Chapter Text
Ned P.O.V
Catelyn was nervous, he had told her about their older set of children, and he had warned her that they were very different. He didn’t want her to panic, but he would rather she be prepared, though, even he didn’t know the full extent of their experiences.
“Are they here yet?” Cat’s voice was tight, her hands clenched so hard against the arm of the chair that they were white.
“They’ll be here soon.” Ned assured, though he too was extremely nervous. He had no idea how this dinner will go. These adults are not the children he raised and loved. They were near strangers, but they were still his children, part of the family, with Stark blood flowing though their veins, and that will never change.
Just when Ned couldn’t hold it anymore and was about to get up to look for them in their rooms, there was a knock on the door of his private solar, and Sansa’s voice floated through the door “Father, Mother, we’re here. May we come in?”
He heard Cat let out a sigh of relief and answer “Of course you may.”
One by one, the children entered. He heard a gasp from beside him and turned to look at Cat. She was staring, wide-eyed at them, her face pale. He knew that they looked different, but he didn’t think that it would have such an impact on his wife, though he guessed that it was reasonable, he was often busy with the duties of a lord, so it was Catelyn who watched them grow, and Cat who knew them best, so the changes affected her the most. He hoped that they didn’t reveal everything about their past to Cat, he had told her the bare minimum, and he wasn’t sure if she could take it if she knew the whole truth.
Sansa entered first, wearing a stunning grey dress, embroidered with silver direwolves, with fur sown on the sides in classic Northen style. The Sansa he knew preferred the flowery Southern style, but this Sansa was clearly as Northen as any of her siblings. Rickon followed behind her, staying close to Jon, his eyes wary, he was wearing a slate grey tunic and green pants. Arya came next, pushing Bran in front of her, he was seated on a strange contraption, which Ned could only describe as a chair with wheels. Bran was wearing a white tunic and trousers with weirwood leaves embroidered with red threads. Arya was dressed in an ash grey shirt and trousers; boy’s clothes, a fact which made Cat mutter under her breath. Last came Robb, dressed in a deep blue surcoat and black pants, looking every inch the king he later became.
Sansa reached the table first, she curtseyed before taking a seat on Ned’s right.
Rickon reached them next, he seemed reluctant, and his only response to Cat’s gasp of “My baby!” was a muttered “Mother, Father.” Before taking a seat next to Sansa. Ned realized that Cat was going to be disappointed if she thought that her youngest child still held affection for his parents. The look he sent towards Ned and Cat was the look one gave to a stranger, with hints of anger. From what his children had told him, he guessed that he had left when Rickon was still too young to remember things properly, but he didn’t understand why Rickon didn’t know Cat as well, perhaps she had left too? Though what reason had pushed her to abandon her children who she loved more than anything, he could not guess.
Next came Arya and Bran. He heard Cat’s muffled sob as she turned to Bran, her favorite child, no longer able to walk, yet Bran gave no sign that he had noticed or cared, his face an emotionless mask. He, like all his siblings, seemed to no longer care about their parents, the only thing they cared about was each other. For all that they bickered, their love for each other was clear, and the tension between them had lessened significantly compared to that afternoon. He could see Cat’s disapproving gaze, aimed at Arya. He knew that she was not pleased with Arya’s boyishness, and wanted her to learn the womanly arts, but that will never be Arya. She was too like Lyanna, willful, free, and her life had been nothing like what Cat had envisioned for her. She had adapted and learned to survive, just like all of her siblings, and if Cat didn’t accept that, then their relationship will be very rocky. Arya pulled a chair aside and pushed Bran into the space next to Catelyn before taking the seat next to him.
Robb followed his brother and sister, out of all the siblings, he seemed to be the only one who cared about them at all. Though even he was cold and distant, and he seemed to be especially angry at Cat, though Ned couldn’t guess how she might have offended him. He like Rickon, greeted them with a “Mother, Father.” Though his voice was softer.
Jon came last, wearing black doublet and trousers with black embroidery, except that on a closer looked, Ned realized that the embroidery wasn’t actually black but a deep red, a hidden way of making his heritage clear to all those who knew to look for it. He gave a curt greeting of “Lord Stark, Lady Stark.” Before taking the last seat.
“What is that bastard doing here?!” Catelyn hissed. Whatever she felt about her children, it was clear that her hatred for Jon had not changed. Ned winced, he had forgotten to tell her about Jon’s heritage and he was regretting it immensely right now.
Jon smiled, though there was no hint of joy in that dark smile, only bitterness. He turned to Ned, and Ned felt his heart jerk at the anger in Jon’s dark grey eyes, Lya’s eyes… His eyes… “So, you still haven’t told her then? Don’t worry I will. Lady Catelyn, unfortunately, all your hatred for your husbands bastard has been---misplaced. After all, he’s not even my father. Only an uncle who’s lied to me for 16 years. So you’ve wasted 16 years of your llife torturing an innocent child who’s been lied to just like you. I wonder how that weighs on your conscience, or are you so cruel that you don’t even have a soul? Surely that must be the case, as you did pray for the death of a baby.” He was still smiling, yet coldness radiated off him in waves.
“How dare you speak to me this way!” Cat hissed, her face red with anger “you may not be my lord husband’s son, but you are still a lowborn boy, and I’m a highborn lady, so mind your tone!”
Jon smirked, spearing a piece of venison and popping it into his mouth. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m actually the legitimate son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, heir to the seven kingdoms, so I actually rank higher than you, you miserable women.”
“Jon, you shouldn’t speak to my mother that way.” Robb scolded lightly.
“And why not?” Jon turned to Robb, and Ned glimpsed the bubbling rage just beneath the surface. “She is responsible for her actions. Besides, she was the one who freed the Kingslayer and lost you the war. If it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have needed to appease the Freys, and there would never have been a Red Wedding. You wouldn’t have died.”
“Perhaps, but she is still our mother and deserves some respect.” Robb replied evenly, neither of them caring about Cat who was currently pale as a sheet from the bombard of information sent her way.
“Respect is earned, and she hasn’t earned mine.” Jon replied, not backing down.
“Please, can both of you stop arguing?” Sansa cut in, she pressed a hand to her forehead, clearly exasperated. “We’ve finally managed to talk some problems out. Can we not restart the argument due to her?”
“Sansa! Where are your manners?” Cat had just recovered slightly, and immediately heard Sansa, her most courteous child, speak in such a tone about her! Sansa’s mother! Ned winced, thinking about how she must be feeling right now.
“The were beaten out of me by the King’s guard and later my second husband. And I assure you, they aren’t gone, it is simply that you do not deserve it. You hid us from the true world, thinking you were protecting us, yet our naivety caused us to suffer more than you can imagine. Those of us who lived till the end were the ones who learned to adapt and grow. The others died, and it was in a large part, your fault. This is your home and you had good intentions, so I can forgive you for now, and I’m sure Jon can refrain from speaking so rudely as long as we are here as guests.” She gave a pointed look at Jon, who sighed but nodded. “However, if you ever treat Jon like you did before, none of us will treat you like our mother ever again.” Robb nodded in agreement, as did the others, all except for Rickon.
Ned’s youngest son had been very quiet though the entire exchange, he was shaking slightly, and the look in his eyes reminded Ned of an corned animal. All of a sudden, he let out a piercing wail of distress.
Everyone froze, turning to face the youngest child.
“Rickon?” Sansa spoke his name tentatively, reaching out to pat him on the back. The young boy cried, burying his head in his elder sister’s lap, “You’re all going to leave again, aren’t you?” He asked in a shaking voice punctuated by sobs.
“Of course not little brother. Why would you think so?” Sansa questioned continuing to comfort him, drawing circles on his back.
His sobs gradually quieted, turning into sniffling. “You’re all fighting, when you’re angry at each other, you leave, and when you leave, you never come back!” His voice rose to a howl at the end.
“Oh my sweet baby!” Cat cried, reaching out to their youngest son, her arms out stretched to hug him…and then she froze. Rickon, her son, shied away from her! Choosing to lean into Sansa instead.
Rickon didn’t even seem to notice what he had done. It had simply been the natural reaction of a boy, traumatized by war and betrayal, to lean away from things he didn’t trust and towards people he did. Yet what Ned couldn’t understand was what could have caused Rickon to change so drastically that he no longer trust Cat, his mother who birthed him, fed him, raised him?
Cat was clearly heartbroken by her son’s refusal. Her face was ashen white, her trembling arms hovered in the air, unsure whether to pull back or reach out. In the end, she did pull back, her expression worried. Watching as her youngest sobbed in to her eldest daughter’s chest, Sansa not complaining a word about how he was ruining her dress, completely focused on making sure her little brother felt alright.
“Are you pleased now?” Arya looked up from her plate, grey eyes flashing like knives. Once, she had reminded Ned of Lyanna, fierce, wild, free, like a winter storm which couldn’t be contained, but no longer. Now she was what Lya never was composed, silent, calm (at least on the surface), she was more like ice, sharp and cold.
“After we finally managed to make some progress in accepting each other, you two acted like children, restarting the argument, and in doing so made our little brother cry. I know you are both angry, but that is not an excuse to act like this! This is our second chance, and you will not ruin it!”
“I, didn’t…” “It wasn’t like that…”
Sansa raised her head and looked at hem evenly, while Arya fixed them with another glare, Their feeble protests died down instantly.
Having nothing else to say, the girls fell silent, Jon sighed, leaning back, arms crossed, while Robb opened his mouth, thought for a moment, and closed it again, and, for a few moments, all was quiet other than Rickon’s quiet sniffles…
The silence was broken by Bran, speaking for the first time during the meal, his voice cold and emotionless. “We only have 2 years before the war begins, winter not far behind. Time is short. If we were to fail again, there will not be another chance.”
The voice of her sweet caring child, so detached, so different, seemed to change something in Cat. She looked at the children with a haunted gaze, and Ned knew that she had finally accepted what he had been trying to tell her since he first explained: These were not their children, at least not as they know them. These were men and women grown, taught too much by life and war to love their Father and Mother as a child should.
The rest of the dinner past in silence.
Soon, all the children left, one by one. Cat, after moment of hesitation, left as well, still pale. And finally, Ned was left alone with his thoughts.
He didn’t know what to do anymore. He could simply ignore what they had said and try to cling on to the fragile peace so many had sacrificed themselves for but risk the world of ice and death that they had spoken of come true. Or he could believe them and prepare the North, yet the risk was no smaller. Had they lied or been mistaken, for he no longer knew them well enough to trust them completely, then he would have become a traitor for nothing, and more importantly, he was so, so, tired of war…
He drowned his cup of ale.
Jon P.O.V
It was almost dawn, but Jon still couldn’t sleep. He often found it hard to sleep nowadays with too many things on his mind. Tonight, his thoughts were about Dany. He didn’t know what to think of her anymore. He had once loved her and thought that she was the only one who he would ever marry. But then he learned that she was his aunt and the thought of being with her suddenly seemed wrong. He knew that marrying within the family was a Targaryen tradition, but he had been raised as a Stark, and Stark blood flowed through his veins as much as Targaryen.
He sighed, rolling around, careful not to wake anyone. The stark siblings all had their own rooms but sometimes they would sleep together on one bed, mostly Robb’s as it was the biggest. Tonight was one of those nights. All the siblings were in a pile in the middle of Robb’s bed, and Jon didn’t want to wake anyone else up at this gods-be-dammed hour.
At least that was what he thought until he realized that he wasn’t the only one awake already.
A shadow slowly untangled itself from the pile and clambered to the edge of the bed before jumping lightly to the ground. It started pulling clothes on, its movements soft and careful, barely making any noise at all.
“Arya?” He hissed in a low voice. For who other than his sister could move so stealthily?
The shadow froze. “Jon?” Arya’s voice replied in an equally low whisper. “Why are you awake?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Jon replied, rolling off the bed and landing on the floor.
“Well, I could ask both of you the same question.” A new voice joined their question, Robb’s voice.
“Fine, I was thinking about my list, and especially about the Boltons. Father won’t approve of killing someone who hadn’t committed any crimes, though I’m sure we can find something proving that they are guilty. Besides, even if they aren’t actually, we could always make something up. But simply killing them will be too kind, though Father will never agree to torture anyone, so it will have to be done in secret. We could fake his death then bring him somewhere where no one will find him or hear him, after all, I’m sure all of us want a chance to properly greet him.” Arya growled, continuing to pull on her clothes. “And you two?”
“I was thinking of Dany.” Jon said in a low voice. He heard Arya make a noise of understanding. “Robb?”
“The Wedding and…Jenye.” Robb’s voice choked for a second. He was slowly disentangling himself from the others, though his movements, not as gentle as Arya’s, caused a growl of annoyance from Rickon. “Arya, where are you going?”
“To go train.” Arya replied, reaching for a copy of Needle, which she had had the blacksmith forge. “The less people know about us the better, and almost no one goes to the training field this early.”
“Well, wait up, I’m coming too.” Jon said, putting on his own clothes. He needed something to clear his mind, and training was a great way to do it. “I’ve been meaning to spar with you. I never had the chance last time, what with the white walkers and the Dragon Queen.”
“Aye, me too.” Robb added, also hoping off the bed. “I can’t sleep anyway, and I want to become better, so if anything happens again, I can protect those I care about.” Jon shared that sentiment. Maybe if he had been faster, stronger, better, he could have saved more people, stopped his first death, or saved Ygritte.
“Well come along then.” Arya leaned against the door frame, arms crossed in front of her.
Jon grabbed Longclaw, which had somehow traveled with them, and headed out the door. Longclaw along with Catspaw, were the only weapons which had came with them, perhaps due to the magical properties of Valyrian steel. Yet after a moment of consideration, he switched to a normal steel sword, as Valyrian Steel will give him an unfair advantage. Robb grabbed a long-sword, and followed him, Arya bringing up the rear.
The three of them went to the training yard. It was empty, just like Arya predicted. They quickly stretched before getting ready to spar. They formed a three-way duel, Robb shouted “Three. Two. One. Go!” before rushing forward. Jon too rushed forward, he felt exhilarated by the trill of battle. On his left, he could see Arya rushing him, he side stepped, parrying her next blow, ducking under Robb’s swing. Arya stabbed at him, yet halfway though, she turned the tip towards Robb, Robb barely managed to get his sword up in time, stepping back to get some breathing space, Jon swung at Arya, but she folded into a forward roll, coming up behind him, He spun around and the two engaged, the yard ringing with the clash of swords. Soon, Robb joined in and they struck, parried, stabbed and dodged in a deadly dance of steel, until…
“Who are you?!” A shout came from the edge of the courtyard, a voice which Jon knew extremely well, as it was almost exactly the same voice which he heard coming from his own mouth everyday….
Jon spun around. In front of him stood a younger version of himself, along with a younger Robb, Bran and Arya. Jon wanted to hit himself, he should have remembered that when he was young, he had came to train every morning before the sun came up, so that he wouldn’t meet anyone, especially Lady Catelyn. Sometimes, Robb and Bran would tag along for extra training, and Arya would also follow so that Jon could train her in secret before her lessons. However, with everything which was going on (the upcoming war, the Long Night, and being king…) he had forgotten to consider what had happened to the original Starks. It seemed that they were still here, though the two sets of Starks haven’t met yet due to the fact that the older Starks were trying to avoid being seen.
It was clear from their reactions that their parents hadn’t told them anything and that this was as much a surprise for them as Jon and his siblings.
“Umm… Hello? I’m Jon Snow.” Jon said, unsure how he was supposed to interact with his younger counterpart.
“What do you mean you’re Jon Snow? I’m Jon Snow! And why do you and your friends look like me and my siblings?” The younger Jon was confused and suspicious, slowly edging forward, the others following him, hand against his sword hilt, eyes narrowed.
Jon (the older one) tried to explain “Well, actually I am you, or you are me, same thing. I’m guessing that your parents haven’t explained to you yet, but we’re older versions of you and your siblings.”
Jon sighed at his younger counterpart’s still suspicious expression. Clearly it would take more than this to convince them. “You could come with us back to our room. We will be able to explain better there. This is not a conversation we should be having where everyone could hear us.”
He half expected Jon to refuse, but he clearly had the sense to realize that there was no way that someone would attempt to kidnap him in his family’s castle, and followed, though his eyes kept darting around uneasily. The younger versions of Arya, Bran and Robb followed as well, and his Arya and Robb brought up the rear.
By the time they came back, the others were already up, Rickon was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes half closed, hair messy, still not completely awake. Bran and Sansa were seated in armchairs next to the fire, quill and paper on the table in front of them, discussing plans. None of them seemed particularly worried about where they had gone. He was sure that Bran was in at least some of the ravens of Winterfell and had been keeping an eye on them. His younger brother had retained his abilities as an accomplished warg as well as the ability to traverse though the weirwood trees, though not nearly as well as before, allowing him to retain his emotions and thoughts. This was probably the reason they didn’t seem surprised when their younger selves entered the room.
Sansa (his Sansa) stood up, facing the new arrivals, hands clasped. “Please have a seat.” She gestured towards the empty chairs, “We have a lot to explain.”