Howl of the Dragonwolves

by Elphaba818

9 years ago, the Mad Queen and the Queenslayer died and left their bastard twins grow up in the cold shadows of House Stark. Torrhen and Lyaella Snow know their parents never got the happy ending they deserved. Now they have the chance to change things. They'll ensure their parents win the game of thrones. Or they'll die trying. TIME TRAVEL AU! Co-Author: Longclaw 1-6 as of 2-22-21

2. Alone in a Crowd

I'm so pleased by the reception of the first chapter! 10 reviews, 35 favorites, and 52 follows! I'm amazed by how well all of you love this story so far, and Torrhen and Lyaella haven't even traveled back in time yet! One quick thing I'd like to note about what was written in a distinct review that was left for chapter 1:

Perseus Apollyon: Yep, the circle came back around with Torrhen and Lyaella in terms of their lives mirroring Jon's as a child. There's also ways their lives mirrored Dany too, but no spoilers regarding that! That's something that'll be revealed later! ;D Anyway, why do you think the circle came back around with the twins? To further emphasize the unbreakable wheel, of course! Jon and Dany ALMOST broke the wheel in canon GoT, but they failed. As a person writing a story about what life would've been like for their kids had they had kids in canon, I have to acknowledge how broken the world of Westeros still is in the future. The unbreakable wheel is still spinning on and on, and these kids suffered the most because of that wheel... P.S., I'm glad you enjoyed how I coined Torrhen's nickname for Sansa! She really is 'The Bitch of the North!' LOL! :D

Anyway, this chapter was never intended to end where it did. This chapter was initially written with the chapter following it to be one long, massive chapter! However, leaving it alone left the word count to about 26,000 words! Way, way too long! Chapter 3 will be posted either tomorrow or the day after, depending on how busy I get studying for finals, but I promise it'll be up within the next 48 hours. Consider the first three chapters being posted so fast being my way of trying to make up for the slight delay chapter 4 will take to be posted. For starters, I spent all of November/Nanowrimo month penning the first three chapters, and I only managed to finish writing about three or paragraphs worth of chapter 4 so far. In addition to how chapter 4 will need time to finish being written, I'll also need to cut back on my writing time over the next two weeks to study for final exams. This is my final semester of community college, so I want to do well on these final tests!

I think that's everything I've got so far! Enjoy the chapter!

And please, leave a nice review when you're done! I love reviews! :D

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Chapter Two: Alone in a Crowd

The last rays of sunlight were vanishing on the horizon, and darkness was spreading rapidly across the land. It was going to be a long, cold dark night. The perfect night for a candlelight memorial service.

Right outside the walls of Winterfell castle, everyone was gathering into various long lines to collect simple candlesticks and matches from Stark bannermen passing them out. The Stark's were all waiting by a large, unlit pyre for everyone to be ready. The sooner everyone had their candles, the sooner the memorial service could begin and end, leaving everyone ready for the fun and wonderful feast that always took place afterward.

In the case of the only two bastards in the midst of everyone, they didn't bother waiting in line with everyone else. No, they already had their candlesticks. Filched them off one of Queen Sansa's favorite silver candelabras in one of the main castle corridors. Two for the service now plus an extra one for later tonight in the crypt. Therefore they didn't have line up with everyone else waiting to get their candlesticks. They could keep training in the Winterfell courtyard for a little while longer.

"Careful, sis! Don't drop your guard!"

"Right! Sorry, Tory!"

"Remember, let down your guard for even a second, and your enemies'll overwhelm you! You've gotta strike hard and fast, before they know what's happening!"

"'Kay, let's do it again!"

Clang! Clang! Clas— CLACK!

"Don't forget about footwork, Lya! Make a mis-step like that during a fight and you're dead in a minute!"

"Easy for you to say, Tory. You're not the one in a dress."

Torrhen wiped away a bead of sweat from his brow. Swordplay was fun whenever he and Lyaella trained together. As his sister was a girl, she wasn't supposed to train at all. The stupid Bitch of the North made her stay inside learning sewing whenever she could. Swordplay and fighting is for men, Lyaella, she'd tell his sister in that stuck up way of hers. Torrhen is a boy, so he's suited to learn, but you're place is with other young ladies. That's where you belong. If there was one good thing Lady Arya's occasionally random visits ensured, it was him and her being able to practice together without interruption. After all, Queen Sansa couldn't say anything when her sister was around to make Lyaella stop considering what an expert swordswoman Lady Arya was.

"Just do your best. Come at me! Hack and slash as hard as you can!"

And besides, it's not like Lyaella was ever going to become a legendary swordswoman like their distant aunt or Ser Brienne of Tarth. She had two left feet when it came to proper footwork. Their training together like this was their way of playing together rather than actual training.

Sure enough, Lyaella charged forward with a determined yell and her training sword raised high, but as she swung her sword downward toward him, she stumbled over her own feet, forgetting all about the attack as the sword slipped out of her hand.

Torrhen couldn't stop himself. He chortled. "Visenya the Dragon Queen kneels before Torrhen Stark! King of Winter! The direwolf rises again!"

"What?! Never! The cold-hearted Stark's will bend the knee! They'll kneel before the true queen and the dragons of Old Valyria!"

Grinning wickedly, she snatched her sword and ran at him full tilt. Torrhen laughed as he darted aside and rose his sword to parry a sword strike. Why couldn't the real master-of-arms- here in Winterfell make training as fun as training with his sister? Ten minutes worth of partial training-partial playing with her, and he was enjoying sword training a thousand times more than a full days' worth of swordplay lessons from the proper swordsman instructor his eldest aunt had hired to teach him and a few other servant boys who lived in the castle the proper art of fencing and fighting. With that stubborn goat, every lesson was nothing but proper technique every second and running drills until he keeled over with exhaustion. With Lyaella, he helped her get the basics down and refreshed her on things she may have forgotten since the last time they found the opportunity to train, but they also found a way to enjoy themselves. They found the time to play.

Sure, training this way wasn't fully rewarding, but it was fun. There was no need to train as though every single day was a fight for survival. Unless civil war were to break out tomorrow between the Northern lords and ladies finally having enough with the Bitch of the North's poor handling of the current famine or the whispers he and Lyaella had overheard some Southern visitors whispering about a rebellion against the Three-Eyed Raven king were true, they were entitled to have some fun. They could play games, win or lose without worrying about stuff. That's what being a kid was all about.

"Give up, King of the North!"

"Never! You shall feel the wrath of winter, Visenya!"

Clang! Clang! Clash!

Clang! Clang! Clash!

Clang! Clang! Clas— CLACK!

Lyaella shrieked as she mis-stepped a proper dodge and teetered over into a large pile of snow. She slowly sat up, spitting snow out of her mouth and brushing frozen flakes out of her hair.

Torrhen cheered. "Visenya has fallen! Conquered by ice and snow! The King of the North has won!"

Lyaella attempted to shoot him a mock glare, but she was shivering so hard from the cold her fake anger looked adorable. "H-Ha, ha! Very… Very funny! N-Now help me up!"

Torrhen nodded. He walked up to her and was about to sheathe his sword, but he paused all the sudden, a wicked smirk crossing his face.

"T-Tory… I'm freezing! Help m-me up!"

Torrhen ignored her. Instead, he dug the tip of his sword into the frozen ground and stuck out his chin pompously.

"Visenya of House Targaryen, do you swear to stop attacking the North?"

"Torrhen!"

"Aye, I am Torrhen. King Torrhen Stark of the old Kings of Winter. Swear you'll convince Aegon the Conquerer and Queen Rhaenys to leave our people be!"

"T-Torrhen… this isn't f-funny!"

"Promise you'll honor your pledge and allow us Northerners our independence. We'd rather die alone than join the rest of Westeros! We're proud to—"

Distinct coughing cut him off.

Within a split second, Torrhen's smirk was wiped clean off his face. He dropped his sword, tugged Lyaella to her feet, and began slapping the snow off her clothes.

"Lya! Lya, you okay?! Is it your bad cough?!" he asked fearfully. "I'm sorry! I was — I was only teasing! Do you need Maester Marlon again?! I'll… I'll go get him! I'll tell our relatives you were—"

PLOP!

He yelped. Anyone would if the sickly twin sister they'd been fussing over suddenly beaned them on the head with an ice cold snowball. Little sneak!

Lyaella giggled. She cheekily stuck out her tongue at him as he attempted to shake out the cold wetness. "Serves you right. Dragons answer to neither gods nor men."

"Ugh! That was uncalled for, Lyaella! I was worried about you!" he snapped. Now that he knew she was okay and only faking a possible breathing problem, he was definitely mad. "Don't ever use your weak lungs as an excuse like that again! Hell, that was a lie, too! You just lost Truth or Half-Truth!"

She shot him an icy glare of her own. "One, that was called for," she snipped, jamming her hands on her hips. "You were acting like an arrogant ass. You think I was going to sit there shivering while you rubbed in your win like that, you're mistaken. Two, I wasn't lying or trying to use my stupid lungs as an excuse. That cough was real."

"No, it wasn't! You're not all breathy and tight-chested now!"

"That's because I didn't cough because of my lungs. I coughed because I accidentally swallowed some snow."

Torrhen blinked, anger fading away. "What? Seriously?"

She nodded firmly, eyes narrowing further. "Yeah. Don't believe me? Take some snow and try eating it. You'll be coughing too."

"No, no. I… I believe you."

"You insult me, Torrhen. You think I'd ever pull a dirty trick like that? You let your Stark namesake go to your head. Pretending to be sick like that only to get a one-up on an enemy? You obviously don't know me at all. The only reason I'd have breathing problems in front of an enemy was if I really was having breathing problems. And that's the truth!"

He sighed. "Sorry, Lya. You're right, you're not like that. I shouldn't have doubted you."

"I should say not!"

Flashing her one last apologetic smile, Torrhen picked up his training sword, wiped the blade clean of excess snow, and then passed Lyaella hers. "Wanna go again?"

Lyaella mused for a moment, but upon glancing over curiously at the Winterfell walls and main gate where everyone else in the castle was on the opposite side of, she ultimately shook her head. "No, we better join in with the rest of the crowd. The memorial's probably gonna start soon. We gotta find a good spot."

He was a bit disappointed by her response, but she was right. If they goofed around any longer, Queen Sansa would probably be furious. Normally he wouldn't care how annoyed the direwolf queen became regarding him or his sister, but today was an exception. It was still their nameday. It was already somewhat spoiled due to how the red-headed witch humiliated them this morning when they almost missed the official welcome for King Bran and Lady Arya. No point having her embarrass them a second time by being late again.

Lingering only a few moments longer to put away their training gear, the twins collected the three candlesticks they'd set off to the side. Hiding one of them in the inner pockets of Torrhen's cloak for later, they hurried out beyond the castle gates. They pushed through the crowd, doing their best to try blending in with everyone else and not lose their grips on either each other's hands or their candlesticks for the memorial service. They had to find a nice, quiet spot away from the main crowd so they wouldn't be directly in the spotlight, but could still provide them a clear view of everything happening. The candlelight ceremony was literally the only fun thing that happened on their nameday aside from their special visit down in the crypts afterward. Torrhen and Lyaella didn't want to miss any of it, yet they also didn't want people glaring at them throughout the entire service.

Finding the perfect spot to stand during this time was a hard task. When they were really little, they had always stood with their aunts and uncle the entire time while enduring all the glares thrown their way by everyone. When they finally decided two years ago to stand away from their relatives, their relatives hadn't been pleased. That first year they'd been dragged back to their relatives and forced to stand alongside them like usual. Last year though they managed to escape their relatives and had managed to hide behind the outside corner of the Winterfell walls, peeking sparingly around it every so often in order to see. They had planned to do the same again, but someone must've seen them hiding back there last year and there were several guards patrolling the spot. Hence they needed to find a new quiet hiding place before the ceremony started.

"Maybe we should head to the broken tower," Torrhen murmured, sidestepping out of the way of a particularly large smallfolk man, hurrying up to his wife and children while carrying a few candles. "No one would think to look for us there."

"We wouldn't be able to hear anything, though," Lyaella pointed out. "Let's just stand in the back of the crowd."

"If we do that, we won't see anything… How 'bout we climb to the top of the walls on the right hand side? We might not hear everything, but we'll probably get the important stuff, and we'll still get a clear view."

"That sounds fine."

They set off through the crowd back to the main gate. Aside from a few people who deliberately stuck out their feet in their paths or jabbed them 'accidentally' with their elbows, it seemed as though they might make a clean break. Until—

"There you two are. You're aunts and uncle are worried."

Torrhen groaned while Lyaella squeaked. Spinning around, they found themselves face-to-face with the infamous Lady Commander of King Bran's Ravensguard.

"Ser Lady Brienne," said Torrhen dryly. "We're not doing anything wrong. Just looking for a spot to watch everything." It always annoyed him how their relatives always found it necessary to have either their most trusted friends or even flocks of ravens watching them all the time. It was bad enough that he and Lyaella were forced to live with the selfish queen that was their aunt in the prison that Winterfell truly was. Why did they also take away the little bit of freedom and privacy that they were entitled to when they just wanted to be left alone?

Brienne frowned. "I told you both before to simply address me as 'Ser' Brienne, not 'Ser Lady.'"

"But c-calling you only 'ser' is r-rude, Ser Lady Brienne," Lyaella said shyly. "You're still… still a l-lady, after all. We h-have to address you as s-such."

She sighed, exasperated. "Never mind that. Your aunts and uncle are looking for you both. They sent myself and Podrick to look for you. Come along."

Not allowing them the chance to protest, she gently steered them through the crowd to where their relatives were waiting near the enormous, yet still unlit memorial pyre.

Catching a glimpse of Lyaella sighing out of the corner of his eye, Torrhen shot her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He was just as annoyed and upset about this as she was, but he had to keep her spirits up. He and Lyaella were twins and would always be one and the same, but they were still different people. If there was one thing Torrhen knew, Lyaella had a gentle heart and was very meek. He honestly didn't know where her tender spirit came from considering they'd been raised by the wolves, but she was the good one between them. She was the one who would live through the nightmare that was their childhood and still remember what it meant to be a good person. But he was the big brother. It was his job to protect her from everything.

It seemed to take forever navigating through the sea of bodies, but at last they broke free of the mob and were face to face with the Stark's. King Bran was as emotionless as always, but Queen Sansa and Lady Arya definitely looked annoyed.

"Torrhen, Lyaella, glad you decided to join us," said Queen Sansa, frowning as she always did. "Thank you for finding them, Ser Brienne."

"Of course, your grace."

"Tell Ser Podrick they've been found and have him hurry back. Can't do the service at all without him, after all."

"As you wish, Lady Arya."

And with that, Ser Brienne vanished back into the crowd. Now they were stuck up here. Typical.

A distinctly pointed cough made by the queen directed Torrhen's attention back to her. "Why were you two purposefully trying to delay the ceremony?"

"W-We weren't trying to… to do that," said Lyaella quietly. "We were only… l-looking for a place t-to watch everything… We did that l-last year."

Lady Arya looked as though she was biting her tongue in order to suppress her annoyance. "Yes, and we were angry then, too. You belong up here next to us."

"No, we don't," Torrhen grumbled, staring firmly at the hilt of Needle on her hip in order to avoid glaring at her directly. "The Stark's are supposed to lead the ceremony. We're Snow's, not Stark's."

Whatever Lady Arya and Queen Sansa had been planning to lecture them with was instantly forgotten as they stiffened. They obviously hadn't been expecting him to pull that card out in defense for their actions.

King Bran however had no form of empathy or emotions in his soul anymore, and he wasn't at all fazed. He blinked at them, his lifeless eyes appearing rather ominous in the darkness. "It bothers you, your last names," he spoke. "You both wish you had real names."

Torrhen shifted his glare to him as his hands balled up into fists, but Lyaella pointedly averted her eyes so as to focus solely on her unlit candlestick. They didn't have to answer that. It hadn't been a question. And they shouldn't have to explain their thoughts about this anyway. It was the Stark's fault that they had the last name 'Snow' after all.

Shaking his head at the three of them, Torrhen grabbed Lyaella's hand and tried dragging her away. He didn't know where he was going, he only wanted to get himself and Lyaella away from their horrible relatives. Sadly, their relatives refused to grant them any form of mercy from their persistent torment, because Queen Sansa stepped forward and pulled their hands apart.

"You are both still our blood, Torrhen. Our family. That gives you and Lyaella every right to stand here with us."

Lady Arya nodded, bending down a bit to their level. "She's right. And if it's everyone else's opinions you're worried about, then don't. No one's gonna say or glare at you two while you're with us. Not anymore." King Bran nodded in agreement, his lips curling into a rather haughty grin.

Torrhen didn't know what she meant by that, but he didn't care about knowing either. Sighing in defeat, he slumped over to the empty spot beside his dark-haired aunt and motioned Lyaella to stand next to him. Lyaella took her place, but as soon as the Stark's looked away, she gave Torrhen a miserable frown, one he returned with equal gloominess. They didn't get it. Nine years now the Stark's had raised them, yet they still didn't get it. Unbelievable.

It seemed to take ages, but finally people slowly dispersed from all the lines and gathered around the pyre, and Ser Brienne returned with Ser Podrick, the latter nodding politely to the Stark royals and Snow children. With everything finally in place, Queen Sansa soon stepped forward towards the crowd. The chatter in the air quickly hushed.

"Welcome, welcome all," she declared. "Tonight, we remember that not so long ago, a terror that had not been seen in the North in over eight thousand years returned to life. A terror that brought about a war of darkness and fear, and last for nearly a full year as we fought against death itself. The War for the Dawn."

Chilling murmurs spread rapidly amongst the crowd. King Bran smiled lightly, but Lady Arya stood even straighter than before. Torrhen and Lyaella did nothing though. They had no memory of the supposed Long Night, and all they could really do was simply stand there and watch Queen Sansa continue her speech.

"Many did not believe that the frightening stories that we had heard in the stories from childhood were true. The Night King, the white walkers, the tales of the dead rising from the grave… it was easier for us to not believe it. But the Night's Watch knew something was afoot beyond the Wall. They were the first to understand the threat, and if not for them and all the Wildlings who escaped death by crossing the Wall before they were added to the Night King's army, we in the North would never have been prepared to face this enemy before the dead were upon us. We in the North would have fallen, and once we fell, all of Westeros would have followed, there is no denying that."

Many in the crowd nodded, agreeing with the queen.

"We fought against Death itself so that we could survive. We won the Great War… but at a great cost. So many gave their lives so that people everywhere could have the chance to live. The sacrifice they made is one that cannot be understated. They are gone from us, gone forever… but they will always be with us so long as we remember them. We must never forget their sacrifice, their bravery. So long as they are remembered, then they live on. Now and always."

Quite a fair number in the crowd began tearing up at that, but Torrhen and Lyaella only exchanged silent looks. It was easy for people to talk about remembering stuff if it pertained directly to them. Queen Sansa spoke rather eloquently about the North itself… but what about their mother's army? Daenerys Targaryen had all but abandoned her quest for the Iron Throne when she learned about the Army of the Dead from their father. She'd come to the North with two dragons and two mighty armies to help them in their darkest hour… yet no one ever liked remembering that when discussing the history of the Long Night or about the terror that spread in Essos and Westeros during the reign of the Mad Queen. All this talk about remembering people Queen Sansa just told everyone? She was such a hypocrite. She never liked remembering their mother as the only person in all of Westeros who brought the Northerners the help they desperately needed. No Northerner ever did. No Northerners but them, that is.

"We must also remember that part of the reason why we were almost annihilated when Winter first returned to the land was because we forgot that all the stories we heard as children weren't merely stories. We grew up believing they were stories because our ancestors forgot to stress the importance in them. All the frightening tales about the white walkers and the army of the dead were never stories at all. They were the secret truths in history. We cannot let what happened here in the North nine years ago be forgotten. Should the Night King and the army of the dead ever return, we Northerners will be the first line of defense against them. We must remember what has happened in the past and remember the mistakes that we made when the night was dark and full of terrors. If we don't remember, then those that come after us will never learn from our mistakes and will either repeat them or be utterly wiped out. We must remember our past, no matter what."

Uneasy murmurs whispered in the wind. That thought was haunting, and no one in the crowd enjoyed hearing it even though the importance of it couldn't be understated.

"There is no need to worry about that. All is fine now."

Heads everywhere quickly turned, including the queen's. King Bran was actually smiling for once as he looked out at everyone. With his lifeless eyes though, his smile was nothing short of eerie. Torrhen noticed Lyaella shudder as she looked at him now, and he instinctively moved a bit closer to her so she'd feel safe. King Bran should never be allowed to smile. Not when he didn't know know how to make his eyes show any sign of life in his body.

"There is no need to worry about the Night King and the army of the dead ever again," he went on. "I am the Three-Eyed Raven. I have already glimpsed into the future regarding them. They are gone. Gone forever. Arya killed the Night King here in the Winterfell godswoods. He can never come back. All is well."

A good portion of the crowd cheered and clapped enthusiastically, but there was still a fair amount that were rather apprehensive. Either they weren't sure whether or not the seer king was correct, or they just didn't want to believe anything the Stark's said right now when the current status of Westeros was so unstable thanks to their rule and they weren't sure whether the Stark's were trustworthy. Torrhen and Lyaella barely clapped at all. They had to clap since everyone could see them standing here beside their relatives, but no one had told them to clap enthusiastically. They did not want to show any more support towards their relatives than what was absolutely necessary.

Now that the queen's traditional speech was over, it was time to let the two distinguished soldiers who fought to defend the Winterfell during the final battle to speak, just like every year before. As Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick stepped forward to address the crowd, Torrhen and Lyaella followed their uncles and aunt off to the side to allow the two knights to have everyone's full and undivided attention.

Everyone except theirs, that is. This part of the ceremony was always so boring for the twins they couldn't help but tune it out.

"Same speech as last year," Torrhen muttered, eying Queen Sansa as he spoke. "A few words changed here or there, but still the same speech. Incredible…"

"No one cares, Tory. No one but us," Lyaella whispered. "Don't start anything just cause no one remembers last year's speech. It's not worth it."

Torrhen slouched over, annoyed. He wasn't stupid, he knew Lyaella was right. But still… part of him he didn't understand genuinely wanted to make a scene about it. He had no idea why he always felt the need to start arguments or fights nowadays. He never liked his relatives while growing up, but aside from a few occasional childhood tantrums, he knew when it was appropriate and when it wasn't to yell, and those few rare instances were even fewer for him and Lyaella combined compared to other children their age considering they were Targaryen bastards. Losing their temper for even a minute could cause months and months of speculation from everyone regarding their Targaryen coin flips landing on madness rather than greatness. But lately… it seemed like his temper was always rising for even the stupidest things. Were it not for his sister, Torrhen was certain he would have started at least three different fights today alone. He really needed to get a better hold on his anger.

Sucking in a breath, he glanced back at Lyaella. "Nine years," he whispered. "Nine years now we've never had cake or presents for our nameday. Instead, we host a memorial service."

Lyaella sighed as she smoothed out a wrinkle in her dress. "I… I understand why it's important, doing this ceremony," she told him quietly. "They say father was Lord Commander of the N-Night's Watch and he… he was always fighting the Dead, but honestly, Torrhen… I don't know what to t-think about all this…"

Torrhen blinked. "You saying you don't believe all the stories?"

"You do?"

"'Course I do! How can you not? People may not think father was a fool and a queenslayer, but they also say he was the one who led the fight against the Dead, Lya."

"But… But an army of hundred thousand d-dead men, Tory? That's just impossible…"

"Hmm… okay, you're right there. That's probably exaggerated to make the Stark's look better. It was probably more like twenty thousand, I bet. Aside from that though, all the stories about him in the book, what people who knew him say about him… he killed at least two white walkers singlehandedly! He was a hero! I'm gonna be a great swordsman like him one day! If the Night King ever comes back to life, I'll be the one to defeat him!"

Lyaella brought her hand to her mouth to hide a giggle. "How? Valyrian steel and dragonglass were the only things to kill the w-white walkers. I know they say fire helped kill the regular dead men, but you're on y-your own with that. Sōnar would be sticking with me if the army of the dead come back."

He couldn't stop himself from pouting at her. "You just said that you didn't believe in the army of the dead. Make up your mind."

"I never said that, Tory. I just… I don't know…"

"What?"

Lyaella was silent for a time, then finally twiddled with her candlestick. "That's just it. I don't know. I… I think this memorial thing is nice. It's wonderful, lighting the candles and the pyre in memory of those who died. It's the only fun thing that ever happens on our nameday. And it's nice knowing mother was so selfless, bringing her armies and her dragons here up North to help people even though it cost her everything. Father I'm sure was brave, fighting the Dead right by her side. I like thinking that's how things happened back then…"

"But?"

"But… I don't know what to think about all this. It's hard to believe that there was an army of dead men threatening the Seven Kingdoms, and they were led by a king made of ice. It's… It's just hard to wrap my head around, I guess."

"I see what you mean, but even the queen admits that it happened! She's gotta be the biggest skeptic in the world, yet even she insists the Army of the Dead was real! If she says it's true, you know it's gotta be!"

"I know that, Torrhen. I know something bad must have happened if almost all the Northern lords and ladies back her up on it, even those that don't like her these days. I accept that part, but only because I know father probably would've never met mother if something bad wasn't happening here back then. If there's one thing I do believe, it's that. If not for whatever it was happening up here all those years ago, mother and father probably would never've met."

"Yeah, you're probably right about that."

"Shh! Torrhen, Lyaella!" Queen Sansa suddenly hissed. "Quiet down!"

Lyaella quickly nodded, but Torrhen couldn't help but roll his eyes. Couldn't they even talk to each other anymore without being criticized?

Luckily, Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick's speech ended not too long after that, and after the crowd clapped politely, the fun part of the ceremony actually began.

Motioning for the twins to follow them back up to the pyre, Queen Sansa led the way for the Stark family as a lone Stark bannerman brought forth a flaming torch. It was tradition before everyone began lighting the candles for the Stark's to light the main pyre one at a time while reciting the names of those they considered to be the most vital in terms of protecting the North that unfortunately died during the war. Torrhen and Lyaella had seen their aunts and uncle do this every year on the sidelines and hadn't thought twice about it, as they enjoyed lighting their own candles afterward. This was the first time though that they had been encouraged to join their relatives in lighting the pyre itself. It was a genuine surprise that they were being included in this part of the ceremony.

They had no time to muse over it or even exchange looks of surprise, because Queen Sansa was already accepting the torch from the guard and approaching the pyre.

"In memory of those we will always remember for their courage and sacrifice," she told the audience. Turning back to the kindling, she paused momentarily to collect herself, then brought the flames down towards the wood. "Theon Greyjoy, the Kraken of House Stark," she murmured quietly.

Theon Greyjoy. Yet another example of personal hypocrisy regarding the queen's logic towards who was and wasn't trustworthy. Nothing anyone said to Torrhen could dissuade him from thinking this about his cruel aunt. Theon Greyjoy had been the ward of House Stark long ago and had later betrayed them, yet he was considered a great hero during the war simply because he apparently saved the queen from a horrible marriage prior to her coronation and died protecting King Bran. Two good deeds didn't entitle a person to absolute forgiveness for the sins they committed against people who had literally raised him. The fact that Queen Sansa thought differently only made her a hypocrite to her own logic.

At least his sister Yara understood that even if no one else did. Queen of the Iron Isles. She'd allied with his and Lyaella's mother right before she first came to Westeros, and to this day is still one of the few people in the entire realm who understands and supports their logic regarding that their mother had always been a good person and was never 'mad' at all. Torrhen wished she'd come to the memorial ceremony this year. She used to come every year when he and Lyaella were little, and she was one of the small handful of people who always told them the best stories about what a great woman their mother was and would've been a great queen, far better than Queen Sansa of the North or King Bran the Broken.

But Queen Yara had stop coming to the yearly memorial ceremony for about four years now. It didn't matter that her last living brother had died during the Long Night and she wanted to pay her yearly respects to him in addition to being sure to tell the children of the only monarch she ever supported about what a good woman their mother was. She would never return to the North again aside from when leading her fellow Ironborn sailors on their usual raids around the Northern shores. Not when it was public knowledge across the North that her kindness and generosity towards the children of Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen had been shunned and all but spat on in the worst possible way by the Stark's.

Torrhen's fists clenched. Remembering the specifics of why Queen Yara would never come to North again made his blood boil. In this instance, he was entitled to be angry about it, and even Lyaella shared in that anger. He knew better than to talk about any of this out loud though. He kept his mouth shut by literally biting his tongue as the queen passed the torch to her sister. Lady Arya circled the wood to the second corner where the flames had yet to reach.

"Beric Dondarrion, leader of the Brotherhood Without Banners," she said firmly, lighting the wood. Glancing over at her final sibling, she waited until Queen Sansa had fully pushed King Bran's chair to the next corner of the lumber pile before handing him the torch.

King Bran was silent for a time as he stared at the wood. It was hard to get a good look at his face due to how the steadily rising flames were making shadows dance across his face, but if Torrhen looked closely enough, he could have sworn the slightest trace of a smile was upon his face.

"The Night King," he said finally. He lowered the torch towards the wood, making sure it caught aflame before moving it away. His name drew quite a few surprised looks, his sisters among them. "The enemy we defeated. We must remember our foes, after all."

Taking the torch away from him, Queen Sansa blinked away her surprise and walked up to Torrhen and Lyaella. "Go on," she urged gently, passing Torrhen the torch. "You both light the last corner."

Torrhen couldn't help but stare incredulously at Lyaella for a moment before finally walking with her to the final unlit corner. The rest of the lumber was ablaze with a hearty, crackling fire. Except this one corner. Generally the Stark's would only light the first three corners and simply allow the flames to eventually carry over to this corner on their own. But not this year. This year, the twins were allowed to choose names to recite while lighting the final corner. But who could they even pick when they didn't even know those who had died all those years ago?

The boy was at a loss on what he was supposed to say or do right now in order to fulfill this part of the memorial service, but after a few seconds pause, he discovered that in this instance, Lyaella was actually the one to take charge. Gently taking the torch from him, the silver-haired girl slowly brought the flames of the torch down to the wood.

"For all t-the Unsullied and Dothraki w-warriors who died," she said shyly, yet still loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Torrhen blinked, then chanced a quick glance over at their relatives and the rest of the crowd. The crowd was murmuring uneasily, but their aunts and uncle had all frozen in place, staring at them with wide eyes. Torrhen did everything he could to suppress a smirk. Lyaella hadn't done anything wrong, yet she still managed to remind everyone that it wasn't only the North who lost people when the Night King and his army marched south. She was a genius.

Still, he had to recite off a name too. And thanks to Lyaella, he knew exactly which name he could recite. Taking the torch from her, he moved a few paces to the left where there was still one last chunk of unburnt timber.

"Jorah Mormont. Lord Commander of Daenerys Targaryen's Queensguard."

A sudden hush descended upon the ceremony as Torrhen lit the pyre, the crackling of the rising flames being the only sound to be heard in the silence. Torrhen couldn't help but feel rather pleased with himself, and judging by the soft smile on Lyaella's face that she was trying to keep from being so obvious, she was equally pleased by his choice of name. It was common knowledge that the exiled Northern knight Ser Jorah had pledged himself to their mother's campaign to reclaim the Iron Throne. Aside from one other cousin that had fought during the war, Jorah Mormont had been the last of House Mormont, and with his and his cousin Lyanna's deaths during the Long Night, House Mormont was extinct. No one ever liked remembering that a Northerner aside from their father had been part of Daenerys Targaryen's service, though. They acknowledged that Ser Jorah died a hero during the war despite the dishonor he brought his house when he fled from Westeros, but they didn't like remembering that the way he died was from protecting his queen. The Dragon Queen.

It felt good, reminding everyone about that. He was just as much responsible for saving all their ungrateful lives as any other Northerner that fought during the war. Their mother fought to protect them, yet no one ever appreciated her help. They didn't remember everything she sacrificed to help them. No, they just called their father a fool for both asking for her help at all and then fathering bastards like himself with her. Not even their own relatives defended his actions even though they knew he was never a bastard at all. Were it not for the fact that he and Lyaella had eavesdropped on certain private conversations between their selfish aunts and aloof uncle, they wouldn't even know about his secret heritage of being the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. That was only the first of quite a few secrets the Stark's hid from him and Lyaella that they weren't supposed to know about yet they did. The Stark's were terrible. Just plain terrible.

Offering only a small, innocent smile to their frozen aunts and dead-faced uncle, Torrhen politely bowed, passed Lady Arya the still burning torch, then grabbed Lyaella's hand before walking casually back to where they'd stood off to the side before when the knights were speaking. Now came the best part of the ceremony, the candle lighting.

Queen Sansa stared after them for a few moments, still looking quite shaken by their choice of names, but she collected herself soon enough and turned back to the crowd.

"The North remembers them," she said slowly, her eyes flicking over to the twins quickly and then back to the audience. "They remember their courage and sacrifice. And we remember all the others who also died. We remember."

"We remember," everyone chanted back.

And that was it. That was it for the queen's speeches. One by one, everyone in the crowd lit their candles and began quietly murmuring the names of others that died during the War for the Dawn. The twins did the same, Torrhen lighting their lone match and bringing the flame to the wicks of their candles. Waving away the match flame once both were lit, Torrhen passed Lyaella her candle and held up his own towards her. Lyaella giggled, gently tapping her candle against his as though they were clinking goblets.

"In memory of Lyanna Mormont," she whispered. "The first to proclaim father as King of the North."

Torrhen snickered. "For the ice dragon, Viserion," he said. "Mother's dragon that the Night King killed and added to his army."

Truthfully, Torrhen really didn't care if anyone heard these extra two names they said for themselves. But whispering it to each other made it all the more fun. It was like they were committing a great taboo by speaking these names, but they did so anyway because they knew it was right. No one could criticize them for speaking names of those that died during the Long Night. It was their choice who they chose to honor while lighting their candles.

People tended to linger out here for a while. Those who had lived through the tragic War for the Dawn and lost loved ones either lightly cried as they stared at their candles or inched closer to the large bonfire to look deeply into the flames. Those who still had family members with them all gathered together, hugging one another and expressing their gratitude that they were all together now. As Torrhen watched them, he couldn't stop the tinge of annoyance that welled up inside him. These ungrateful people were all alive. They had each other. They had warm and loving families… yet the only reason they had those things was because of Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen. They had their perfect lives and perfect families, yet he and Lyaella grew up living with the worst people anyone could ever have for relatives. It wasn't fair.

Lyaella noticed how he was unconsciously glaring at a small boy being lifted up by his mother to sit on his father's shoulders, and quickly grasped his hand to make him look at her.

"Come on. Let's grab a plate to go from the kitchens," she urged. "We'll eat down in the crypts."

He brightened considerably. That was probably the best thing they could do right now. Leave it to Lyaella to know exactly what to do.

They set off back to the castle gates, and for once, everyone was more preoccupied with each other to glare hatefully at the two of them. It seemed like their quiet exit from the memorial service would actually go unnoticed, until—

"You two are determined to avoid every important event today, aren't you?"

The twins had literally just entered the castle courtyard, but the unexpected voice made them spin back around. Lady Arya was casually leaning up against the archway of the main gate, smiling in obvious amusement. Where on earth did she come from? How did she get back through the main gate without anyone noticing?

"Lady Arya!"

"We… We d-didn't see you there…"

Lady Arya frowned. Straightening up from her spot against the stones arch, she walked up to them. "How many times do I have to tell you two? Call me Aunt Arya when it's only us or the family."

Torrhen purposefully glanced down at his sword belt as he sheathed his sword. It was the only way he could purposefully look away to hide his own frown. The day either of them addressed Queen Sansa and Lady Arya as 'Aunt Sansa and Aunt Arya' or King Bran as 'Uncle Bran' would be the day the Night King returned to life.

The Stark woman's frown became all the more distinct when she realized that neither of them had any intention of replying to that statement. She huffed lightly. "What are you two up to, sneaking away from the candle lighting? You two love this part of the service."

"We… We w-were only trying to avoid the main crowds," said Lyaella, rolling her candlestick back and forth between her fingers. "It's gonna be… be h-hard for us to get plates from the k-kitchens once the feast starts."

"Ah, I see. You two must be starving. You weren't in the Great hall at midday."

"It wasn't a big deal. We just weren't hungry then," Torrhen told her. He hoped that would be it and their assassin aunt would leave them be, but instead she smiled.

"And you intend to eat in the crypts? All alone?"

"Ugh, fine. We'll eat in the kitchens if that's a problem. Can we go, now? We're trying to avoid the main crowd."

"Why eat in the kitchens at all? You both should eat in the Great Hall."

Lady Arya's words were so unexpected it succeeded in catching his and Lyaella's full and undivided attention. "The Great Hall?"

"That's… That's a b-bad idea, Lady Arya… T-The feast'll be starting soon. We'll g-get in trouble with Q-Queen Sansa…"

"No, you won't. Sansa's the one who told me to take you two there," she exclaimed. "You're both joining us and Bran at the High Table tonight."

The twins gaped at her. Then at each other. Then back to her. Generally when feasts happened in Winterfell they were forced to sit in the very back-most corner of the Great Hall while Queen Sansa, Lady Arya and King Bran if they happened to be in the castle at the time, and other important guests sat all the way at the front of the celebrations at the High Table. But not on the night of the memorial ceremony. No, when the feast following the ceremony happened, Torrhen and Lyaella were always forbidden to attend. They ate in the kitchens alone and then were sent straight off to bed. But they never slept at this time. No, they always slipped off to fetch Sōnar and Shadow before heading into the crypts for their yearly ritual. This unexpected change was nothing short of shocking.

"Why?" Torrhen asked. "We've… We've never been to the Long Night feast before."

"Reasons," said the She-Wolf rather cryptically. "Now, come along. Keep dallying and you'll both get swept up with the rest of the crowd."

Torrhen blinked at that, but Lyaella cupped a hand around her ear to listen. Sure enough, the sound of various voices talking all at once and steadily growing louder were approaching the castle.

"Come on, let's get inside."

Not giving the children a chance to respond, Lady Arya wrapped a hand around each of their shoulders and steered them both indoors. Torrhen could only stare dumbstruck ahead of him as he allowed her to drag them into the keep.

The queen had them both next to her when greeting King Bran and Lady Arya. They had the two of them take part in lighting the memorial pyre this year during the remembrance ceremony. Now they were going to go to the memorial feast for the first time? And dine with them at the High Table?

What was going on?

---

It was all so strange. She was sitting at the High Table. A place that a small part of her had always wanted to sit at while at the same time never wanted to either. Not when the Queen of the North sat directly to her left and Torrhen on her right was between both herself and the heartless assassin Lady Arya.

Lyaella wasn't sure what to think of what was happening. People were chattering away and enjoying themselves just as they would at any other feast, yet somehow… everything seemed different this time. Instead of she and Torrhen hiding away in the corner and listening sullenly as people hissed insults to them under their breath and spat on their plates, they were sitting far away from the usual hubbub at the High Table with their only living relatives. Instead of listening to insults from the guests, she was listening to Queen Sansa prattle on and on to King Bran on her other side about the famine the North was currently facing, and instead of staring at her, King Bran, and Lady Arya up here at the High Table while sitting at one of the regular long tables, she was sitting at the High Table and staring at everyone either enjoying themselves or subtly sending her and Torrhen quick glares whenever the queen wasn't looking.

Backwards. That's what all this was. Everything was backwards.

She idly played with the slab of meat on her plate with her fork. What was the point for them being here at all? Feasts were only fun because she and Torrhen were allowed extra helpings of dessert if they asked the cooks nicely in the kitchens. The events themselves weren't all that fun, not when she and Torrhen knew they weren't truly welcome. Why were the Stark's doing this? Why were they making it their sole purpose to ensure their nameday this year was the worst one ever?

"Lyaella, stop that," the queen said swiftly. "You know there's a food shortage right now. Don't play with your roast."

She lowered her fork. "S-Sorry," she murmured.

"You all right, Lyaella?" Lady Arya asked. "You've hardly eaten a thing."

She nodded. "I-I'm just… surprised, I g-guess…" she said. "We… We've n-never eaten up here before."

"No," said the distant King Bran. "You both haven't."

Torrhen shot their uncle a glare. "Must you always do that?" he grumbled.

The king blinked, slowly turning to look at him. "Do what?"

"That! Right there! Looking so… creepy when you talk. Can't you show any emotion when you talk aside from smirking?"

"Torrhen, mind your manners."

Torrhen huffed. "Fine. King Bran, will you please explain why you're incapable of ever showing any sort of emotion aside from an occasional smirk?"

"Torrhen Snow."

"I said 'please!'"

"It is fine, Sansa. I do not mind." King Bran turned a bit in his wheelchair to fully look at Torrhen. "I am far beyond the boundaries of normal human existence with my powers. Showing emotions is so unimportant that I find it unnecessary."

"W-Well… you should change y-your mind about that, your grace," said Lyaella. "T-Torrhen's right. You… You always l-look so creepy…"

The seer blinked at her before slowly smiling. "Perhaps I shall reconsider it. We shall see."

Lyaella forced herself to smile back when in actuality all she wanted to do was shudder. That creepy smile again. It was almost frightening how he looked right now with his otherwise aloof expression combined with that smile.

She tried to focus back on the crowd, but upon locking eyes with the actively glaring Lord Glover, she averted her eyes to her plate. Torrhen was her twin, and he knew right away what it was that upset her. He was quick with shooting the Lord of Deepwood Motte a nasty scowl of his own.

"Torrhen, enough," Queen Sansa hissed. "Do not openly glare like that."

"Why not?" he grumbled. "Lord Glover's doing so to me and Lya."

"Lord Glover's a proud man, I don't deny that. But he's also a fool for wearing his emotions so plainly. Proper nobles always keep their emotions hidden from their enemies, that way they never know what they're truly thinking."

"Is that w-what Tory and I are to Lord G-Glover?" Lyaella asked, sounding rather hesitant. "We're enemies t-to him?"

Queen Sansa and Lady Arya exchanged unreadable looks.

"Everyone who is not us is an enemy, Lyaella," said Lady Arya after a tense silence. "At the end of the day, the only people you two should ever trust is us. Your family."

The queen firmly nodded. "Remember that, Torrhen, Lyaella," she declared. "Family is all that really matters in the end. Never forget that for even an instant."

The twins exchanged mild looks of their own, a thousand words and more they each read in each other's eyes that were beyond everyone else's understanding, then they looked back at the Stark's and nodded. There was a great deal of truth to that statement that even the two of them couldn't deny. The only reason why it was impossible for the two of them to fully believe it though was that it was being told to them by Queen Sansa of all people. As a woman who had deliberately betrayed the trust of a man who she grown up with and believed for the majority of her life was her half-brother instead of her cousin, she was the last person in the world who had any right to lecture them in the importance of always trusting their family.

"There are other lessons which we should go over with you both now anyway, come to think of it," she went on. "Both of you, keep eating and looking at us, but do so while discretely glancing back at Lord Glover."

Lyaella had no idea what the queen was trying to achieve at this moment, but she did as she was told, and Torrhen did the same. Popping a bit of salted roast into her mouth, she kept her head turned directly to be looking at Queen Sansa, but out of the corner of her eye, she spared at peek back over to Lord Glover. The proud old man was still actively glaring at her and Torrhen, his left hand in a shaking fist on top the wooden table. He wasn't focused solely on them alone anymore though. No, even though his gaze did not shift from the twins for even a second, he was speaking over his shoulder at a lord with the sigil of a silver axe on the clasp of his fur cloak.

"That man Lord Glover is speaking with right now. Do one of you know who that is?"

"Um…"

"He's… the lord of house Hornwood, right?"

"Incorrect, Torrhen. That's Lord Cerwyn. What do you think of that?"

"I don't know."

"D-Does… Does Lord Glover have a p-problem with Lord Cerwyn?"

Arya rolled her eyes. "Hardly. The two of them hardly ever see each other except at gatherings like this. They're neither friends nor enemies."

"And yet they are caught up in a rapt discussion right now while Lord Glover's glaring at both of you," said the queen. Taking a quick sip from her goblet of Dornish Red wine, she glanced back at the two of them. "Now, why do you suppose Lord Glover would be so interested in speaking to Lord Cerwyn right now, especially when he's already quite heated by the sight of you two?"

The twins only stared at each other. They had no idea where the queen was going with this.

Queen Sansa seemed to pick up on this and audibly sighed. "Think. Why would the two of them be speaking so animatedly as they are right now?"

"M-Maybe… Maybe Lord Cerwyn is trying to p-persuade Lord Glover into believing that… Tory and me are good p-people?"

Queen Sansa shut her eyes to hide her annoyance while Lady Arya let out a low sigh. King Bran on the other hand let out a slight chuckle.

"How naive of you to think that, Lyaella."

Torrhen quickly shot him a glare. "Don't belittle my sister! That's a valid idea!"

"No, Torrhen, it's not. Listen to your uncle, he's right," Queen Sansa said. "It is very naive of you to believe that's what they're talking about, Lyaella."

"W-Well… Well, what does it matter? They're o-only talking…"

"It matters, Lyaella, because Lord Glover has always been quite vocal regarding how much he dislikes you both."

"Yeah? Well, he's not winning any good points from us, either."

"Torrhen," said the queen sharply. "Listen. Lord Glover's been twice as opinionated about minor things than normal due to the food crisis. And now he's even glaring openly at the High Table while fully aware that all of us know what he's doing, and Lord Cerwyn looks quite worried. Why do you think that is?"

Torrhen rolled his eyes while Lyaella shrugged.

"I d-don't know…"

"Who cares?"

"You should care. Figuring out a person's motives is one way to determine whether or not someone is trustworthy or not."

"Arya is right, Torrhen, Lyaella. Do you know what I do when I'm trying to understand a person's motives when I don't know them?"

"No."

"What… What d-do you do?"

"I play a little game. I assume the worst. What could possibly be the worst reason they have for saying and doing the things that they do?"

Lyaella frowned. "So… you just distrust everyone right away, your grace?" she asked slowly.

"It's important to be skeptical of people, Lyaella. Believing in things that you simply want to believe in is something that only fools do."

Torrhen scoffed in disgust, dropping his fork on his plate. "Didn't you learn that lesson from that one guy you met in King's Landing, though? Lord… Balson?"

The queen's eyes narrowed. "Baelish. His name was Lord Baelish."

"And wasn't he the one who arranged for half the bad things that happened to House Stark when you were a kid? You really follow that jerks advice?"

There was a long pause.

"Torrhen—"

"Listen—"

"C'mon, Lyaella," Torrhen said, ignoring the two Stark women as rose. "Let's eat somewhere else. It's clear that present company is so distrustful of everyone except themselves." Disgust dripped from his tone.

Lyaella nodded as she shoved away her plate. She was equally appalled. Was this the only reason their aunts and uncle wanted them to sit up here with them tonight? To teach them the rules of the twisted games they played with people? Did they want to teach her and Torrhen to be just like them? Just as cold, distrusting, and downright selfish? They'd been lectured during Lady Arya's last random visit to Winterfell on how to play her stupid Game of Faces to know when to recognize when someone was lying. They didn't want to learn it, but Lady Arya refused to leave them alone until she fully taught them. That was not happening again with Queen Sansa's Game of Trust. Not on their nameday. Not ever.

They began to walking away from the table, but Queen Sansa's voice followed them.

"I know you two value honor. I know you both think that the three of us are terrible people because of these philosophies. But you both need to learn them. The world is dark, selfish, and cruel. Hardly anyone ever likes… natural-born children, let alone children who are… Well—"

"What? Bastard children who are what?" Torrhen hissed. "Children who are orphans? Or with two parents of House Targaryen?"

King Bran's vacant eyes flicked to him. They appeared to be twinkling a bit what with how the flames in the large fireplace directly behind the High Table were reflecting in them. "Don't speak of that now," he told the twins, emotions otherwise gone. "Too many ears."

Torrhen growled, fists shaking. He opened his mouth to argue, but Lyaella's quiet voice spoke up before he could say a word.

"W-We wouldn't have to be quiet a-about it at all if… if y-you three hadn't been s-so distrustful and played games with… with our p-parents…"

Queen Sansa's eyes immediately lost their sharp edge, and even Lady Arya shifted a bit. King Bran would have appeared unmoved, but his brows rose distinctly. Lyaella didn't want to hear anything the three of them had to say to her statement, though. She spoke the truth, and that was more than any of them had ever done back when their father first brother their mother here to Winterfell with him so many years ago. Let them feel guilty for their own philosophies while playing their games. With that thought in mind, the silver-haired child gently took her dark-haired twins' hand and pulled him behind her around the High Table and out into the crowd.

Torrhen waited until they had successfully navigated through the mob of bodies to the backmost corner where they generally sat for feasts to clap his hands. "Wow, Lyaella. Wow… you really told the queen off! And you didn't even snap at her like I did! How'd you do it?"

Lyaella blushed. She sat herself down at the very edge of a bench at the nearest long table. "I… I d-don't know," she said shyly, her feet scuffing up the floor a bit as she swung her legs back and forth. "I just said the t-truth…"

"Still… it's like you planned to say that. You're always so quiet and meek all the time around everyone except me," Torrhen went on, sitting down on top of the table surface beside her. Their whole area of the long table was surprisingly empty for the time, so no one was around to criticize him for not sitting down properly on the bench. Unless their relatives or a servant came over to yell at him, he was free to do as he liked for the moment. Glancing around for a moment, he swiped two lone chicken legs off the scraps of a nearly picked clean serving platter. He passed her one. "How'd you come up with that so fast?"

Lyaella felt her cheeks heat up considerably as she averted her eyes, turning the leg over and over again between her fingers. "I didn't exactly plan t-to say that, Tory… But I don't deny I've thought about it now and then recently."

Torrhen's brows rose. "Really?"

Lyaella nodded as she took a bite. Chewing and swallowing was the only way she could calm herself enough to explain her thought process right now. "Queen Sansa… she's the one most responsible for everything, Torrhen. King Bran might have set the board, Lady Arya opted not to play, but the Queen? She won. She won everything because she cheated. She planned for mother to be betrayed and murdered. Father's death she might not have planned, but she doesn't seem all that sad about it… With them gone, she was free to become the Queen of the North. She's horrible… and I hate hearing her talk like that! That we have to learn to become like her and her siblings: distrustful liars and manipulators! I don't want us to be anything like them!"

"Whot mhoks tuu ah oos."

"Swallow, Torrhen. Then talk."

Swallowing his chicken, Torrhen grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, I said, 'that makes two of us.' I'm with you there, little sis. All the way. The day the two of us starting acting like any of them—" his head jerked sharply toward the High Table, violet eyes burning with hate "—is the same day we do what we've dreamed of doing once Sōnar and Shadow are a bit bigger."

"Run away?"

"No— well… aye, I guess. Yeah, that's right. But don't say that so casually! Last thing we need is for a guard or servant to hear it and report it to the queen. And I meant before that, anyway."

"Before?" Lyaella frowned, puzzled. Realizing Torrhen wouldn't offer any more details, she wracked her mind around the idea, trying to remember everything they ever talked about in regards to their longtime dream of simply taking their friends and the few prized possessions they had once Sōnar and Shadow were both a bit bigger and could carry all of them away from the prison that was this castle. It took her a few seconds, but then she sat up straighter, eyes wide. "You don't mean—?"

"'Course I do," he said, face dead serious. "We've talked about it before."

"I talked about it, Torrhen," she said firmly. She quickly stood up and moved directly in front of him so she could look him right in the eye. "I only dreamed about doing that, and you weren't even part of the dream when I did it. But it was only a dream. It doesn't mean I plan to do it one day."

"Fine, but I still think we should do it together whenever we do leave this castle. Give the ice queen and all-seeing raven king one last 'fuck you' before we bolt."

"Is that how the two of you always refer to the Queen of the North and the King of the Six Kingdoms? Not sure I want to know how you address Lady Arya when she's not listening."

Their heads spun around. They'd been so caught up with talking they hadn't even noticed someone approaching them. They'd normally be on edge when forced to speak to visitors during feasts, but upon seeing who it was, they blinked in unison.

"Lord Tyrion," said Torrhen, hopping down off the table surface. "We didn't know you were here."

"It's been quite some time. I hope you are well," said Lyaella, politely smiling.

Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock. The last surviving member of the once fearsome Lannister house. Former hand to their mother, Queen Daenerys, and now hand to their uncle, King Bran the Broken.

The middle-aged dwarf seemed even older now than he had when Torrhen and Lyaella had last seen him over two years ago. His golden curls were sprouting more gray hairs than ever, and the wrinkle lines surrounding the thick scar across his face were deeper and more prominent than when they last met him. He'd definitely seen his share of better days.

That didn't stop him from smiling gently to the children though. "I'm doing well, thank you, Lyaella," he said, taking out a flask from the inner pockets of his red and gold Lannister tunic. He sat down across from Lyaella as he took a fast swig. "Not sure I can say the same about the two of you, though."

Lyaella frowned, but Torrhen huffed and glared pointedly at his half-finished chicken leg. Neither of them could exactly deny that.

"You both should work harder at getting along with your aunts and uncle. They're the only family you've got."

"Don't lecture us on that, my lord." Torrhen grumbled. "Things are that way for us because of them… and of other people's actions."

Lord Tyrion frowned. "That's unfair, Torrhen."

"It's… It's not," Lyaella said quietly. "It's the truth, after all. N-No one likes hearing t-the truth, but… but t-they can't run away from it f-forever."

To Lyaella's relief, Lord Tyrion didn't attempt to talk his way around her words. Considering he was one of the genuinely small handful of people who not only treated the two of them with respect, but also personally apologized to the two of them regarding how his actions in the plot that led to their parents deaths resulted in the two of them being orphaned, she would have hated to have been forced to get up and find somewhere else to sit a second time. Her and Torrhen's personal feelings towards the dwarf of Casterly Rock were extremely mixed due to his past, but they did acknowledge that he was a genuinely good person despite how the history of House Lannister depicted the lion House as a house of backstabbers and ruthless manipulators. Were it not for what it was that led to their mother earning the nickname of the Mad Queen followed by how he and Ser Brienne had taken the time a few years ago to explain how their mother's father Aerys Targaryen — both their grandfather and great-grandfather — had earned his own nickname of the Mad King and what he planned to do had it not been for the actions of Lord Tyrion's late older brother Ser Jamie Lannister, otherwise known as the Kingslayer, they probably would have found him harder to like. Plus, he was one of the few people they knew who was willing to tell them good stories about both their parents. For these reasons alone, they didn't hate him, but they didn't necessarily like him either. It was all very complicated.

He took another long drink from his flask before speaking again. "I can't deny that, I suppose. You're a smart girl, Lyaella Snow."

Lyaella merely shrugged at that. She personally didn't believe she was smart. If she was, she'd have figured out a way to avoid drinking Maester Marlon's disgusting tonic years ago.

"What brings you to Winterfell with the king, Lord Tyrion?" Torrhen asked. "Last time you came for the memorial ceremony, things went bad in the capitol, right? How come you're not in King's Landing running everything?"

Tyrion chuckled. "Doing my job as hand of the king, I'm afraid. Business to complete with Queen Sansa."

"R-Really?" Lyaella asked. "What is it?"

"Oh, just trade agreements. Politics and such. It's complicated."

"It's about the famine, right?" Torrhen guessed. "Are you gonna work out a deal with the queen for food shipments?"

"Ah, well—"

"I-Is King Bran gonna do anything about H-Highgarden?" Lyaella piped. "Lord Bronn… his grain p-prices are too high. Queen S-Sansa's already taken… taken a loan from the Iron Bank just t-to pay for it."

"Yes, I heard. Things have been rather bleak lately for you Northerners," said Lord Tyrion. "I can't speak for Bronn regarding his grain prices, but I'll do what I can to convince your uncle to ship more food up here. No reason children such as yourselves should start going hungry."

Lyaella nodded gratefully as Torrhen took another large bite of his chicken. He made sure to fully swallow it this time before speaking. "Hope you can. Otherwise we may have to ask Ser Davos to smuggle food up here!"

"Where is S-Ser Davos, by the way?" asked Lyaella, craning her head around to see if the old, balding smuggler who acted as the Master of Ships for their uncle was around. "He… He always c-comes to the memorial service."

"Aye! He promised he'd have a surprise for us the next time we saw him!" Torrhen added eagerly. "Did he skip the feast?"

He blinked at them. "Did your aunt not tell you both?"

"Tell us what?"

"Ser Davos… he passed almost two moons ago. We sent a raven about it."

Torrhen and Lyaella froze. Unlike their conflicted feelings regarding Lord Tyrion, Ser Davos had always been a man they respected. Despite how he initially served the false king Stannis Baratheon in the early days of the War of the Five Kings, he had later served their father and acted as his hand during his time as the King in the North. He had always been very kind to them. Hearing that he'd been gone for over almost two full moonturns now and their selfish aunt hadn't even told them about it was a shock for them both.

"Oh…" Lyaella whispered, dropping her small, barely touched chicken leg onto the nearest plate. It almost missed the plate entirely due to how much her hands were suddenly trembling. "I… I see…"

"Thanks for telling us," Torrhen mumbled. "We appreciate the truth." He took an enormous bite into his own chicken leg. Without even swallowing it, he took another bite, followed by a third before finding a mug and washing it all down before repeating the process a second time to fully finish the meal.

"I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to be the bearer of bad news."

"It's… It's fine. You didn't k-know we didn't know… We d-deserve to know."

"Still, I'm very—"

"It was good speaking to you, my lord. Perhaps we'll speak again later. C'mon, Lya."

Not even giving his sister a chance to respond, Torrhen immediately began walking away, keeping his eyes trained solely on his feet. Lyaella only paused momentarily to give the Lannister a polite curtsy before hurrying after him, her own eyes burning with unshed tears. There was no need for her to ask her brother where they were going now. It was time to leave this stupid feast. They should've skipped it entirely and gone on ahead with their usual yearly ritual right after leaving the memorial service. They could've lived in blissful ignorance about Ser Davos' death until tomorrow, at least.

They had almost reached the doors to the Great Halls, but the distinct sound of a utensil gently striking the metal of a goblet made all other sounds in the room gradually hush. Curious as to what was happening, the two of them paused and looked back over their shoulders.

Queen Sansa was standing at the High Table. "If I could have everyone's attention, I have an important announcement."

Numerous lords and ladies exchanged curious looks to one another, but nonetheless remained silent. The twins exchanged befuddled looks of their own. No one had told them that the queen would be making an announcement of some sort tonight. Looks like they were forced to stick around for a few more minutes at least. Once she was done with whatever it was she had to say, then they could slip out. They could only hope that she'd make this quick.

Setting down her spoon and goblet, the queen gazed at the crowd with a polite smile. "As the head of House Stark and the Queen of the North, I'd like to thank everyone who came to the memorial service this year. It's nine years since we faced death during the Long Night, and only more year until a full decade has passed. It's good to know that the North still remembers the terror it faced not so long ago."

There was distinct murmurs of agreement from the rest of the crowd.

"That being said… there is another reason why we should never forget the importance of today. I'm sure many of you aren't even aware of this reason at all, but after tonight, it'll be something that will always be remembered by everyone."

"Torrhen, Lyaella?" Lady Arya called out, rising from her own seat. "Come up here, please. Both of you."

Lyaella felt herself stiffen. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Torrhen full out gaping, but she couldn't find it in herself to budge a single muscle anywhere in her body. What was going on?

She only snapped out of her shock when she felt Torrhen's hand slip into hers. Sparing a nervous peek at her twin, she saw her own anxiety reflected in his face for once. He didn't look like he had the slightest notion of what to make of all this, either. Whatever their relatives were up to, they were doing it without having given either of them fair warning about it. But why?

Swallowing thickly, she kept a firm grasp on Torrhen's hand as they slowly walked across the long room towards the High Table. It had never seemed so far away before, but with their aunts and uncle watching them impassively and almost everyone else in the room glaring at them with obvious hatred, it seemed to take forever to reach their relatives.

"What's going on, your grace?" Torrhen asked. "Did we do something wrong?"

"W-We're sorry if we did…" Lyaella added. "We didn't know if we… offended you or something."

To their surprise, Queen Sansa shook her head. "Not at all. It's just that this announcement is about both of you, so we need you up here."

"Both of us?"

"W-What do you mean?"

"Wait and listen," said King Bran tonelessly. "You'll see."

Nodding appreciatively at her younger brother, Queen Sansa addressed the crowd again. "Many of you don't know this, but today is an important day for House Stark for reasons aside from the memorial ceremony. Today marks not only the ninth nameday of our niece and nephew here, but it is also the day that I officially announce my choice of heir to the Northern crown for when after I am gone."

Curious whispers broke out in the crowd, but Lyaella only stared at Torrhen in utter bewilderment. It was a well known fact that their selfish aunt had no interest in marrying and securing a future heir to the Northern crown. She and Torrhen knew that she had literally screamed profanities at every subtle suggestion made about it by her advisers more times than either of them could count. What she had against marriage and having children of her own was beyond their knowledge. Personally, Lyaella believed that the queen was so distrustful that she would rather rule and grow old alone rahter than share her power with a co-monarch. Announcing that she'd finally chosen a future heir though was a real surprise. She'd always assumed that she'd pass on the title of Queen of the North to Lady Arya one day rather than have a child that would possibly conspire against her should the tensions in the North grow any further.

"Who is your heir?"

"Where is he?"

"Are you going to step down as queen right away?"

"Have you changed your mind regarding suitors, your grace?"

"What does your heir have to do with the dragonspawns?! They're Targaryen bastards!"

The last inquiry made all other questions the Northern lords and ladies had been shouting hush all at once. Lord Glover looked exceptionally pleased with himself as every face in the crowd immediately turned to the twins. Torrhen forced himself to stare solely at his feet so no one would see his glare, but Lyaella couldn't help but feel her cheeks burn red hot as she stepped behind him slightly. She hated being the center of attention, especially when it was only caused by people like Lord Glover calling her and Torrhen out for both their bastard status and Targaryen lineage — things which neither of them could help being.

"My heir has everything to do with them, Lord Glover," Queen Sansa said in a frosty tone. "And I would remind you to take care of how you speak regarding them from now on."

"Why?"

"Because, Lord Glover—" said Lady Arya, smiling innocently "—they are my sister's heirs."

There was a full three seconds of complete silence, then everyone began shouting all at once.

"Them?!"

"They're dragonspawns!"

"Your grace! Please, reconsider!"

The shock of the crowd didn't hold a candle to the shock of the children though. Torrhen had visibly jerked at the revelation and Lyaella nearly fell over due to suddenly feeling lightheaded. They stared at their relatives, jaws dropped and eyes as wide as saucers. They couldn't believe their own ears.

The queen soon grew tired of all the commotion. "Enough," she called out sharply. "Sit down, all of you."

While a handful of nobles looked appropriately chastised and quietly sat down, there were many other proud Northern lords and ladies who full out glared at either Queen Sansa or the twins as they slowly took their seats again. The queen may have quelled the initial disbelief and shouts of protests from the Northerners, but it was clear the fight was far from over. Still, they held their tongues. That was the best one could hope for regarding matters such as this.

"I understand there hasn't been a good history with house Targaryen here in the North, especially for the Stark's," she went on. "The Mad King roasted our grandfather alive and laughed as our uncle was strangled to death while trying to save him. Our late aunt… suffered an ill-fated death due to Prince Rhaegar. Our half-brother, Jon… he died because of everything that happened with the Mad Queen. The North remembers, my lords and ladies, and we Stark's know that better than anyone. It is our duty to protect the North, and as the queen you chose following our brother Jon's death, I have done everything in my power to keep the North safe."

The lords and ladies nodded and murmured their agreement quietly amongst themselves.

"That being said, our niece and nephew are not proper Targaryen's. They are the children of our brother, Jon. He might not have had the Stark name, but he was every much our father's son as King Bran, and our other two late brothers, Robb and Rickon. The blood of the First Men runs through their veins just as it does with all of you, and that makes them just as much as Stark's as our last King of the North."

"But we're not Stark's."

The sudden interruption made Queen Sansa blink. All across the room, peoples eyes shifted at once to the sullen-faced Torrhen, glaring daggers at a distinct crack in the stone-tiled floor.

Queen Sansa seemed almost surprised by how angry he was. "I… I beg your pardon?"

Torrhen's eyes slowly slid upward to glare directly at her. There was a brief pause, then he shifted his arms a bit to readjust how his cloak was hanging around him. "I said, 'But we're not Stark's,' your grace." The fabric slid away from his hip, allowing everyone in the room to get a good look at the three-headed dragon emblem stitched right onto his training sword scabbard. "We can't be your heirs."

Lyaella nodded, her own temper rising as she lightly tugged on the collar of her dress. "Torrhen's r-right, Queen Sansa." Feeling her fingers hook around the chain of her dragon pendant, she let it fall out from its hiding spot and hang freely around her neck. "We're… We're Snow's. We're n-not a prince or princess."

King Bran stared at them with a vacant smile, but Queen Sansa only looked at them with an unreadable expression for a long moment before flicking her eyes to the impassive Lady Arya. Lyaella felt Torrhen squeeze her hand reassuringly, and she squeezed back appreciatively. She knew Torrhen was just as clueless as she was about whatever all this talk about naming them as their aunt's heirs was. Whatever game the Stark's were playing, they weren't going to make it easy for them to win. They didn't want to play.

"You grew up here in Winterfell just like we did. Just like your father did," said Lady Arya finally. "You both have a direwolf for a pet just like all of us did long ago. You are Stark's."

"We are your family. This is your home," said Queen Sansa. "The fact that neither of you have the Stark name is only a technicality. One which the three of us have taken upon ourselves to fix."

Time stopped. Lyaella couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't process what she thought she heard Queen Sansa say. She wanted to say something — anything — to get the queen to repeat herself, because unless she heard it again, she wouldn't believe it. Judging by how Torrhen's hand had abruptly slid out of hers, he had to be thinking the same.

"W-What…?"

"Say that again?"

Queen Sansa smiled at their stunned expressions, then glanced off to the side where a servant was standing, carrying two thick scrolls on a small tray. Waving the server over, she looked back at the twins. "Our nameday present for both of you," she explained.

"It was all her idea, but I admit it was a good one, practically speaking," said King Bran, his smirk still on his lips.

The servant passed Torrhen and Lyaella the scrolls before moving off to the side again. They were relatively thick and both sealed with thick red wax with the symbol of a direwolf imprinted into it, but the twins made no attempt to break the seals. They barely looked at the scrolls at all. They just stared at each other in shock for several moments before slowly looking back up at the Stark's in perfect unison.

"What… What is this, your grace?" Torrhen all but whispered, still in disbelief.

Their aunt's smile only grew. "Open them. See for yourselves."

Torrhen stared at her for a few moments longer, then slid his fingers slowly in between the paper and the seal, but Lyaella's fingers were shaking so much she could barely keep a firm grasp her scroll. Torrhen had to take hers away for a minute to break the wax. Lyaella didn't even acknowledge his help. Her complete and undivided attention was solely on the scroll itself now. Should she blink, anything could happen to it.

Gulping thickly, they slowly unraveled the messages and stared, wide-eyed, at the fancy writing drafted inside.

"From this day forward, your names are not Torrhen and Lyaella Snow, but Torrhen and Lyaella Stark," Queen Sansa proclaimed proudly. "You have the same rights as any other true-born Stark's and are now the first and second heirs in line to the Northern crown."

Lady Arya grinned. "You both go from being bastards to the legitimate crown prince and princess of the North. You have the same titles now as my sister, and neither of you have to address any of us as 'your grace' or 'lady' anymore while in public. You can finally address us as your aunts and uncle at any time."

"The North will be yours one day," said King Bran. "Neither of you have reason to leave at all."

"You both will begin your lessons to become a proper crown prince and princess first thing tomorrow. I'm sure things will seem a little stressful at first, but there's no rush. You'll soon be—"

The sound of two sheets of parchment shredding into pieces abruptly cut off the queen.

The twins said nothing as they both ripped the royal decrees into shreds, but despite how shocked everyone there was as they watched, their expressions said more to them than a thousand words. Torrhen was so red-faced and on the verge of turning purple his anger was undeniable. Lyaella was whimpering as tears flooded her eyes, but her white teeth were bared to show just how hard she was grinding them together.

As always, King Bran's expression did not change in the slightest despite the unexpected reactions of his niece and nephew, but Lady Arya's smile vanished entirely as her mouth fell into a small 'o,' and Queen Sansa's could only gape at the twins in shock. The initial disbelief followed by absolute joy they had seemingly been expecting to see from their niece and nephew was definitely not what they were witnessing from the twins.

At last both scrolls were nothing more than small shreds of parchment fluttering to the ground. Lyaella was still attempting to muffle her tears as she glared with wet eyes at the scraps on the floor, but Torrhen ever-so-slowly raised his head to glare directly at the Stark's. He was literally quivering with rage.

"You — You dare to — You—" he thrust his finger at Queen Sansa, so furious he couldn't even find words. Lyaella had never seen her brother so angry in her life, but she would not attempt to calm him. He had every right to be mad. "You… You're playing games with us, aren't you?!"

Every onlooker there was silent in disbelief at what they were witnessing, and Queen Sansa couldn't help but flinch at her nephew's tone.

"I… Torrhen?"

"What… What is this?!" he demanded. "What the hell is this?!"

"Why are you screaming?" Lady Arya demanded, still rather dumbstruck. "You and Lyaella… you're legitimate now. Real Stark's."

"We… We're officially making you part of the family…" said the queen, her eyes slowly descending from Torrhen's flushed cheeks to the bits of parchment scattered across the stone tiles. "We thought… We thought—"

"Y-You thought what exactly?" Lyaella's whispered words seemed to echo even louder than Torrhen's shouts of outrage as she looked up. She could hear the sound of her heartbeat drumming back and forth inside her head in her haze of fury. "You… Did you t-think such an insult…? Are we s-supposed to be happy?"

"Insult…?"

"Yeah! Insult!" Torrhen raved. "What are you playing at?! You trying to make up for your choice of being alone and hateful by making us your heirs?!"

"Torrhen, Lyaella—"

"How dare you… How dare you! You people plotted to get our mother killed! Your scheming got our father killed! You took away our chance to have a real family! A real name! And now — now you think you can give us your name?! What the hell is this?!"

"You… You're t-terrible!" Lyaella wept, shaking her head in disgust as hot, furious tears streamed down her cheeks. "You Stark's are terrible! We don't want to be Stark's! We don't want to be anything like you people! You… What is wrong with you?!"

Not waiting for any sort of reply, Lyaella seized Torrhen's hand and bolted to the doors of the Great Hall as she completely burst into tears. No one tried to stop them. They let them leave. She was beyond thankful for that. Had someone attempted to stop them, she would have lost it. Not that she hadn't lost it now what with bursting into tears like this, but had someone dared to stop her right then… she had no idea how she'd react. Not when every instinct in her body was screaming at her to get away.