Robb
He remembered seeing his father at the Heart Tree. And then – the darkness and the visions. Flashes of his life – and his death. And then his father in a forest of stone trees, talking to an old man. And then darkness, with flashes of a sense that he was being dragged somewhere and told to drink something. When he woke again it was to the rumble of voices. Father. It was Father. And… Luwin? They were talking. About him. About the Old Gods. He made a monumental effort and finally opened his eyes. "Father?" That simple word seemed to take all his strength.

"Robb. Drink some of this," Luwin said quietly as he handed over the third goblet. "How do you feel?"

"Tired, Luwin. Father – what happened?"

Father leant forwards. "The Old Gods, Robb. They spoke to me. What do you remember?"

He sipped the rich red wine slowly as he cast his mind back. "Parts of my life. The charge at the Battle of Oxcross. The day after The Crag. And…" he closed his eyes for a long moment. "The wedding at the Twins. Where…"

"Where you died, Robb. I saw it." His father looked at him gravely. "The Old Gods have sent you back. And now I must ask – I saw you and your mother in those visions. But not myself. Where was I?"

Robb drank more wine and then scrubbed at his eyes. "You were dead Father," he said hoarsely. "You were dead."

Luwin and Father shared a long and horrified look. "How?" Father said quietly.

"It's a long story," Robb replied. He felt stronger now. "It will start soon. In about two months word will reach you that Jon Arryn is dead."

And that shook Father, who blinked and then drank his own wine with a trembling hand. "What caused it?"

"Mother will get a letter from Aunt Lysa, claiming that it was poison."

And now Father's grief gave way to anger. "Poison?! Who would poison him – and why?"

"Aunt Lysa said it was the Lannisters. Father – the king came North to name you his Hand. You agreed and went South to Kings Landing. And you never left there. There was a plot by the Lannisters, something we think that Jon Arryn must have discovered." He looked over at the closed door and then leant forwards. "King Robert brought his children here. Including Joffrey, who is cruel and mad. And they're all blonde, Father. Every one of them."

Father frowned. "I don't understand."

"King Robert's bastards are all black of hair. His brother Stannis sent word of this. Why should his bastards be black of hair and blue of eye, but his children blonde of hair and green of eye? Especially when every time a Baratheon has married a Lannister the Baratheon blood has won out?"

Father frowned at this, but it was Luwin who caught on first, sitting back as his eyebrows flew up to where his hairline used to be. "Oh," he breathed. And then again: "Oh."

Father looked at Luwin – and then made the connection in his own mind. "Oh Hell," he muttered. "All of them are bastards? None of them are Robert's get?"

"According to Stannis their real father is… well, the Kingslayer. Ser Jaime Lannister."

This seemed to stun the other two men, who looked at each other and then seemed to communicate in the language of the eyebrow, as Bran had once named it, an age or more ago. "We tell no-one outside this room," Father said eventually. "Not yet anyway. That is information worth killing for."

"I know," Robb said. "I think that Bran found out. There were two attempts on his life. The first was when he fell from one of the disused towers here. He lived but… he lost the use of his legs and he could not remember what happened. We realised later that he must have been pushed. The second was later, when a man with a dagger made of Valyrian steel tried to stab him in his bed. Mother and his direwolf Summer stopped him."

Father had turned a nasty red colour now. "Someone," he said in a voice of thunder and barely restrained violence, "Tried to kill my son? Tried to kill Bran? Jaime Lannister? That oath-breaking smirking murderer. I'll kill him when I see him!"

"Peace, Eddard, peace," Luwin soothed with a raised hand. "You cannot kill a man for something he has not done yet. And Robb – what direwolf?"

He sighed and wished that Grey Wind was there with him right now. He had the oddest feeling that the direwolf wasn't too far away now. "The day you heard that Jon Arryn was dead we witnessed your execution of a deserter from the Night's Watch. On the way back, by the bridge, we found the body of a direwolf bitch who had whelped just after being gored by a stag in the neck. There were six pups – one for each of your children. You wanted to kill them but Jon pointed out that it was a sign from the Old Gods, the direwolf being on the banner of House Stark." He smiled. "Mine is Grey Wind. Will be Grey Wind. This is confusing."

"Obviously," Father said with a small smile, having calmed down a bit. "So I went South to Kings Landing and discovered that the children of the king are all bastards. Yes, I can imagine that would be something to get anyone killed. Wasn't I able to get word to Robert?"

"He died Father. There was a hunting accident. Apparently a boar charged him and he wasn't able to get his spear down in time."

"That doesn't sound like Robert at all," Father rumbled as he leant back in his chair.

"Well," Robb said with a wince, "He's not the man you knew Father. He's changed. He's, well, fat."

Father stared at him. "Robert. Fat?"

Robb nodded. "He drinks too much and he eats too much and he… well, when he came here he wore half the whores out and fathered at least one bastard amongst the women servants that Mother knew of."

His father closed his eyes and passed a weary hand over them. Then he paused. "Why only half the whores?"

"The Imp, Tyrion Lannister, took care of the other half. But – King Robert died and when you tried to pass the crown to Stannis the Lannisters conspired against you. You were arrested for treachery. And even after you agreed to take the Black after publically saying that the accusations of bastardy and incest were false – that little shit Joffrey broke his word and had you executed at Baelor's Sept. In front of Sansa, who became a hostage instead of Joffrey's prospective bride. And I – I called the banners father. The North rode to avenge you." He looked at the ground and then closed his eyes. "They proclaimed me King in the North and we marched to save the Riverlands. I won every battle but I still fucked it up. I'm good at war Father, but not at politics.

"To get the army over the river at The Twins I had to agree to marry one of Walder Frey's daughters. But after one of the battles I met… I met Jeyne Westerling. And married her. That lost me the Freys. And I made the mistake of sending Theon to Pyke to persuade his father to send his Ironborn against the Lannisters. He turned his cloak and obeyed his fathers orders to attack the North instead. Theon took Winterfell. Burnt it. And killed Bran and Rickon."

An ugly silence fell. "I am starting to realise," Luwin sighed, "Why the Old Gods sent you back. Your tale is all of woe for the North. And no my Lord, you cannot kill Theon either. He has not yet done what did in the future that Robb is from."

"Did you ever meet Balon Greyjoy?" Father asked. Robb shook his head. "Ah, that was your mistake then. A dark and cruel man, Balon Greyjoy. Theon is a good lad, but there are times when I think that he wants to be Stark but then remembers that he is a Greyjoy. And he glorifies the Ironborn way without understanding it. No wonder he turned his cloak. The poor lad was probably overwhelmed." He stood and then walked over to the window where he stared at the landscape.

"It seems that I have been neglecting your education my son," Father said eventually. "You know how to lead an army it seems and to swing a sword. The politics of leading men and treating with the scum that exist out there – well that will be your next part of your education. I am only sorry that I did not do this before."

He turned and sat down again. "So, the manner of your death becomes clearer. Lannister plots everywhere, Walder Frey annoyed with you breaking a contract of marriage, as he saw it, and parts of the North in the hands of the Ironborn. No wonder Roose Bolton conspired against you. You were the last male Stark and at last he had a chance to place House Bolton at the head of the North."

He found tears coming to his eyes. "Father, I have missed you so much."

His father smiled at him. "I am sorry that I was not there to help you. You must have had so many questions." Then he leant back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. "Well, I am weary, so you must be too. And I have a lot to think on. In a way the timing of the Old Gods is appropriate. In a week it will be the New Year, even if Summer continues. And as we know Winter is coming."

The New Year was coming – he had forgotten that. And then something sparked in his mind. "Father, we must send word to the Dreadfort. I think I know how to gain the lasting loyalty of Roose Bolton. If we act quickly we might be in time to save the life of his son, Domeric."