Here, have this.

A/N: I have no idea why I wrote this other than to get over writer's block on other works. That's really all there is to it. As to why I picked Sansa. I just rolled a D100 on a character sheet I made up on the spot. Which is interesting because she sat in between Oberon Martell and Mors "Crowsfood" Umber.

Reviews and criticism are welcome.

Disclaimer: I don't own Asoiaf.

Arya

It didn't take a maester to see that something was wrong with her sister. Arya watched curiously out of the corner of her eye as Sansa furtively stitched together her kerchief. The Old Septa, Mordane, also had a frown on her face as she watched the girl. Sansa looked like she wasn't even paying attention. As if she was staring past the poorly sewn monstrosity she was working on and into… well it certainly wasn't anywhere in the room. Sansa stopped suddenly and Arya found herself looking up to see what her sister was doing. She watched Sansa hold up her sewing needle. Her sister examined the needle for a moment. Then Arya watched in shock horror as Sansa stabbed the needle deep into her own hand straight into the back of the palm.

"Sansa!" the old septa shouted. "What in the name of the Seven who are One has gotten into you!"

Her sister didn't answer. Just sat there staring at her hand. Jeyne Poole, who was sitting next to Sansa as she had always done, also had a horrified expression on her face. Even Beth Cassel grasped silently. Sansa didn't say anything. Her sister hadn't been able to do much other than basic tasks since the accident.

Everyone in the castle knew the girl was lucky to be alive. She had yet to say a word since she had woken up. Everyone thought she was struck dumb at first. A kick to the head from a horse would do that to even the strongest of men. It proved later that she was simply struck mute. Sansa couldn't sew as beautifully as she had before. Her mind was a different story altogether. She seemed to improve in other areas and yet lose abilities in others. Not that Sansa could do much before the kick anyway. The Castle Maester, Luwin was stunned at how much she had improved with her numbers. She never missed a coat of arms either. Well the major ones. She was outdoing everyone including Robb and Bran. So she wasn't stupid. Just not all there.

Arya remembered overhearing Luwin tell their Mother and Father that Sansa may never be the same. It wasn't uncommon for a serious head injury to alter the mind or cause a personality shift. Mother hadn't taken it well. Arya remembered Father was sad, but didn't sound surprised, citing some notable incidents he heard about and seen first hand in the Rebellion against the Mad King.

Sansa was indeed different. Arya noted. There was an incident when Jon, their bastard brother, walked by. Sansa just stopped and hugged him. Jon was so confused he awkwardly hugged back. Sansa didn't turn her nose up at him anymore. Some good came out of it, Arya supposed.

Arya watched as Sansa pulled the needle out of her hand. Her sister glared at her hand like it was the cause of her troubles. Sansa stabbed the needle into her disaster of a kerchief, tossing it aside and stormed out. Septa Mordane was going to go after her, but Arya jumped up and stopped the septa.

"Please, let her be Septa." Septa Mordane was going to go around her. Arya looked at the floor where she saw Sansa's discarded kerchief. It gave her an idea. "She is just mad, her sewing is all bad now." The Septa to Arya's surprise Mordane stopped and turned to look at the discarded kerchief.

The Septa sighed, picking it up. "Get back to work, all of you." Arya did as told for once. While she hated all the lady stuff, she was content in helping her big sister. After all Sansa wouldn't be like this if it wasn't for Arya.

Septa Mordane looked down and examined the horrid work. "A shame." The older woman muttered.

After that incident, Arya was able to find her sister after Mordane let them go. It was hard for Arya to sneak away when the Septa was on guard. She already had one girl leave and she wasn't going to have a second one run off.

Sansa was in the Godswood. She sat in a spot in a group of trees not far from the Weirwood. Her blue eyes were staring into nothing. She rubbed the spot in her hand where she had stabbed it. Her beautiful red hair was full of tangled leaves and twigs. Sansa had Mother's look. Arya took after their father's side of the family with her dark brown hair, gray eyes and long face.

"Sansa," Arya asked quietly as she knelt down next to her sister.

Her sister didn't stir, just absently continued to stare at her hand. What blood there was had dried. That wasn't what her sister seemed to care about.

Arya didn't know what to do. Sansa used to be so mean to her, letting Jeyne Poole call Arya a horseface and teasing her. Then the accident happened. Arya knew it was her fault. Arya had taken a kerchief Mother had made for Sansa. Of course, her sister gave chase at this provacation. Arya ran next to the stables and things didn't turn out well. She had thought Sansa dead after the horse kicked her in the head. She was asleep for a week. Maester Luwin thought she was going to pass. Then one day Sansa woke up. Yet she still had a dead look in her eyes. She hadn't said a word since.

"Sansa, please."

Her sister didn't respond. Arya found tears starting well at the corner of her eyes. Arya couldn't take it anymore. She began balling and hugging her sister. Sansa made no move to reciprocate, but didn't push her away either.

"I am so sorry! I should've taken your kerchief. Sansa I am so sorry your head's not right. I didn't mean for the horse to kick you." She cried into her sister's shoulder. Sansa didn't move. She just looked over at her sister with those beautiful blue Tully eyes, yet somehow, they only felt dull and dead. From what Arya saw in them, what lingered behind them was a hollowness that turned bright eyes into an uncomfortable icy sharpness. It was a brief moment before they softened as her sister began to focus.

Then Sansa's mouth moved to speak for the very first time since the accident. Her jaw worked back and forth as if it had forgotten how to do something so natural.

"Not-" she frowned and bit out more words.

"Not your fault." her voice was barely a whisper. Yet each word was measured and curt.

Quick as the moment had come it was gone. Sansa got up and walked out of the Godswood. Arya was still struck dumb that her sister had even spoken in the first place. For some reason she felt even more guilty now even if Sansa seemed to have gotten better. She couldn't help but feel a chilling gaze of those eyes still.

Eddard

With all the day to day duties he had in front of him, Ned always took the time to break fast in the morning with his wife and children. He watched Cat help Rikkon eat his food. The toddler was always so rambunctious. Bran, though not as robust as the other children, was sitting next to his mother, eating dutifully. There was Robb who sat opposite him. Robb was growing into a fine young man, though he had his mother's Tully look, one could clearly see the Stark blood in his features. After his lessons Robb dutifully shadowed his Father. Along with Theon.

Ned's gaze drifted to his daughters. Little Arya who reminded him of Lya so much it hurt at times. He could never bring himself to scold her for her unladylike behavior. The wolfsblood ran strong in her. Cat did more than enough for both of them on that front anyway.

Then there was Sansa. She had been the epitome of a mild mannered and dutiful southron lady like her mother had wanted her to be until the accident. Her hair was now unkempt, and she seemed to be focused on drawing something, while taking occasional bites of her porridge from time to time. This was new behavior. Ned was pleasantly surprised and glad she wasn't staring into the beyond anymore. Word had gotten out about how her injury had made her a simpleton even if Luwin said her numbers and memory of history and houses improved greatly.

Across from him, the blacksmith Mikken was eating. Carefully as to not offend his lord or lady.

Mikken didn't say much, but Ned liked to dine every once in a while with his servants to get the feeling around the castle and show he appreciated their hard work. It was also educational for his children to understand how the castle itself ran. He had known the old blacksmith for years. He was going to ask the blacksmith about his family, when Sansa got up abruptly. She held the parchment she had been working on in the light briefly. She loudly pushed out her chair and walked around the large table, straight over to Mikken and set it next to his plate. Mikken, like everyone, seemed stunned by such a highly uncharacteristic action. Mikken looked at what was on the paper. The old grizzled blacksmith seemed to have an idea of what was on it.

He still asked the question. "What's all this?" He picked up the parchment and looked at it. "Looks like a fancy triphammer."

Sansa struggled to find the words. She but she managed to rasp out two.

"More precise." she said.

"Hmm," Mikken had the presence of mind to look over his Lord. "Milord, you should see this." He handed the paper to Ned. Ned looked at Robb and Cat looked over his shoulder from either side.

Ned had heard of triphammers, but only in far away lands like Quohor among the free cities. He didn't know much more than that. This was smaller than the devices he had heard off. It still required a waterwheel, but the machine itself was slighty more complicated. He looked at Sansa. She appeared nervous. It was an emotion and that was something he had not seen much since the accident.

Ned looked back at the diagram. It was very detailed with notes scribbled in highlighting functions and explaining the mechanics of the design.

"I am no blacksmith. Would this improve your forge?" Ned asked.

"No use without a water wheel, but if it works, it would make things a whole lot quicker." Mikken put heavy emphasis on the "If" as he spoke. He was skeptical. He looked at Sansa. "Beggin' your pardon milady, but why would a young noble lass be concerning herself with blacksmithing work?"

Sansa shrugged. Ned still had a hard time seeing his daughter acting more animated all of sudden. She lifted her hand to her head and pointed at her head.

"Head is…" she searched for the right words before she drifted off. Her eyes seemed to glaze over before she walked like she was a wight from the stories Old Nan told him and his siblings of concerning the Others when they were children.

Her mind had rushed in like a flurry and left just as quickly. One minute his daughter was lucid and the next she was gone again. Catlyn got up and ran to Sansa's side.

"Sansa," she shook her gently. Sansa didn't respond. "Please." Cat's voice sounded desperate.

Mikken set down the parchment. Sensing the awkwardness. "I should go, beggin' your leave milord."

"Can you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Create this new type of triphammer Sansa wrote down?" Ned finished the question.

"With time Milord, Might need to set up a forge down at Castle Cerwyn or build a new one down on the White Knife." Mikken rubbed his head.

Ned thought for a moment. If the hammer was a bust he didn't want Lord Cerwyn to have to deal with a useless building on his lands. If it did work they could build one at Castle Cerwyn later. The Cerwyn's deserved a reward for their lasting loyalty. "See about erecting a temporary structure down on the White Knife. Go to Steward Poole for the resources you need."

"Aye, but Milord…" Mikken said, unsure of himself before shaking his head. "I'll make up a list for the Steward."

The blacksmith left, but not before giving Sansa one last look and shaking his head. Ned felt like a fool himself."Is this a wise idea Father?" Robb asked.

"Wise," Ned snorted, "Most likely not." He sighed. "But I feel it is the right thing to do." He looked at his daughter, still unresponsive to Cat's pleas.

Robb nodded and looked at Sansa as well. There was agreement in his eyes. He, Jon, and Sansa used to play in the Godswood together when they were younger.

"Father, would you mind if I helped Steward Poole and Mikken with this?"

Ned shook his head. It would be good for Robb to learn some more of how things run.

"Have Jon and Theon help you." Ned said. Robb nodded. "You can help Mikken and Poole find a proper spot in the White Knife." The more Ned thought about it. This would make a good project for Robb to oversee.

They would finish breaking their fast and Ned would go about his duties. If Sansa's strange new triphammer didn't work then it didn't work. If it did… Ned didn't have to be a blacksmith to know what such a thing could mean for the North and Westeros as a whole.

That all seemed to mean little as this was the first time his daughter had reached out since the accident. Ned would be damned if he didn't grab her hand while she was drowning in whatever shattered ice flow of a mind she had left.

Sansa

I was so numb, and yet so sensitive at the same time. It was hard to think with the rocks bouncing around in my head all the time. They muddled things and knocked me for a loop. I knew where I was. I knew who I was, and that was a far cry from who I used to be. I was beginning to get feeling back little by little, if that needle I stabbed myself was any indication. It hurt like hell, but I was glad to finally feel something.

I had more or less the full picture now. My consciousness had been transferred into a nine-year old girl, and I was now living in a medieval castle the size of a Texas megachurch. At least Westeros was mostly a manageable universe to be dumped into. Until the ice zombies, and war of Five Kings starts up at least. Which won't be long.

I was just wondering how I would end up getting myself killed. Sansa, the OG, was always dancing on a knife's edge in the books and show. One wrong word and she was dead. Hell, I guess we'll see. Hopefully I don't speedrun things into the ground.

I looked at the tiny scab where I stabbed my hand a day or two ago. That wouldn't be too hard if I was destined to be Ned Stark's crazy daughter.

After my little stunt in the great hall, Catelyn Stark or Mother as I guess I should call her now. If only to keep face. She was concerned and I felt bad for not giving her some hope. It might give me some hope in time, perhaps in time I would adjust. After all, going from an adult man to suddenly having my consciousness slammed into an adolescent girl whose brain was nowhere near developed for such a thing to process was bound to cause issues. I couldn't even remember how I died. Something to do with headlights and very loud horn.

There was the horrifying mental aspect of overwriting the consciousness of someone else, but I couldn't do anything about that. It was possible Sansa was well and truly dead from that horse kick and I just sort of filled the void. Still I felt like a fraud, but there was little point in having an existential crisis. Besides, I needed full use of my new brain for that.

Part of the reason I drew up the plans for that power hammer was because it helped me focus on something. When I saw the blacksmith, Mikken, I figured, fuck it. It was something other than sewing or knitting, so I latched on to it. Being able to focus on something for more than five minutes was a gift I wasn't going to pass up.

Even if the whole lesson on learning to be a noble lady wasn't all that bad. If I was honest. Such knowledge and etiquette would prove useful in this society if a bit boring. I wasn't going to go around swinging swords and dawning ringmail. Cool as that was, I didn't want to go anywhere near a battle. I wasn't fucking insane. I had an excuse to not go into battle in this wretched parody of the middle ages and I sure as hell I was using that excuse to its full extent.

However, that didn't mean I was insane enough to not learn how to defend myself. I remembered a few tricks from my old life. One such involved a bit of knife play. I did a bit of tomahawk and bowie knife mock fights from time to time when my brothers and I reenacted at Fort Union and Buford in the summer. At least I could have a good proper bowie knife and tomahawk made now with that forge being installed. The Northerners could use a better designed hunting knife for multi-purpose anyway. Also they looked cool. While I am sure the hammer had other uses if they got it working, I couldn't think of anything spectacular at the moment.

Other than that, I would coast along until I had to leave this castle to marry some lord. Unless I got saddled with a reputation for being a dullard or mad already. I just celebrated my ninth name day in a coma, so my rep had time to recover. Would I still be betrothed to that bastard prick in King's Landing? Who knows. Less speculation and more learning how to cope for now. Can cross that bridge in around three years from now.

I decided to focus on the task at hand. The Godswood was quiet and creepy at this hour. Not many people came here this time of day. Which was perfect. I started to run along the outer walkway next to the walls. I felt eyes on me, but I chalked that to the creepy tree in the middle of the three acre plot. I was so damn clumsy it wasn't even funny. I should take things slow, but my impatience was getting the best of me. I skinned a knee and tore the little running outfit I had barely managed to sew together. I found I could sew regular attire fine, but the damn artsy stuff was beyond me. Still a useful skill.

After a couple laps I decided to stop. I huffed a lot, but found I still had some energy left. So I grabbed some sticks and began to practice footwork after finding an open spot. I did some basic stuff only to fall over. Okay maybe I should take it slow. My impatience was getting the better of me. I remembered a memory of my brother in physical therapy after a bad car wreck. They had him take it slow. He worked hard, but they would only let him do so much.

I could only sigh as I rolled over and stared at the sky. Why the hell was I here? After getting no answer to my question, I got up and went to bed to sleep for at least another two hours before the maids came to wake me up again.

I had a goal in mind. Adjust to the body I was in and the life I was supposed to live from here on. If I was lucky, I could fly under the radar like Sansa did in the books. If not… Oh, well. I am sure my pretty head will look good on a spike in King's Landing.

A/N: I think I will work on Flamekeeper a bit after this. That fic could use an update. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this.