscious, although it only lasted a moment when Lady and Nymeria ran over to their owners. Needing to see if the girls were really in as much limbo as him, Jon made his way over to Arya. The person he wanted to speak to was Sansa, but they hadn't gotten on as children and it would look odd if he made his way to her first.
He pulled Ghost out from under his cloak and showed him to Arya, who had just picked up Nymeria and started to fuss over her. "You're being too obvious." Jon smiled, "So is your sister."
Arya looked up and smiled. "Yes, your grace." she smirked as Jon frowned. "King in the North, you haven't bent the knee to that fucking dragon bitch." she smiled. "Gods that felt good." she turned to Sansa. "How do you feel about the dragon bitch?"
"She only opened her legs for you because she wanted the Iron Throne and you were the key. She manipulated you. And what good did it do? It appears we all ended up dead after all. I hated the bitch, you are far too good for her!" she smiled sweetly and snuggled up with Lady. "Now let me spend my afterlife cuddling Lady and not having to worry about whitewalkers and Littlefinger and dragons!" Sansa turned in a huff and walked back to the castle, acting every inch the Lady of Winterfell.
"What's up with her?" Jon frowned.
"I think she's pissed off at being thirteen again. What happened when you woke up?" she asked. It was only then Jon noticed she sounded like she'd got a sore throat. "And what's up with your leg?"
"I fell off my horse, banged my head and leg."
"What is the last thing you remember of the battle?" Arya stroked Nymeria.
"I fell from Rhaegal, broke my leg. They were coming for me so I.." he started.
"You used the dagger." Arya nodded. "Is it the same leg you broke that hurts?" she asked. Jon frowned for a moment and nodded. "Sansa's last moments, she was being attacked by Rickon, bitten, then she was in her room, being bitten by Rickon. I was being strangled by the Night King. Suddenly I was here with a sore throat and memories."
"We're the same but in our old bodies." Jon frowned.
"Fancy sparring?" Arya smirked.
"You're a lot younger and you don't have Needle. I'm not as strong and I don't have Longclaw," Jon reminded her as they turned to walk towards the kitchens to get some milk for the pups. "but I'm still a lot stronger than you."
"Frightened of losing to a little girl?" she smirked. "Ouch." Nymeria had nipped her. "I forgot how sharp their teeth were as pups."
"Do you think this is a dream, or we've all had dreams or..." Jon couldn't think of anything else.
"The dragonglass daggers. The Three-Eyed-Raven gave them to us. You don't think there was more to it?" Arya asked. "I bet we are the only three who know anything."
"That means we lost." Jon tried not to stumble. "After everything we did, all the plans. For nothing."
"No it wasn't. Bran knew it wasn't enough, that is why he gave us the daggers. We know what we need, but there must be more. We did something wrong." Arya picked up some milk from the pantry and one of the maids gave her some cloths and bowls so they could soak them in the milk to feed the pups with both to see which they preferred.
"We'll meet in the Godswood after dinner." Jon whispered. "You, me and Sansa."
"How was Bran?" Arya frowned.
"What do you mean?" suddenly understood. "I never spoke to him. If he's the Three-Eyed-Raven, then he's probably going to be a better mummer than we are."
Once they'd gotten all they needed for their direwolf pups, Jon and Arya split off to their respective chambers, which already had fires lit, ready to keep Ghost warm. The pup curled up into the fur rug in front of the fire and fell asleep while Jon sat on his bed and put his head in his hands. Something had gone wrong and the Three-Eyed-Raven was trying to put it right, but how and why send them back so far into the past? The only reason Jon could come up with was to forge entirely new paths with their previous knowledge.
Jon lay on his bed, his head and leg still hurt from the fall, whether it was falling from Rhaegal or the horse, he couldn't be sure, but he looked up at the ceiling. He realised he had barely felt anything, nor acknowledged seeing his family alive again. Recently, his head was in a constant state of military thinking, or trying to wrap his head around him and Daenerys, or occasionally trying to come to terms with the lies he had grown up with. Lies he now had to face, because the man who'd raised him was here, alive and still pretending to be his father. He couldn't reconcile how he felt about Ned Stark, he loved the man, but he was still angry with him. Jon had only known a few days, the anger hadn't dissipated, he was going to struggle for a while. Another person he felt anger towards was Theon. Of course, Theon had saved Sansa, and Jon would always be grateful to him for that, but the man in Winterfell right now was prepared to betray them because he was torn between being a Greyjoy and being a Stark. Guilt was all he saw when he thought of Rickon. The only person who he currently felt no ill will towards, was Robb. Therefore, despite being happy that these people were all alive and well, he now felt mixed emotions towards them. He suspected Sansa and Arya might have the same problems.
Dinner was far easier to get through than he expected. All of the talk was of the deserter and the direwolves, as well as Jon falling from his horse. Lord Stark had asked Maester Luwin to have a look at his head and leg, but found nothing more than a bruise in the exact spot where he broke it, as if a reminder of the past, or was it future? He sat with Arya, and Sansa sat with Robb, where they tried to pretend to be children, but gods it was hard. How can you look like an innocent child when all you've faced is death and unimaginable horrors? They both kept glancing over towards Bran to see if he was Bran of the Three-Eyed-Raven, but he looked like the boy he once was. Full of life and enthusiasm. Maybe he didn't come back, or couldn't come back because he was marked by the Night King. Whatever the reason, Bran was still Bran and would be of no use to them.
After their meal, Jon and Arya made their way to the Godswood, where a few minutes later they were joined by Sansa who looked as stressed as he felt.
"That was tortuous." Jon sighed.
"I thought it would be easier being a child again." Sansa nodded.
"It is, but we're not children. Our bodies might be, but our minds and experiences are very much grown up. I believe that applies for all three of us." Arya looked at them both, her face showing no emotion.
"Arya!" Sansa suddenly sounded like her childhood self. "You didn't." she glowered.
"I thought I was going to die. Do you really think I was going to go out without knowing?" he little sister argued back. Jon was initially confused, until it dawned on him.
"Who was it with?" he rolled his eyes. "I promise not to kill him... yet." he added, realising the little girl stood in front of him, who was only eleven years old and had been intimate with a man, albeit when she was a woman.
"Who do you think? Gendry." Sansa snapped, the Lady of Winterfell returning.
"The Baratheon bastard?" Jon frowned. "He's not good enough for you."
"Why? Because he's a bastard?" Arya folded her arms, staring up and down at Jon.
"No." Jon shook his head. Eleven year old Arya would have never mentioned his status before, not that it mattered, it was all horseshit, he was trueborn, but they didn't know that. "He's a blacksmith."
"I know." Arya suddenly smirked. "Gods he'd got a gorgeous body." she looked up at Jon and then Sansa. "What, it was only a day ago. It's still very fresh in my mind." Jon felt sick, he couldn't believe he was talking about sex with his little sister. "Oh, Theon's dead." she added, suddenly changing the subject.
Sansa dropped to the floor. "How?" she asked, her voice croaking.
"You don't want to know, but he was a hero trying to save Bran...the Three-Eyed-Raven." Arya patted her on the shoulder.
"Speaking of Bran, I think we should separate Bran from the Three-Eyed-Raven. I think the boy we saw today is the real Bran. Agreed?" the girls nodded their heads. "The Three-Eyed-Raven is the one who gave us the daggers. He clearly knew they were needed and what they would do."
"Maybe we couldn't gather all of the information in one go? Maybe we needed a second chance?" Sansa suggested. "Maybe something happened which shouldn't have happened. Was there a piece of knowledge missing?'' She was almost talking to herself as Jon and Arya watched on, fascinated with how Sansa's mind worked. "Do any of us know any information which might have altered the course we took if we'd all known?" Jon knew knowledge of his parentage could have affected the way they approached the entire ordeal. The northern Lords would never have crowned him King in the north. He would never have bent the knee. It would have been left to Sansa to deal with Daenerys.
He had already decided he would tell them after the war, but now he knew he needed to tell them before anything could be planned. "Seven fucking hells!" Jon swore under his breath and the girls looked at him in shock; Jon rarely cursed in front of them. He ran his hand through his short hair, ugh he wanted it long again, and began to pace.
"Oh-oh. This is big." Arya folded her arms.
"Jon, what could be so significant that if we do something now, it will change the outcome of the war?" Sansa glared at him. Jon stopped pacing and pinched his nose, not wanting to look at his sisters.
"Gods, this is bad." Arya sighed. "Look, I can kill you if you want, that is the only thing that will get you out of telling us. Does anyone else know what you are about to tell us? Right now I mean?"
Jon looked up at them. "Lord Stark."
"Father." Sansa looked surprised, Jon nodded. "Was it something he told you?"
"I suppose we could always ask him ourselves." Arya suggested.
Jon shook his head. "Lord Stark won't tell you, he was going to tell me, but he...well, he died before he had the chance...Sam told me. Bran... I mean the Three-Eyed-Raven and Sam, they worked it out." Jon took a deep breath. "I'm not your brother." he closed his eyes.
"Don't be stupid, of course you are." he heard Sansa say, Jon opened his eyes to two confused looking girls, women, Jon couldn't make his mind up. "Look at you. You're more Stark-like than any of us except Arya."
Jon shook his head. "I am a Stark, I'm just not your brother, I'm your cousin. Lord Stark is not my father."
"Oh." Sansa's eyes widened in shock.
"Uncle Brandon?" Arya guessed.
"With Ashara Dayne, there were rumours." Sansa said slowly.
Jon shook his head. "Lyanna was my mother, Rhaegar Targaryen was my father. They were married in secret, which means I'm trueborn," he looked at Sansa and Arya, who were momentarily silent.
"Seven fucking hells!" Arya said. "No wonder you've been looking so miserable over the last few days, you've been fucking your aunt." suddenly she burst into hysterical laughter. "You only just found out didn't you?" she asked and Jon nodded.
Sansa nodded. "That explains why you could ride Rhaegal. Only Targaryen's can ride dragons. I was just so happy that you might be the one to destroy him rather than her, that it never crossed my mind that you shouldn't be riding a dragon."
"I don't see how this changes anything." Jon lied.
"Don't be an idiot, it changes everything." Sansa glared. "First thing, you can't go to the wall. You need to be raising men from the Seven Kingdoms to fight them." her eyes lit up.
Arya looked at her sister and then back to Jon. "I've seen that look, she's plotting." Jon nodded. "She's more dangerous than either of us when she does that."
Sansa looked at them. "A single sword only kills a few, a well executed plot can kill thousands." she nodded.
"I've got to go to the wall. I need to save the Freefolk and get Longclaw." he frowned. He felt naked without his sword.
"You'll have to fight with normal steel like the rest of us." Arya frowned as Jon noticed Sansa's silence and the look of concentration on her face.
"What were you plotting?" Jon knew the answer, but he wanted it from her own lips.
"If you need to gather men from all over Westeros, you are going to need to have the authority to command them. You need to be in such a powerful position, that you will have everyone supporting you and the watch." Sansa said.
Jon instantly knew where she was going with this. "I don't want it!" he glared at her.
"You don't have to sit on it afterwards. Abdicate once the war is over. Have children and let them take it. Gods, even let the dragon bitch have it." Sansa told him.
"You really don't like her do you?" Jon said.
"No!" came Sansa and Arya in unison.
"King Jon the first." Arya grinned, "I like it."
"It's not Jon." Jon winced. "It's Aegon, my real name is Aegon Targaryen."
Arya's face contorted in confusion. "But he already had a son called Aegon. Why would he give you the same name?"
Jon shrugged. "Ask Lord Stark. He is the one who was there when I was born."
"He was?" Sansa raised an eyebrow, as if something had occurred to her. "Where?"
"Dorne." Jon replied, Sansa closed her eyes. "What?"
"I think Littlefinger might suspect something." she replied.