Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF or GOT.

AN-1: I have a P*T*R*N, where you can read the NEXT SEVEN CHAPTERS rn if you wish to. Just follow the link on my profile.

"Oh sorry, was I not supposed to know that?"

At that moment, I think I actually made Howland Reed's heart stop for a moment. His face paled, and he gasped as his eyes widened, his breath stilling instantly as I felt him tremble beneath my grasp. It wasn't my intention to put the blame solely on his shoulders, nor did I want to scare the man who I still remembered holding us with care and raising his voice against his liege for our sake. But pragmatism and fear were the languages spoken by the people in Westeros, and it was the language I would need to talk in.

"H-Ho-How do y-What are you ta-"

"Oh don't play me for a fool, My Lord," I smiled, cocking my head out the side as I watched him open and close his mouth like a fish out of water, his unblinking, shocked green eyes staring into mine. Slightly tightening my fingers over his thin shoulders, I brushed past him and walked to the Weirwood, staring at the heads lined upon its roots. I kneeled by the first one I had cut off, tracing the way tiny branches the size of needles had sprouted out from the eyesockets and the ear holes, crimson leaves decorating them beautifully. Chuckling a little as I remembered the eve when the Blood Offering had been performed, I turned around and rested my back against the root, looking up at the crannogman, "Now, let's try this again shall we? And this time without you trying to spin a tale or dismiss my words. We both know that I am speaking nothing but the truth."

"How do you…How do you know about what happened?" came the whisper from the Marshlord after a few moments of silence as he stumbled over to the Weirwood, his trembling fingers reaching out to the trunk and splaying open upon it. He closed his eyes, the spear in his hands falling from his grip as he seemed ot sway in his spot, "Did Edda-"

"Ha!" I snorted involuntarily at the question that began to come from him, catching the three pronged-weapon and looking at the tiny carvings upon the wooden shaft, "You and I, we both know that Eddard Stark would rather die than reveal anything from his past, especially something so sensitive and dangerous. No Lord Reed, it wasn't my father who told me the truth…it was the gods themself."

Howland took a sharp breath at that, and I watched out of the corner of my eyes how his head shot up, his dark eyes staring at me as he properly sat down. "You mean you are a greenseer too?"

"Hard to tell," I shrugged, spinning the spear in my hands slowly, marveling at just how light it was compared to its size. Turning my head towards Howland, I tapped the side of my head, "Could be my father's blood, or it could just as easily be my mother's."

"Whe-When did you come to know about it?"

"On my sixth nameday," I answered, deciding to go with that instead of the truth like I had done with Maege and Dacey. Placing the spear on my right, I looked up at the headless bodies strung amidst the canopy of the Weirwood, repeating the story Visenya and I had constructed to explain just we knew things we shouldn't, "Lyanna and I experienced a series of visions over the following moons, each one more vivid and far apart than the last. We saw Brandon ride to Kings Landing, and the deaths that followed. We saw the beginning of the war, and the moment Uncle was married to Catelyn in exchange for the strength of the Riverlands. And then we saw…him, fighting Robert Baratheon at the Trident."

"Rhaegar Targaryen," Reed whispered, lowering his eyes to the ground as he took a deep breath. I heard his hand scratch over the bark of the roots, and he gulped once, "Di-Did you see him…"

"Die?" I raised an eyebrow, my hand automatically balling into a fist and the sound of my knuckles popping echoing in the silence as I cursed than one thing which led to the deaths of my family—as far as I was concerned, Rickard and Brandon were no big deal for me personally, stupid and stubborn men that they appeared from the tales that I had heard over the years. And the less said about Aerys, the better, "No I didn't, but I did see him slip upon a loose stone right after he stabbed Roberts's leg. After that, we saw our births…and how you slipped a dagger in Arthur Daynes back."

"I-I was merel-"

"You don't need to explain anything to me, Howland Reed," I interrupted, letting just some of the anger inside me flow into my voice, my tone losing that respect it had contained till now. I stood up silently, picking up the spear quietly and stabbing it into the ground a foot away from him as I turned around. I stared down at him, and just to insert the fear of gods and me into his heart, I made the temperature around us drop rapidly for a second as frost grew upon the bark behind him, "I have not forgotten what all happened before that which led to it, and from both sides that too. Maybe I and my sister would have lived better lives than what we have lived in the North, or maybe we would living on the run instead of growing up in Winterfell and fostering with the Mormonts—but I don't want to waste our time, and words on what ifs and what was out of anybody's control."

"...Then what do you want to talk about…Daeron?"

I stopped for a moment as he spoke my real name, my eyes flicking down to meet his hesitant ones as some sort of smile tried to appear on his face. It was a bit weird to hear someone say it, especially when the only ones who had said it other than my sister were Maege and Dacey, and even then it was a rare occurrence. There was a sense of affection and respect in Howland's voice, as if he was already putting me on a station above his own. Humming a little as I thought about the two ways I had imagined this conversation to move forwards, I leaned against the spear and ran a hand through my hair. "Tell me about your first meeting with my mother," I said after a few moments, wanting to hear the story I had only remembered snippets of from my old life,"It was in Harrenhall, right?"

"It was," he nodded, a wistful smile spreading over his weathered face as he looked down at his left arm, folding the sleeve of his cloak up to reveal a thin, straight scar running down the middle of his forearm, "Three boys of Walder Frey's brood were pushing me around and beating me while the Tourney was going on. After a few kicks, I fell upon a quiver full of arrows fastened to one of their horses, and my hand was split open by the steel. Twas then that Lyanna Stark came over, and handily defea-no, humiliated the three squires by bruising them black and blue. She took me over to the Maester that served House Whent, and we became friends in the days that followed."

He sighed the next moment heavily, looking up at me with a sad smile as he ran a hand through his thinned, greyish-dark hair. "And after that…after that came the event which changed everything, and led to the spark of the Rebellion being ignited. Your mother decided to avenge me by donning scattered armor pieces, and defeat the Knights under whom the Freys were squiring…She decided to paint her shield with a laughing Weirwood, and thus, she became the Knight of Laughing Tree."

When he had been an eight-year-old kid, Robb had envisioned how he would turn into a man. It had been him and Theon, playing in the yard as the Conqueror and the King who Knelt when he had imagined a big roasted auroch to be his namedays celebration. Lords from the whole North would have attended the feast, and he would have danced with his mother and sister all night long.

When he had been ten years old, and witnessed the first execution of a Night Watchs deserter, the thought had changed yet again. He had dreamed of entering manhood as a warrior tried and bloodied, with wildlings and bandits dead by his sword. He would have raised his blade to the sky, and the Lords would have done the same, crying out his name while his father, mother, and siblings would have watched proudly. But now, as he was on the threshold of reaching sixteen namedays…he couldn't have imagined in a thousand lifetimes that it would be anything remotely like this.

And as he stood at the balcony with his hands upon the railing and the whole Godswood before him, Robb found his mind returning to the reasons for it. His half-siblings, Jon and Lyanna Snow. From as far back as he could remember, the former had always been a bit different and…weird. When they had been learning their letters and sums, Jon had been so far ahead of them, it had honestly made him jealous and insecure. There had been a constant thought in the back of his mind, that one day his father was going to replace him with Jon as the Heir—which in hindsight, was certainly not helped by the Septa and his mother's muttered comments.

And then came the Ironborn Rebellion, after which everything changed. Theon Greyjoy came back as a hostage of the crown, to be held in Winterfell, and they became friends pretty quickly. Maybe it was because the boy had seemed like an older brother he had never had, or maybe it was because he didn't have any friends his age and Jon had always been somewhat distant…but he found himself enjoying the Ironborn's company more and more. The boy was sarcastic, knowledgable about the world and had a crude sense of humor, something which had always struck Robb as a breath of fresh air. He had regaled him with the tales of the sea and Kraken, telling about how glorious it was to a prince instead of simply being an heir.

A few years later, when he had started to turn into a man, it had been Theon who had told him about a woman's body. Of course, which had led to quite an awkward explanation in front of his father when he had corrected Lord Stark that it was tits not breasts that a woman's teats were called. He laughed a little at the memory, remembering how he had been whacked upside his head, and how his father had made Theon clean the stables for a week afterward. The years seemed to have flashed by after that incident, with the birth of Bran and Rickon being the only notable things that had happened…along with the talks of a betrothal with either Alys Karstark or one of the Manderly girls. His mother had raged for a few weeks—months, his mind supplied—after his father had declared such. Around the same time, his father had also taken to spending more time with him teaching him about the customs and traditions of the North, its different people, dialects, topography and such things…and when he wasn't able to do it for some reason, Old Nan had been there to pick up the reigns of his education.

Arya was a little menace, and while one shouldn't say such, but Robb thought that they had spoiled her a little too much. Sansa on the other hand, was almost a complete copy of their mother, but took far more attention to her appearance similar to his father. It was not lost to Robb how his Lord Father loved to wear luxurious clothes and was always well-groomed, while his Lady Mother had always worm simpler clothing. While Sansa might have looked completely like her mother, and she was far too enamored with tales and songs, Robb knew she dressed immaculately like his Lord Father. She also hid a small adventurous streak underneath since young, despite trying to appear prim and proper. Bran was a delight to play with and was always sweet and thoughtful—if only his younger brother outgrew his urge to climb everything high in Winterfell. All it took was one wet and slippery stone to have a bad accident, but Bran was stubborn and continued climbing no matter what anyone told him. Robb just hoped his brother outgrew his habit before anything happened.

Sweet baby Rickon was quite fussy already, and was proving to be a handful just like Arya. He only started walking recently, and was driving the maids mad by running all over the Great Keep. Robb suspected his youngest brother would be the cause of many grey hairs for his mother and father once he grew up a little more.

Robb shook his head as his mind once again returned to Theon, shivering a little as a cold draft passed through the yard before him. He had gotten close to Theon, and in the process, he had forgotten that his friend was not a ward or a brother, but a hostage in truth. A hostage for the good behavior of the ironborn. A hostage who now had to die after the squids had daringly decided to kidnap Lyanna, his half-sister, from Bear Isle. Truthfully, his blood boiled at the acts of the Ironborn, and by the Gods, he wanted to cut every single one of them down for daring to lay a hand on his family—distant they may have been over their lives, but Lyanna had still been sweet and kind to him when they had been in Winterfell.

But Theon… was different from all of them. He had been raised in the North ever since he had been a boy, with none of that raiding and reaving shite shoved into his brain…fucking hells, his father had been more of a parent to Theon than Balon had ever been! And yet, his father had heard none of that when he had pleaded for Theon to be released from the cell in the tower. A movement in the yard below caught his eye, and Robb blinked as he saw the frail, cloaked form of Lord Howland Reed walk out of the Godswood…followed by Jon of all people.

His face tightened into a scowl as he saw his half-brother, and Robb heard his knuckles pop as he gripped the railing tightly. Loath as he was to admit it, he was jealous of his half-brother to a degree, and he hated him all the more for it. If only he had sent a letter ahead of his arrival, then maybe he would manage to prevent Theon's imprisonment. And if that wasn't enough, Jon had further revealed his madness by sending a letter to the King before any of them knew anything. And of course, then came the Bloo-

"Robb!" Arya's voice echoed in the corridor as the sound of feet pounding against the stone floor came from behind him. Sighing even as a smile came over his face, he turned around and pressed his back against the pillar, looking down at his sister as she skidded to a stop before him. She gazed up at him with a frown, her Stark grey eyes filled with anger as she pointed at him and stomped her foot, "You are the Heir right?! Tell that stupid Joffrey to stay away from my bow and arrow!"

Robb could only sigh once more as he felt the pounding behind his eyes increase a bit more, his head one more inch closer to exploding from everything that had happened over the past few weeks. "Come with me," he ruffled her hair, placing his hand round her shoulder as he began to walk towards the family wing of the Keep, "and this better be the last time you are saying something like this so loudly, where anyone can hear you."

"But this is our castle, and I am saying the truth!" she argued back, and Robb winced as he felt her pinch his side, her loud voice once again echoing in the otherwise silent surroundings, "That stupid little…cunt was saying that I can't shoot better than his stupid little crossbow—but I did it anyway, and then he ordered his dog to break my bow!"

"I don't give a fuck Arya," he grunted, feeling his patience run shorter at the petulance, and ignorance displayed by her. He stopped in his tracks and whirled around to glare down at her, crossing his arms over his chest, and for the first time in her life, Arya felt her brother's anger as she stared at his darkened blue eyes, "This is not a game between you and Bran or Sansa. That boy is the Prince, and you will not say another word about him where someone other than me can hear you. All it takes is one whisper for him to create an endless amount ot trouble for you. In turn, it would create just as many problems for me and our father, and with how much of a loudmouth you are sometimes, it won't even be that difficult. Father and I are already busy with the day-to-day handling of the women as well as the guests…we don't need you fucking shit up just because you can't bother to listen to a few words. As for your bow, I will be taking it with me to my chambers… Whenever you want to practice some archery, take it from there."

"She is going to make you regret that one," I said, watching Arya run away from Robb after kicking his shin. He turned around to face me after a moment, and I raised an eyebrow as I jumped down from my perch on the railing, "No smiles for me?"

"What do you want Jon?" he asked quietly, taking a glance behind me before his eyes returned to mine, "Since when have you been listening to us?"

"Since you started taking out your frustration on her," I shrugged, crossing my arms behind my back as I walked towards him. I paused for a moment, debating mentally on how to deal with the gap that existed between us, and was only growing wider day by day. Visenya had warned me about it a few days ago, but for some reason, I had dismissed it as nothing but a passing phase on Robb's part. However, after observing his behavior around me for the last three days, I had come to a really shocking, yet so simple realization. That Robb had been angry with me ever since I had re-entered Winterfell…and my own actions and attitude in the days that followed had done nothing to lessen that.

"What do you want Jon?" he repeated once again, taking a deep breath a moment later as he closed his eyes, "I am surprised you even sought me for a reason other than to humiliate me in the yard."

"For fuck's sake," I groaned out, throwing my hands in the air as I glared at him, taking a few steps forwards to stand right in front of him, "I am sorry for being a cunt okay? I thought I was just having a bit of fun with you! How was I supposed to know that you'd take it to your heart like when you crawled around for the lemon tarts? Now, stop being a baby and come to the meeting in the Great Hall!"

"I am not being a baby," he growled back, and I saw his hands twitch for a moment as his knuckles popped, "You are the o-wait! Which meeting?!"

"The King has summoned me," I shrugged, pointing a thumb in the direction of the Great Hall, "Every Great Lord is going to be there, along with Father and Lady Mormont. Figured you should also come there as the Heir of the North and my brother."

"Since when do you care about bringing me anywhere with you?" Robb asked, and I blinked at the genuine confusion and anger in his voice. Fucking Hell, why was he making it so difficult and awkward?! "The la-"

"Fuck you Robb Stark," I groaned loudly and threw my arm over his shoulder, pulling him with me with all my strength as he let out a surprised yelp, struggling against my grip. This was the best thing I could think of right now, just overwhelm him and turn the situation into something we could laugh about later on, "If I am to stand the questions and stares of those cunts, then you are going to suffer those hours with me. I don't care that you are the Heir or that you are going to beat me black and blue in the yard tomorrow, you are going to sit there! You're the future Lord of Winterfell, it might be useful to see how the other Lord Paramount and the King act."

"Fine, I'll come," he grudgingly agreed. "But only because you're my brother."

"That's the spirit, Stark!" I said, and a smile found its way to my face.

Until that moment, I had not realized that I had missed Robb. We were still close as children, albeit not as close as the original Jon had been. However, I realized that after my years-long stay in Bear Isle, I had little idea of who my cousin had become…and that it was time to reacquaint myself with him.