Chapter 2!
As promised, this will be longer.
Support the official release or Ramsay Snow will flay you.
About a fortnight later…
Her heart was beating faster than it had any right to. Finally, a way to better save the people they loved from war. If he went back too… She hoped he did, as he would be able to change a lot about this world. Father wouldn't be dead, nor Robb or Arya, maybe Sansa too… Bran and Rickon would still be alive, Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn, Jon Snow and Rodrik Cassel, everyone that made Winterfell what it was. He would find it easier: he had been in war, experienced its horrors and won victories with Robb.
Until he decided to kill Bran and Rickon…
No. Theon helped her escape. The time he spent in the clutches of oh so dear lord husband had changed him, it had to. It had changed her as well…
Ok. Don't think about the Bastard. It still felt awkward, talking about him like that. Don't think that. He was a vile shit and deserved to die. Or do that thing with the dogs… The Bastard's girls, she remembered each one of their names. Who knows, maybe in the other life, someone fed him to them. Unlikely, though. They seemed as loyal as the Stark direwolves last time.
She realised that she had been thinking all this time, and not bothered do actually rise from bed. Prompted by her Father, she dressed herself and padded down to Winterfell's great hall. She was only two, of course, but she had somehow amazed everyone with her high level of intelligence. "She taught herself to read!" was something yelled by her Mother a few days ago. Everyone was baffled, and quite honestly, she was enjoying herself. She had been trying to stifle her laughter so much, she actually pulled a muscle.
Remembering had other uses, though the majority she had used to amuse herself, as she was much too young to use them in other ways. Her personal favourite was wandering the castle and telling the stories to Arya later. She seemed jealous: even then, she wanted to explore. Or now. Tenses were getting confusing. Anyway, already knowing the castle, she was able to explore areas she had not seen before. Once Bran was born in about two years or so, she had to get in a climbing race with him once. But I will have to make sure he doesn't fall.
So, once she had broken her fast, and answered Maester Luwin's questions perfectly, she came to the courtyard under the bridge to see the procession arriving through the gate. She saw a few guards, and behind them, even from this distance she could see the figure of Lord Eddard Stark. Gods, he looks young. She had vaguely remembered a six-and-twenty-year old Lord Stark, but not vividly. Behind him she could see young Robb on horseback as with the rest of them, and next to Robb…
Her heart sank. For some reason they took Asha instead. Oh Gods, this was a disaster, she didn't remem- oh.
That- That's Theon. Indeed it was. Literally looked like an older, dark-haired Sansa, but yes, it was Theon. Why did he grow out his hair? Just got bored waiting for a chance to go here? The horses came to a stop, and Lord Stark dismounted and was immediately ambushed by Lady Catelyn, who threw her arms around him and gave him a kiss. She could see Sansa and Arya both wince at this, and had to stifle another laugh.
"Everyone!" Lord Stark called. "This is Theon Greyjoy, last and last remaining son of Balon. He will be joining us at Winterfell." Lord Stark began to call out instructions, and Theon flashed a quick smile at her before following Father. The hair proves somethings changed. She had had no interaction with the Islands: everything there should have gone just as it had the first time round. We will have to talk later. In the meantime she took a trip to the godswood.
Once she dusted herself off, she went to go find Theon. This took a bit of time, but she eventually managed to track him down somewhere she never expected him to be: crouched over a stack of books on military strategy in the library tower. "So you came back too?" she called out.
He looked up, smiled, and said: "Aye. Mayhaps the Gods have preserved me for one last fight."
Jeyne frowned at that. "I'm not going to get used to talking like you've got a stick up your arse."
Theon, unexpectedly, laughed out loud. "Truly a lady, aren't you? Robb said that exact thing, but I don't know what it means."
"You know, saying "mayhaps" in casual conversation."
"Oh. Well, I was quoting Corlys Velaryon, so if you can find the wreckage of the Sea Snake, you can take up your conplaints with him." Theon said.
"Maybe I will, after the war." she said worriedly. "Let's discuss that-"
"Already? We have almost 10 years, and even little events could cause us to avoid it entirely."
"No. It will happen. We don't know how to stop it, so all we can do is win it."
"Actually… listen, the first action was The Mountain that Rides taking his men and raiding Sherrer in the Riverlands. That happened because Lady Stark took Lord Tywin's son, the Imp, not the Kingslayer, hostage, and that happened because Lady Stark learned in King's Landing that the Imp was behind the assassination attempt on Bran, and that, if true, may have been caused by the theory that Bran did not fall, but was pushed, by-"
Jeyne gasped "Bran?" she squeaked. "He was… pushed?"
Theon nodded sadly. "Aye. By the Kingslayer, or at least that is a theory. Another one was about the Queen's children.."
"What?"
Theon sighed. "The royal children… aren't the King's."
Jeyne gaped. "But- how?"
"Rumours were spread, too many to be fake. I've been thinking about this a long time. In short, they can't be the King's because the don't look like him."
"How do you know they haven't taken after their mother?"
"Every Baratheon since Orys founded the House by marrying Argilac the Arrgant's daughter after the Last Storm, and incorporating the Durrandon's seat, arms and words into his House, has been tall and broad shouldered, with black of hair and blue-eyed. Now, Joffrey, you'll recall, is tall and strong, but he and Myrcella and Tommen are all green-eyed and blond-haired. Every male or female that had Baratheon, and before that, Durrandon, blood, has been black-haired and blue-eyed. You should know that Steffon Baratheon, King Robert's father, was the son of Ormund Baratheon and Rhaelle Targaryen, but not one child or grandchild born of that union had silvery gold hair or purple eyes." He leaned in. "Black hair and blue eyes, every. One."
Jeyne started, and failed to speak. She tried again, and after that failure, gave up for several minutes. "Then, who is the father of Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella Bara- uh.. Waters?"
"Ser Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer."
"Her own brother!? Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer!?"
"Ser Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer. Whatever he did, he's still a knight."
"He is no true knight!" She exclaimed, with as much fervour she could muster out of her mouth. "Why would he lay with her, knowing it is treason?"
"He's broken an oath before. Because it was his father who was pillaging his merry, well, as merry as the Old Lion can be, way across King's Landing, instead of Lord Stark or Jon Arryn. Maybe he thought he would lose his spot as a White Sword, and be packed off to the Wall to butcher wildlings, so he decided to, uh, reintroduce himself to his family. His sis being Queen and all…"
Jeyne was stunned for a moment, then drew herself up. "Right." she said. "Lord Stark was beheaded on charges of treason, so we can assume he figured something out about this mess and the Queen silenced him. That's when Robb went to war."
"Then I burned Winterfell…"
"And Robb married that Westerling…"
"Which gave the Boltons and Freys reason to turn on him."
They paused in somber silence. When you think about it, it really is all too obvious, how mistakes and scuffed plans pile up on the person, until they are crushed under their weight. Those who try to help them push them back up get crushed as well. Others run, and leave them to their fate.
That won't happen this time.
"I think that if we convince Lord Stark to not go south, then"
"And how would we do that? The Ironborn outcast and the steward's daughter convince Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount and Warden of the North, to shirk a duty very likely imposed on him by his best friend, who is also the King of Westeros? The sun will rise in the west when that happens."
Those were harsh words, but she had to admit, they were very probably true ones. She could not convince Lord Stark to shirk his duty, he had too much honour for that. She had to say something, and find a way to prove that they were not insane, before they could get to the convincing part.
"So what's your plan?" she said finally.
"You go to King's Landing, find out a way to keep King Robert out of a boar's tusk, and Lord Stark's head on Lord Stark's shoulders, and maybe see if the Lannisters and their very own Queen of bitches can have their plots foiled and the war avoided. If not, I mean to advise Robb to copy out his past-life plans exactly."
"Oh yes, that's right you were in the strategy meetings. I have a vague idea but what did he actually do? Summarise it, please."
"First, he gathered his men at Moat Cailin, then marched to the Twins and brokered a marriage alliance with that cantankerous old weasel Lord Walder. Then, his 20,000 bolstered by 4,000 Freys, he split his force up, with Roose Bolton setting the infantry to distracting Tywin at the Green Fork long enough for Robb to take his cavalry and capture Ser Sisterscrewer at the Whispering Wood, and then lifted the siege of Riverrun. Seeing that he could not pass the Golden Tooth to challenge the new Lannister host at Oxcross, he used his direwolf to find a goat track in the mountains that allowed him to pass by. Then, he crushed Ser Stafford Lannister at Oxcross, took Ashemark and the Crag, and I bet he had a plan for Lord Tywin if Edmure Tully had not routed him whilst the Lions were trying to cross the Red Fork, and then went to the Crownlands to link up with the Tyrells and throw Stannis out. Then he decided to take the North back from my sister and uncle, the Freys remembered they were weasels, and well, here we are." He sounded mournful at the end.
"Ok. Well, I asked for a summary, but all we have to do is make sure that does not happen." said Jeyne optimistically.
"Easier said than done." said Theon cynically.
"You can say that about almost everything."
A week later…
Theon took to Winterfell and the daily routine there like a fish to water, as could be expected, as he had already spent a third of his life in both times here, training with wooden swords with Robb and Jon under the watchful eye of Old Ser Rodrik, being taught by Maester Luwin, again, with Robb and Jon, listening to Old Nan's tales, riding with and occasionally jousting with Robb and Jon under Hullen and Harwin's gaze, jesting with Jory and the guards, and stalking squirrels in the godswood. He had taken up a new habit of practicing archery late at night.
He had begun to show greater skill whenever she saw him practicing at swordplay. Namely, he was flattening Robb to the level of the Flatlands of Essos and then some, and Jon was only a bit further ahead in terms of competition. She saw the face of Lady Stark the first time this happened, as they crowded around for breakfast the day after, Robb sporting two black eyes and Jon a large bump on his head, whilst Theon entered untouched and cool, smiling politely, so innocent that it was mistaken for mockery by an irate Lady Stark. Whilst she was still apoplectic with rage, Theon simply bowed to Lord Stark and saw himself to the the archery grounds.
All the while, he met with her regularly to discuss plans, with some ranging from the simple (try to convince everyone to make peace) to the complex (hire the Faceless Men to kill Tywin Lannister and pin it on the Imp to cause discord) to the mind-boggingly foolish (try to bring the Targaryens back, that or creating a variation of the Rains of Castamere, which would be involving a Red Wedding-type event occurring at the Twins). Even so, the plan was simply to avert the war, check every effort to start it, and then (if there was one) expose the culprit and relieve him of his head.
She had little time to ponder about this when she was forced to report to her embroidery lesson with Septa Mordane. Still, the sounds of the needles touching and the talk of the other girls (followed by occasional admonishment from the Septa.) was calming, to say the least. The discussion between them (well, mostly Sansa: Arya was struggling too much to sew well to talk a lot.) turned to Theon. She knew what Sansa was about to say and braced for impact.
"He's so handsome." Sansa giggled. "I don't know how someone so good can be a Greyjoy, frankly."
Aaaaand there it is.
"You don't know he's good," Arya retorted. "People aren't good just because they're handsome."
"Well, of course you would say that, Arya."
Jeyne winced as Arya stiffened, and her cheeks grew pink. Arya had only just started studying the womanly art of sewing, and she was beginning to learn just how much she would hate it. Her musings were interrupted by, of course, the inscrutable Septa herself, who had complimented Jeyne and Sansa's stitches, then looked at Arya's in a way even a Lannister would be proud of. Arya's cheeks grew pinker, bordering red. Even with the plumpness of a toddler's cheeks, it was obvious that she who had, in another time, been called Arya Horseface, would live up to the nickname. Jeyne sighed sadly.
"Why do you sigh?" asked Septa Mordane. "It is not ladylike to sigh in inappropriate situations now, is it?"
"Yes, Septa. I'm just… thinking."
"What exactly about?"
Jeyne tried to imitate one of Sansa's perfect smiles. "What else but my stitches, Septa? I was only thinking about how I could have made them just a bit straighter, or just a little bit closer together. If only I could- "
"Yes, yes Jeyne." said Septa Mordane. It seemed even she had a limit on how much on stitches she could stomach. "Very well. Carry on, all of you."
They did, and Jeyne, always truthful, even when she lied, tried extra hard to keep her stitches straight and narrow. Obviously, after a few short moments, the conversation started again, only in slightly more hushed tones.
"Arya, obviously he's good. I mean, he's so handsome and skilled and strong!" Sansa spoke, as if to a small child. (Which, sadly, was actually the case.)
"So what? The Ironborn grow up learning to kill, and that isn't good at all, is it?"
Jeyne decided to join the conversation. "He is good and handsome and skilled, but I don't think he has to be any of these. He could've been handsome and a great swordsman, but not be good!" Just like dear Prince Joff. Minus the good swordsman. I only heard some of it from Ser Rodrik's mutterings, but if Jon had been allowed She had not interacted much with him, but, seeing as he took off Lord Stark's head…
Sansa looked sulky, then scoffed and focused back on her stitches. Arya beamed at Jeyne, but then saw that the Septa was beginning to focus on her, and quickly looked down again. Sansa did not speak up again.
After the lesson was finished, Jeyne was free to wander the castle until lunch. She decided to visit the godswood to pray. She had heard them, those gods of branch and stone and stream, heard them talking to her as the cool blanket of the snow turned colder still. She felt she had to pay homage to them. How could she not? So she knelt and said a quick prayer, i her head and whilst muttering the words out loud.
"Old Gods, hear my prayer. Let Theon and I find a way to avert the war, and… " And what else? "End Ramsay Snow."
Satisfied, she dusted herself off - it was summer, and the snow was thin and powdery as you got in Winterfell - and decided to look around the godswood. Taking a light stroll through these woods was even more relaxing then her sewing lessons. She admired a few trees, then a squirrel. It sprung down and began to sniff at a pile of nuts… until an arrow flashed and hit the squirrel on the head.
She whirled around, as the squirrel scampered off (The arrowhead was probably blunted). She caught sight of Theon, a calm smile on his face. It was different from the cocky grin he wore when times were good, or the mocking smirk that was the bane of servants and nobles alike. "First arrow I aimed at a squirrel in years." he told her. "Ser Rodrik would not have me extinguish the population of squirrels here, so he gave me these." He drew another blunted arrow from his quiver. "Excellent craftsmanship. Almost as heavy as normal arrows, but wooden, and blunted. It hardly even dazes most animals, so long as they do not have the bone strength of flies."
"Right." she replied. "So… you came to hunt squirrels?"
""Well… no. I'm actually waiting for Robb to arrive. I have something to try on him."
"What something?"
"Well- oh." He paused when he heard a faint call of "Greyjoy?" "I believe you can come see."
She followed him, and watched Theon try to actually find Robb, through calls and listening. Eventually, they found Robb, with a wooden sword in hand, his impatient look forming exceedingly well on his Tully features. "Alright, I'm here and my throat's hoarse, so show me the damn thing before I piss myself."
"Let us pray, for both of our sakes, and that of the squirrels with good noses, that that is not necessary." replied Theon smoothly. "Happily, it won't be: we're not actually very far, and luckily you did not find it prematurely." So, they followed him, Robb irritatedly, Jeyne curious. They came to a small clearing, where Theon retrieved his own wooden sword, not a longer bastard sword, but a regular, one handed one, from a large hollow in a tree.
"Wow, nice hiding place." said Robb unamused. "Now, is that what you wanted to show me?"
"No, of course not. I am now going to fight you with my weak hand."
This confused Robb. "OK… sure I'll- hey!" he declared suddenly. "This isn't some kind of pity, is it!?"
"No, I just think I should try this."
"Fine."
They took up their positions, and Robb made his move first. Theon, despite being 4 years older and stronger, was not used to holding a sword in his left hand, and stepped back. Robb followed, with another swing. Theon threw his weight behind the block and sidestepped behind a tree. Robb thrusted, and hit only air as Theon stepped around it. Theon dashed back to near his original position.
Robb, his tolerance for these antics having waned entirely, simply charged, his training, however minimal, forgotten. Even holding a sword in the wrong hand, Theon parried and moved behind Robb. Robb turned, and his sword sliced where Theon had been a moment ago. Theon stepped backward, then to his right when Robb advanced then vaulted a neat pile of sticks. Cursing, Robb advanced rapidly, kicking aside the pile of sticks in his stride…
…only to unceremoniously fall into the earth with a cry of surprise. Theon had moved to Robb's right, rapped him smartly on the wrist to make him drop the sword, then positioned the "edge" to Robb's throat.
"Yield?" he asked.
"Yield." answered Robb, very grudgingly.
Theon smiled, then dropped his sword with his left as he pulled Robb from the pit. It was not very large or deep, just enough to trap Robb's right leg.
"I see." said Jeyne. "You dug that hole, then laid sticks across, then put leaves on top, then put a pile of sticks on top of that to mark down its location."
"And counted on Robb being too blinded by impatience to notice." finished Theon.
"Unfair." whined Robb. "How was I to know you would have a sneaky, hidden pit?"
"I think you answered your own question." answered Theon.
Scowling, Robb walked off, only to be stopped by a panicked "Don't walk there!" by Theon. Robb whirled round, fear in his eyes… and saw a particularly amused Greyjoy staring back. His scowl deepening, Robb stalked from the Godswood, occasionally cursing and hitting the ground with his sword.
About 2 months later…
Jeyne Poole packed and loaded her things onto the wagon at first light. Of course, this was unnecessary, as Castle Cerwyn was only a half a day's ride from Winterfell, but nevertheless, Lord Stark wanted to arrive fairly early, and for good reason, too. They had not visited Castle Cerwyn, been visited by the Cerwyns, or had any contact whatsoever in fourteen moons.
The last few visits had been to: White Harbour, where Lord Wyman "Lamprey, Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse" Manderly had feasted Lord Stark so well and for so long, that his extra bulk was still visible when they visited the Greatjon at Last Hearth. Lord Stark had turned red with embarrassment, although that paled in comparison to the colour that Lady Dustin was when Lord Stark arrived with a huge retinue at Barrowton in a surprise visit (Lady Dustin claimed that the ravens never arrived, but Lord Stark spoke in hushed voices that she may have killed the ravens and claimed they never arrived just to have just cause to deny them a well-planned occasion. He probably shouldn't have said that about the ravens, as Sansa had since been suspicious of the meat in the "pork" pies that Lady Dustin's cooks knocked up in a hurry.)
Funnily enough, Robb actually turned pale on sight of the Dreadfort. Less funnily, so did Theon, whose blankly terrified expression everyone, even Ser Rodrik (who was still unsure about the Grejoy) was worried about, instead of his regular indifference. Surprisingly, Robb and Theon both got along well with Lord Roose's son, Domeric. Aaannnddd from a much larger distance, so did Sansa. She could see why, though: Domeric had the pale eyes of his father and half-brother, but contrary to the confusing, disconcerting mask made up of eerie beauty and plainness on Roose Bolton's face, and the straightforward, sheer ugliness of her dear past husband, they seemed to enhance Domeric's fine features.
Jon was allowed to come with them to White Harbour due to Lord Lamprey's "more the merrier" attitude, at Last Hearth due to the Greatjon welcoming any son of Lord Stark's brood, at Barrowton because Lady Dustin never said he couldn't come, or rather did not have the time to say so, and at the Dreadfort for unknown reasons (probably because Roose Bolton also had a bastard: Lord Leech could be described as many things, but "hypocrite" probably wasn't one of them.)
Jon was coming with them now too, and Arya was beginning to ask questions about why he had not gone with them on the other tours, only to be scolded by Septa Mordane before they left. Arya was ever so anxious to get on her pony and ride away like the wind since then, for some reason. Their wagon in to, the small party of a score (Lord and Lady Stark, their children, ward and Jeyne, 10 House Stark guards under the command of Ser Rodrik Cassel, (training would cease for a day or two at Winterfell for new guards.) and a bastard of House Magnar on Skagos called Aidin Snow who had arrived at Winterfell a week past as their wagon driver.)
So their group advanced towards Castle Cerwyn at a steady trot. It was summer: winter had ended when Arya had been born and it would remain summer for the next nine years. The melting remnant of the early summer snows aside, the bitter cold of the North in winter was replaced with a kindly warmth that made Lord Stark very uncomfortable. Arya. was looking uncomfortable too. All those with the Stark look, the look of the First Men… Her theory, whatever it would evolve into, was nipped suddenly in the bud by a glance at Jon and Theon, who both looked fine. The Ironborn, though they loathed to admit it, had First Men blood, and strong, at that.
Lady Stark, in contrast to her lord husband, looked positively glowing. Long auburn hair being blown gently by the wind, she continued Sansa's conversation with Septa Mordane about The Seven-Pointed Star where Septa Mordane had left off. Jeyne peered round, and saw that many others were conversing in pairs or groups already. Robb had been called up to the front and was being lectured by Robb Stark on visits to vassals, Theon and Jon and Arya had fallen in behind her, to talk to their new wagon driver. (New, as for some reason he had been chosen as the wagon driver this time.) The guards either remained silent like Ser Rodrik, or began to talk with each other.
Jeyne decided to idle in position until they reached Castle Cerwyn. When they did, she paused a while to admire it. It was a large castle, with outer walls almost as tall as Winterfell's outer ones, and inner walls taller than that. It was still nowhere near as big as Winterfell, but it had its charm. Also quite notably, the godswood. It was split in two by the White Knife, and on the west side, the trees were reminiscent of those in the Wolfswood, with ash, beech, chestnut, oak and even a few ironwood trees. (There were claims that House Forrester owned most of the ironwood trees, but these were false rumours: they were a humble clan of the Wolfswood that had no seat.)
The east side was more like Winterfell's godswood: sentinels and soldier pines galore, with a heart tree in the centre, infested with squirrels. Jeyne knew all these details due to their many, previous visits to Castle Cerwyn. But, of course, prayer would have to wait.
The great hall of House Cerwyn was reasonably large, seating up to 700 if you really tried to squeeze in. But with this minimalist visit, this was simply not needed. As per usual, Jeyne sat down at the benches below the high table. She ate sparingly, and after a few hours the feast ended, went out to pray.
She was admiring the trees when she saw it. Or, heard it, in actuality. A small whine that made her turn around. She swore she could catch a glimpse of a wolf, but she saw just its shadow. Yet she could somehow… feel that a wolf, no, a direwolf was really there. More began to come out of the trees, two: one was older and more senior, the alpha: it growled in a commanding yet not altogether malevolent way, and one looked an awful lot like Grey Wind, only it seemed slightly different.
Suddenly, a mewling noise came from behind the alpha wolf. A little lion cub, innocent-looking. It drew the attention of the alpha direwolf, and he started moving towards it. Another animal joined: a mockingbird. It distracted both the alpha and the little lion cub. Jeyne just stood there, unable to move or speak as the spectacle unfolded before her eyes. The last lion was in captivity in Casterly Rock, I heard, and the Direwolves shouldn't be here yet… Her attention was peeled away when she saw the mockingbird lead the direwolf into a small clearing, where a tree had fallen down.
Out of the shadows she heard a growl, and two other creatures came out: a white, either young adult or old cub of a lion that seemed, somehow to smile, and a proud lioness with a mad gleam in her eye, and a smirk that was cold and cruel. Oh no… Jeyne thought as she realised the painfully obvious and unsubtle symbolism. Don't… please don't… Her words were for naught, as whilst the mockingbird distracted the alpha wolf, the lions began to close in, and the smirking white began to circle round.
By the time the alpha noticed his position, it was too late. The white bit his leg, and the alpha growled. Before he could turn around the mockingbird had flown into his eyes and held its claws to the wolf's throat. The little pup bot into the wolf's neck, and for some reason the mighty direwolf seemed unable to respond. It bit and bit again, blood and flesh falling away, until the head was severed. When the wolf that looked like Grey Wind saw the scene at last, he began to charge…
That was when Jeyne fainted. The only words she heard were loud and seemed to sound like the wind.
"This is the future. The bad future."
"See it does not happen."
—
Sansa
Sansa Stark visited the godswood sparingly: she believed in her mother's gods, the Seven who are One, a god with seven aspects, and each of their faces were almost as familiar as those of her family and friends. The Father and Mother, the Warrior and Maiden, the Smith and Crone and Stranger, those were her gods. But Jeyne was here, and Sansa wanted to speak to her. Supper had been ever so dull, and all the boys were not handsome in the slightest. Arya kept on saying that they did not have to be handsome to be good. She had been saying that for a long time now.
Arya. A horse-faced, boyish, irritating two-year old. Honestly, she was such a child. Sansa had not been like her at all when she was her age. She had go ask mother whether or not she was a bastard or not. If true, than her life would be ever so much simpler. She could safely ignore Arya like her mother did Jon, and grow up thinking of her true sister, stopen away by grumkins. One day, the gods may bless Mother's womb with another child, who could sew and not be horse-faced, boyish and irritating. One like Jeyne. She was so kind, if a bit foolish. She had been going around with Theon an awful lot since he arrived. Well, there was no way a steward's daughter was ever going to wed the heir to Pyke.
Theon. So handsome, with his long hair flowing down like a girl's. So strong, he had been able to beat both Robb and her bastard brother Jon. But she knew it could never be, not just now. She just had to talk to Father soon.
But that was aside the point right now, as she had reached the godswood. Pausing to take a deep breath and whisper a prayer to the Seven, she stepped inside. The soil was like very other kind she had walked on, and she walked through until she found Jeyne… lying on the ground. She ran to her friend's side, but she heard a voice that made her pause. It said:
Ask her about how old she is, who she's met and when.
Then you'll know the truth.
Sansa gulped, drew the sign of the star in the air and carried her friend out of the godswood.
(…)
Later, with Maester Finnigan's declaration, Sansa moved back into the chambers from outside and say down in the chair next to the bed.
Jeyne started stirring whilst whimpering, then awakened with a high-pitched groan. "Sa- Sansa?" she whispered, her voice hoarse after 4 hours of unconsciousness.
"Yes." Sansa smiled. "It's me, you're fine. You just fell asleep for a minute."
"Good, good." Jeyne sat up. "Did you- hear anything odd?"
"Yes." Sansa said. "I heard a voice saying that I should ask you how old you are, who you have met and when you met tjose people. It also said that I would know "the truth" then."
Jeyne blanched. "Ah- OK, this is going to be hard to explain."
Why do I have a feeling that something very bad is going to happen? "What is, Jeyne? Tell me." Don't tell me!
"Should I just say it and get it done with?"
Don'tsayitDon'tsayitDon'tsayit "Yes. Of course."
Jeyne took a deep breath, exhaled, then took another, exhaled and said quite quickly. "This is my second life. I died in that life and now I'm here and this timeline has changed because of me. There, I said it."
All the gentle, ladylike grace Sansa was conducting herself with promptly went out the window. "WHAT?!"
"I died and I was born again." said Jeyne simply. Sansa was forced to take even more deep breaths than Jeyne.
"This- this isn't some jape is it? If it's a jape, tell me now, please."
"It is not. No jape."
"Swear?"
" I swear on the Old Gods and the New and the life of my Moth-, no my Fath-, no your Father-… … I swear on Theon's life."
Sansa was confused "Why Theon's life?" I'm not going to like the answer am I?
"Because- because- Gods, he was the only one who didn't die before I did."
This thought horrified Sansa. "It was… only you and him left? In the world…"
"No, no! He was the only one still alive that you or I cared about."
Sansa gulped. "What happened to- everyone else?"
Jeyne took a deep breath. "It all started when the Lannisters poisoned Jon Arryn. King Robert went up to make Lord Stark his Hand. Lord Stark went south and-" She gave a small gasp and began to cry. Sansa felt tears in her eyes as well. "The Lannisters killed them." Jeyne continued. "My Father, your Father, Robb when he went to war against the Lannisters, Bran and Rickon when Winterfell was taken…"
"Arya? Mother? Me?"
"Arya… they never found her. She probably starved to death outside of King's Landing. Your Mother was killed with Robb. You… you went missing."
Sansa dried her tears. "OK, and now you came back and are trying to fix everything, right?"
"Yes. Me and Theon."
"Why him?"
"He died with me. Jumping off the walls of Winterfell, trying to escape Ramsay Bolton."
Sansa was confused. "Ramsay Bolton?" I've heard of Roose, and Domeric but-"
"Ramsay was Roose's bastard son. The Lannisters legitimised him after the Boltons betrayed Robb."
Sansa's blood ran cold. "H-How?"
"At the Twins." Jeyne said in a flat voice. "Robb's uncle on your Mother's side, Edmure, was going to wed a Frey girl. Earlier, Robb was betrothed to a Frey, but he married some other girl instead. At the wedding, the Freys and Boltons attacked them, even though under guest right, they could not harm them. They cut off Robb's head and, stuck his direwolf's on."
Everyone dead? No wonder the Gods, Old or New, had sent her back. What they had done to deserve such a cruel fate? Except- "Direwolf?"
"Oh right, in about 8 years the Starks are going to find some direwolf pups. The Lannisters will kill yours at Castle Darry, Arya's ran off at the Ruby Ford, and from what I heard about a monstrous she-wolf from the seventh hell, it soent the whole time attacking people on the road. Just like her, eh? I heard my lord husband tell me about that, while he was making me… never mind. Robb's, well, you heard, Bran and Rickon's were probably killed when Winterfell was taken, and Jon's one went to the Wall with him. He was the only person with Stark blood to survive."
"What about uncle Benjen?"
"Probably killed by some wildlings."
"Gods." Sansa felt faint. "So, what's dying like."
Jeyne shrugged. "Cold. And odd. And strangely nice. It's like you just took a plunge in cold water, and get adjusted to it, so you're just sort of… floating. Everything's black and you feel cool and calm. Of course, I came back, so I have no idea what the real thing is like. I did hear the Old Gods though. Like you."
Sansa did not answer for a moment. She could all but hear Septa Mordane's irate voice screeching "Do not be tempted! You are of the Seven. Ignore these false tree-worshippers.", with a voice like a saw on ironwood. Then she imagined the quieter, more civil (in some ways that was more terrifying.) but no less angry, voice of her lady mother. "I raised you in the light of the Seven, anointed with the seven oils in the sept. You accepted the Seven, and they accepted you. I know it, as do you."
Sansa could not deny the things she heard. "Jeyne?" she asked, timidly.
"Yes?"
"Once you're strong enough to walk, do you think…" Sansa bit her lip for a moment. "Do you think, you could take me to the godswood?"
—
Eddard
Lord Eddard Stark had never particularly enjoyed ruling. Brandon would have hated it, as did his Father. The Quiet Wolf was always the smartest one, though, with the greatest mind for the governance of the biggest kingdom in Westeros. This was helped by the fact that those of the North had a sort of mindset of ruthless practicality and willpower that helped them survive when the cold winds began to blow. Whenever the North froze and was buried by snow and ice and frost, its people would continue living even if they had to dig their way up and out the snowdrifts.
Still, poring over cattle records with Lord Cerwyn in the former's solar, he felt no sense of enjoyment, and he liked that. It was comforting, a sort of anchor in the grim realities of life. One specific case in the records had to be submitted for his adjudication. A dispute over neighbouring cattle farmers. One was a new farmer, a man who had come into a bit of money as a shipwright for merchant ships in White Harbour, who decided to retire early on a farm about a half-league from Castle Cerwyn. Unfortunately, his neighbour was a grizzled former soldier, a survivor of the Stark forces on the Trident, who was low on coin.
It does not make a good combination when an incompetent and lazy farmer decides to leave out bull corpses slain in a botched rustling attempt because he could not move them, with his neighbour having starved, temperamental cows in the middle of breeding season seperated by so weak a fence that a moderate breeze actually toppled it. End result, the cows feasted on dead, maggot-infested bull, contracted a disease, and began to walk oddly and behave odder. When a cow was sold to an inn a day's ride from Castle Cerwyn, people were up in arms over becoming quite ill, quite quickly (the inn had not reported these quickly: sick patients had to stay longer, after all, and could get others sick.). Choosing a middle way, Eddard punished the new farmer by forcing him to pay for new cattle for the other. He also fined the innkeeper for his selfishness.
After much more discussion, Eddard left and decided to think on whether or not he had judged the matter with wisdom in the godswood. The southrons prayed to the Father Above in order to make decisions and judgements well, and especially the day called… the Father's Feast? Feast of our Father? Something like that, which was noted to be a greater time for said choices. The Old Gods, for their part, were silent on the matter.
As he approached the space devoted to the godswood, he noticed it was smaller and slightly less rugged that Winterfell's, with the grasses on the outside being neatly trimmed, and even a few flowers springing up here and there on the outskirts. It seemed that in the last few hundred years after Aegon's Conquest, the Cerwyns grew used to their role as the lasts stop before Winterfell, and had grown out their small, comforting plants outside to appease the Southern visitors.
Father had suggested that to them once, after he had already started growing the flowers. Brandon gave his opinion by plucking the nicest one, a white marigold, then tearing it into pieces, and saying "Since when did the Godswood become a nice welcome mat for southron fools, Father.?". While Lord Rickard stared in cold fury at his heir, he was almost immediately jolted back to reality by Eddard and Lyanna decapitating the ones Brandon had left off, their expressions being grim determination and surprisingly-girlish glee, respectively. Once Benjen, who had only seen 3 namedays at the time, charged into a large patch of golden dandelions (he always wanted to join in on what his brothers and sister was doing.), Father could not keep in his laughter, and the flowers outside the godswood had never been mentioned again.
Those were good days. Many often said that those were the "good old days." Everyone had different meanings ascribed to what exactly was meant. For Eddard it was those days back at Winterfell. Sure, he was just as happy now, raismg his children in the place that he had called home all his life, but, in truth, no matter how many children he had, and now matter how much they loved him and him them, he would always miss his family. Brandon, the eldest, either battering seasoned Stark guardsmen into submission or flirting with one of the serving girls, Benjen, his younger brother, making snowmen and dressing them all up with Father's blacks. Father himself, teaching everyone on the importance of honor and loyalty. Mother, who helped them connect to the Old Gods at birth. Even after all this time, he could still see her, trying to rein in Brandon, or even Eddard himself when he convinced him to do something with him. And Lyanna… His mind wandered for a moment…
…the sun glinted off of their white armour, as their wearers whirled around snd between the seven of them, a sense of dutiful fire in their eyes, and their mouths set in grim lines. Of them, Oswell fell first, his head split near in two by Theo Wull, but only after Ethan Glover had been ran through by the white sword. By that time, the Sword of the Morning had slain Ser Mark Ryswell, one of the three facing him, alongside Ned and Howland, and not long after that the White Bull dodged Lord Dustin's cut and darted in and nimbly gutted Martyn Cassel like a fish. Theo charged Ser Arthur, who moved back, fighting three men at once. Howland tried to circle round, but was hit by Theo's mislaid strike. The clansman paused, long enough for Arthur to slice upwards, Dawn cutting through mail like butter. By then Ser Gerold had slain Lord Dustin, and moved in, but tripped over Howland. Ned turned his parry into a swing, and the Hightower was slain. Then, it was just Ned and Arthur…
Promise me, Ned.
The words jolted him out of his daydream. In his shock, he fell to the floor, hitting his head on the soil of the godswood. When he moved to put a hand on his head, his palm brushed over his eyelashes, ever so slightly, and he left a wetness on his hand. Shaking his head and drying his non-fall related tears, he awkwardly stood up, bracing himself on an irownood.
"Father?" a voice cried out, sounding both quite close and very far away.
"Sansa." Eddard replied. He looked round and saw Sansa and Jeyne Poole too. He was relieved it had been someone else things might have been hard to explain.
"What were those things you were saying, Father?"
Ned's blood ran colder than the Last River. I was talking about the Tower of Joy. The thought went through him like chilled air, crisp, frosty and bitterly cool. I actually said things about the Tower of Joy. My secret. Which I swore to keep from everyone else. This is what my daughter heard. I should deny this, NOW!
But his mouth was frozen in place, agape with the jaw slightly open, eyes wide as well. Eventually through sheer willpower he force dhis mouth to stutter out. "N-nothing, the- the things I w-was saying w-were absol- olute nonsense."
"Oh." said Jeyne. His mouth relaxed even more, and he let out a slightly-suppressed, but intense, sigh of relief… until Jeyne said. "I suppose you were saying nonsense in perfectly coherent, understandable sentences, even whilst asleep, Lord Stark?"
Damn it. She was too damn perceptive sometimes, it made him feel unsettled how smart she was for her age. "What things did I say, exactly?"
Jeyne and Sansa thought for a moment. Then, Jeyne beamed, if only for a moment, but then al the warmth seemed to flood from her smile, a feeling of profound, smiling sadness on her face. "We heard it all, Lord Stark."
"All of it?"
"Yes. But I think Sansa hasn't figured it out yet. It's best if you tell Sansa. Ideally in private."
"Yes." He turned to Sansa, who was wearing a confused expression on her face. "Come on, sweeting. Let us go to someplace private… the godswood, perhaps?"
"I was hoping to go there anyway, father." She replied, a sweet smile astride her Tully features.
"Since when do you… never mind." Religion could wait. Now all that mattered was the truth. He had to tell Sansa, otherwise Jeyne would tell her. He could swear Jeyne to secrecy, but… no. She was just a little girl, however uncannily perceptive she may be. Taking his daughter's hand, he led her, somewhat reluctantly, into the godswood.
—
Jeyne
She felt guilty for her lies, even if they were for a good cause. She had tricked Lord Stark into revealing a secret that was… obviously painful for him. She felt bad, even if she did not know what his huge secret was. Well, she had a hunch. He kept mentioning a his sister, Lyanna, White Swords, a tower… sounded like he was recalling his fight at the end of Robert's Rebellion. Even though no-one ever talked about it, it was a half-open secret. She knew the base story: the tourney at Harranhal, where young Lord Stark met Ashara Dayne and Prince Rhaegar crowned Lyanna with blue winter roses. Many suspected it was tied somehow to other events there, such as Prince Rhaegar's alleged plot to overthrow his father, and the heroic story of the Knight of the Laughing Tree, who had knocked Ser Leslyn Haigh, Ser Boros Blount and Ser Ryman Frey down in quick succesion, and Prince Rhaegar's search for the mystery knight.
She wondered what was being told to Sansa. She would know soon enough, of course, but she was curious. Also, it was important: a secret this big, whatever it was, could be used to their advantage. Maybe it involved a tale wbout a great lord that could be used as leverage (unlikely), mayhaps Prince Rhaegar had planned his own death with Lord Stark (More unlikely), or maybe… ok now she was travelling from the realm of improbability to outright impossibility. That was bad. Jeyne still wanted to know. So, she proceeded to bite her nails, stamp her feet, and wait in a most impatient and unladylike manner, and once, Septa Mordane appeared out of some hidden pocket of the cosmos to scold her for that. She pretended to nod sincerely for a while, until the Septa moved off to ruin someone else's day.
Getting more and more irritated by the second, Jeyne eventually went to get a drink. When she came back, Lord Stark emerged, and informed her that he had finished with Sansa a while ago, and she had merely left on a different side of the godswood, and she had now vanished into Castle Cerwyn's corridors. Jeyne went off in a search. She was not in her room. Questioning servant's and Sansa's family led to no avail, so Jeyne decided to search in the sept, perhaps she might be there for one last vigil to the Seven. Nope. Perhaps the kitchens, to sneak some sweets away as they had done together in numerous occasions? Well, the lemon cake supply was apparently unraided, according to Cerwyn's cook, a pot-bellied man called Boller, so no, evidently not. The stables? She had never shared Arya's love for animals, but she liked her new Northern palfrey. She was not there, although she did find Arya, trying to calm a wild stallion that had bucked its unlucky rider and raced out of the stables at a breakneck pace, rearing and causing chaos as it went.
Leaving that for Cerwyn's master of horse to clean up, Jeyne decided to give it up as a bad job, she went to the Godswood on a whim… and discovered Sansa there, praying in front of the heart tree. "Jeyne!" she called out as she leapt up and embraced her. Jeyne returned it, then glowered at the heart tree. You enjoyed that farce, didn't you? The Old Gods remained silent. Unlike, to Jeyne's slight displeasure and slight happiness, their newest worshipper. "Ididit! IdiditIdiditIdiditFathershowedmejowtoprayinfrontofahearttreeandasIdiditagustofwindblew and-" (deep breath) "Father said the Old Gods accepted me." Sansa smiled. Jeyne returned it.
Things were different now. Things were better now.
Although, she had a slight feeling there was something she was forgetting.
—
Roose
It was rare when things troubled the Lord of the Dreadfort. No, not very often at all. So he forced himself to calm down, take a deep breath, and read the report again.
His bastard was currently 9, turning 10, and grew fiercer, according to Reek. Not good. Roose was still doubting the authenticity of these letters. Reek had stolen his late wife's perfume, twice, and there was something about him, his face and eyes, that unnerved Roose Bolton. He had allowed himself to be proud of his ability to read people, his father told him that had been a thing he was distinguished at. He had a blind spot, however hard he tried, with Reek, and it always astonished, puzzled and made him wary at the same time. A heavily armed man with an unreadable nature had been the death of lesser lords, braver ones. Roose Bolton had fought and bled at the Bells, at the Trident and at Pyke: no man could call him craven, but it was his belief that fear, in select levels, was key to a lengthy life.
Lengthy life was one of his goals, and power was another. House Bolton was an old, proud house with an interesting history that fascinated and horrified his son in equal levels. Domeric was not proud of his house, but that mattered not: Roose would live long enough to see his house back to the levels of the Red Kings, he was sure of it. Already, Domeric was going to be leaving to meet his aunt at Barrowton soon, and there he was going to be instructed in court politics as a cupbearer to
Lady Dustin. Then, after a few years of that, he would be learning with more experience how to ride and joust down South. He had already been considering many options, but if correctly implemented, his bid for power for future generations would succeed. Putting down Reek's report, whilst thinking to ask more pointed questions in future, he began to weigh his options again, as he had done with almost every decision he had ever made that was not on the fly. Roose Bolton disliked "on the fly" decisions: as a child, engaged in harmless plots to steal sweets or annoy his cousins, they would end up foiled by quick "thinking" he had done earlier.
Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard had a son a few years older than Domeric, and all alone, after childbed fever struck down his wife, as she gave birth to a stillborn son. Lord Roose had been sure to acquaint himself with the Young Eagle after Pyke. Perhaps he would look for a brother he never had? Lord Jason was honourable and chivalrous: if he mentioned this as his reason, his sense of right would overrule his sense of doubt, and he would have to accept. However, there where other options, mayhaps better ones…
The Reach was interesting: it had a great knightly culture, a great one indeed. However, with knights come pride in the title of "Ser", more pride than can be bargained with, no doubt. Oh, they'd be courteous, but power sweetened by courtesy is still power, except not in raw and obvious form. A frozen, forbidding land far away, which did not even worship the Seven, offering to send their son down to the plaxe of chivalry and wonder, of holiness? No. The Hightowers were ruled by the Starry Sept as much as by the Old Man, so that wouldn't fly. Even in the North, it was known that Olenna Redwyne was the real power behind Highgarden, and she would see right through it. If she was dead, Roose would have a much easier, albeit still hard time getting his son to ward with the Tyrells… but it was best not to go there. Too much could go wrong with assassination.
Lady Oakheart was a woman ruling in her own right, and an experienced one at that: wariness often set in in those cases. Mathis Rowan would not see any benefit, so he would not accept, Randall Tarly would probably ignore it outright, but keep the raven for target practice and Parris Crane was mysterious: too many things could go wrong. The Red Apple Fossoways would be too proud to accept it, and an offer to the Green Apples would go well, but they were not a big enough power for his plan. From what little he heard of Lord Caswell, he was a craven coward, Lord Merryweather would clumsily counter-plot against him, Lord Meadows was too weak, and the Redwynes were so far away across Westeros, they would just be confused by the offer.
He had other options, though not good ones. The Westerlands had been cowed into obedience by Tywin Lannister about three decades ago: even Roose Bolton could not boast of the ability to bring unruly bannermen to heel through music. He did not put it against such a seasoned player to capitalise on House Bolton blood in his territory: power shared with the Crakehalls or Marbrands or Leffords was power shared with the Lannisters: all sorts could come out of that. The Crownlands houses were weak and ineffective, in the Narrow Sea, poor and proud lords would refuse him, and Stannis Baratheon had no love for him. His liege lord had led the rebellion that had killed the beloved Princess Elia, so Dorne was out of the equation, the Iron Islands…no. Just… no. His only real options that were left were some of the stronger Riverlords, the Stormlands, or the Vale. The Stormlands had a large martial tradition, but they were far South, and they lacked the prestige of the Reach, Westerlands or Vale. Speaking of the Vale… it was solitary, but if he kept his efforts low-key, he could be able to find a suitable house for wardship.
Once his son learned to joust… well, a modest, intelligent, boyishly handsome tourney champion wouldn't be utterly unappealing for a Southron maiden, preferably one with a lot of powerful family members… it would work.
10 days later
Theon thought about what to jot down for a while, then dipped his quill and scribbled methodically, occasionally stopping to cross out a mistake or think on what had happened. The visit to Castle Cerwyn had ended, or was supposed to a week ago: Lord Cerwyn had said that he had a Volantene entertainer delayed by brigands on the road from White Harbour. When Lord Cerwyn realised that said entertainer was a slave, he immediately offered him a job in his household. The slave wept tears of joy, and Lord Stark declared that any slaver wanting recompense would never get to Castle Cerwyn: every petty lord on the way would try and arrest them. That was a good moment.
Another good moment, in a funny way, occurred on the first day, when Sansa went in sight of Arya, Arya has about to begin babbling about something (probably her exploits with the horse: she had tried to calm it and ended up hanging on its neck for dear life as it somehow managed to gain entry into the castle, racing down the corridors to looks of shock (Lords Stark and Cerwyn), horror (Lady Stark and Septa Mordane) or such mirth that they broke down in tears (Robb, Jon, Cley Cerwyn and himself.)
Anyway, Arya began to talk when Sansa went wide eyed and said in an uncharacteristically nervous, fast voice about how she "couldn't deal with any more shocks today." before running off, leaving Arya with a bemused look on her face. Evidently, Lord Stark found this apparent reversal of the sibling's roles bewildering as well.
After a while, he looked back at the letter and was satisfied.
Sister,
I pray this letter finds you, and isn't waylaid by storms or anything like that.
Life is fairly calm in Winterfell. Lord Stark is treating me just like his own family member, so I suppose I have something to be thankful for. I think this might actually be my new family of sorts, as I sincerely doubt Father will ever let me inherit anything, if I return after so long in the Greenlands. I suppose that means you're the heir now: a daughter comes before an uncle. Speaking of uncles, how are they? Let me guess: Euron's joking, Vicarion's broodimg and Aeron's turned holy. Well, as holy as you can get after what he planned to fit as a ram on his ship!
You don't know much about the Stark's, so I'll connect the dots for you. Lord Stark is grim and dutiful, like Victarion but with less battle lust. Lady Stark is a bit more lively, and is currently pregnant. They have 3 children so far: 6 year-old Robb, who is cheerful, honourable and emotional, probably my best friend here, 3-year old Sansa, who is such a "proper" lady it irritates me sometimes, and 1-year old Arya. You two would go together like two pease, I tell you. Oh, and there's Jon Snow, a boy of six, his Father's bastard son by some Dornish tart, or at least thats the rumours. He's pretty quiet most of the time, but there's something I can't quite place about him…
Now before you say that I've been getting "too comfortable with the Greenlanders that killed your brothers.", no. First of all, no-one here killed my brothers. Rodrik died because he tried to single-handedly take on a heavily-plated Lord Mallister in mail, and to this day, I still don't know why there was a delay from when the wall was breached to when the tower fell, really it was just bad luck that killed Maron. Also, the rebellion was stupid, and if you doubt that, all you have to do is remember where I'm writing from and you'll see why I think that.
In more jolly news, I'm keeping up on my archery and swordplay: I can outshoot and outfight both Robb and Jon, but Robb still beats me quite a bit when we're jousting. Feel free to ask me anything if you send a reply, and I'd rather you did. Good luck in the future!
-Theon
Theon Greyjoy stamped the letter and handed it to Maester Luwin.