Author's Note

I do not own Game of Thrones.

Not-Benjen continued his daily visits to Benjen's library. He did seem to be handling himself better now, he'd stopped limping, which must have been a habit left from someone before, and regulated his voice into something more like Real-Benjen's geniality. He'd even caught up on what he needed to know about the Wildlings, though the next time an important ranging mission came up, he demurred and passed it to Tim Stone. He still had an interest in magic, but didn't seem to have found whatever it was he was looking for.

From what Aemon heard, he had also developed a habit of helping drill the new recruits in the morning. When Aemon asked him about it, he simply explained that it was good practice for himself. Benjen had been one of the best swordsmen in the Watch, Not-Benjen evidently less so.

It was the evening that the message was relayed to them about riders in Stark colors approaching the southern gate that Aemon experienced some level of joy from the man, a rare thing here at the Wall.

"Benjen," he muttered, bounding to his feet. "How close are they?"

"Should be upon us within the hour."

"I'll meet them in the yard."

Aemon accompanied him out. "I should advise you not to become overly hopeful. This may not be what you think it is."

"But this didn't happen," Not-Benjen replied. Aemon suspected he had some level of the sight that Brynden had had.

"Benjen. Remember your oaths. You're a man of the Night's Watch."

"I don't intend on deserting. I'm merely happy to see my brother's men. That's not against my oaths."

Lord Stark arrived with three of his sons and two dozen Stark men at arms and was welcomed by the Lord Commander while the men of the Night's Watch gathered to watch and whisper.

"Bran," whispered Not-Benjen, hurrying for the steps too fast for Aemon to keep up. "Rickon!"

"Fuh– uncle Benjen!" came a young boy's voice.

Not-Benjen was not the only one then.

Interesting.

They all came to the library the following morning after Aemon had broken his fast, Not-Benjen as well as Lord Stark and his three boys.

"Maester Aemon!" said Lord Stark, sharp and familiar, as though happy to see him.

"You know…" started Not-Benjen, and then stopped. "Of course you do. Maester Aemon, this is my brother, Lord Eddard Stark, and his sons, Jon, Bran, and Rickon."

"It's good to– meet you," said Lord Stark.

"Likewise," murmured Aemon.

"Do you two trust this man?" asked the eldest boy, Jon.

"No man can ever truly be trusted. They lie, even to themselves."

"Bran?" asked Not-Benjen.

"That's Arya," replied Lord Stark. "Ahh, we think. She's like that now."

"That's– Arya?"

"A boy is not Arya Stark. A boy has no name and no face to call his own."

"What?"

"Just ignore her. We're working on it."

"Benjen, this isn't something–"

"Ahhh, not Benjen. I'm Jon."

"What?"

"Are we sure we can trust the Maester with this?" asked the boy that had originally been introduced as Jon.

"I trusted Maester Aemon with my life once. And he might be able to help us."

"I'm afraid I'll need a little more information first," Aemon said.

"Why don't we all sit down first?" suggested Not-Benjen.

They gathered around the fireplace, the three boys on the floor since there weren't enough chairs. Aemon poured himself an ale, he suspected he'd need it.

Not-Benjen started. "I see this didn't only affect me then."

"It got all of us, and we can fault Bran for that."

"When you say all of us…"

"All the Starks. Plus me."

"You're a Stark," said Jon.

"Why do we place Bran at fault for this?"

"I was saving everyone!" protested the smallest boy.

"Saving us from what?"

"It's best–"

"Because you were all dead!"

"We were what?"

Lord Stark – who, if Aemon was understanding correctly, was not actually Lord Stark and in fact seemed to be someone who knew him – sighed heavily. "You were the first to die. So you missed a lot."

"Then I wasn't going mad that night. I was beheaded…"

"Yes."

"And you all..?"

Aemon was suddenly very glad of his ale.

Very little of the conversation was directed at him, with the exception of Lord Stark – the real Jon Snow, apparently – who directed several questions at him. But from what Aemon understood, the youngest of the boys – who was not actually the youngest but rather the second son, Bran – had indeed used a magic similar to Brynden's to save them all from death, a task in which he had mostly succeeded.

"And why did you not bring Benjen with you?" asked Not-Benjen – the real Eddard Stark, if Aemon was understanding correctly. "I want to punch him in the face for exiling himself here."

Lord Stark and the eldest of his boys spluttered with laughter. The youngest one shrieked their glee.

"What is it?"

"Uncle Benjen ended up in Sansa," rasped Jon Snow – who may or may not actually be Robb Stark.

"What?"

"We couldn't bring her because she's a girl, but it's hilarious."

"Arya took this so much better!"

"A girl can be a boy if it is needed."

"Is Benjen… well?" asked Not-Benjen faintly.

"As well as he can be while being his three and ten year old niece."

"Well, other than stealing clothing from my– er, Robb's wardrobe and bothering Rodrik about joining sword drills, I think he's doing as well as he possibly could."

"He's… yes, I suppose matters could be worse," muttered Not-Benjen.

"Oh, and he requested a betrothal with Harrion Karstark."

"He did what?"

"To avoid Prince Joffrey," said Lord Stark.

"Ah. Yes. I can see how that would be advantageous. And Harrion Karstark isn't a bad match…"

"He's a Karstark," muttered Jon Snow, as though House Karstark was the source of all his woes in this world.

"Lord Karstark hasn't done anything yet."

"A boy could have Lord Karstark meet with an accident."

"Arry!"

"Accidentally," Bran Stark said again.

"We're not assassinating Rickard Karstark."

"Is there anyone a boy can assassinate?"

"Joffrey Baratheon."

"A boy will make sure he suffers."

"Boys!" snapped Not-Benjen. "You are not to assassinate the crown Prince!"

"Why not?" asked Bran.

"Kings and Princes have been assassinated in the past," said Aemon.

"Exactly!" There was relief in Lord Stark's voice. "Would either of your elder brothers made a good king?"

Aemon frowned. It had been a long time since anyone would dare come out with such a thing to his face.

"Jon!" hissed Not-Benjen.

"Ah– Um– My apologies, Maester. That was uncalled for. But my point stands. Prince Tommen would make a much better King anyway."

Aemon inclined his head. "Sometimes there are… necessities."

"Stannis is Robert's rightful heir; those children are bastards–"

"We know, we know. Bastards born of incest. But we can't start a war in the south. The true enemy lies beyond the Wall."

Lord Stark – or Jon Snow – along with his oldest and youngest sons was, evidently, very concerned about the Others, who may or may not be marching on the Wall with an army of undead creatures. Very slowly, from what Aemon understood.

Bran Stark was still more interested in assassinating the crown Prince and the unfortunate Rickard Kartark. Aemon never had worked out what his crime was.

Author's Note

Robb: So Benjen is now your twelve year old daughter.

Ned: But how will I punch him in the face now?

Jon: Also he's decided to marry a Karstark.

Robb: This is UNFORGIVABLE.

Arya: I could kill all the Karstarks?