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Early morning sunlight filled their room, a cool breeze blew through from their open window.
“Ned,” Cat’s chiding held no coldness despite her shiver. “I told you to close the window before you came back to bed.”
He chuckled, unbothered by the cold morning air. He had intended to close it, but then he had turned around and saw his lovely wife on their bed. “I was distracted,” He then captured her lips with his, silencing her rebuke. The moan that slipped through showed she did not seem to mind too much.
“Lord Stark!” The voice of their guard jolted husband and wife apart. A hard pounding followed on their door, “Lord Stark! Lord Stark!” The guard sounded frantic. “You must come quick!”
Ned bit down the spike of frustration at this untimely interruption. He sighed when he slipped out of his wife’s warm embrace. He was about to call back to the guard that he’d be there, when the guard spoke first.
“Your sons are fighting!” He said, “Snow’s bleeding badly!”
Fighting? He couldn’t believe it. They loved each other fiercely. He was pleased and proud of how well they looked after each other. Then his mind turned over what he had said about Jon.
Bleeding badly. His stomach twisted painfully. His disappointment at being interrupted disappeared in an instant. Concern filled him, about Jon while trying to understand what would possess them to fight each other. What madness is this?
“I’m coming,” Ned said gruffly, quickly getting dressed. He looked back to see his wife looked shaken by what they heard.
“Ned,” Cat breathed, struggling to find the words to what they just heard.
“I’ll see to this,” he was already moving to the door and left before his wife could say another word.
“YOU BASTARD!” Robb roared, then there were footsteps and shouting.
Ned came into the room to see Robb being held back by several guards.
“Jon,” Ned’s stomach dropped at seeing him in such a state. His face was bruised and bloodied. His grey tunic was drenched red, while blood wept from open cuts. His nose was clearly broken. He groaned, Luwin was tending to his injuries, with help from guardsman Desmond.
Ned turned around to face his son. He felt the cold fury working through him. “What is the meaning of this?” He demanded, but his voice didn’t even make his son flinch.
Robb completely ignored him. He was prowling back and forth like a shadowcat, glaring and growling. “Where is she?” Robb shouted, guardsmen Cayn and Heward were trying to hold him back. “Where is my wife?” He tried to slip between them, but Alyn emerged with Jory and Ser Rodrik, he must have gone to fetch them when Varly went to get Ned. Jory and Alyn grabbed Robb from behind, who struggled in their grip.
“ANSWER ME!” His shaking fists were covered in Jon’s blood.
“My lord?” Ser Rodrik took in the scene with plain bewilderment etched in his expression. He turned from a howling Robb to a groaning Jon. “Alyn came to get me and Jory,” Rodrik explained, “said Lord Robb had gone mad.” His tone made it sound that he thought guardsman Alyn had undersold Robb’s condition.
“I don’t know,” Ned mumbled, but his first concern was Jon. “Luwin?”
The maester rattled off Jon’s injuries, but Robb interrupted him with a snarl.
“He deserves it.”
The guards were taken aback by their Lord Robb, surprised and concerned to see him acting more like a wild beast than the heir to Winterfell they knew and respected.
“Where is she?” Robb tried to lunge at Jon, but Jory had tightened his hold on him. “Where's Daenerys?”
Daenerys, Ned stilled. Why would he speak of her? He doesn’t know her. He can’t. Ned shook those thoughts. His wife? None of this made sense.
Looking closely at his son for the first time, he looked past the rage that darkened his face. To notice that his eyes were red rimmed and glistening. This is some sort of nightmare.
Luwin had gotten Jon to a sitting position, leaning against the wall. He had sent one of the guards to get more bandages. Jon tried to mutter something, but Luwin stopped him, “Don’t speak.”
“Robb,” Ned raised his voice to try to grab his son’s attention.
“Father,” Robb looked at him as if Ned was some conjured specter from his imagination. “You’re alive,” he murmured, earning more looks and mutterings from the guards inside the room.
What has gotten into him? He had no idea what possessed his son to be gripped with such delusions that made him believe he was married to Daenerys Targaryen or to make him attack Jon. “Of course, I am alive.”
Catelyn gasped. Her eyes went from Robb being surrounded by guards to a bleeding Jon, leaning on the wall. “What did you do?” She was so shaken by what Robb had done; she was unable to muster her chilly indifference towards Jon.
“Luwin,” Ned was about to order the maester to take Jon back to his turret so he could be patched up, but his words were drowned out by a scream.
Sansa was standing in the doorway in her grey sleeping gown. Her eyes were foggy with sleep, but she became awake in an instant when her Tully blue eyes landed on Jon. “DAERON!” She shouted, running over to her bastard brother without a sense of decorum, or poise, kneeling before him. “My beloved!” she was hugging him, kissing him despite his bloodied face.
Jon sat and moaned. He tried to murmur something, but his face was too badly swollen to hear what he was saying.
“It’s alright, my love,” Sansa shushed him with a kiss. Instantly taking one of the bandages and beginning to help Luwin mop up the blood on Jon’s face.
The maester blinked owlishly at his new assistant. He was not the only one.
The Stark guards traded looks of bewilderment. They were as stunned by Sansa’s words and adoring treatment towards Jon as they had been by Robb’s violent one.
Catelyn was the first to find her voice. “Sansa,” she said, sounding more confused than concerned, “What are you doing?”
“Tending to my husband,” she announced, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Husband?” Cat paled, choking on the word.
“Yes,” Sansa had yet to look at anyone else but Jon since entering the room, indifferent to the stares she was receiving from the guards and her family. “My prince,” She murmured, looking at a bruised Jon as if he was the most precious thing in the world. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“What did you call him?”
Daeron, Ned’s stomach twisted, he had hoped no one else had heard. She called him, my prince. Ned didn’t understand. She couldn’t know. No one knew. He then frowned, Daeron? That was not the name he was told. Could this get any worse? He quickly regretted tempting the gods.
Arya arrived. Her eyes fell on Robb first, and she gave her brother the same look that he had given Ned. Like he wasn’t real. She then seemed to notice where her brother was looking, following his gaze to see a crumpled Jon and a soothing Sansa.
Ned was not surprised to see her rushing over to Jon, knowing how much she loved her brother. Believing she’d want to help him like Sansa was doing. But she didn’t, His stomach curdled, when Arya started attacking him.
Sansa was shrieking.
The guards were so confused and distracted by this confusing uproar that that had taken their attention away from Robb. Only for a moment, but it was all he needed. Robb’s rage was renewed at seeing Arya attacking their brother.
“STOP! STOP!” Sansa was screaming at them, sobbing, while trying to put herself between Jon and her siblings.
Jory, Alyn, Cayn came rushing over to grab Robb, needing all three to drag him back. Heward grabbed Arya, but he released her with a curse when she elbowed him hard in the stomach, sending him to his knees.
“I hate you!” Arya was grabbing and kicking and punching whatever she could reach of her bloodied brother. “Bastard!”
Desmond, and Ser Rodrik were able to pull her back. Arya violently tried to shake them off, struggling to break free of them.
“You hurt him!” Sansa wailed.
Jon groaned, laying on the floor, curled up like a wounded dog. Sansa was holding him, tending to him while whispering sweet words to him. Luwin looked him over again to see and tend to his new injuries.
“ARYA,” Ned thundered, quieting the room in an instant. He had seen enough. Disturbed, by what he had seen from two of his children. His anger roiled at seeing their despicable attack on their brother.
“Father?” Her grey eyes were shining with tears. She renewed her effort to break free from their grip, but she was looking only at Ned.
Ned was still furious with her, but there was something in her gaze that leached away some of his anger. After a beat of consideration, he gave the guards a nod to release her. From the corner of his vision, he saw Robb taut as a bowstring, watching the two of them. Sensing that Arya might attack Jon again, Sansa put herself between her sister and Jon, glaring. But Arya didn’t, she was looking only at him. She ran into his arms, hugging him.
“I-I,” she murmured the rest, face buried in his tunic.
“What was that?” He hadn’t heard her.
“I forgot,” she confessed, looking up at him.
He frowned. “Forgot what?”
“What you looked like.”
A thread of disquiet formed in his chest, as he took in his trembling daughter. He merely held her, while trying to understand what was happening to his children. He looked over to Cat; to see she was as lost as him by this mess.
“Shaggydog?”
Ned looked up to see Rickon coming into the room with Chayle behind him. “My lord, I found him wandering the corridors,” the septon informed him, completely oblivious to what he had just walked in on, “he was calling for his erh, Shaggydog. I wasn’t aware you got him a dog, my lord.”
“We didn’t,” Catelyn was pale. Mystified by everything she’s seen. She forced herself to smile when looking at Rickon. “Who’s Shaggydog, sweetling?”
“His direwolf,” Robb answered.
His direwolf? Ned needed to sit down. He looked to see that Cat didn’t take this answer any better than him.
“Vissy!” Rickon dashed over to Jon.
The Stark guards stiffened, unsure what he would do to Jon. They were prepared to intercept the youngest Stark if he took after either Robb or Arya, but it proved unnecessary. Rickon halted before he reached Jon and pouted. “Who are you? Where’s Vissy?”
“Who’s Vissy?” Catelyn asked.
“She’s my cousin,” Rickon answered as if Cat was silly for not knowing.
“She?” Ned then repeated Rickon’s name for her- Vissy. He hardly had to turn the word over before realizing what it was short for- Visenya. My cousin, remembering what else he said.
“Seven Hells,” Septon Chayle finally saw Jon’s condition. Ned could not fault him for his reaction, despite being tended to by Luwin and Sansa, the vicious attacks on Jon left him battered and bloodied.
To Ned’s relief, the septon’s unexpected cursing proved distracting enough for everyone to forget about what Rickon was saying.
“Chayle, Luwin,” Cat’s voice was measured, “Take Jon to your turret,” she looked Robb and Arya over neither looked apologetic. “We’ll check on him when we can,” she watched Sansa helping Jon, she looked like she was going to say something, before deciding against it.
He could not fault Cat for that. He too watched Sansa stay at Jon’s side, holding his hand, helping with the bandages, whispering to him with clear affection. It made him feel as if he was intruding on some intimate moment between them. He turned his attention towards Desmond and Chayle who carried Jon out of the room following Luwin’s instructions.
Cat watched them leave the room with a mixture of emotions passing over her face until they were gone. Then she gave him a look that he understood at once. We need to talk.
“I’m going to check on Bran,” She announced, but it was clear that she planned on returning as soon as she could. Cat took Rickon by the hand and left the room, patiently listening to him going on about Shaggydog and Vissy.
The ale was not strong enough to soothe the ache in his head.
Ned had informed the servants that they would be breaking their fast here this morning. He had dismissed his guards too. He was certain this incident with his family was spreading throughout the castle and would be all that was talked about. I’ll have to speak to Vayon when I can. He rubbed at his eyes; a pinch of pain flared behind them. For the moment, his attention was on his oldest son and his youngest daughter. They sat stiffly across from him, barely touching their food.
Robb, what has happened to you? His eldest was a grown man, and until this day, Ned had never felt such anger towards him, such disappointment. He had been proud of the man Robb had become. That all changed. He went to bed last night thinking all was well with his family, and I wake up to this, he tried to settle on a word to describe this, them. Madness? He shoved the word away, back into its dark crevice. Not Robb, not my children.
Arya? He turned his attention to her. She had her elbows on the table, staring moodily at her eggs. He had indulged her in letting her learn how to fight, in letting her ride, even after she became a woman flowered, because they had agreed she’d take her other duties seriously. And she has, Ned had been pleased at Luwin’s reports at how sharp her mind was, and her talent with numbers. But now he had to wonder: Was it all a mistake? Should I have smothered that fire like Father tried to with Lyanna. He didn’t know.
She loved Jon fiercely, Ned thought, Robb too. The memory was etched in his mind, attacking their brother like hungry wolves who’ve cornered an injured deer. It was savage, Ned had only ever seen that sort of ferocity on a battlefield. The possession that seemed to take hold of a man’s heart, to turn his blood cold, to harden him.
“You should put guards outside the maester’s turret.” Robb’s white tunic was covered in blood, but none of it was his.
Jon’s, he felt the cold, piercing anger inside him. “If I’m to put guards anywhere it’ll be outside your rooms,” he said harshly.
Robb gave him a mirthless smile.
It unsettled him. Who is this stranger? Despair rolled through him, wearing my son’s face.
“You want to know why I attacked him?”
“Yes.”
“Jon killed me.”
“You’re blaming a nightmare?” He’d put them in their chambers and put guards on their doors. I need to see Jon. He moved to stand up, knowing he’d need to speak with Cat, about them, Bran, all of this. This was a mess. He knew it would take more than a day to sort this all out.
“It wasn’t a nightmare,” he replied, “It was real!”
“You’re not dead,” Ned could not believe he was having this conversation. What sort of nightmare could compel this sort of behavior? He’d consult Luwin when he visited Jon, which is where I should be. He had entertained this farce long enough. He’d see if Luwin could administer his children some dreamless sleep, while they’re locked away in their rooms while he decided what to do with them.
“You had a nightmare,” he repeated it to them. “That's all.”
Some disturbing nightmares that startled them. It had to be. What about Sansa? The question circled around his mind. She knew who Jon was. He stilled that thought before it could continue. He shook his head. Impossible. He was out of his seat, prepared to call the guards to escort his children back to their rooms. “Jon would never,” he began, wanting to put an end to this feeble argument they insisted upon.
“He did!” Robb slammed a fist into the table so hard the plates quivered, and Arya’s goblet spilled over. With his other hand, he lowered his loose tunic, and there on his chest was a grisly scar that made Ned’s stomach turn ice cold.
He found himself sitting back down, staring at the scar, trying to consider it possible his son could bear such a mark and still be breathing before him. It isn’t possible.
“A spear,” Robb answered the question none of them asked, “Too craven to use a sword,” He spat in disgust, “He conspired with the Boltons, it was a hunting party,” he went on, his tone becoming milder despite him detailing his supposed death, “only a few men, and Jon .” he let out a bitter laugh, “waited until we were separated and,” he brought his knife down hard on the table, sticking it into the wood with a hard thrust. “Your bastard son murdered me.”
“Grey Wind?” Arya looked from the scar to her brother’s cold eyes.
He had no idea what a Grey Wind was, but Robb understood.
“With Dany,” Robb’s face softened at her mention. “Where is she, father?” He asked after an exiled Targaryen princess like he would one of his siblings when they hadn’t arrived at their meals. Expecting her to be close, to be here. What is happening? A question he found himself asking again and again as this day unfolded before him. “She’s across the Narrow Sea.”
That didn’t please him at all. He sat back down, crossing his arms.
The scar could still be seen, and Ned still looked. It mocked him with its hideousness. It struck down his hopes and thoughts that everything could be so carefully and easily explained away. A bad nightmare? The scar seemed to twist on his son’s flesh in a mocking smile. You know nothing.
Arya seemed surprised at her brother’s interest in this princess, but not his death. She didn’t even blink. He wondered what that could mean. They were conversing, but the words slipped in and out of focus for him, until-
“You married a Bolton?” Robb looked like she slapped him. “They’re traitors.”
“Don’t talk about Dom like that,” Arya growled.
“You let a Bolton rule Winterfell?”
“He didn’t rule Winterfell,” Arya snapped, “I did, stupid.”
Robb and an exiled princess and now Arya and a Bolton, Ned wasn’t sure what was worse. His head was throbbing. “Peace,” he tried to get them to settle, since they looked like they might turn on each other. “What is this about a Bolton, Arya?”
“Domeric, he's my husband.”
He was taken aback by the warmth in her voice. She was a woman flowered, but she had never shown an eagerness to see herself married, but seeing the glow in her face, hearing her tone, it was plain to him. My daughter's in love with a Bolton. Ned took a long sip of his ale. It didn’t help. Gods have mercy.
Robb looked just as surprised as Ned felt, openly gaping at her.
How could Robb know Daenerys when she lived half a world away? How could Arya love a man she’s never met? The more he thought it over, the more questions sprung up.
“You were the Lady of Winterfell?” Ned remembered her saying they ruled Winterfell. How could that be? Arya came behind Robb, Bran, Rickon, and Sansa.
“No, I was Queen in the North.”
Queen? Ned barely had time to consider the weight of that word when there was a knock on the door.
“My lord?” It was Jory.
“Yes?”
The door opened, Ser Jory leaned into the room, looking at Robb and then Arya before turning to Ned. “Luwin says Jon will make a full recovery in time. He’s resting now, bandaged and stitched,” he paused, “Your daughter refuses to leave his side.” There was an awkwardness in the knight’s stance and tone that hinted at things unsaid.
Relief flooded through him at the great news. “Thank you, Jory.” Ned ignored whatever looks Robb and Arya were making. “If she’s not in Luwin’s way, she can stay,” he was unsure how he was going to handle Sansa and her newfound affection for Jon. Not affection, he corrected, it was love. He could not dismiss how she looked at him, cared for him, kissed him, and in front of so many of the guards. Ned sighed. My children weave a tangled mess, and he was stuck trying to sort it all out.
Jory bowed and left, closing the door behind him.
Ned turned back to see Robb and Arya were not rejoicing at Jon’s recovery. They sat glumly, glaring in different directions. He looked past them, to the window, he figured he hadn’t been in here with them as long as he feared. Less than an hour, he guessed, and Cat still hasn’t come back. He considered calling Varly in to bring her, but then thought better of it. She does not need to hear this. He didn’t like the idea of Robb and Arya’s madness filling Cat’s head. She already mistrusted Jon, for her to hear how Jon supposedly killed Robb in a nightmare would only fan those worries.
It’s not real, he’d tell Cat, and then his eyes fell on the scar on Robb’s chest. And Ned wasn’t so sure what real was. Robb’s story, his scar, Sansa’s knowledge, her change, he turned to Arya. “You said you were Queen in the North?”
“Yes.”
Ned looked to Robb to gauge his reaction, but hearing Arya was a Queen didn’t make him laugh or look at her as if she’d abandoned her senses.
“What happened to me?” Robb asked instead.
“You died.”
“How?”
Ned felt a cold uneasiness slosh over him at how blandly his children spoke on Robb’s death. It was unsettling.
“You died in battle.”
“In battle?” Robb scoffed, sounded insulted. “I never lost a battle.” He appeared disappointed in Arya’s Robb.
This was no easy conversation to listen to. It was too much, but he couldn’t leave. Their stories were strange and impossible, but still enthralling in a twisted way, sinking into his mind like fangs, spreading this poison through his blood. They said Sansa, he didn’t understand, why didn’t Robb ask after Bran or Rickon?
“Sansa was already dead,” Arya stared at the table, “She sacrificed herself to save me,” she pressed on. “Dom found me in the Riverlands,” a brief smile flickering over her face at his mention, “Or I should say Nymeria found him.”
Who? Ned looked to see that Robb didn’t seem confused at all about this Nymeria.
“He declared me Queen in the North, we rallied our forces, and we defeated the ironborn in a great victory,” she said proudly, “We married afterwards,” her grey eyes softened at the memory.
“What of Bran and Rickon?” Ned found himself asking, while wondering why Robb wasn’t asking after them. He doesn’t seem surprised at their absence. He saw pain in his eldest's eyes when they were mentioned.
Arya frowned. “Who?”
Robb's eyes widened, caught off guard. "Our brothers," He looked just as confused as Ned felt.
Arya eyed Robb and then him. “You were my only brother,” she told him. “Mother couldn’t have any more children after me,” she answered. “It was you, Sansa, me,” her eyes hardened, “And him.” She spat the word out as if it was poison. “After my wedding was when he showed his true colors.”
“The Bastard,” Robb mumbled before Ned could ask who.
She gave a grim nod. “Not all the lords liked the idea of a Queen in the North,” she snorted, her tone conveying what she thought of those bannermen.
“You say you’re a Queen. How?” He had seen no recognition in her eyes when asked about her younger brothers. She truly doesn’t know them. He felt himself drowning in these terrible tales his children were telling him.
She truly believes her dreams were real. The sick twist of nausea clutched at him, and this life is fiction.
“It started with your death, Father,” Arya wouldn’t meet his eyes when she answered.
“My death?” He remembered how surprised they had been to see him, thinking him unreal. I forgot what you looked like, she had confessed when she had hugged him.
“Yes, you died,” Robb confirmed severely, but he was looking at Arya. The two studied each other before they both said, “How?” at the exact time.
“You were named Hand of the King,” Robb answered first, still not looking at him, but Arya, reading her reaction, who nodded along. “You were called a traitor.”
“And Joffrey took your head,” Arya finished.
Joffrey? Ned wanted to laugh. He had just seen the crown prince last year, a genial boy, who looked just like Robert had at that age. And they say he executed me. They spoke of his fate as if read from a history book. With absolute certainty.
“Who’s Joffrey?” Sansa stepped into the room. His eldest daughter still managed to look regal despite wearing a blood-stained gown. She refused to look at either Robb or Arya even though her question was clearly meant for them.
“He was the king,” Arya answered after a heartbeat, caught off guard by either Sansa’s appearance or her question.
Sansa’s hands were clasped in front of her. She glided into the room never letting her eyes touch Robb or Arya. “Rhaegar has no son named Joffrey.”
“What?” Robb, Arya, and Ned all asked at once.
Their confusion was enough to crack the angry indifference she was giving her siblings. “Rhaegar Targaryen,” she looked at them suspiciously, like this some sort of jest, and she was wary of stumbling into it. “He was king, and then the crown passed to his son, Aegon the Sixth.”
“Rhaegar is dead,” Robb said, shaking his head. “Robert killed him at the Trident.”
Arya bobbed her head while it was Sansa’s turn to shake her head.
“Why would Lord Robert kill his king?” Sansa turned to Ned. “First they attack Daeron, and now you let them mock me?” Her face twisted angrily. Her eyes swam with unshed tears. “Why are you letting them do this?”
Ned ignored her name for Jon. He reached out to take her arm. “Sansa, what are you talking about?”
She recoiled slightly. “W-who’s the king right now?”
“Robert Baratheon.”
Sansa slipped into the seat beside him. He kept a hold on her since she looked faint, leaning on him for support. “I don’t understand,” she was murmuring, more to herself than to them. “What’s going on?”
“That’s a very good question.”
They all turned to see Catelyn coming into the room, holding Rickon’s hand while a sheepish Bran came in after her, slinking into the room with his head low.
“Bran?” Ned took in his son’s appearance and feared the worst. Rising to his feet, but she raised a hand to stop him, which made him frown. “Cat?”
“Bran,” She coaxed him, her hand moved to his shoulder.
He raised his head. His face was wet with tears. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this,” he confessed. “You all were supposed to be my brothers and sisters, I swear,” he hiccupped.
“We are your siblings,” Robb rose from his seat. Taking in Bran and then Rickon with a watery smile, “It really is you,” he said in a choked whisper.
“Who are you?” Arya stayed in her seat. Her gaze was cool and calculating when she looked her brothers over.
Bran wasn’t listening to them. “I had to do it. I had to do something.”
“What did you do?” Sansa asked softly. “What did you do to me?”
“I had to stop them,” Bran’s tone wavered. “We have to stop them.”
“Stop who?” There was a creep of apprehension in Arya’s voice.
“Them,” he answered, “The Others.”
The End
Into the AU Worlds:
Robb: He comes from a world where he and Dany were betrothed as infants in the aftermath of Robert’s Rebellion. Following canon in the respect that Ned was killed after being arrested as Hand. He and Dany were named the king and queen of the North and Trident while past Targaryen allies wanted her to be Queen of all the Seven kingdoms. However, she never hatched dragons and their war with the Lannister controlled Iron Throne was still ongoing when Robb was murdered.
Sansa: She comes from a world where she’s always known Jon as her cousin, Prince Daeron Targaryen. They ruled Summerhall as prince and princess, throwing lavish tournaments and feasts, the envy of the nobility, and adored by the smallfolk.
Arya: She comes from a world where she ruled as Queen in the North. She faced resistance backed by the Iron Throne and led by her bastard brother, she and Domeric fought hard to keep what they had won. Eventually defeating Jon’s forces, ending the rebellion, and cementing her reign as Queen.
Rickon: He comes from a world where he’s always known Visenya (Female! Jon) as their cousin. He died of a fever when he was still a child, because he can’t catch any breaks.
Jon: UNKNOWN…:D