Ringing! All Jon could hear was ringing in his ears. How could he hear ringing when he was dead? Oh gods, had Melisandre found him and brought him back because they needed him to defeat the Night King? The ringing faded, only to be replaced by voices all around him. Jon was confused.

The darkness faded, and through his eyelids, he could tell there was light outside. Jon was certain it was daylight. He could feel the warm sun on his skin. How? Had he slept through the rest of the long night and now it was over?

He still felt a slight pain in his leg, but not like it had been when he fell from Rhaegal. In truth, the pain in his head was worse.

Jon opened his eyes to see two faces looking down at him, Robb and Theon. Was this the afterlife, he wondered. Were Robb and Theon the ones to greet him in death?

"You alright?" Robb's face was full of concern. The younger version of Theon, who could always be relied on for being a complete twat, burst out laughing.

Jon put his hand to his head and sat up. "What happened?" he screwed his eyes up, trying to adjust to the brightness and see where they were.

"You were too busy with that runt of yours Snow," Jon looked down and saw Ghost, but as a pup squirming in his cape. Theon laughed, but quickly stopped as Jon heard hooves approach.

"What's going on?" came the voice of Ned Stark. Jon looked up, his throat going dry.

"Jon fell off his horse father," Robb told him.

"Is that the right of it, Jon?" Ned asked.

"Ghost was wriggling about in my cape and I fell... Lord Stark," Jon lied, not having a clue what happened. "I banged my head, and I might have knocked my leg."

"Can you get up?" Ned asked.

Jon passed Ghost to Robb, who now had two pups in his hands. Jon stood and walked around a little, the pain quickly easing.

"Aye, Lord Stark. I'm alright."

"Then you can still ride," Ned looked down. "Now get on with yer. It'll be getting dark soon, and I'm sure the girls will want to meet their pups," with that Ned turned and rode off.

Jon mounted his horse and Robb handed the tiny bundle of white fur to him, which stilled in his arms. He wrapped Ghost in his cape once again, and they continued their ride back to Winterfell, giving him time to think on what was happening.

Jon was confused. What had happened? One minute he was laying in the snow in the Winterfell courtyard, dragons flying above, with a broken leg and the army of dead about to slaughter him. He pierced his heart with the dagger, like Bran, or the Three-Eyed-Raven had told him to.

Jon had expected to die, but Bran had been cryptic about the purpose of the dagger. Something about the daggers being able to stop the army of the dead. That meeting had taken place hours ago, and he'd been fighting ever since. He couldn't remember what Bran told him, word for word.

Had the Three-Eyed-Raven sent Jon back to a time where he could plan for the coming invasion sooner? With longer preparation, it would give them a better chance of survival. Except there was one problem, he was only one man. In truth, he was still a boy. Who would believe him?

Jon took in his surroundings, they were just outside Winterfell; the grass was still green. It must still be late summer, maybe early autumn. He remembered this day, for it was the day Bran witnessed the beheading of the Night's Watch deserter. And the day they found the direwolf pups.

The three of them urged their horses forward, catching up with the rest of the group, just in time for them to reach the gates of Winterfell. He heard a squeal and little Rickon had grabbed Shaggydog from Jory while images ran through his head; of a young boy running through a field, suddenly an arrow piercing his chest just before Jon was able to get to him. It looked like it did all of those years ago, before Theon and the Bolton's had damaged it.

This was the castle he grew up in. Jon was so confused, he hadn't had time to feel any emotions at seeing the people he'd loved and lost. It felt like a dream, and if he allowed himself to become attached, he'd wake up screaming. He'd dreamed of his family before, so this was nothing new, except for the fact he was supposed to be dead. Deciding to enjoy dreaming about his carefree youth, he climbed down from his horse.

In the courtyard Lady Stark was waiting for Lord Stark, alright, maybe Jon's life wouldn't be entirely carefree. Then he noticed his sisters, no cousins, he had to remind himself. Arya and Sansa were waiting for them, for the direwolves he believed. He was right except something was strange, instead of seeing an eleven-year-old Arya and a thirteen-year-old Sansa, he saw a faceless assassin with the look of Arya. Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell with the look of a young Sansa. Their posture wasn't that of children, it was that of the women they'd become.

When Jon looked at them, they clearly recognised something in him. Did he look different, too? Jon suddenly felt self conscious, although it only lasted a moment as Lady and Nymeria ran over to their owners. Needing to see if the girls were really in as much limbo as him, Jon made his way over to Arya. The person he wanted to speak to was Sansa, but they hadn't gotten on as children and it would look odd if he made his way to her first.

He pulled Ghost out from under his cloak and showed him to Arya, who had just picked up Nymeria and fussed over her. "You're being too obvious," Jon whispered, "So is your sister."

"Yes, your grace," Arya smirked as Jon frowned. "Since you have yet to bend the knee to that pompous Dragon Queen, you are still King," she smiled. "Gods that felt good." she turned to Sansa. "How do you feel about the Dragon Queen, Sansa?"

"Daenerys only ever wanted the Iron Throne. She seduced you and offered to help defeat the army of the dead. Can you not see? She manipulated you, Jon. It was all a ploy to take the Iron Throne," Sansa argued, her voice low. "And what good did it do? We all ended up dead, anyway. You were far too good for her!" she snuggled up with Lady. "Now let me spend my afterlife cuddling Lady and not having to worry about whitewalkers, Littlefinger, Joffrey, or dragons!" Sansa turned in a huff and walked back to the castle, acting every inch the Lady of Winterfell.

"What's up with her?" Jon asked.

"I think she's pissed off at being thirteen again, Arya replied. "What happened when you woke up?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "And what's up with your leg?"

"I fell off my horse, banged my head and leg."

"What is the last thing you remember of the battle?" Arya stroked Nymeria.

"The winds were too strong, even for Rhaegal. I fell from his back, broke my leg. They were coming for me so I.."

"You used the dagger," Arya surmised, Jon nodded in reply. "Is it the same leg you broke that hurts?" she asked.

"How do you know?"

"Sansa told me, during her last moments, she was being attacked by Rickon. He was biting her. When she woke in her room, she was being bitten by Rickon. Just like me. I was being strangled by the Night King. Suddenly I woke with a sore throat and memories."

"We have kept our memories, but are now in our younger bodies," Jon frowned.

"Seems that way. Fancy sparring?"

"With what? You're a lot younger, and you don't have Needle. I'm not as strong and I don't have Longclaw," Jon reminded her as they turned to walk towards the kitchens to get some milk for the pups. "But I'm still a lot stronger than you," he added.

"Frightened of losing to a little girl?" she laughed. "Ouch!" she cried as Nymeria nipped her. "I forgot how sharp their teeth were as pups."

"Do you think this is a dream, or something else?" Jon asked.

"I think it was something to do with those dragonglass daggers, the Three-Eyed-Raven gave us. He is a keeper of time. Maybe he sent us back to our old bodies to begin the preparations for the long night, sooner," Arya suggested. "I bet we are the only three who know anything."

"That means we lost," Jon said. "After everything we did, all the plans we made. It was all for nothing."

"No, it wasn't," Arya said. "Bran must have known it wasn't enough, which was why he gave us the daggers. We know what we need to do, but there must be more. We did something wrong."

Arya picked up some milk from the pantry and one of the maids gave her some cloths and bowls so they could soak them in the milk to feed the pups. She handed one of the cloths to Jon for him to feed Ghost.

"We'll meet in the Godswood after dinner," Jon whispered. "You, me and Sansa."

"How was Bran?"

"I never spoke to him. If he's the Three-Eyed-Raven, then he's probably going to be a better mummer than we are."

Once they'd gotten all they needed for their direwolf pups, Jon and Arya split off to their respective chambers, where the fires were already. Once he'd been fed, Ghost curled up into the fur rug in front of the fire and fell asleep while Jon sat on his bed and put his head in his hands.

Something had gone wrong and the Three-Eyed-Raven was trying to put it right, but how and why send them back so far into the past? The only reason Jon could come up with was to forge entirely fresh paths with their previous knowledge.

Jon lay on his childhood bed and looked up at the ceiling. His head and leg still hurt from the fall, whether it was falling from Rhaegal or the horse, he couldn't be sure. He realised he had barely felt anything, nor had he acknowledged any happiness in seeing his family alive again. Jon should have been overjoyed to see his dead family once more, but his mind was too busy trying to understand what had happened to himself, Sansa, and Arya.

Jon put his response down to his mindset of late. His head was in a constant state of military thinking, or trying to fathom what to do with him and Daenerys. Not only that, but he was still trying to come to terms with the lies he had grown up with. Lies he now had to face, because the man who'd raised him was alive and still pretending to be his father.

He couldn't reconcile how he felt about Ned Stark. Jon loved the man, but he was angry with him. The truth had only been revealed to him a few days ago, and the anger hadn't dissipated; he was going to struggle for a while.

Another person he felt anger towards was Theon. Of course, Theon had saved Sansa from Ramsay. And for that, Jon would always be grateful to him. But that had been after he had been reduced to being Reek. The man in Winterfell right now, was the one who would be prepared to betray them because he was torn between being a Greyjoy and being a Stark.

The only person who he currently felt no ill will towards, was Robb. Therefore, despite being happy that these people were all alive and well, he now felt mixed emotions towards them. He suspected Sansa and Arya had the same problems.

Dinner was far easier to get through than he expected. All the talk was of the deserter and the direwolves, as well as Jon falling from his horse. Lord Stark had asked Maester Luwin to have a look at his head and leg, but found nothing more than a bruise in the exact spot where he broke it, as if a reminder of the past, or was it future?

Jon sat with Arya, and Sansa with Robb, where they tried to pretend to be children, but it was hard. How can you look like an innocent child when all you've faced is death and unimaginable horrors?

All three of them kept glancing over towards Bran to see if he was the Three-Eyed-Raven, but he looked like the boy he once was. Full of life and enthusiasm. Maybe he didn't come back, or couldn't come back because he was marked by the Night King. Whatever the reason, Bran was still Bran and would be of no help to them.

Once their meal was over, Jon and Arya made their way to the Godswood, and a few minutes later, a very stressed looking Sansa joined them.

"That was tortuous," Jon said.

"I thought it would be easier being a child again," Sansa agreed.

"It is, but we're not children. Our bodies might be, but our minds are very much adult, with every adult experience. I believe that applies for all three of us," Arya looked at them both, her face showing little emotion, although Jon was sure he could detect a blush colouring her cheeks.

"Arya!" Sansa sounded like her childhood self. "You didn't," she glowered.

"I thought we were all going to die. Do you really think I was going to go out without knowing?" his little sister argued back.

At first, Jon was confused. He knew Arya was a killer, so did Sansa. What could Arya have done which would shock the Lady of Winterfell. There was only one option. Arya had lain with a man.

"Who was it with?" Jon demanded. "I promise not to kill him... yet." he added, trying to rationalise the little girl who was standing in front of him, in the body of an eleven years old, had been intimate with a man. Albeit when she was a woman.

"It was Gendry, wasn't it?" Sansa asked.

"The Baratheon bastard?" Jon frowned. "He's not right for you."

"Why? Because he's a bastard?" Arya folded her arms, staring Jon up and down with one eyebrow raised.

"No!" Jon shook his head. He was shocked at Arya's verbal attack. She would have never mentioned him being a bastard before. Not that it mattered, it was all horseshit, he was trueborn, but they didn't know that. For the moment, he put it to the back of his mind. Arya wanted to know why Jon didn't approve.

"He's a blacksmith!"

"I know," Arya smiled. "Gods he'd got a gorgeous body," she looked up at Jon and then Sansa. "What? It was only a day ago and is still very fresh in my mind." Jon felt sick, he couldn't believe he was talking about sex with his little sister. "Oh, and Theon died," she added, casually changing the subject, to which Jon was grateful for.

Sansa dropped to the floor. "How?" she asked, her voice croaking.

"You don't want to know, but he was a hero trying to save Bran... the Three-Eyed-Raven," Arya patted her on the shoulder.

"Speaking of Bran, I think we should separate Bran from the Three-Eyed-Raven. I think the boy we saw today is the real Bran. Agreed?" Jon asked, and the girls nodded their heads in agreement. "The Three-Eyed-Raven is the one who gave us the daggers. He clearly knew they were needed and what they would do."

"Maybe we couldn't gather all the information in one go? Maybe we needed a second chance?" Sansa suggested. "Maybe something happened which shouldn't have happened. Was there a piece of knowledge missing?" She mused, almost talking to herself as Jon and Arya watched on, fascinated with how Sansa's mind worked. "Do any of us know any information which might have altered the course we took if we'd all known?"

Jon knew knowledge of his parentage could have affected the way they approached the entire ordeal. The northern Lords would never have crowned him King in the north. He would never have bent the knee. It would have been left to Sansa to deal with Daenerys. But was that all?

He had already decided he would tell them after the war, but now he knew he needed to tell them before anything could be planned. Jon knew Sansa would use this knowledge to their advantage, and it was most likely the reason they were sent back.

"Seven fucking hells!" Jon swore under his breath, and the girls looked at him in shock. Jon rarely cursed in front of them. He ran his hand through his short hair, ugh he wanted it long again, and paced up and down, trying to decide how to tell them.

"Oh-oh. This is big," Arya said.

"Jon, what do you know which could be so significant that if we do something now, it will change the outcome of the war?" Sansa asked. Jon stopped pacing and pinched his nose, not wanting to look at his sisters.

"Gods, it must be bad," Arya said. "Look, I can kill you if you want, that is the only thing that will get you out of telling us. Does anyone else know what you are about to tell us? Right now I mean?"

Jon stopped pacing. "Lord Stark," he replied.

"Father?" Sansa frowned, Jon nodded. "That makes no sense."

"I suppose we could always ask him ourselves," Arya suggested.

"Lord Stark won't tell you, he said he was going to tell me, but he... well, he died before he had the chance... It was Sam who told me. Bran... I mean the Three-Eyed-Raven and Sam, they worked it out," Jon took a deep breath. "I'm not your brother!" he said, closing his eyes.

"Don't be stupid, of course you are," he heard Sansa say, Jon opened his eyes to two confused looking girls, women. Jon was still struggling to make his mind up about what they were. "Look at you. You're more Stark-like than any of us, except Arya."

"I am a Stark, I'm just not your brother. Lord Stark is not my father. I'm your cousin."

"Oh," Sansa's eyes widened in shock.

"Uncle Brandon?" Arya guessed.

"With Ashara Dayne, there were rumours." Sansa said slowly.

Jon shook his head. "Lyanna Stark was my mother, Rhaegar Targaryen was my father. They were married in secret, which means I'm trueborn," he looked at Sansa and Arya, who were momentarily silent.

"Seven fucking hells!" Arya said. "No wonder you've been looking so miserable over the last few days, you've been fucking your aunt," she burst into hysterical laughter. "You only just found out didn't you?" she asked and Jon nodded.

"That explains why you could ride Rhaegal," Sansa continued. "Only Targaryen's can ride dragons. I was just so happy that you might be the one to destroy the Night King rather than her, that it never crossed my mind that you shouldn't be riding a dragon."

"I don't see how this changes anything," Jon lied.

"Don't be an idiot, it changes everything," Sansa glared. "First thing, you can't go to the wall. You need to be raising men from the Seven Kingdoms to fight them," her eyes lit up.

Arya looked at her sister and then back to Jon. "I've seen that look, she's plotting. She's more dangerous than either of us when she does that."

Sansa looked at them. "A single sword only kills a few, a well-executed plot can kill thousands."

"I've got to go to the wall. I need to save the Freefolk and get Longclaw," Jon said. He felt naked without his sword.

"You'll have to fight with normal castle forged steel like the rest of us," Arya said, as Jon noticed Sansa's silence and the look of concentration on her face.

"What were you plotting?" Jon asked, although he knew the answer, but he wanted it from her own lips.

"If you need to gather men from all over Westeros, you are going to need to have the authority to command them. You need to be in such a powerful position, that you will have everyone supporting you and the watch," Sansa said.

"I don't want it!"

"You don't have to sit on it afterwards. Abdicate once the war is over. Have children and let them take it. Gods, even let the dragon woman have it," Sansa said with a venomous tone.

"You really don't like her do you?" Jon asked.

"No!" came Sansa and Arya in unison.

"King Jon, first of his name," Arya grinned, "I like it."

"It's not Jon," Jon grimaced. "It's Aegon, my real name is Aegon Targaryen."

Arya's face contorted in confusion. "But he already had a son called Aegon. Why would he give you the same name?"

Jon shrugged. "Ask Lord Stark. He is the one who was there when I was born."

"He was?" Sansa raised an eyebrow, as if something had occurred to her. "Where?"

"Dorne," Jon replied, Sansa closed her eyes. "What?" he asked.

"I think Littlefinger might suspect something," she replied.