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

3. The Past Can Be Rewritten

Great news everyone! I passed my last chemistry test! I got a B in the course! Do you know what that means?! IT MEANS I CAN GRADUATE FROM COMMNUNITY COLLEGE!

The official graduation ceremony will take place in the spring, but I did it! I passed all my classes! I'm gonna graduate with degrees in both regular filmmaking and animation! I'm so happy! Now I just to get discovered by Disney or Pixar! I want to be a screenwriter and either a 2D animator/storyboard artist! Keep your fingers crossed for me!

I can't guarantee when Chapter 4 will be posted, because unlike these fast updates for Chapters 1 through 3, Chapter 4 isn't finished yet. It might take a little bit of extra time. I'll try to get it done as soon as possible though!

I also intend to post this story on Ao3 soon. It might take me a bit of time because I've never posted any content on there before and I need to familiarize myself with their posting standards. It should be up soon though!

Please, leave a nice review when you're done! There were 18 reviews for the last chapter alone, bringing the total review count up to 28. If everyone leaves at least one review on this chapter, I'm sure we can bump that count up to 50 with this chapter, lol! If that's not enough, then think of it this way, reviews help keep me motivated to write! One review = +10 minutes worth of writing time! :D

Happy Reading!

- Elphaba818

EDIT - 1 HOUR AFTER INITIALLY POSTING CHAPTER:

I almost forgot to add this! The song in this chapter was inspired by the fanmade song 'A Promise of Spring' by Karliene on Youtube. I highly suggest you look it up and listen to it. I did SERIOUS TWEAKING to the lyrics to make the song original for the twins to use in this chapter! All credit to the original song belongs to the extremely talented Karliene! My tweaking the lyrics was to keep her rights to the original song all hers, and this song as mine. I am NOT trying to take credit for the original song!

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Chapter Three: The Past Can Be Rewritten

Lyaella ran. And she ran. Torrhen didn't try to tug his hand away as she dashed down the empty corridors. She knew he wouldn't do anything at all to calm her until they were safely away from everyone. She was too upset, and he was too angry. She was angry. Never again would they attend another feast after the memorial ceremony for the Long Night. She would rather starve for an entire day than take one step in the Great Hall again on their nameday in the future. Better to go hungry like the majority of the smallfolk in the North these days than endure another insulting feast like that ever again.

It wasn't until she realized she had led them out into the courtyard did she finally stop. It was a good thing she did too, considering Torrhen abruptly let go of her hand and started kicking the nearest barrel.

"The nerve of her! The nerve of all of them!" he shouted, kicking the barrel as hard as he could over and over again. It toppled over on his third kick, but that didn't deter Torrhen. If anything, he slammed his foot into it even harder. "That bitch! That's what she is! The fucking Bitch of the North!"

"I… I h-hate her, Torrhen," Lyaella wept, burying her face into her hands as she wept. "How… How can she be that… t-that cruel? She… She w-wanted to erase our Targaryen h-heritage! She didn't even h-have the decency to… to admit that you were right about u-us being her… her way to avoid getting married and h-having her own children…! I hate her!"

Torrhen didn't seem to hear a single word she said, he was so focused on kicking the barrel. But it wasn't enough for him. Letting out a furious growl, he stormed away from the barrel while unsheathing his sword, and began whacking it against a training dummy with all his might.

"Bitch—of—the—North!" he yelled with every sword strike. "All—hail—the—bitch! Fuck—her! Fuck-her! Fuck—her!"

Lyaella's eyes bulged, stunned by his violence. "Tory!"

"Fuck—direwolves—crowns—queens—Starks! Fuck—it—all!"

"Tory, please!"

She dashed forward, hugging him abruptly from behind before he could strike the training dummy again. Her tears soaked the black fur of his gray cloak.

"S-Stop…" she begged him, burying her face deeper into the fur lining. "Please… p-please stop, Tory. Please…"

Slowly, Torrhen lowered his sword, then dropped it abruptly as he spun around to hug her.

"Don't cry, Lya," he told her numbly. "Don't. Our goddamn relatives aren't worth any tears."

"I… I can't help it," she mumbled. "I don't know what else to do… I'm not about to start hitting things like you…"

"No? Then I'm gonna tell you exactly what we're gonna do. We're going down to the crypts."

"N-Now?"

"Aye, now. Go on ahead, light a torch. I'll get Sōnar and Shadow."

Nodding at her twin, Lyaella sniffled and wiped away her tears, then set off for the crypts as Torrhen hurried to the kennels. He was right. After a nameday as horrible as this nameday had been, they needed to visit the crypts more than ever, regardless of their yearly nameday tradition.

Descending down the stone steps to the crypts, Lyaella felt around the walls in the darkness until she found what felt like the handle of one of the many unlit torches lining the crypt stairs. Grabbing hold of it, she felt around in her cloak pocket for the extra match she had kept after the candlelight memorial service, and ignited it against the wall. Waving it out once the torch was ablaze, she used it to light the other numerous torches lining the walls until she heard the familiar footsteps of her brother, their direwolf, and their dragon approaching behind her.

Sōnar and Shadow seemed to instinctively sense Lyaella's distress, and the moment they saw her they both hurried right up to her, Shadow sweetly licking her fingers as Sōnar nuzzled her body affectionately with her head and neck. Lyaella basked in their attention as Torrhen gave the lit torches a quizzical glance.

"Why bother lighting the torches? We could have had Sōnar do it on her own."

"I just wanted to light them myself."

"Okay, whatever. Just come on, before our relatives send someone after us."

They descended further into the crypts, only stopping once in a while for Lyaella to light more torches on the walls. The crypts would generally be considered a haunting place to others what with all the statues of the long-dead Starks seemingly staring at those who visited the tombs, but for Torrhen and Lyaella, the crypts were a place to escape to whenever they wanted to be alone. They despised their living Stark relatives more than words could describe, but they did not share that anger towards their ancestors buried in the crypts. Their ancestors on their father's side of the family were innocent of the terrible things the last three living Stark's had done to them and their parents so many years ago. And besides, visiting the crypts was literally the only way they could get even the vaguest idea of what their father looked like back when he was still alive.

They both knew the crypts like the back of their hands. They knew exactly which way to go, but they stopped a few times on the way to their final destination. It was necessary to stop. For all the lessons that their heartless relatives shoved down their throats all the time, one lesson they liked learning about was about the fates of their two other uncles who had died before they were born. The first King of the North in recent memory, Robb Stark. And then the youngest Stark sibling, Rickon Stark, who died while on the battlefield prior to the fateful Battle of the Bastards between their father Jon Snow and the House Bolton bastard, Ramsay Snow, who with his father Roose Bolton had long ago usurped the North from the Stark family for a short time. But thanks to their father and — to their dismay — Queen Sansa, they took it all back.

"Uncle Robb, Uncle Rickon," said Torrhen solemnly as Lyaella quickly lit the memorial candles at the statues. "Hope you're well."

"W-We… We never knew either of you, but… but I h-hope neither of you think t-terribly of us for… for how we hate y-your sisters and your brother, K-King Bran…" Lyaella murmured. "Please… Please if y-your listening… f-find it in your heart to f-forgive us…"

"Wish we could've known you both. I don't know what you two would've done if you'd known about Father's true identity, but even if you both didn't like Mother… maybe you could've convinced your sisters and brother not to betray him."

"Even if… n-neither of you could've done that, p-perhaps you would've liked us… Treated us b-better, at least… Nobody really r-remembers you aside from… aside from talking about h-how you died, Uncle Rickon. Were you a good person? If you were, would you've been nice to us? And Uncle Robb? I know people say you were even s-stupider than father, but… but you knew what love was. You lost your crown because you fell in love. Would you have loved us? We're Jon's children with the woman he loved and gave up his crown for."

"Why'd you both have to die, anyway? Had one of you lived, you'd be king now! Not the Bitch of the North!"

The flickering flames of the torches and memorial candles made the shadows dance on the statues faces. It was sad, what happened to the late King Robb and young Rickon Stark. The first being betrayed while attending a wedding and having his head chopped off followed by his direwolf's head sewn onto his headless corpse and paraded about mockingly by his enemies. The other struck by an arrow while running for his life from the madman Ramsay Snow to reach their father, who sadly failed to save him. These days, everyone called Robb Stark the King Who Lost the North, and Rickon Stark the Fallen Wolf. Yet their relatives? Aside from giving them the basic facts about the deaths of their two uncles, they never spoke about them at all. They never spoke about any of their dead family members unless absolutely necessary. Including Jon and their father, Ned Stark.

Lingering only a moment longer at their uncles statues, the twins then wandered over to the statue of the solemn-faced man who had apparently been their relatives father and their own father's adoptive father . Their great-uncle, though officially to keep their father's birth identity a secret, their grandfather. Meanwhile with the statue of the pretty young woman directly to the right of him, the reverse was true. Officially their great-aunt who died from a sudden fever after being kidnapped and raped by the late Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. But secretly, she was their father's mother, who ran away with the dragon prince, married him, and died in childbirth shortly after Rhaegar was slain on the Trident by Robert Baratheon. She was their grandmother, Lyanna Stark.

"Lord Stark, Grandmother," Lyaella whispered, smiling politely to both statues. "I hope you're both well." They'd agreed long ago that the best way they could address their father's adoptive father was by his official title. He wasn't really their grandfather after all, but it was too risky to address him as their uncle, either. Why their relatives were so adamant on keeping their so-called half-brother's birth identity a secret so many years following his death was beyond their understanding. But they knew better than to tempt fate regarding it. This was one of the few rules they knew for a fact the Stark's would genuinely punish them for if they dared to break it.

"Lord Stark, you're surviving children are all terrible people," Torrhen snapped, glaring up at the statue. "They're all selfish! Why'd you have to be so dumb back in King's Landing and get yourself killed?"

"Torrhen!"

"What? I'm only asking, Lyaella. You know if he'd lived, our stupid aunts and uncle probably wouldn't have turned out half as cruel and selfish as they are now."

Lyaella had nothing to say that. He was most likely right, after all.

Glancing over at their grandmother, Torrhen's expression softened. "I'm sorry you died, Grandmother. Lya and me? We wish we could have known you. I'm sure Father must've felt the same when he found out who he was."

"Tory's right, Grandmother," Lyaella piped. She gently touched the stone outline of Lady Lyanna's dress. "We… We don't know much about you since hardly anyone's still alive who remembers you… but… but I'm sure you were a good person. Anyone… Anyone who can look at a dragon and… and see the goodness in them instead of as the monsters everyone else sees must be a good person…"

There was silence in the crypt as they stared up at the stone face of the Lyanna Stark. They wouldn't hear any sort of reply from her. They knew that. Still… it'd be nice to see a sign of some sort that would show them that if there was indeed an afterlife out there, their grandmother had heard them. It didn't have to be big. Just a little sign so they'd know she'd been listening.

Staying a few moments longer to light the candles for Ned and Lyanna Stark, the children ventured over to the statue to the right of their grandmother, their direwolf and dragon right on their heels. This was the statue that they'd come down into the crypts to visit, after all.

The stone statue depicted a young man with a firm-looking face. Curly hair tied back, he wore a long fur cloak and held a sword in front of him with the pommel of a wolf's head, and a second carving of a massive direwolf sat protectively near his feet, it's stone eyes seeming to watch the children with every step they took.

Jon Snow. The King of the North and secretly the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

The twins smiled at the statue. Their father. Not a real Stark, but everyone claimed he upheld the values and honor of Ned Stark better than any of the late lord's surviving children. He had been foolish, but he had been a good king. Probably would have gone on to be an even better king than the Queen of the North and the Broken King combined had he managed to take the Iron Throne alongside their mother.

Their mother… there was no statue for her in the crypts. She was the Mad Queen, after all. The cruel Queen Sansa would never allow a statue of their mother to stand alongside their father. But even if she had, there would be no body to go along with it. Following her death, people claim that their mother's last surviving dragon had carried her away somewhere east, across the Narrow Sea. No one knew for certain where Drogon had taken her body, not even the supposed all-seeing Three-Eyed-Raven, but people claimed they'd seen glimpses of Drogon living in the desecrated ruins of Old Valyria today, though. The twins knew that was true, so if Drogon was there, then their mother's corpse was most likely rotting away somewhere in the ruins with him. Those that hated her claimed it was fitting justice for all the terrible things she'd done while she was alive, but the few that insisted she'd been a good person shared in the twins heartbreak. No one deserved to have their body all but forgotten like that.

That being said, that didn't mean there wasn't a small tribute to Queen Daenerys Targaryen anywhere in the crypts. One just had to know where to look. Smiling up at the stone face of their father, Torrhen and Lyaella sidestepped slightly around the statue to stand directly on the left hand side of it. Lyaella held the torch high overhead as Torrhen scanned the stone folds of their father's cloak.

"Can you find it?"

"Not yet, give me a sec."

"We should've put it somewhere slightly more visible, then we'd have an easier time finding it whenever we come down here."

"Yeah, but then the Stark's would see it, too. It's annoying looking for it, but it's better this way, Lya— oh! Here it is!"

Lyaella peered over his shoulder. Torrhen's fingers gently ran over a handful of scratches that had been deliberately carved into the stone folds of the statue's cloak. But they weren't actually scratches. They were words. Two words, to be exact. Daenerys Targaryen. They had carved them into the stone two years ago when they finally were able to spell their mother's name properly. It was all they could do to give their mother some semblance of proper remembrance and to let her soul stay with their father always.

The twins stared fondly at the inscription for several moments, then stepped aside to allow Sōnar and Shadow the chance to inspect their small tribute to their mother. They had to set up their yearly ritual anyway before they could even properly greet their parents.

Lying at the feet of their father's statue were a handful of unusual items. Aside from the additional candle for their mother which Torrhen procured from his cloak pocket, there was a heavy history book bound with thick leather lying on the ground and two musical instruments. A lute and a lyre. They ignored the instruments for now though and instead pulled the book toward them. The Song of Ice and Fire, written by the archmaester at the Citadel chronicling the history of all the wars that happened in both Westeros and Essos following the death of King Robert the Usurper. Flipping the book open to a random page, they left it open on the ground beside the instruments and lit the two candles for their parents.

As Lyaella stepped away to put the torch into a nearby empty wall sconce, Torrhen felt around the statue's cloak to feel the inscription of their mother's name, then gazed up at their father's stone face. "Hello, Father. Hello, Mother," he said thickly, throat bobbing a bit with emotion. "It's us. Torrhen and Lyaella."

"We brought Sōnar and Shadow with us," Lyaella added, joining him again as she leaned into the dragon's side for support. Sōnar butted her head gently against the little girls' shoulder to comfort her. "It's… It's the anniversary of the Long Night again. And our nameday, too."

"We're nine now. Seems like yesterday we came down for last year's memorial service, when we turned eight."

Silence filled the air, the stone eyes of their father staring unseeingly at the statue of a deceased Stark lord across the row.

"We… We know we haven't come down to visit much this past year," Lyaella whispered, gently stroking Sōnar's scales as she stared sadly at her feet. "We're sorry… we know we should have…"

"Yeah, we were wrong not to," Torrhen agreed, his fingers idly tracing over the messy 'D' in their mother's name. "It's… It's not that we didn't want to, it's just… It's hard, Mother, Father. Coming down here, seeing only your statue, Father, but not one of you, Mother. And there's Ghost's statue… but…"

His words trailed off, hot tears swimming in his eyes as his hand balled into fists.

Lyaella patted his shoulder comfortingly as Shadow whined softly, nuzzling up against his side. Her eyes were welling with tears, too. It was too hard to think about that, let alone talk about it just to the statue of their father and messy inscription of their mother's name.

"We… We were genuinely insulted by Queen Sansa, King Bran, and Lady Arya just before we came down here, Father," Lyaella said. Torrhen glanced at her through his watery gaze, but he didn't dare let a single tear fall. "They… They were all stupid enough to think that we'd be happy to be legitimizedas Stark's for our nameday present…"

"The nerve of them!" Torrhen snapped. "It's their fault we're Snow's, anyway! You grew up with the last name Snow, Father, and you… you were still named King of the North! And Mother… you loved him even when thinking he was only a bastard. It didn't matter to you! Father, why couldn't you have really been a bastard? We… We don't think Mother would've gone crazy if not for that and your cruel sisters and brother."

Again, there was no reply from the statue, but Torrhen simply pressed his forehead against the cold stone of their father's cloak. A statue couldn't offer any comfort, but he wanted it to. Pretending it would suddenly come alive and clap a comforting hand on his shoulder the way he always imagined his father would was the only solace he had.

"We… We wish you were here, Mother, Father," Lyaella whimpered. Following her brother's example, she pressed her cheek against the messy inscription of their mother's name in the stone cloak and shut her eyes. Why couldn't there be a statue of her down here? Aside from how people claimed she looked just like their mother aside from her gray eyes and maintaining no hairstyle at all with her silver hair as opposed to the great crown of braids their mother wore like a crown, she and Torrhen didn't even know what she looked like. Was she taller than father? Shorter? Did she have a heart-shaped face? What about her smile? Closed lips or teeth showing? Did she have dimples? They had no idea, nor would they ever know. "Everyone hates us… We hate the Stark's… We hate how things turned out for both of you… But Tory and me? We don't hate either of you! We… We love you both so much!"

She burst into tears again and hugged the statue tightly. She'd done so before during past visits, hug their father's statue, but this time, it wasn't Jon himself she wanted to be hugging. She wanted her mother. She wanted to hug a beautiful statue of Daenerys Targaryen and pretend she was hugging her back. Just for a moment.

Torrhen said nothing, but his shoulders shook slightly as he kept hiding his face against the stonework. At their sides, Sōnar and Shadow whimpered and nosed their arms, offering what little comfort they could to their human charges. Whatever emotional pain the twins felt, the dragon and direwolf felt, too.

It seemed to take an eternity, but finally Torrhen poked his head out from the stone folds of the statue's cloak. His face was dry and he maintained a neutral expression, but no facade of innocence could hide how red and puffy his eyes and cheeks were now. He gently tugged his still sobbing sister away from the statue before promptly sitting down on the crypts' floor.

"We still need to flip through the book, sis," he said quietly, tone flat and dead. "We need to recount all of mother and father's adventures before playing for them. We've been training Sōnar and Shadow to help us, you know."

Lyaella nodded, brushing away the tears from her eyes. "'Kay…" she murmured, sitting down beside him.

Motioning for Sōnar and Shadow to sit down too, the twins began scanning the pages. They did this every year on their nameday following the memorial ceremony. They'd fetch Sōnar, Shadow, the Song of Ice and Fire history book, and their musical instruments and go down into the crypts to visit their father's statue. They'd talk to him and by extension their mother for awhile, read the tales in the book about all the amazing feats their parents had accomplished during their lives, and then play music for the two of them for a short time while Sōnar and Shadow snuggled up to them. Though this year, their dragon and direwolf would contribute with the music part. As Torrhen said, they'd been training Sōnar and Shadow for an entire moonturn now to assist them with the melody and rhythm for tonight.

As Lyaella read a random sentence on the page they'd left the book open at, her expression brightened considerably. "Hey, look! This page's all about mother!" she cried, pulling the book towards her slightly to see the page better. "It's all about when she conquered the slave city of Meereen!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! See this part, here?" she said, pointing at a particularly lengthy paragraph. "It's all about how she had to name a champion in her army to go against the champion the Mereenese slave masters named for themselves when she arrived at the city. And see this part? On the next page? Here it talks about how she had numerous Unsullied warriors sneak into the city to rally the slaves! Led by Commander Grey Worm!"

Torrhen scowled. "Grey Worm?" he scoffed.

Lyaella frowned. "Torrhen—"

"No. Don't give me that look, Lyaella. You know I'm not gonna change my mind about him."

"I don't think—"

"He's a cockless asshole. And he demanded justice for our mother's death against the wrong person. Our father. He should've demanded justice against the people who plotted for her betrayal and eventual death. Not the one who was manipulated into doing it!"

Lyaella sighed heavily. "I know. I hate that he didn't think about that, too. But everything we've read about him… he sounds like he was loyal to Mother. I don't think his role in everything was intentional."

"I don't care," Torrhen huffed. "We could've at least had Father in our lives were it not for him! That jerk better be either dead from Butterfly Fever or sleeping with one eye open every night! Whenever we can get out of Winterfell once you two—" he paused, turning to run his fingers through Shadow's thick fur and stroke Sōnar's neck "—are bigger, we're gonna fly straight to the Isle of Naath! I don't care if he's supposedly one of best warriors in all the world! I'm gonna kill that fucker myself!"

"Torrhen!"

"I've already decided this, Lyaella! Nothing you say's gonna change my mind! Were it not for that asshole Grey Worm, we'd at least have Father! Is that or is that not the truth?!"

Lyaella stared at him heavily for a time before sighing and gazing down sadly at the book.

Torrhen gave her a pointed look. "Truth or Half-Truth, Lya. Come on, it always applies."

"The rules let me to abstain from answering, Tory," she shot back. "You're the one who insisted that little cheat be allowed when we invented this game. Don't get mad at me for using that rule against you right now. So long as I'm not lying at all, I'm allowed to do this."

Torrhen huffed loudly, annoyed that he couldn't deny her logic. Shadow trotted up to him, plopping down beside him and laying his head in his lap. The boy bit back a small smile as he scratched the black direwolf behind the ears. Lyaella refrained from commenting as Sōnar curled up in a ball around her as she too laid down. Better to let her brother stew quietly from a minor annoyance rather than make a fight about it. After the worst nameday ever, they needed to stay united right now, not fall apart over petty squabbling.

"Say what you will about Grey Worm, Torrhen. I don't deny I'm angry with him too about father… but he still helped mother end slavery forever in Essos. We can't let ourselves hate the one person who's both still alive and always loyal to mother, and helped her achieve the only good deed people tell of her legacy. Even the Starks claim they'd never seen such unwavering loyalty from a person from anyone aside from father himself and Ser Lady Brienne."

"Not true, Lyaella."

"But I'm not lying!"

"I didn't mean that. I meant you forgot Ser Jorah Mormont. And the other knight."

"Other knight…? Do you mean Ser Podrick?"

"No, I— wait… actually, yeah. We should probably count him, too. His loyalty's unquestionable. But I meant the other knight who was loyal to mother."

Snatching the book from Lyaella, he went back in the chronicles a handful pages before skimming the text. Not seeing whatever it was he was looking for, he went back even further. Reading the first handful of words, he smiled.

"See? Look here, at this page."

Lyaella glanced quizzically at Torrhen, then looked down. Her eyes quickly widened.

"Oh!"

"Yep. Barristan the Bold, kingsguard to — grandfather or great-grandfather? Dunno. — Mad King Aerys, and fought with Grandfather Rhaegar on the Trident. He traveled across the Narrow Sea just to serve in mother's Queensguard, and fought valiantly at her side as she ended slavery in Essos. He was a true knight!"

Lyaella giggled, but moments later, her expression saddened. "Yes, he must've been very loyal to mother, just like Ser Jorah. Such a shame he died back in Meereen during a Sons of the Harpy riot… Had he made it back to Westeros with mother, maybe… maybe the Starks would've been more willing to listen to her."

"I doubt anything could've convinced them otherwise about mother, Lya. You know what they're like. Still… things could've gone differently if he'd still been around. I don't know."

Shrugging herself at the notion, Lyaella flipped through numerous random pages. It didn't matter where she landed so long as she landed on a page pertaining to father next. If it were about mother again or a historical fact related to someone other than their parents right now, they'd skip it. Their rules when reading this book on their nameday was to alternate in finding one story about one parent followed by the other, then play a song together before repeating the process until they got tired. Reading about unrelated tales about other people that took part in the long War of the Five Kings or the Long Night occasionally interested them, but tonight was all about their parents. Lady Arya may have technically killed the Night King nine years ago, but the true heroes during the War for the Dawn were undoubtedly their parents even though hardly anyone ever spoke about them. Without Jon Snow, no one would have been prepared for the threat so many years ago, and without Daenerys Targaryen, the North would have fallen for sure, and the rest of Westeros would have fallen with it. The Northerners didn't want to remember that, though. They remembered only what they wanted to remember.

Finally finding another page that was devoted solely to Jon Snow, Lyaella set the book down again so they could read the story. Torrhen's anger all but evaporated when he realized what it was Lyaella had found.

"Oh, cool! You found the Battle for Hardhome, Lya!"

"Hardhome… wasn't that where… where father first supposedly saw a white walker for the first time? Wasn't it stealing a baby or something?"

Torrhen laughed. "You're confusing Hardhome with Craster's Keep. That's where father and Grand Maester Sam first met Sam's wife, Lady Gilly."

Lyaella grinned sheepishly. "Oh, right… but father first fought against a white walker while at Hardhome, right? If he saw a white walker at Craster's stealing a baby, why didn't he try to save it?"

"Hmm… I'm not sure. We'll have to look for that story next. But Hardhome's definitely where father fought a walker for the first time. See? Says so right here! He even killed it with his Valyrian steel sword!"

"Woah…"

"I know… He and all the Wildlings he saved fought at Hardhome. They battled the army of the dead! That's even where father first saw the Night King for the first time! It must've been an amazing battle! Wish I could've seen it!"

"I still say the army of the dead is rather unbelievable…"

"Say whatever you want, Lyaella. I know it existed. It and the Night King. Father was a legendary hero! Isn't that right, Father?"

Lyaella had to suppress a snicker at how wonder-struck Torrhen looked as he gazed up at their father's statue once again. Her brother was admittedly obsessed with being as brave and strong a fighter as the amazing Jon Snow had been. He was already very good with a sword, and whenever he had a chance to train her, she too was gradually improving. Perhaps they'd be able to run away and become knights like Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick one day. With no more Night's Watch around for Northerners with nowhere else to go to obtain honor for their families, becoming knights was the only thing they honestly could do to pursue a path of honor in life, and even if the Night's Watch did still exist, it wouldn't matter. The Night's Watch only allowed men to join its ranks. Torrhen could join, but she couldn't. Aside from Sōnar and Shadow, the twins were all each other had. They had to stick together all the time. If they allowed themselves to drift apart and turn on each other the way the Stark's did to their father — their adoptive half-brother — they would be no better than their selfish relatives.

Shaking her head at Torrhen's silliness, Lyaella picked up her beloved lyre. "Ready for the first song, Icy Fire?" she giggled.

Torrhen blinked at the nickname, then rolled his eyes before pushing the book aside and collecting his lute. "I should be the one asking you that, Fiery Ice," he teased. Lyaella giggled a second time as he turned to the white dragon and black direwolf. "Sōnar, Shadow? Remember what we told you both before about howling on cue, rumbling on the downbeat? Well, we need you both to do that exactly when we tell you right now! We're playing in front of Father's statue so he and Mother can hear us! Do your best, okay?"

A wagging tail and a gentle rumble answered him. Lyaella gave them each a loving kiss on their foreheads to express her happiness. "Good girl, Sōnar! Good boy, Shadow! Remember, it's just like how we practiced! Just follow our leads! What should we play first, Torrhen?"

"Let's see… what about 'No Hope of Spring?'"

"Are you sure? It's a little grim, you know…"

"Either that or 'Howl of the Dragonwolves.' Take your pick."

"'No Hope of Spring' it is."

Taking only a moment longer to effectively tune their instruments, Torrhen calmly plucked the strings of his lute as Lyaella's fingers gently strummed a soft melody with her lyre. It was a traditional Northern tune, very somber and melancholy with Torrhen's lute being the focal instrument to carry the melody. The lyre on the other hand simply harmonized, Lyaella acting as accompaniment in the background to further accentuate the beautiful music. After only a handful of notes, a quick signal by Torrhen and Lyaella gave Shadow and Sōnar their cues. The direwolf began to howl along in time with Torrhen's fingers plucking away at his lute, and the dragon let out a low rumble in time with the beat of the song. It was an enchanting symphony of sound all together, two strings instruments playing traditional music as a direwolf howled in tempo to the lute as a dragon rumbled to the overall rhythm.

Then the children started singing.

Peace is an illusion,

Broken swords,

Hatred known.

'Cause there's nothing to believe in,

There's no good lords

To claim the throne.

The world was changing,

And the wolves were frightened.

Now there is no new beginning,

No good king,

No good queen.

'Cause no one did sit

On the Iron Throne.

The heirs were extinguished,

One in madness,

And one with snow…

No hope for tomorrow,

Only sorrow,

And empty halls.

No expanding horizons.

Land or sea

Or beyond walls.

The world is aging,

The strong have rebuilt it,

But Winter never ended,

And there's no hope

Of Spring…

'Cause no one did sit

On the Iron Throne.

Queen Sansa of the North

And Bran the Broken,

They were chosen,

They spin the wheel…

They spin the wheel…

Beyond the Northern mountains,

The last dragons,

Out of sight…

Our parents were heirs,

To the Iron Throne.

But they were ruined

By others undoing,

Their song didn't last…

Their song didn't last…

Their song didn't last…

The lyrics were so beautiful, yet even sadder than the melody itself, and they echoed with perfect clarity against the crypt walls. But as the last echos gradually trailed off, Lyaella's fingers gently eased off her lyre's strings and Torrhen's notes on his lute slowly softened. Shadow's howling stopped rather abruptly as soon as the beautiful sounds from the lute vanished in the air, but Sōnar kept rumbling along longer, so long in fact that even after all other musical sounds had let up, she was still going for quite some time, but at long last she finished.

The twins glanced at each other for a few moments once everything was still and silent, then they broke out in abrupt laughter as they petted their friends.

"Shadow, you're howling's great, but you gotta keep it up longer after I stop playing!"

"Sōnar, you sounded wonderful, but you can't keep rumbling forever once everyone else is done! You have to let up sooner than that!"

Sōnar merely butted her head against the little girl as Shadow cocked his head sideways slightly as he stared at his boy. The innocent routine the two were giving the twins only made Torrhen and Lyaella laugh harder.

"Shameless, aren't you, Shadow?"

"You're so sweet, Sōnar."

"Such a beautiful song. 'Tis only a shame it had such a sad ending."

Within seconds, Torrhen was on his feet and drawing his sword as Shadow growled ominously at his side. Lyaella scrambled to her feet behind him and looked around frantically, Sōnar wrapping her whole body around her protectively as small gusts of smoke escaped her nostrils.

"Who said that?!" Torrhen demanded. "Show yourself! Right now!"

From out of the darkness came a single shadowy figure. It drew closer, and as soon as the persons' features were discernible in the flickering lights from the torches and candles, the twins blinked in surprise.

"My apologies, my prince, my princess," said Lady Kinvara, folding her hands gently in front of her as she approached. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Sōnar and Shadow quickly relaxed. Shadow panted lightly as he trotted up to the red priestess, tail swaying as he allowed her to sink her fingers in his black fur. Sōnar warbled, inching forward a bit to curiously sniff the stranger. Lady Kinvara let the dragon to do as she pleased, softly brushing her fingers over a small spatter of winter rose blue scales mixed amongst all the white.

"Such beautiful creatures," she crooned. "A black direwolf and a snow white dragon… both so protective. And kind, too. The Lord of Light blessed you both with such wonderful companions, Prince Torrhen, Princess Lyaella."

Torrhen simply stared at her as he lowered his sword. "I'm no prince, and Lyaella's no princess. We told you before," he said. "And you don't belong down here. Get out."

"Torrhen!" Lyaella hissed, jabbing him sharply with her elbow. Turning to the priestess, she made a small, hesitant curtsy. "F-Forgive my brother. We've… We've b-been having a bad day. But he is c-correct, my lady. This is… is the Winterfell c-crypts. Only relatives of House S-Stark are allowed down here."

Lady Kinvara smiled. "My apologies, I meant no disrespect, my princess. I simply did not know when else I would get the chance to speak to you both in private."

"Did you not hear me the first time? Don't call us prince or princess. Our names are Torrhen and Lyaella Snow."

"You were both born to be more than mere bastards, Prince Torrhen. To not call you by your rightful titles of prince and princess would be beyond disrespectful."

Torrhen's grip tightened on the hilt of his training sword, but he didn't raise it towards her nor snap at her again. With hot-tempered and easily angered he was, it was the best one could hope for.

"Do y-you need something from us, L-Lady Kinvara? You… you said you wanted t-to speak to us privately?"

"Indeed, I did, Princess Lyaella. The entire purpose of my journey to the North was all so I could find both of you."

"B-Both of us…?"

"Say again?"

"The Lord of Light has willed me to carry out his wishes regarding the two of you, and as his devoted servant, I do what he asks of me."

The twins stared at her for several moments before exchanging bewildered looks. Neither made any attempt to break eye contact until they sensed their direwolf brother and dragon sister pressing up against them and begging for soft scratches and cuddles.

"You've earned yourself another minute's worth to be down here," Torrhen told her, sheathing his sword so he could scratch Shadow behind the ears. "So talk. What does your lord want with us?"

"We d-don't… We don't believe in your lord," Lyaella murmured, stepping closer to Sōnar for protection. She picked up her lyre and passed Torrhen his lute. "We barely b-believe in the Old Gods… So w-why should we believe whatever you h-have to say?"

"Because the Lord of Light is not your enemy. If anything, he is on your side."

The little girl blinked, confused. "O-Our side?"

Torrhen scoffed. "Never thought there'd be something I'd agree with our relatives about, but I guess they're right when it comes to Red God worshipers. You're nuts if you think we're on the Starks side."

"Not the side of the Broken King, the Queen of the North, and the Many-Faced Assassin. Your side. The side of the union between Ice and Fire."

Lyaella was beyond lost. She chanced another quick look at Torrhen, wishing she could know if he was wondering the same things she was about all this. What did this woman want? Did she know about their father's true birth identity? If so, why was she preaching about the Lord of Light? What did the deity of a foreign religion have to do with them? Judging by his expression, Torrhen seemed just as perplexed as her.

"Our side is just that. Our side," he said after a long pause. "There's no one in the world who'll ever agree with us completely with what happened to our parents. Even if there was, it doesn't matter. The past is over and done with."

Lyaella nodded, turning to look up at stone statue of Jon Snow. "Our… Our parents are d-dead," she said numbly, idly tracing the scratched letters of their mother's name. "Our uncle is a useless S-Southern king… our one aunt doesn't care to be around… and our o-other aunt stole the Northern crown from the c-chosen king. They plotted with others to… to kill our m-mother, and didn't care that their g-games killed our father, too."

"Those who could've done something about it either plotted with them, turned their backs on our parents, or didn't know anything until it was too late," Torrhen spat. "Everyone got their happy ending except them. And us. No one cares."

"That's where you are wrong, my prince. I care, and so does the Lord."

A sad sigh and a dismissive snort were her only replies.

The priestess frowned. "You both don't believe me. Do you not hold faith in anything at all, like your skeptical relatives?"

"It's… It's not that, my lady," said Lyaella, leaning her head into the welcoming warmth of Sōnar's neck. "We don't ever want t-to be anything like them. It's… It's just that—"

"The very idea of there being someone who honestly agrees with us about everything is unbelievable by itself, let alone by some woman we've never met and claims her god agrees with us, too," Torrhen jumped in. "If this is your way of wanting to see if we're as mad as they say our mother was or gullible our father had been, then get out. We've had a shitty nameday and we're determined to have whatever's left of it be better than it was."

Throwing the red priestess one last dirty look, Torrhen stomped back to where he'd been sitting before and plopped himself down.

"Come on, Lya. Let's play another one."

He twanged the stings on his lute, his furious glare directly solely at his fingers as he focused on playing. Lyaella thickly gulped, but hesitantly joined in after only a few missed chords. She was too shy to deliberately snap at Lady Kinvara the same way Torrhen did, but she didn't fault him for demanding she leave if that was indeed her intention. If she was messing with them out of spite towards them or their parents, then she shared in her brother's annoyance. Go away and leave them in peace for the few hours that remained of their terrible nameday.

They were only a few notes away from singing the beginning of another, but what Lady Kinvara said next made Lyaella pluck the wrong string and Torrhen drop his lute.

"I'm sure things must've been very hard for you both growing up, especially with all the one's you've lost without ever truly knowing."

Lyaella's head snapped around to stare directly at Lady Kinvara, as did Torrhen's. Her face was frozen in shock with eyes as wide as saucers, but Torrhen's lower lip trembled, appearing genuinely scared for the first time. Eyes watching the priestess like a hawk, he wrapped his right hand around Shadow's body, tugging the direwolf closer to him. Lyaella unconsciously imitated him, scooting as close as she possibly could against Sōnar.

"Who… Who are you?" she whispered, voice relatively small. "What do you w-want with us?"

"Screw that! What do you know about us?!" demanded Torrhen. "What do you know about our father? Or… or about—"

"I know that both of you have lived the life of bastards due to interference by an agent of the Great Other. I know that I have interpreted visions in the flames from R'hollor that the illusion of peace that people believe they are living in now is on the verge of collapsing because of the scheming of the Great Other's agent. The North as you know is enduring a terrible famine, and Queen Yara and the Ironborn are still invading your shores. Many highborns aren't pleased with how your aunt is handling it. The Reach is on the verge of complete rebellion due to how Lord Bronn is overtaxing everything, while the other kingdoms can't afford his grain costs. Dorne has followed his example out of spite for what happened to the Martell's during Robert's Rebellion and then when they supported your mother. They've tripled the cost of their wine exports. Come to think of it, I believe that's one of the minor reasons why the Northern lords aren't happy with the Queen of the North. Everyone knows she spends a good deal of gold for their wines. She's already behind in her loan payments to the Iron Bank."

Torrhen rolled his eyes, but Lyaella was disgusted. They both knew their heartless aunt preferred Dornish Reds over Northern ales after spending so many years in the South, but they didn't realize importing it was so costly nowadays. She was deliberately spiraling the North into debt just so she could drink? Did Lyaella only get whatever was leftover whenever Maester Marlon had to mix that disgusting tonic of watered down wine with owls blood for her lung problems? She would never drink that nauseating potion again, not after this. End of story.

"Lord Edmure in the Riverlands has been distancing himself recently from both your Stark relatives and his other nephew in the Vale. He's still bitter that none of them rescued him from his captivity with the Frey's once they came into power. There's been rumors he's been reforming the Riverlands army for quite some time, as have the Stormlands. He and Lord Baratheon have been meeting frequently for quite some time. I am unsure as to why, though many in Westeros believe they mean to incite a war against your uncle."

"W-We heard a little about that before… We thought it was only… only a r-rumor."

"Aye, the Westerlands are the only one's not causing problems. And we heard the wolves cousin up in the mountains wanted to be independent. King of the Vale or something. He come to his senses about that yet?"

"Lord Robin Arryn has actually named himself king. He and Valemen have officially sealed themselves off from the rest of Westeros."

This actually surprised Torrhen and Lyaella. They stared at Lady Kinvara, not believing their own ears.

Lady Kinvara smiled at them evident surprised. "I'm not surprised you both didn't know. It really only happened two days ago. I don't imagine even your relatives are aware of it yet. I myself wouldn't know had the Lord not have told me in the flames earlier this morning. But rest assured, King Robin has had enough of being seen as spineless and gullible. He's decided the only way to be taken seriously is to be completely independent. The Westerlands are the only kingdom not undergoing any form of political strife or potential rebellion as we speak. The Crownlands though… they're very upset with your uncle. He's planting so many weirwood trees throughout the land that the smallfolk and nobles believe he's forcing your Northern customs on them. The other kingdoms aren't happy about that either, but they also believe their privacy's invaded with him as king. Seeing glimpses of the future, anything in the past, and spying on them anytime he wants through his ravens… they've had enough of it. One small push and Westeros will spiral into warfare and chaos again. Just as they are in Essos."

"E-Essos?"

"What do you mean?"

Lady Kinvara blinked at them for a moment, then let out a light laugh. "I assure you both, my prince, my princess, neither of you need to be afraid or hesitant to ask about your mother's empire. As High Priestess of the Red Temple in Volantis, I assure you both that we have already dedicated ourselves to helping the freedmen during the last siege. With R'hollor's help, things should get better."

Torrhen and Lyaella just stared at her blankly.

"Siege?" Torrhen asked.

There was a long silence, but Lady Kinvara's smile gradually faded away. "Yes, the last siege," she said slowly, her shoulders suddenly stiffening. "Both of you… you two do know what's happening in Essos, yes?"

Lyaella felt her stomach drop. "Q-Queen Sansa… she's dedicated to Northern independence. She doesn't deal with Southern… Southern matters…"

Torrhen nodded stiffly. "We only hear vague rumors every now and then about what's going on with the rest of Westeros, and even those we aren't sure if they're true or not. What you mentioned before? Aside from the King of the Vale and the Dornish wine imports, we may have heard some people talking about it, but not a lot. Essos, though? All we've heard about them is through that book over there." He raised a shaky finger at the history book, eyes still fixed on Lady Kinvara.

"No one… No one from Essos has come t-to the North in… in years. N-Not since the Long Night war, I t-think… Not that we know of anyway…"

"The Second Sons are still protecting the people over there, right? Mother's empire… was there a minor rebellion or something?"

Lady Kinvara stared at them, incredulous. She turned away for a moment, swallowing thickly as she gazed at the statue of their father. She didn't seem to know what to say. "I… Forgive me, my prince, my princess. I simply… I just wasn't expecting this…"

"W-What's going on in Essos?" Lyaella pleaded, her dread only growing with every passing second. "The Bay of D-Dragons… it… it s-still exists, yes?"

The priestess pressed her lips together, still staring solemnly at Jon Snow's statue. Finally, she turned back to them and reluctantly met their eyes. "The Second Sons, Captain Naharis… he and his men abandoned their post in Meereen shortly after the news of Daenerys Stormborn's death became public knowledge throughout Essos."

"W-What?"

"No!"

"It's the truth, Prince Torrhen, Princess Lyaella. You're both probably unaware of this, but Captain Naharis only pledged the Second Sons to your mother's cause because he loved her. But with her gone, he had no reason to keep his men stationed in Meereen and they resumed their former lifestyle as sellswords for hire. Without him and his men upholding the peace, the masters easily took over again. The Bay of Dragons is long gone. Slaver's Bay was officially reborn a little less than two years after Queen Daenerys died."

The world spun away as Lyaella's legs lost strength.

"Lya!" cried Torrhen, grabbing her before she fully collapsed.

"I… no…" she whispered, eyes locked on the red priestess as she slowly righted herself with Torrhen's help. She hadn't fainted, only become momentarily lightheaded. "No… that's not true!"

Torrhen nodded, eyes still trained on his sister should she actually faint. "You're… You're lying! The masters — they're still the former masters! Mother ended slavery!She ended it!"

"I'm afraid it's the truth. I had no idea neither of you knew. I'm so sorry."

Lyaella's tears ran freely down her cheeks, and she promptly flew into Torrhen's arms to cry into his shoulder. Torrhen didn't complain. He just hugged back and let her cry, trying to suppress his own tears.

"The… The freedmen," Lyaella croaked, poking her head out from his shoulder to gaze at Lady Kinvara with puffy eyes. "They're all s-slaves again? None of them… None of them r-resisted…?"

"The freedmen… They're slaves again, yes, but your mother's influence instilled fighting spirit in them. They've been resisting as best as they can throughout Meereen, Astapor, and Yunkai, plotting so many rebellions over the years that Slaver's Bay is officially considered to be a civil war zone. You should be proud of them, my prince, my princess. I am certain your mother would be if she saw them now, fighting in her memory to reclaim their freedom."

"Proud?!" Torrhen snapped. "How can we feel proud about that?! We're… We're devastated! Mother's campaign for ending slavery was the one thing undeniably good in her legacy! Now you're telling us it's not only gone, but it's been gone for years and no one told us?! You— You— You can't imagine what we're feeling!"

With a furious growl, he shoved Lyaella away, found a random rock on the ground, and suddenly threw it as hard as he could against the crypt walls. He did this repeatedly, finding as many rocks as he could in the nearby vicinity that he could hold at once and throwing them against the wall. Shadow whined worriedly, pressing into his side. But Torrhen ignored his wolf, he was so angry. Lyaella didn't do anything in regards to her brother's anger, she was too upset. She just buried her face into Sōnar's neck and kept crying. Sōnar crooned comfortingly, unfurling her wings so Lyaella could get even closer.

Lady Kinvara watched them for a short time, her expression full of heartfelt sorrow. She waited until Torrhen officially stopped growling and throwing stones and Lyaella's sobs had dwindled down to quiet sniffles before going on.

"I know you're both hurt by this news. I know things cannot have been easy for you both growing up, but I know that if your parents Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen were both alive right now, the delicate balance in Westeros would not be nearly as frail as it is, and Essos would notbe enduring the horrors of slavery once again," she stated. "The Lord of Light never intended for your parents to die, my prince, my princess. They were Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa reborn. They were to be the ones who would end the Long Night once and for all. The Lord never wanted such horrible deaths to happen to two of the most important people in his plan to restore peace and order to the world."

Torrhen frowned. "Yeah? Then explain why they're dead. If you're supposed Lord didn't want them dead, then why are they? Why did he let them die while the realmonsters took everything from them?! Why'd he let usbe raised by those monsters?!"

"I cannot answer your last two questions because I myself do not know the answers to them. The Lord hasn't shown me anything that could explain why things happened the way they did. As for your first question, my prince, I stated before that it was due to meddling by one of the Great Other's servants that led to your parents deaths. Were it not for that meddling, the Lord would have seen to it that they would've been happy when the Long Night finally ended."

"Y-You're confusing me, Lady Kinvara," Lyaella said, drying her eyes. "Who… Who is the Great Other? And who is this servant of his you're talking about?"

Lady Kinvara fell silent for a moment, seeming to muse over her words. "The best way I can describe the Great Other is to say that he is the darkness to R'hollor's light. The direct opposite to the Lord himself. He is the equivalency of pure evil compared to the Lord's good will. As for the agent… I do not know that either. The Lord has already struggled immensely just with sending me visions in the flames about how the Great Other had one of his subordinates pulling the strings back then. Anytime he tries to show me more, magical interference cuts him off."

Torrhen rolled his eyes. "So much for the Lord, then," he muttered.

"Do not mock his name, Prince Torrhen. And it is not R'hollor's fault that he cannot show me more. It is due to further meddling by the servant of the Great Other."

Lyaella tilted her head, a line forming between her brows. "Are you… Are you s-saying that this servant is still p-pulling the strings?"

Lady Kinvara only smiled.

Torrhen stared at her for a time before glancing back to Lyaella, then turned back to Lady Kinvara while shaking his head. "Look, we want to believe you. Really, we do… but you know this sounds insane, right? You really expect us to believe there's some… some hidden puppet master out there who wanted things to turn out the way they did for their own self-serving reasons? All so this Great Other anti-god would benefit instead of your Lord of Light?"

"He's your Lord too, my prince. The Lord of Light is the only true god there is. The Great Other knows that R'hollor's goodness and purity is the only thing stopping him from corrupting all of mankind. Your parents would've upheld the true Dawn of Peace the Lord intended for the world had the Prince andPrincess that were Promised been able to alert mankind to the real threat beyond the Night King and his army. The world has never known what true peace and freedom is, because the night is still dark and full of terrors."

"T-The Long Night is over, though… Lady Arya k-killed the Night King."

"Aye. If that weird prophecy you people believe in about the Prince or Princess was about one of our parents, then it was all a great big lie. Our mother lost it all when trying to be fair to the North, yet they cast her off and plotted for her to be betrayed. Our father was manipulated into killing her… and for what? Just so everyone but them could get their happy endings? He's dead, too!"

"You both misunderstand and misheard me, Prince Torrhen, Princess Lyaella. The Long Night never ended. It can never end unless this last agent of the Great Other is stopped once and for all, which is why the world has been stuck in limbo of a never-ending Winter for the past nine years with no hope for Spring to come. And I said the Prince and Princess that were Promised were unable to bring the True Dawn, not one or the other."

Silence filled the crypts, the crackling of flames the only sound to be heard. Vaguely, Lyaella was aware that Sōnar was gently nudging her shoulder with her head, but she couldn't find it in herself to acknowledge her dragon sister. She couldn't even remember how to turn her head to look at Torrhen or Shadow.

"Why are you t-telling us all this?" she hesitantly asked. "If… If s-someone has to stop this… this servant, then w-why tell us? Why not tell King Bran? Or Q-Queen Sansa?"

Torrhen nodded. "We hate the Stark's, but go talk to them about this. Lady Arya will track them down easily. They'll be dead by the end of the week. Heck, if she can't do it, they'll send every great swordsman they know to kill this guy!"

Lady Kinvara tensed. "It's not that simple. The Great Other's agent has had nine years to gather strength while Westeros suffered. He's far too powerful now. Even if he stood alone against a whole army, it wouldn't matter. The Great Other's power flows through him, and that makes him a greater threat to mankind than even the Night King. Only Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa reborn can defeat the darkness and restore light and order to this world."

"But… our parents are dead."

"Yeah. Unless you know of some weird ritual that can make our mother's body appear in front of us and bring her and our father back to life, that's impossible."

For some reason, Torrhen's statement seemed to genuinely surprise Lady Kinvara, and the twins were both left befuddled as she let out a light laugh.

"What's so f-funny?" Lyaella asked.

"Nothing, dear princess. Nothing at all," she replied, forcing a smile to stop herself from laughing again. "I was only surprised how your aunts and uncle wish you both to learn everything, yet they've told you nothing whatsoever."

"P-Pardon me?"

"What?"

"The Lord of Light didn't send me here to revive the Mother of Dragons and the King of the North. He had me come here to help the only ones who can prevent their stories from ending so soon."

Lyaella was grateful Sōnar was leaning up against her, because if not for her dragon, she was certain she would have lost all support in her legs. She felt dizzy. Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen… they were dead. They'd both been dead for nine years. If they couldn't come back, then how could their stories change?

Torrhen was no different. He was frozen in shock as he stared at the priestess, his mouth open slightly and eyes bulging. Shadow had to nudge him a bit to snap him out of it, but even then it barely helped. All he could do was close his mouth and thickly gulp.

"That… That makes no sense…" he muttered, shaking his head ever-so-slightly. "We… We want them back. We'd do anything to have them back… but they're gone. You can't stop someone from dying if they're already dead…"

"T-Tory's right. You… You'd h-have to go back in time to do s-something like that… That's impossible."

Lady Kinvara smiled. "Only cynics and skeptics use that word, refusing to accept what they already know to be true. But when people are willing to open their minds to belief, the impossible becomes possible."

Torrhen and Lyaella stared, hope building up inside their hearts and bursting to be set free.

"Are you s-saying-?"

"You don't mean-?"

"History must be rewritten if there's to be any hope for the future. Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen are the only one's who can bring about an end to the Long Night once and for all."

Tears of joy sprang into Lyaella's eyes, and Torrhen let out a whoop of excitement. Their direwolf and dragon were equally thrilled, and they too let out elated warbles and whines.

"You can go back in time to change things then, Lady Kinvara?" Torrhen asked, his smile stretching from ear to ear. "You can convince our mother not to burn down King's Landing? And talk our father out of killing her?"

"Y-You plan to stop our parents from drifting apart?" Lyaella added, wiping away her tears. "You'll stop our father f-from finding out about… about the secret? And stop our r-relatives from using it to plot our p-parents deaths?"

"Oh, it is not I who the Lord intends to have travel back in time. It is both of you."

"U-Us?"

"Wait, what?"

"The Lord showed me in the flames. He showed me visions of both of you in the past, standing side by side with the true king and queen against the darkness."

"But we're just kids!" said Torrhen. "We're not strong enough to help!"

"W-We're… We're not the one's y-you should send…" said Lyaella. "We're n-not that smart… and w-we're sick."

"Lyaella…"

"It's the truth, Torrhen. Y-You know that."

"None of that matters," Lady Kinvara interjected. "The Lord has showed me both of you with them in the past. I have seen you, my princess, sobbing in the kings' arms while you were both covered in blood and fire blazed. I have seen you, my prince, sleeping against the queen after blood itself was on your lips and wind ran rampant around you both. These visions are meant to happen, but in order for them to happen, I must carry out R'hollor's will so you can both change the fate of the world."

"But… But w-what about Sōnar and Shadow?" Lyaella piped, quickly wrapping her arms around Sōnar's neck. "We can't just l-leave them behind."

Torrhen nodded, petting Shadow as the wolf pressed up against him. "Lya's right. We don't go anywhere without them. Tell your Lord to find someone who's loyal to both our parents memories if we can't bring them."

"No need to fear about that. Your dragon and direwolf are both able to go back with you. But there is one thing that I must warn you of now, Prince Torrhen, Princess Lyaella. If you do indeed choose to accept this task, there is no coming back. The world as it is now? It will be gone. Gone forever. The people you know in this lifetime? There's no guarantee they will live to see the new world you both will help make alongside the king and queen. And there's also a chance others might be saved, others whose stories ended far before they should have."

"Really? Like who?"

"That depends entirely on what you both say or do in the past, young prince, and how others react to whatever decisions you make. A few words of caution, though: Do not attempt to alter too many things that happened in the past, and tell no one about being from the future unless you absolutely trust them. Some events happened the way they did for a reason. If you change too many outcomes or tell someone untrustworthy who you both are, the delicate balance of time could be disrupted and the agent of the Great Other could take advantage of the chaos to create a future far worse than the one we are currently living in."

Torrhen shuddered. Lyaella flinched.

"We… We understand…"

"Anything else we should know?"

"Yes, and this is the most important point of all. Above all else, do not — I repeat — do not tell the king and queen you're their future children until the time is right."

It was as though a dam had been broken. Within seconds the twins were crying out their protests.

"W-What?!"

"No!"

"They're— They're our parents!"

"We've never known them!"

"I-I-I wanna be hugged b-by my mother!"

"I wanna spar with my father!"

Sōnar let out furious screech, her wings flapping wildly in anger. Shadow growled, his hackles rising on his neck as he flashed his fangs. The anger and misery Torrhen and Lyaella were feeling were felt through their bonds to their direwolf and dragon. If their humans were upset, they were upset. It was as simple as that.

The protests would have never ended had Lady Kinvara not have silently held up a hand. "I understand how this must sound. I can't begin to imagine the pain this must cause you both to hear this, being told you can both meet the parents you've always wanted to know yet are not allowed to tell them who you both are, but please, listen. If your parents knew the future before the time is right, the future will definitely become much worse than it is already. That is one thing the Lord has been quite adamant about when I've interpreted his visions. If you both wish to build a new world, you must agree to this. You must not tell them who you both truly are until the time is right."

"And when will it be the right time?" Torrhen demanded. "How will we know it's okay to finally tell them? We deserve to know that much if we can't tell them right away."

"Believe me, you'll know. The Lord promised you'd both know when the time finally comes."

"But when, exactly?"

"You'll have to discover that for yourselves."

Torrhen snarled. Fists clenching tightly, he opened his mouth to argue further, but Lyaella gently grabbed his wrist. Eyes shining with desperation, she looked at him silently, pleading him to let it go. They could live with not being able to tell their parents who they were if it meant they could spend even a secondwith them both. To be able to meet them, talk to them, hug them even once… to have all four of them be together the way they should have all along had it not been for the selfish whims of others in this world… Lyaella knew they were being offered a tremendous gift, one many others would do anything to get. Torrhen had a short fuse, but she was not about to let him ruin this for them by losing his temper with the red priestess.

Thankfully, Torrhen heeded her unsaid words and slowly closed his mouth.

"You both must choose. Do you wish to save the parents you never knew? Do you wish to be part of their story even though they will not know they are your family and you yourselves will have no home to go back to? Or do you wish to stay here in the present with the family you have and in the home you grew up in? Do you wish to continue living in this era where your lives have already been shaped due other people's choices? Remember, there is no coming back to this time-line if you return to the past."

This wasn't even a choice at all. The decision was obvious to Lyaella. She promptly looked over at Torrhen to see if they were both on the same page — him choosing otherwise would be the only reason she would go against her own heart. One look proved that that fear was unfounded. He shared in her beliefs about this not even being a choice when the answer was already so clear. Nodding firmly to one another, they both looked over at Sōnar and Shadow. A happy tail wagging and a set of wings fluttering eased any other lingering doubts, and they both turned to the red priestess in unison.

"We have no real family in this time-line. And Winterfell has never been a home to us."

"W-We… We want our parents. We choose the family we should have had. The home we want to have."

Lady Kinvara's red lips smiled brighter than they had before. "I speak for the Lord when I say he must be happy that you have both chosen well, Prince Torrhen, Princess Lyaella."

"Stop calling us that, please. We're just Torrhen and Lyaella Snow."

"I call my prince and princess by the titles they have always had and will have to get used to should they succeed in this mission. Follow me."

Motioning for Sōnar and Shadow to stay close, the twins gathered their belongings and started following the red priestess back to the stone steps leading out of the crypts, but she immediately plucked their book of The Song of Ice and Fire out of Lyaella's hands.

"You must not bring this with you to the past. There must be no proof of the events that happened in this time-line. Should someone discover it, they could seriously ruin the new world that you'll both create by trying to change things for the better or worse than they originally happened."

Understanding her point, Torrhen and Lyaella nodded and left the book by their father's tomb. Clutching their instruments and each other's hands tightly, the boy and girl hurried after Lady Kinvara out of the catacombs with their dragon and direwolf at their heels. They had no idea where Lady Kinvara was taking them and she strolled purposefully across the castle courtyard without pause, but they could only hope she could do whatever it was she was supposed to do to send them back in time with just a snap of her fingers.

"Where are we going, Lady Kinvara?" Lyaella asked.

"Not too far, don't worry. We just to be in the place where magic is strongest here in Winterfell to strengthen the blood magic ritual."

"Blood magic? Rituals?" Torrhen asked, slightly alarmed. "Why's that necessary? Blood magic always has a price, doesn't it? Why're you sending us back in time that way? 'Cause if there's some horrible life or death thing that's gotta be paid, we're out."

"Tory—"

"No, Lya. Don't you remember all that stuff in the book about Stannis Baratheon and that one red priestess? Melisanna or something?"

"The priestess Melisandre?" said Lady Kinvara. "I remember her. She was a devout follower of the Lord. She is who myself and my fellow priests came to Winterfell during the memorial ceremony to remember."

"Right, well, she first believed that Stannis was that prince of prophecy thing you said our parents are. And she used blood magic to help him! She killed so many men to use her magic! She even talked Stannis into killing his own daughter! We're not doing that if that's the price for going back in time! We're not murderers."

"Only death can pay for life, Prince Torrhen. It is the price of life itself, not just for those of us who worship R'hollor. But rest assured, this particular type of blood magic does not require a life to be sacrificed in order to use it."

"It doesn't?"

"No. What it requires is complete destruction of the current time period. That is why neither of you will ever be able to return. This time period will cease to exist in order to send you both back."

The twins exchanged mild looks of surprise, but neither voiced any further questions or complaints. As they were allowed to back in time with their dragon and direwolf, they had nothing they valued in this world that would make them want to stay except perhaps the statue of their father down in the crypts with the inscription of their mother's name scratched into it. But if they could save their parents, there was no need for them to take it. They would have their parents from now on instead of just a statue to visualize their father and vague descriptions from others to imagine what their mother must've looked like.

Before long, Lady Kinvara had brought them to her final destination, the area already filled with her various red priests who had guarded her on her journey to the North. A handful of them were drawing various symbols in the snow, but the rest were either murmuring to each other quietly or helping to stoke a large fire they had built off to the side. All of them carried an unlit torch for reasons unknown.

Torrhen and Lyaella didn't follow Lady Kinvara any further however. Not when she had led them to their absolute most hated place in all of Winterfell.

The Winterfell godswood, at the base of the ancient weirwood tree.

"What's wrong?" she asked, turning to them upon realizing they weren't coming closer to the rest of the group. "You still want to go back to the past, don't you?"

Lyaella bit her lip, eying the face carved into the trunk of the Heart Tree while shuffling somewhat closer to Sōnar. "I-Isn't there… Isn't there a-anywhere else in Winterfell you can d-draw magic from?" she asked.

Lady Kinvara and the other red priest were all taken aback. The priestess tilted her head in confusion while the priests glanced at each other in surprise. "R'hollor was very insistent that we perform the ritual here," she said. "The Lord of Light is the only one true god, but the magic in weirwood trees that you Northerners worship in the name of the Old Gods has the greatest beacon for magic anywhere near Winterfell. It must be done here."

Torrhen sighed, shifting from one leg to the other as he glared at a smile pile of snow off to the side. Shadow whined lowly and shimmied his head beneath one of his boys' hands. It didn't distract him at all. "Do we have to get so close to the stupid tree?" he grumbled. "We hate going near it."

"It must be done there, beneath the red leaves. Magic is strongest directly in the vicinity of the weirwood tree."

"Ugh… fine," Torrhen groaned.

"Y-Yes… okay," Lyaella whispered.

As the boy slouched his shoulders in annoyance and dragged his lute behind him and the girl hunched up slightly in apprehension and squeezed her lyre tightly, they slowly ventured closer to the group of R'hollor worshipers at the base of the heart tree, but made no attempt to wander any closer to it than necessary. If anything, Torrhen seemed to glare directly at the all-seeing eyes carved right into the tree trunk while Lyaella avoided looking at the face at all. The priests were further puzzled by their behavior, but Lady Kinvara signaled them to not comment on it. Whatever reason the children of Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa reborn had for disliking the Winterfell weirwood, it was of little consequence. They had to hurry and fulfill the Lord's will of sending Torrhen and Lyaella back in time.

"Both of you, stand in the middle of the circle on the ground with your dragon and direwolf."

The twins nodded. Sigaling Sōnar and Shadow to follow them, they stepped into the middle of the large circle the priests had drawn into the snow and were hastily scrawling the last handful of strange symbols around. Sōnar was perfectly at ease with whatever it was the priests were doing, but Shadow was more apprehensive and snarled a bit at one priest who got too close.

"Easy, boy!" Torrhen said, running his fingers through his friends black coat. "They're trying to help us! Don't go biting any of them!"

"T-That's right, Shadow," Lyaella added. "They're faith is strange, but things'll be fine. We're all gonna be together with Mother, Father, and their dragons and direwolf in just a few more minutes. You'll see!"

Shadow still seemed a bit on edge, but he at least stopped growling at the poor priest. Sōnar warbled happily, bumping Lyaella with her head happily as her wings fluttered in excitement.

"Sōnar, behave yourself!" Lyaella laughed. "You'll hit one of the priests with your tail if you keep that up!"

"Yeah, calm down, girl," Torrhen said, laughing himself as he stroked her scales. "I know you're excited, but act that way and we'll have to wait even longer if you mess up those odd symbols."

Sōnar luckily heeded their advice and kept still, but her head continuously nudged the children's shoulders as she dealt with her impatience. Her antics only made Lyaella laugh.

"We've finished drawing the symbols, Lady Kinvara," said one of the priests suddenly. "We're ready when you are."

The high priestess nodded. "Good. Prince Torrhen, Princess Lyaella?

"I'm not a prince!"

"I'm not a p-princess…"

"Both of you, hold onto your companions and each other," she ordered. "No matter what happens, do not break contact with each other until the ritual is done."

Torrhen and Lyaella nodded. Pausing only to pass their instruments to Sōnar and Shadow to hold onto them in their mouths for now, Torrhen promptly wrapped one arm around Shadow's body while Lyaella did the same around Sōnar's neck. Each having one arm free, they grasped each other's hands tightly.

Lady Kinvara nodded in approval. She started towards the fire off to the side.

"Lord ōño," she began, looking deeply into the flames. High Valyrian. "Jehikagon aōha ōños—"

She was interrupted by one of her priests suddenly dashing into the godswood. "High… High Priestess!" he cried, doubling over to hold his knees and appearing out of breath. "We must… We must hurry!"

"What is the matter?"

"The… The Raven king…" he panted. "He… He knows… He knows what we're doing… He told the Wolf… the Wolf Queen… They summoned their guards! They intend to stop us!"

Genuine alarm spread instantaneously across Lady Kinvara's face. "All of you," she said promptly, turning to her fellow priests, "go and meet them half way. Stall for time. They must not stop the Lord's plan!"

The priests did as they were told. Dropping the torches, they took off running without a single word.

Lady Kinvara spun back around to face Torrhen and Lyaella. "As soon as I'm done reciting the spell, take your dragon and direwolf and run."

Lyaella was confused. "But… this c-circle, the symbols—"

"They're only necessary for singling out who the spell is intended to send back in time. Run into the forest once I'm done."

"But our relatives… why would-"

"Āeksiot ōño," Lady Kinvara began again, cutting off Torrhen. "Lord ōño, jehikagon aōha ōños isse bisa era hen sȳndror. Isse se tubissa bōsa past aōha perzyssy sia iā qēlītsos hen hope hae se sȳndror derēptan. Jēda isse bisa vys ropatas naejot sȳndror bōsa ago, se mērī aōha ōños kostagon maghagon nūmāzma se ñāqes. Se ñuhoso pōnta should emagon gō."

Torrhen and Lyaella didn't know any High Valyrian aside from three words, so they had no idea what Lady Kinvara was saying. But whatever it was, it certainly did the trick. The flames roared into an inferno at least six feat in the air, making embers fly everywhere. The children ducked as a handful nearly hit them, and they had to hold on tight to Sōnar and Shadow to keep them from either bolting away or flying off in alarm. Lyaella glanced over nervously at Torrhen. Aside from looking a bit shaken, he seemed more or less okay. That relieved her.

Lady Kinvara didn't share their fear. Collecting one of the unlit torches, she lowered it into the flames.

"Āeksio, guide these souls naejot arlī skori se sȳndror ēlī spread rȳ se tegun. Dohaeragon zirȳ mazilībagon se vys paktot hae ao jeldan ziry naejot sagon. Dohaeragon zirȳ arlinnon se fates hen aōha chosen champions sigligon. Dohaeragon zirȳ, Āeksiot Ōño. Dohaeragon—"

She was cut off by the sound of yelling and screaming a short ways off.

"Where are the children?!"

"Queen Sansa and King Bran demand you return them!"

"Step aside! Now!"

Lyaella trembled and squeezed her brother's hand so tight his fingers turned white. Don't let their uncle and aunt's bannermen get past the priests in time. Let Lady Kinvara finish this ritual before they reached the godswood!

She listened, ears straining, as a horrified scream from a priest cut through the air. Followed by a second. Then a third. And then two more. The guards were killing them all just for standing in their way. They held no love for her or for Torrhen, but they were loyal to their monarchs. Killing those who had different ideals meant nothing to them, just like it meant nothing to the Stark's.

Lyaella looked to Torrhen, hoping he was feeling more assured than she was right now. Her brother was always the brave one between them. He'd know just what to say to restore her confidence. But Torrhen had none of his usual confidence. He was staring white-faced and wide-eyed in the direction of all the screaming, so frozen he didn't even notice her gazing at him.

"Tory… why's this happening…?" she whispered.

Aside from a slight throat bob and lips parting wordlessly, Torrhen didn't seem to hear her. He just kept staring off into the distance in shock and terror.

A flash of red in the corner of her eye caught Lyaella's attention and she quickly turned. The two of them had been so afraid of the approaching guards they hadn't even realized Lady Kinvara had been continued to carry out the ritual from where she'd left off without either of them noticing. She was circling around them now, resuming whatever it was she was chanting while repeatedly lowering the torch onto each one of the symbols drawn into the snow, setting them ablaze. Within moments, the children and their direwolf brother and dragon sister were standing in the middle of a ring of fire.

"Hen sȳndror, ōños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghon, ābrar. Hen se past, se future. Ōños se ñuhoso!"

The ring of flames crackled and hissed, then flared all at once into a single raging inferno that dwarfed the enormous flames in the bonfire.

Lyaella screamed in terror and buried her face into Sōnar's neck, but Torrhen let out an involuntary shout of alarm. He had to mitigate between keeping hold of her hand and stop Shadow from howling and running directly into the fire to try escaping it. Sōnar was the only one out of the four of them unafraid of the flames. She was a dragon, and fire did nothing to her. Aside from crooning sweetly to comfort the frightened children, she basked in the warmth the fire provided. To a dragon, fire was comforting.

But not to two young children and a direwolf. The fire was scorching hot, and they all had to crowd together to avoid touching the dancing flames. Had they grown even an inch bigger, the four of them definitely would have been singed.

Yet as quickly as the flames rose up, they died away again with a sudden gust of icy wind. The ring of fire was utterly extinguished, but the symbols on the ground were bright red, and pulsing like burning embers.

The twins were baffled, but they had no time to mull over what had just happened, as Lady Kinvara was already hurrying towards them with the torch.

"Go, now!" she ordered.

"Come with us!" Torrhen urged.

"W-We don't want you to die!" Lyaella cried.

"I cannot. I must complete the last part of the spell in this rune circle. Good luck, my prince, my princess. May the Lord of Light watch over you both."

"No, please—!"

"Y-You can't-!"

They were cut off by the sound of crunching snow, followed swiftly by the shout of a familiar voice. "Torrhen! Lyaella! Where are you?!"

The twins didn't dare linger. They just squeezed each other's hands and kept firm grips on their dragon and direwolf before bolting away. They had no choice. Armed guards were one thing, but Lady Arya? Another matter entirely. As a former Faceless Man assassin, she'd catch them in a heartbeat.

They ran. And they ran. Neither of them had any idea where they were going, exactly. The only thing they knew was that they couldn't stop or slow down. If they did, they'd lose the only chance they would ever have at finally meeting their parents.

But then Torrhen happened to glance over his shoulder to see if anyone was following them. He immediately skidded to a halt.

"Oh, crap! No!"

"What?!" Lyaella hissed, tugging harshly on his hand to keep him moving. "Why'd you stop?! We gotta keep going!"

"Because we're leaving a trail, Lya! Look!"

Lyaella glanced back. To her horror, their footprints were embedded deeply into the snow on the ground, leaving a clear trail to anyone following them.

"What… What do we do, Tory?!"

Torrhen was silent for several seconds as he glanced around the snowy trees, unsure himself what could be done. Finally his eyes widened.

"See those trees, over there? They're all clustered together, and they lead right into the thicker part of the godswood! Let's run through them! Our tracks won't be as easy to spot in there!"

"But Sōnar's too big! She won't fit!"

"Then… Then we'll just hide in the thicker parts! Just for a few minutes until they pass! We'll double back once they're gone!"

Lyaella was a bit uneasy about it, but having no better ideas of her own and hearing running footsteps off in the distance quelled any protests. There was no time to argue about it. They had to get out of sight now.

They approached the trees. "Go on, Sōnar," she urged, glancing back over her shoulder to see if there was anyone around. "You first! Hurry!"

The white dragon warbled uneasily as she tried squeezed through the tight fit. It was obvious to the children that Sōnar didn't like being forced to walk between the trees like this. She huffed and puffed, low growls escaping her throat as the bark from the trees scratched up against her. She was still carrying Lyaella's lyre between her teeth just like how Shadow was carrying Torrhen's lute, and as soon as she was fully through the narrow path, she dropped the musical instrument and promptly began knocking her head against one of the trees, attempting to destroy it.

"Sōnar! Sōnar, no!" Lyaella whispered, being forced to let go of Torrhen's hand and sidle her own body through the trees to reach her. It was a good thing she did, too. Judging by the red glow emitting from the inner chambers of Sōnar's mouth, she'd been on the verge of raining fire to express her anger. Pausing only to pick up her lyre, Lyaella softly stroked her neck in her favorite spot along her neck. "Easy, girl. We need to be quiet. We'll get caught otherwise." Luckily, the dragon calmed down, nuzzling her head the girl's shoulder as she quietly crooned.

Lyaella breathed a deep breath of relief. That'd been way too close. A smile spreading across her face, she turned to look back over her shoulder. "Come on, Tory! Come on, Shadow!"

Shadow immediately trotted forward, but Torrhen didn't move. He was staring straight ahead at her with wide eyes. Afraid that somehow Lady Arya or some of the approaching bannermen had somehow snuck up behind her, Lyaella fearfully whipped back around. But there was nothing there aside from more snowy trees and Sōnar. Aside from Sōnar, there was no one at all.

Feeling Shadow press against her legs, Lyaella gave him a quick pat on the head, but she was more focused on trying to wave Torrhen to follow.

"Torrhen! H-Hurry! They'll be here any second!"

But still Torrhen frozen. He didn't even blink.

Puzzlement overtook Lyaella for a moment, but then she realized what was happening and her stomach dropped. His fire… it was flickering again! Now of all times!

"Torrhen… snap out of it!" she whispered anxiously. "Whatever's happening, stop it! Please!"

It was no use. Her brother was no different from a statue, and he neither saw nor heard her.

Desperate to get her brother safely out of sight, Lyaella's head snapped down to Shadow. "Shadow, help him! Please!"

Their direwolf was so smart. He didn't bark, he didn't stare at her in confusion. He didn't hesitate. He simply leapt over the tangling roots of the snowy trees and dashed back to Torrhen. Still clutching Torrhen's lute between his teeth, Shadow couldn't drag him between the trees towards her and Sōnar. Instead, he got directly behind her brother and tried pushing him forward with his head.

But Torrhen was unmovable. Aside from a slight wobbling stumble, he refused to budge more than an inch or so forward. The sight of it made Lyaella so confused. Why did Torrhen's fire flicker like this sometimes? And why now? At the worst possible time?

"Torrhen, we have to go! Come on! If… If we aren't all hanging on to each other soon, who knows what—"

The cawing of several birds interrupted her.

Blood draining from her face, Lyaella slowly looked up. There, nestled in a tree branch hanging directly overhead, were at least six black ravens. The first three staring directly at her and Sōnar, and the other three looking right at Torrhen and Shadow.

Lyaella yelped. King Bran… he knew where they were! She didn't think twice. Finding a chunk of snow matted together, she threw it at the spying pests with all her might. Most of them flew away without a fuss, but two of them didn't. Instead, they dove down right towards Lyaella, reaching out menacingly with their sharp talons.

She couldn't stop herself from screaming in horror and pain as they clawed and pecked at her head and shoulders. She did her best to cover her face, but that only succeeded in making them scratch away at her arms and hands.

"Ow! Stop it! Please!" she cried. "K-King Bran! Stop!"

"Lya!" Torrhen's voice. He had snapped out of it, whatever it was. "Lya, what's wrong?!"

"K-King Bran… his ravens!"

"I'm coming! Hang on, I'll be right— ow!"

Lyaella tried to look over towards him, but she couldn't see a thing between her arms and the raging swarm of black feathers. "T-Tory?!"

"I-I'm fine, Lya! Just tripped! Me and Shadow will be right— ow!"

"Tory!"

"I'm coming, hang—"

"Torrhen! Lyaella!" Lady Arya. She still sounded like she was quite some ways off, thank heavens. "Where are you?!"

"L-Leave us alone!" Torrhen again. "We're leaving!"

"Go away!" Lyaella screamed, batting away a bird that was trying to claw its way between the fingers covering her eyes. "W-We want to go! Sōnar, help!"

She heard a roar followed by the crackle of embers. She still didn't dare open her eyes to see what was happening, but whatever Sōnar did, it made at least one of the ravens pecking at her disappear. Somewhere far off, Lady Arya called out again.

"Torrhen! Lyaella! Answer me! Where—"

She was cut off by a sudden burst of flames. Flames that Lyaella sensed did not originate from her dragon sister standing next to her. Lyaella had no idea what was happening now since the ravens pecking and clawing only seemed to get more insistent, but Torrhen abruptly screamed. Lady Arya must've heard him, because her calling out to them only seemed to get more insistent.

"Torrhen! What's wrong?!"

Enough was enough. Something had happened to her brother. She needed to know what. Quick as a flash, Lyaella dropped down, felt around in the snow blindly for another hardened snow clump, and whacked it hard against the attacking birds. She heard the ravens screeched in agony, but finally, they were gone. No more clawing and pecking. They had stopped attacking her. And Lyaella stopped shielding her face and looked around.

What she saw stunned her. Sōnar was batting off a handful of ravens that had apparently doubled back to attack her too, but aside from that, her dragon was surrounded by a ring of fire. Fire that followed her around with every step she took, yet burned nothing on the ground. She was mystified, but then she realized a similar flame ring was circling her. Was this part of Lady Kinvara's spell? Was the magic to send them all back in time finally taking effect?

Pausing only to scoop up her discarded lyre on the ground, Lyaella lunged forward, grasping onto Sōnar with all her might. Her theory on whether this was indeed part of the spell were confirmed when the two separate rings of fire merged into one. Lyaella was relieved. She and Sōnar were together now. They just needed to get a hold on her brother and their direwolf and everything would be fine.

But it wasn't that easy. Torrhen was still back on the main path with Shadow, grasping onto the black direwolf's thick fur with all his might as one gigantic fire ring surrounded them both. But Torrhen was only holding onto Shadow to use him as a support to stand. He was on the ground for some reason, and he looked to be in a great deal of pain. Despite Torrhen's lute being between his teeth and being anxious about the fire surrounding him, Shadow was nonetheless loyal to his boy, and didn't dare try to break away from Torrhen's grasp as he tried to rise.

"Tory!" Lyaella screamed, whacking away one of the offending ravens that was trying to claw at her and Sōnar. "Tory, what's wrong?!"

"I hurt my ankle!" he yelled back. "Wait there! We're coming!"

"Stop talking nonsense! You can't walk! Me and Sōnar will—"

The flames rings between the two separated twins and their pets suddenly began to revolve around them both. Slowly at first, in counter-clockwise rotations. Then faster and faster.

Lyaella gasped. No! Not yet! She and Torrhen weren't together! The magic had to wait just one more second! Wrapping her arm tightly around Sōnar's neck, Lyaella half dragged the white dragon behind her as she struggled to squeeze back between the trees to Torrhen as fast as she could. All the while, the spinning flames continued whirring without reprieve.

Dodging Lady Arya entirely when she tried to block her off, Lyaella stretched out her free hand to Torrhen. He did the same.

"Tory!"

"Lya!"

Their hands were separated by only a few short inches. They were gonna make it! They just had to—

The flames combusted impossibly high around Lyaella and Sōnar. And the world went white.