Finally, I have a new story! I've not been able to do ANY writing in over a year due to time constraints with the final year of my animation studies in college, working at my part-time job, and a certain family situation which I do not wish to go into details about. It's been such a long, hard year for me considering everything, but not being able to find the time to write at all? That was torture! Pure, undeniable torture! BUT I AM BACK! I AM BACK AND I HAVE AN AMAZING STORY TO SHARE WITH ALL OF YOU!

As you can see, this story is for the fandom Game of Thrones. I think I speak for the entire GoT fanbase that what happened in the horror show that was Season 8 that D&D truly screwed us all over! I mean, COME ON! Dany goes down a downward spiral into the MAD QUEEN?! With only a snap of fingers?! UNREALISTIC! Since Season 8 ended, I have binge watched the series from beginning to end multiple times to the point my mom was seriously comparing my behavior to religious obsession (LOL! :D). Why? To see more myself if this ending was indeed something that had been intended all along. As a film/animation student, I recognize subtle moves of things between character direction, dialogue, facial expressions, costume design, and even scene light to determine if Dany had indeed been destined to go down this ill-conceived path to madness from the get-go of season 1. After a thorough analysis of every detail with her storyline, I have reached the following verdict:

George R.R. Martin might intend for our beloved Dragon Queen to spiral into madness in his books eventually, but D&D had a shitty way of foreshadowing her abrupt change in behavior! Her ending in season 8 may have been subtly foreshadowed throughout the series, but there is absolutely no excuse for sloppy writing that was obviously rushed to finally end the series! DAMN YOU, D&D! YOU COMPLETELY RUINED GAME OF THRONES WITH YOUR BAD WRITING! You sent JON SNOW back to the WALL! After all the good he did throughout the series, you have him live in exile for the rest of his days?! You have his own family betray him and not truly stand up for him?! What was the purpose to the entire series if all that happened in the end was proving that the wheel of oppression in Westeros is UNBREAKABLE?! You banish the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms, and drive the woman who was dedicated to ending oppression forever into madness just so she could be assassinated. What a waste of an incredible TV series!

And above all... BRAN becomes the elected king?! He didn't do ANYTHING worth becoming king throughout the entire series! And SANSA becomes Queen of the North! I used to like Sansa, or rather, I felt sorry for her. But her life of injustices does not excuse her behavior! I hope she has nightmares every single night about every horror she ever endured! It's what she deserves and worse for what she did to Jon and Dany during Season 8! I hate her now, plain and simple. I would kill Sansa Stark with my bare hands if she was a real person! Selfish bitch, through and through! You'd think after the life she endured, she'd just be grateful to be at home with her family and would welcome someone who hated Cersei even more than her. BUT NO! She wanted power in the end, just like everyone else. The North will suffer under her rule due to her selfishness. Mark my words, that's a fact. I know it.

But enough about all that. I did not post the first chapter of my new Game of Thrones fanfiction just to rant about all the flaws about GoT's pathetic ending. I posted it because I have been hard at work outline this story idea for months now ever since GoT ended! This is a story that will correct the mess that Dumb and Dumber left us fans with due to their laziness. But it's not a stereotypical story where Jon Snow comes back from beyond the Wall with a Wildling army and join's forces with the resurrected Dany in Volantis. No, that's a cliche, hands down. This is a story that will correct the tragedy that was Season 8 by going back far before Season 8 ever began and fixing things that happened in the show with a little thing known as TIME TRAVEL! But Jon and Dany won't be the time travelers! No, no, no! We'll be seeing their CHILDREN travel back in time to change history for the better!

This is NOT going to be your stereotypical Jonerys children time travelers story, either! These are NOT Mary Sue's or Gary Stu's! These are real character OC's! They have flaws! They have moments where they make stupid mistakes! They will not sit around agreeing blindly with everything Jon and Dany say and do! Some characters will love them, some will hate them! This is a REAL story!

If you need further proof that this is a story that is worth trying, then listen to this:

This story would NEVER have existed at all if not for all the help I received while outlining it from authors of the other fanfiction stories:

- The Long Night that was Promised by: Dakkaman777

- An Empire of Ice and Fire, Heart of the Blessed, My Father's Son, and A Terrible Resolve which were all written/co-written by Longclaw 1-6!

I would like to take this moment and say a personal thank you to both Longclaw and Dakkaman! I am beyond grateful to you both for all the time and help you've both given me this past year in helping me brainstorm this idea! Like I said up above, if not for the both of you, I probably wouldn't have been able to finish outlining this idea at all, I definitely wouldn't have been able to use Nanowrimo this year to finish writing the rough drafts of both this chapter and chapter 2! Thank you both so, so much! You are both awesome friends and amazing writers! :D

Readers, if any of you haven't read their stories yet, I encourage you to check out their stories when you're done reading my story! The above stories are all beyond words, they're so amazing! Seriously, you will not be disappointed!

I hope you will enjoy this story as much as I have enjoyed brainstorming it! I can't guarantee my updating schedule, but I promise that I will do whatever I can to work on this story bit by bit every day!

Remember, when you play the great game of thrones, you win or you die! Well, Jon and Dany were CHEATED out of winning the game! This time, their children will make sure the odds will always be in their favor!

Please read and review! :D

Chapter One: The Worst Nameday

"Is he here yet?"

"Can't tell."

"Maybe… Maybe he won't come. Maybe he changed his mind…"

"After months and months on the kingsroad? Doubt it."

"He's an enigma… No one knows what goes on in his head. He… He could have changed his mind…"

"Well, maybe— no, wait. There he is."

The little girl inched closer to her twin and peered out the window. Her gray eyes narrowed as they scanned the cold, dreary land of the North for whatever it was her brother could see. It took her a moment, but then she saw it. On the very edge of the horizon was a black dot on the kingsroad. It seem small and insignificant, but it was soon apparent that it was gradually growing bigger and bigger as it drew closer to their castle. And it wasn't a dot at all. It was an entire retinue of armored guards, safely escorting a large wheelhouse that was rolling swiftly down the snowy path.

The girl sighed. Head hanging, she drew back the curtains.

"Hey!"

"Don't 'hey' me. You're not looking forward to seeing him again anymore than I am."

The boy groaned, blowing hot air at a lone strand of black curls hanging over his eyes. "Can't deny that."

"I don't get it… Why does he have to come every year?" the girl mumbled, twirling a strand of her long silver hair around her finger. "He's a Southerner now. Southerner through and through."

"Like the queen?"

She smiled lightly. The Queen of the North prided herself on her Northern heritage and hated everyone who wasn't part of her kingdom, the only independent kingdom in all of Westeros. Comparing her to a Southerner was both insulting and one hundred percent true, considering she acted just like them. "Yeah, like the queen. He's the king the Southerner's chose, so why come?"

"'Cause it's not about us. It's never been about us. It's about making a show out of the damn memorial service."

"Tory."

"Don't get on my case just 'cause I swore, Lya. You know I'm right."

Lyaella sighed again, turning away from Torrhen to pad lightly across their small, shared bedroom. Pausing momentarily to gather up the skirts of her dress, she sat down on the edge of her bed and stared solemnly at her lap. "I don't get why we're required to go down and greet him with everyone," she mumbled. "We shouldn't have to…"

"You're right about that," Torrhen agreed, sitting down beside her. "Why don't we just don't go down?"

Lyaella's head snapped up. "What?"

"You heard me. Let's skip it. We shouldn't have to go down there, you said so yourself. And besides, what's the point? We're just gonna get shoved in the back row like every year. Heck, we're not even gonna properly greet him like the queen will when he gets here! At least not for a few hours, anyway. We don't care about greeting him, period. So let's just skip it."

Lyaella bit her lip, the pros and cons of being intentionally rude by skipping the welcoming party down in the castle courtyard weighing heavily in her mind.

"It… It would be nice, staying warm here inside… but what about-"

A sharp knock interrupted her. They turned in time to see their bedroom door slam open, revealing a rather furious serving woman.

"Oi, you two!" she snapped. "You're supposed to be downstairs! The queen's looking for you brats! Get moving!"

Lyaella cringed from the harsh tone, her eyes blinking several times to ensure they'd stay dry. But Torrhen matched the servant's glare with a fiery growl, violet eyes as sharp as steel.

"Why should we care the queen's looking for us?" he asked, fists balling up tightly. "She's not our mother."

The servant's face puffed red, pure disgust radiating off her in waves. "Aye, she's a far better woman than your foreign whore mother ever was! You two will obey her commands or so help me I'll smack that glare off your face, boy! Go down to the courtyard! Now!"

"Just try it, lady! You'll have to-"

"Let it go, Torrhen."

"But Lyaella-!"

"Please."

Seeing the dejected frown on his sister's face as she stared sadly at the stone floor was the only thing that could quell Torrhen's anger. With a huff, he shot the serving woman another glare, then stomped to the wooden wardrobe in the corner. Finding a simple light gray cloak with white fur around the collar, he tossed it to Lyaella and then pulled out a second cloak, this one pewter gray with black fur trimming.

"The queen told me to make sure you two wear the direwolf cloaks she had made for you both. Put those one's on."

The wardrobe door shook from how hard Torrhen gripped it. The direwolf cloaks? The queen wanted them to wear the direwolf cloaks?

He whirled around, mouth already half open to tell this woman just what she could relay back to the queen about those horrible cloaks, but to his surprise Lyaella was standing directly behind him and quickly grabbed his hand. Avoiding the servant's gaze, she dragged Torrhen behind her as she breezed past the woman out of the room, not daring to look back. Hurrying down the stone passageway, she didn't dare release his hand until they both turned the corner.

Needless to say, Torrhen wasn't too pleased. "Why'd you stop me from yelling at her? I could've handled her smacking me."

Lyaella simply smiled. "Because she would've done that and still forced us to wear those stupid cloaks. A fast exit was the only way we were leaving our room with these one's. And besides—" small fingers reached into the collar of her ice blue dress, intricate snowflake designs embroidered in shiny silver thread near her throat "—we'll be saying a lot more to the queen by appearing quietly with our current cloaks than we would if we shouted at her in those direwolf ones." She tugged out a small silver pendant, the charm resembling a roaring dragon with three heads. Freed from the confines of her dress, the tiny silver dragon dangled directly over the clasp of her wool cloak, it too being silver and shaped like a snowflake.

Torrhen blinked at her logic, then quietly snickered. "Wish I'd gotten your brains," he chuckled. Unfastening his own silver snowflake clasp, he shrugged off his cloak as they continued down the corridor. Tossing it to his sister temporarily, he adjusted the black training sword belt looped around waist so that the three-headed dragon emblem stitched into the leather of the scabbard would be easily visible to onlookers. "Think the queen will explode?"

"Either that or she sends us back up to change and we miss the official welcome for King Bran anyway."

"Seven hells, you're a genius!"

Down a flight of stairs and two more turns down another corridor, and they found themselves outside in the Winterfell courtyard. The courtyard was already packed with many visiting Northern lords and ladies, all waiting patiently for the arrival of the yearly visit of Bran the Broken, King of the Six Kingdoms in Westeros all south of the independent Northern kingdom. More importantly, King Bran was the younger brother of the Queen of the North, hence the only reason why all the Northern lords and ladies were chatting happily amongst themselves as they waited for their fellow Northerner to arrive. That being said however, the overall number of visiting Northern nobles were significantly lower this year than in the past. It didn't surprise Torrhen and Lyaella all that much though, not when they overheard some Stark bannermen talking the other day about how many of the lords and ladies refused to give the queen any of their precious stock from their grain stores for the yearly feast after the memorial service tonight. Not when they and the smallfolk were currently starving from the famine in their country.

Despite how the children tried to keep their arrival on the down low, people always seemed to have a sixth sense whenever they were nearby, and all at once everyone in their nearby vicinity was immediately glaring at them. Torrhen glared back, but Lyaella cringed.

"Look everyone," an unknown voice in the crowd called out. "The Snow's are here."

Torrhen's hands balled into fists, and Lyaella averted her eyes.

"You two have a lot of nerve showing up late!" sneered a second voice. Whoever it was, it sounded like a woman. "The bastards of the Mad Queen and Queenslayer should be humbled just to live in this castle thanks to our queen's generosity! You should've been the first one's here!"

Lyaella squeezed Torrhen's hand, silently begging him to stay quiet. It took all the willpower Torrhen had to say nothing.

"Bastards belong in the back," a grumpy-face lord growled, thumbing over his shoulder at the back-most row. "Get back there and stay quiet!"

Growling, Torrhen stormed to the back of the crowd, eyes focused straight ahead of him to keep from actively glaring at anyone in particular. Lyaella had to hurry to keep up with him, keeping her head bent so no one could see her lower lip trembling.

Fumbling to the very end of the back row, Torrhen glanced around to see if anyone was still actively glaring at them. Seeing no one still throwing them dirty looks, Torrhen seized Lyaella's hand and began carefully edging backwards.

Lyaella threw him a quizzical look. "Tory-?"

"Shh! Keep your mouth shut and casually look over your shoulder!"

Lyaella blinked, confused, but did as he said. Her eyes immediately widened in delight. Torrhen had chosen the best place in the entire back row for them to stand: the entrance to the kennels. She smiled brightly, muffling a small giggle behind her hand as she glanced back at her brother. "You're the smart one now."

Torrhen smirked. "Just keep creeping back slowly. If we're lucky, we'll can sneak inside and wait out the welcome with-"

A bounding blur of black darted out from the kennels, pouncing at once onto Torrhen. The boy shrieked, fumbling to the ground. But instead of instead of being afraid, he laughed with joy.

"Shadow!" Torrhen cheered, the black direwolf's tail whipping swiftly back and forth as he peppered his boys' face with endless licks. "Ugh! Shadow, stop! That tickles!"

Lyaella giggled, quickly diverting the friendly wolf's attention to her. She eagerly cuddled and ran her hands through their dear friends' black fur. "Shadow, how'd you escape your cage? You should have come find us first, or helped Sōnar get out."

Shadow responded by climbing off Torrhen to press himself lovingly into Lyaella's side, nuzzling her whole body with his as he licked her hands. Shadow was only half grown even for a direwolf, reaching only the height of the twins chests, but he still was as fearsome as any other wolf that one might come across. With thick matted fur as dark as a real shadow and eyes as red as rubies, a single growl from the beast while flashing his snow white fangs was more than enough to scare anyone who dared to anger him. But not Torrhen and Lyaella. No, to the bastard twins, he was their more than simply their pet. He was their friend, packmate, and brother. The only connection they had to their long gone father with the detested Stark family that they didn't mind having such a connection to. But he was mostly Torrhen's companion. Shadow would protect either child with his life, but between the twins, Torrhen was the one he loved more.

Between hurrying from their tower bedroom by the servant's demand and now getting slightly overexcited by seeing Shadow out here in the cold Northern climate, Lyaella could feel herself breathing heavily. There was no cause for alarm yet considering she knew what heavy breathing sometimes led to regarding her personal health, but still there was slight difficulty for her to catch her breath. With one final pat to Shadow's head, Lyaella straightened up, offering Torrhen a hand to help him up to his feet. "What are you trying to say, Shadow? Are you telling us Sōnar's lonely and wants love too?"

A low whine escaped the small direwolf's throat. He butted his head against her legs and did the same towards Torrhen, and then snapped his head around to stare directly at the entrance to the kennels.

Torrhen ran his fingers through Shadow's fur. "Good boy, Shadow. Always tell us if Sōnar's lonely or desperate for freedom."

The twins started towards the kennels, but a sharp voice cut through the air, stopping them before they could take more than two steps.

"Torrhen, Lyaella."

The children froze. Exchanging mild looks ranging from an irritated scowl from Torrhen and a tired sigh from Lyaella, they turned around.

Approaching them was a tall woman with fiery red hair and icy gray eyes. Her features were sharp, signifying to all that she was not someone to be trifled with and would meet fire thrown her way with all the iciness that the North was known for. Her gray dress was such an ugly color, but with intricate embroidery around her bust to make it almost resemble armor and red weirwood leaves hand-stitched into the hem of her skirts, it would almost make her look quite beautiful, if not for the severe frown on her face coupled with furrowed brows.

She would be no different than any other woman Torrhen and Lyaella knew who was always snapping at them, but between the handcrafted silver direwolf crown on top her head and the gray direwolf cloak draped over her shoulders, it made all the difference in the world.

Biting their tongues, the twins both nodded respectfully. "Your grace," they said together.

The Queen of the North, Sansa Stark, was silent for several moments, looking them both over with a seemingly emotionless mask to all watching. But it wasn't emotionless, at least not to the twins. Torrhen and Lyaella knew all the masks the Queen wore when she was in public. This was her mask for whenever she was displeased.

"You're late. Both of you," she finally said. "And you're not wearing your direwolf cloaks. Why?"

Torrhen focused his gaze solely on the two screaming direwolves that made up her crown. Focusing on that was the only way he could stand speaking to her without losing his temper. "We took a while leaving our room."

The queen's nostrils flared, but Torrhen said nothing further. One more word and he wouldn't be able to stop his lips from curling into a smirk. Lyaella had to pretend to scratch her nose to hide the smile she felt rising on her own face. It was a half-truth, after all.

"And your cloaks?"

"We didn't want to wear them."

Queen Sansa's lips pressed together in a thin line, her red hair looking like true fire in the wintry breeze to match her concealed rage.

"W-We're sorry if we offended y-you, Queen Sansa," Lyaella said respectfully. "We'll… We'll stay out of t-trouble during the official welcome towards K-King Bran."

There was a momentary pause, but then the queen's minimal displeasure finally melted away, and she nodded in approval.

"Good. I expect you two to be on your best behavior today. Now, follow me."

She turned sharply on her heel, and began marching back to the front of the assembled crowd. The twins blinked and didn't move. Sensing that they weren't following her, Sansa abruptly spun back around.

"Torrhen, Lyaella," she said again, slightly sharper this time. "I told you to follow me. Now."

Torrhen blew hot air. Folding his arms sullenly across his chest, he started off towards the queen, Shadow trailing protectively at his heels. Lyaella followed quietly, but walked at a slightly slower pace. Her chest felt tight and she knew every breath had to be measured carefully if she was to make it through whatever it was the queen wanted to do to them as punishment for being deliberately late.

Upon reaching her prior spot at the head of the assembled lords and ladies, Sansa waited until the children were before her along with the small direwolf. Seeing the wolf, she pursed her lips slightly and briefly shut her eyes.

"Why did you let Shadow out of his cage? I instructed you two to keep him locked up over the next few days. Did you let Sōnar out too?"

"N-No, Queen Sansa."

"He came out of the kennels on his own."

"I see, well return him to his cage now before-"

"Your grace! King Bran's party has entered Winter Town!"

Queen Sansa closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and then nodded to the Stark bannerman who had relayed the message. "Thank you, Rodrick. Please, return Shadow to his pen immediately."

"As you wish, your grace."

"Your grace-!"

"Queen Sansa-!"

"We will not have animals running aground when King Bran comes into this courtyard. That is my decision, and my decision is final."

Torrhen fumed, his temper steadily rising as the Stark guard forcibly signaled his beloved direwolf to follow him back to the kennels. Even Lyaella couldn't help but scowl at this. Turning back to the queen, it took all of Lyaella's strength to not raise her voice beyond its usual meek tone.

"We apologize if… if w-we upset you, your grace. T-Torrhen and I will go back t-to our spots now."

They turned to go, but the queens' hands planted themselves firmly on each of their shoulders.

"I never said either of you were to go. You're to both stand right here beside me as our guests arrive, Torrhen, Lyaella."

The twins' anger melted away, befuddlement overtaking them just as it had to everyone else gathered in the crowd.

"What?"

"W-Why?"

Lips curled upward, forming a smile that appeared to be a mix between formally polite, but also a subtle smirk. "I am the queen. Do not question my decisions."

While a few of the stuffier lords and snobbish of ladies made a few more distasteful murmurs, the rest of the crowd held their tongues for the time being. But for Torrhen and Lyaella, they inched closer to one another as they were forced to hold their ground beside the queen they detested.

"Is this… punishment for being late?" Lyaella whispered.

Torrhen shrugged. "Wouldn't be surprised if it was…"

Moments later, two mounted riders rode into the Winterfell courtyard from the main gate atop ebony black horse, both of them dressed in shiny gold armor bearing the emblem of a lone bird in mid-flight. The first was a woman with short, flax-colored hair and unusually taller than other women, but the other was a young man several years younger. Regardless, they both appeared to be seasoned warriors, and although they nodded and smiled politely to the Queen of the North, their main focus was on anticipating any possible threats that could be present amongst those in attendance.

The Ravensguard knights. The Lady Commander Ser Brienne of Tarth, and fellow Ravensguard knight Ser Podrick Payne.

Following them into the courtyard was a lone wheelhouse, drawn by two more black horses, and several other loyal Ravensguard knights followed behind it as well as protected a second smaller carriage. No one in attendance paid close attention to the second carriage, as it most likely housed only a few occupants that weren't knights or otherwise good with long-distance travel on horseback. It was the arrival of the first carriage that was the most important.

Without a word, Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick dismounted their horses and approached the grand wheelhouse. Opening the carriage door, they both vanished inside. Several moments passed in relative silence, but then they both reappeared. Ser Podrick came out first, carrying with him a rather large ramp made entirely out wood and with many intricate birds carved beautifully into its sides. Holding the ramp steady, he placed it at the main step leading out from the carriage and onto solid ground and kept firm hold on it so it wouldn't budge. Once done, Ser Brienne made her own reappearance, but unlike Podrick, she was not alone. She was pushing the hand holds on the back of a wheeled chair down the ramp, and in the chair sat a young man. King Bran.

Torrhen leaned in close to his sister. "What type of king needs to be helped out of a carriage?" he whispered jokingly. A distinct cough escaped Lyaella's lips which she tried to hide behind her hand. To Torrhen and those nearby who had heard his comment, it was apparent she was muffling a giggle.

"Torrhen, Lyaella," Sansa hissed, fighting to keep her tone low. "Remember your manners."

The twins piped down, but they weren't at all happy about it as Ser Brienne pushed the crippled king towards the Northern queen. Torrhen sulked, lower lip puffed out as he eyed King Bran with open disdain, but Lyaella was standing very rigidly, keeping her fists balled up tightly.

King Bran was a mysterious fellow. Like Sansa, he was a Stark, so he too wore a heavy winter cloak with direwolf fur around the collar to proudly display his noble house as well as for warmth, but unlike his sister who wore only gray as it was the house colors, he was dressed solely in black. His cloak was black, his breeches, formal tunic, gloves, his boots, and even his crown. A crown with the main symbol in the front being that of a three-eyed raven cawing and spreading out its wings. It was eerie, all the black, but not nearly as eerie as his physical features. Auburn bowl cut hair, thin lips, overly long nose, crippled from the waist down hence his need for the wheelchair… Aside from being crippled, he still could have come across as relatively ordinary… if not for his expression and eyes. As the younger brother to the Queen of the North, King Bran's eyes were also Stark gray, but there was no form of life anywhere in his gaze. They could see, but they didn't actually look at someone, but rather through them. His entire expression was completely monotone. The king was alive, but with a face that only on rare occasions ever showed any sort of emotion, he was no different than a lifeless doll that could speak.

Ser Brienne wheeled him directly in front of the queen. There was a brief pause as the two monarchs stared at each other.

"King Bran," said the queen with a polite smile and respectful head bow.

"Queen Sansa," said the king with a monotone voice and two blinks.

A second brief pause, but then a genuine smile appeared on Queen Sansa's lips, bending over a bit to give her brother an affectionate hug.

"Welcome home, Bran. Winterfell is yours, your grace."

"Thank you. It's been a long journey."

It was only on rare occasions that the Queen of the North would ever show this amount of genuine emotion of something other than annoyance while in public. And every year, it would always knock Torrhen and Lyaella for a loop when it happened.

"I've already had the servants get your old room prepared. I'll escort you there myself to freshen up at once," said the queen. There was a pause, seeming to consider herself, and she solemnly spoke again. "Unless of course you wish to visit the crypts, first?"

King Bran stared at her for a long moment, and then slowly shook his head. "No. That is unnecessary. I would like to go to the godswood."

"So soon? You only just arrived."

"I am the Three-Eyed Raven. I need to see. I will visit the crypts with you and Arya after. Go greet her."

Sansa wasn't the only person there to blink in surprise at that last sentence. "Arya hasn't arrived yet, Bran. You arrived first."

"No, she is here," Bran insisted, his monotone voice still not revealing any form of emotion. "She arrived hours ago. She is watching us now."

The queen stared at him for a few moments, but then spun around to search the faces in the gathered crowd. "Arya! Where are you? You didn't come to greet us the moment you arrived? Come out! Arya!"

Speculative murmurs and questionable chattering spread through the crowd, everyone immediately looking around restlessly for any sign of Arya Stark, but for Torrhen and Lyaella Snow, they were focused solely on themselves and on the two Stark's standing before them.

"Typical," Torrhen muttered, rolling his eyes. "Lady Arya making a big show out of being 'no one' in a huge crowd."

"Mm-hmm," Lyaella said vaguely, really only half listening. Her hand was on her chest, and her expression had become rather fixed and tight.

"Why do you suppose she acts like that, anyway? Do you think she enjoys being alone all the time?"

"I… I don't know…" Lyaella mumbled. It was taking all her willpower just to continue speaking, what with how harshly her one hand was pressing into her chest.

Torrhen didn't notice though, as he was too busy glancing around at all the faces in the crowd. "We should ask her that when we see her. Ask if she enjoys being-"

A small, barely audible cough cut him off.

Torrhen's head snapped at once to Lyaella, only now seeing how rigid and pained her expression had become and how her hand was literally clawing at her chest.

"Lya?"

"I… I'm fine, Tory. It's nothing."

Torrhen didn't listen. He just stared at her, expression unreadable. Sparing a quick look at the Northern queen and crippled king to confirm they hadn't noticed her cough yet, he casually stepped in front of her to shield her from their views.

Lyaella tugged on the back of his cloak to get his attention. "Tory," she whispered, sounding rather tired and breathless. "I… I told you, it's-"

"It's not nothing, Lya! It's your 'bad' cough!" he whispered harshly. "Do you want them to see you and send you back to Marlon?!"

"It… It literally just s-started. It's only a… tickle in m-my throat right now, s-so I'm fine, really! I… I don't need Maester M-Marlon…!"

"Maester Marlon is a healer, Lyaella. It's incredibly foolish of you to hide your cough when he can help you."

Torrhen, Lyaella, and just about everyone else in the crowd aside from King Bran jumped. Because the words that were spoken were not said in a hushed whisper by young Torrhen Snow, but in a clear, strong voice of a young woman.

The twins quickly turned. Standing behind them was none other than the final Stark sibling that had returned to Winterfell for the yearly memorial for the Long Night war: Lady Arya Stark.

Unlike the Queen of the North and the King of the Six Kings, Lady Arya wore no crown or fine dress to display her wealth and status as the sister to two monarchs. She preferred to wear breeches and tunics like any young man, and instead of a heavy cloak with direwolf fur trimming weighing around the collar, she wore a cloak that allowed her free movement with her arms so she could reach either the dagger or thin sword attached at her hip at a moment's notice if need be. If it weren't for the fact that the said cloak had slight hints of wolf fur stitched into it sporadically throughout the design, one wouldn't assume she was a Stark at first glance at all, what with her dark brown hair compared to Queen Sansa's and King Bran's auburn locks. She had the characteristic gray eyes, but that was it. She held no other family resemblance to either of her siblings. It was said that back when the whole Stark family was still alive, Lady Arya was said to be the only true-born Stark to have inherited the classic Stark features like the late Eddard Stark while her other true-born siblings took after their mother Catelyn's features of House Tully in the Riverlands with their flaming red hair.

Out of all the Stark children who looked up to the late Eddard 'Ned' Stark as their father, there was only one child who had inherited the Northern features of the Stark's of old. And he hadn't even been a real Stark.

"Arya," said the queen, quickly regaining her regal composure. "You're here."

Lady Arya smirked. Giving the twins quick pats on the shoulders, she sidestepped around them momentarily to give her elder sister a quick hug. "Of course. How could I miss it? It's a very important day, I'll have you know."

"Indeed. We cannot have a good remembrance ceremony for all those who died without the Hero of Winterfell here for the memorial service."

A great many cheers rose up from the crowd, the Northern lords and ladies eagerly clapping and calling out their delight upon seeing their hero.

"Lady Arya!"

"Hero of Winterfell!"

"The Wild Wolf!"

Despite how the younger Stark daughter followed none of the social norms appropriate for women of noble birth, the lords and ladies of the North held a great deal of respect for the free-spirited Arya Stark. Adventures and wild to the core, she was the one who saved them all at the end of the Long Night during the final battle at Winterfell. But more importantly, she had done so by being the one to kill the haunting Night King when he was about to kill Bran. Trained in Bravossi Water Dancing swordplay style, she was deadly with her sword Needle and even gone to Braavos for a short time in her youth to train as an assassin with the Faceless Men. She alone was the sole Stark who had sought justice by Stark hands for all the atrocities committed against House Stark by those who had harmed the family during the terrible War of the Five Kings so many years before the Long Night began. Atrocities which led to the deaths of her father Ned Stark, her mother Catelyn Stark, her eldest brother and the family heir Robb Stark who'd been crowned as the first King in the North in thousands of years following how the North decided to break ties with the rest of Westeros after Ned Stark had been imprisoned and later executed under false charges of treason, and even indirectly led to the death of the youngest child Rickon Stark, her youngest brother. Training with the Faceless Men allowed her to gain the skills she needed to avenge their deaths, as the infamous words of House Stark say, she made sure Winter Came for those who had harmed the Stark clan.

So even if she didn't wear a crown, Arya Stark still commanded respect. After the Long Night was over and her siblings had been chosen as King of the Six Kingdoms and Queen of the North, it was said that she chose to set sail west of Westeros to see what lay beyond the known world. She was an explorer to the core, and was officially considered to be the only known person in all of Westeros to have ever returned from the journey across the Western seas.

All lovely accomplishments and it was clear why the Northerners adored her, but for the bastards Torrhen and Lyaella Snow, there was nothing worth cheering about when it came to Arya Stark. She was as rotten, cruel, and downright evil on the inside as Queen Sansa and King Bran. Even now, when Lyaella was struggling to hide her coughs and Torrhen was trying to discretely hide her behind him so Queen Sansa and King Bran wouldn't see, they could not find it in their hearts to let go of their hatred towards House Stark. They stared at the only surviving true-born Stark's without a single shred of love or compassion in their hearts.

Because House Stark held no honor. House Stark was a house made up of power-hungry liars, manipulators, and murderers. Kinslayers.

Arya frowned at Queen Sansa's words. "The memorial service is important, but I'm not talking about that. Today's important because it's Torrhen and Lyaella's nameday."

Without waiting for any sort of reply, she spun around and gathered the twins in her arms, hugging them tightly.

"Happy nameday, little wolves! How are you? Have you missed your favorite aunt?"

The twins made no attempt to reciprocate the hug, but instead did their best to squirm their ways out of it. It would have been considered highly insulting by those watching, but upon hearing Lyaella go into an extreme coughing fit and then witnessing Torrhen trying to break free of Arya's arms so as to pull Lyaella away from her, realization spread throughout the crowd.

"Lyaella," Sansa exclaimed, slight surprise in her voice. "Are you all right?"

It took all of Lyaella's self control to swallow her body's instinct to cough again and forcibly nod. "Y-Yes, your grace… It w-was only a few coughs. I'm… I'm f-fine."

"No, you're not. I've been watching you two since you first came outside. You're feeling tight chested right now," Arya insisted. "You shouldn't hide your symptoms. Maester Marlon is here for a reason: to look after the sick and injured. If you're feeling sick, you go to him."

"But-"

"No 'buts' Lyaella," Queen Sansa interrupted. "Formerly greet King Bran and Lady Arya then report straight to Maester Marlon. And Torrhen? You greet them, too."

Lyaella frowned. She hated her weak lungs, occasionally causing her coughing fits and chest tightness before she became unusually short of breath even when she hadn't been playing or exercising. Why was she the only one in Winterfell to have this problem? Their Stark uncle and aunts didn't suffer from this, Torrhen certainly didn't, and despite how most people didn't like talking about their parents unless to say terrible things about them, everyone agreed that they didn't have weak lungs like her either. So why did she have this bizarre health condition?

Not wanting to draw any more attention to herself though, Lyaella swallowed hard and then dipped down into a respectful curtsy. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her brother do the same, bending over in a forced bow.

"Welcome… Welcome to Winterfell, y-your grace, Lady Stark…"

"Been awhile since we saw you last."

Arya grinned, but Bran's lips curled up into a satisfied smirk.

"Missed you two since I left."

"Indeed it has. You've both grown since I last saw you in person."

Torrhen and Lyaella said nothing in reply. They had done as the queen had requested and been adequately polite. There was no need for any further pleasantries on their end.

"I'll escort you to your old chambers myself. Torrhen? Take Lyaella to Maester Marlon straight away."

With a sullen nod, Torrhen wordlessly took Lyaella's hand and dragged her past all the onlookers to the direction of the maester's workroom, neither bothering to say or wave goodbye to their aunts or uncle as they left. Lyaella felt her cheeks grow warm as she chanced a peek at all the people glaring daggers at them. Too shy to maintain her gaze with any of them, she bent her head and stared only at her feet as they hurried away.

"Why…? Why does Queen Sansa enjoy tormenting us like this?" she quietly murmured. "Making us go up front with her… forcing us to formally g-greet our uncle and… and other aunt, humiliating m-me right now because of my lungs… Why does s-she do this?"

Glancing around quickly to ensure that no one in the crowd was following them, Torrhen leaned in close. "Because she's a bitch, Lyaella. We've always known that. All hail our aunt, the Bitch of the North. Long may she reign."

Feeling another cough coming on, Lyaella gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. Hardly anyone in Westeros saw things the way they did regarding their relatives because the Stark's were so good at putting on false airs to make people like and support them. But the two of them knew the truth: the Stark's were terrible people. They would lie, manipulate, and kill anyone who stood in their way of having power. Including their own brother and the woman he loved. Kinslayers.

There was nothing honorable about them.

"I… I don't want it."

"And I don't want to be stuck here in the North, girl. So we're even."

"B-But it's… it's disgusting."

"It works. Be grateful it does."

"It b-barely works… Isn't there anything else?"

"You'll drink what I give you, Lady Snow. That's my final word."

"You don't have to act like such an ass about it, you know."

"Speak to me like that again, Torrhen Snow, and the queen will hear about your attitude."

Seated on a small wooden chair by an open window, Lyaella was literally forcing herself to take as many slow, deep breaths as she possibly could. Seeing Torrhen glower darkly at the cranky old maester would ordinarily make her sigh, but right now, all her thoughts were focused solely on taking one deep breath after another. It was probably for the best that Queen Sansa had directed her to see Maester Marlon straight away considering her light coughing had slowly turned into feeling like she couldn't get enough air into her lungs no matter how much she tried while on the way to his workroom. It was good to have someone with medical experience around whenever she had a breathing flare up, but why did Maester Marlon have to be the only maester in Winterfell? He was always such a grouch and was twice as cranky when dealing with them compared to everyone else. She and Torrhen loathed it whenever they were forced to see him. And unfortunately, they were forced to spend more time in his company than they preferred due to her stupid weak lungs. Ever since she woke up in bed one night a few years ago and struggled to wake up Torrhen to get help considering she was so breathless and weak she could barely say anything, she spent so much time in Marlon's workroom it was incredible that the queen didn't just have the servants move her bed in here.

Plus, there was also Torrhen's problems which they both knew wasn't natural. Not that anyone believed them about it whenever they did happen, though.

Feeling her lungs preparing to take another deep breath, Lyaella struggled to ignore the reflex and instead force her lips to curl up in a strained smile.

"R-Really, Maester… Maester Marlon, I'm f-feeling a bit better now. I don't… I don't n-need any treatment."

It was a half-truth. She was still quite breathless and certainly not well, but she did feel somewhat better sitting down and resting than she did standing outside and waiting for King Bran and Lady Arya. Saying she felt better therefore wasn't a lie, and saying as such was the only way she'd could leave without drinking the nauseating concoction he always forced her to take.

Sifting through a cupboard, Marlon plucked out a clear flask of thick red liquid before hurrying to a small side table in the corner to collect a pottery jug. Taking them both to his main worktable, he threw the silver-haired child a frustrated scowl.

"I do as the queen commands, Lady Snow. She commanded me to treat you, and that's what I'm doing," he growled.

Not waiting for a reply, he poured the liquid from the pottery jug into a large mug, then added in the thick red liquid from the flask. Seizing a wooden spoon, he mixed the two liquids together for a short time, then crossed the room to offer Lyaella the cup.

Knowing full well what it was he was serving her, the very scent of the drink was enough to make Lyaella's stomach roll. Wrinkling her nose, she gazed pleadingly up at Marlon.

"Isn't… Isn't t-there anything else that… that would help?"

Marlon gritted his teeth, thrusting the mug into her hands. "Drink it yourself, or I'll tie you down and thrust the tube down your throat like when you were small! Don't think for a second I won't!

Immediately, Torrhen was dashing across the room from where he'd been leaning against the wall near the door. Quick as a flash, he planted himself firmly between Lyaella and the cranky maester.

"You'll have to get through me if you try sticking that thing down her throat again!" he warned.

Finally losing his patience, Marlon smacked Torrhen so hard he toppled to the ground.

"Torrhen!" Lyaella cried. She tried to hop off her chair to help him back up, but Marlon's hand shot forward, shoving her firmly back in her seat.

"You stay in that chair until you've drunk every last drop!" he growled. Not waiting for her to respond, he bent down, grabbed Torrhen by the fabric of his navy blue tunic, and dragged him back to his feet. He pulled Torrhen in close until the boys' nose was only inches away from his own "I'm warning you, boy," he hissed, "You watch your mouth! You two are nothing more than filthy dragonspawn bastards! Considering what a monster your mother was and the damn fool your father was for trusting her, you should count your blessings you're both even still alive. You only live here because of the queen's mercy, so show some respect!"

Torrhen glared hatefully at Marlon for several moments before huffing and looking stubbornly off to the side. Lyaella felt a certain tension she hadn't even been aware of easing off her shoulders. Torrhen might have a short temper, but thank goodness he had the sense not to pick a fight every time he felt his anger rising.

With him quiet, Maester Marlon turned back to Lyaella. "What? Are you deaf, girl? I told you to drink it!"

Lyaella's glanced back down at her mug. She cringed away from it for a moment, still thoroughly disgusted, and then hesitantly brought it to her lips. Within seconds she was gagging.

"Don't you dare spit that out!" Marlon warned. "You spit it out, you'll get the tube down your throat!"

Lyaella groaned, knowing full well that wasn't an idle threat. Thick tears pooling in her eyes, she struggled to swallow her small mouthful. Her stomach churned, small noises erupting from it so loudly that even Torrhen cringed. Whimpering from only that tiny sip, Lyaella squeezed her eyes shut as tears flowed down her cheeks and forced herself to drink more. After several years of being forced to drink owl's blood mixed with watered down Dornish Red wine to help her weak lungs, she really should have grown to become accustomed to the remedy, but no. Every time she was forced to take the disgusting blend, her stomach would immediately disagree with it. The one time she ever dared to give into her bodys' instincts and throw up, Marlon slapped her so hard she was too weak to resist as he called in guards to restrain her so he could force the tube down her throat.

It seemed to take ages, but finally she emptied the cup. Marlon nodded in approval.

"Good. You should start feeling better quite soon," he said gruffly, moving to put the wine jug and the flask of owl's blood away. "In the meantime, it's best to spend some time outdoors. Fresh air'll clear out those lungs far more than staying cooped up indoors in this stuffy castle. Off you go."

"O-Okay, thank you…" she murmured.

Hopping off her chair, she hurried over to the door where her brother was waiting. The sooner they left Marlon, the better. Pulling it open, she jerked her head for him to follow her.

But Torrhen didn't move. He just stared at the wall.

"C'mon, T-Tory. Let's go."

He still didn't move.

Lyaella swallowed a sigh, not wanting to upset the steady rhythm her lungs needed to catch her breath. Marlon's disgusting drink took quite some time to kick in, and even when it did, it was very rare if it ever fully calmed down her breathing problems. Why she had to drink that blend when it didn't really help her all that much was beyond her. But fast exits from Marlon's workroom were necessary. It was the only way to avoid being stuck in here with Marlon and being forced to drink his medicine again if they didn't help the first time.

"T-Torrhen please," she whispered. "It's… It's n-not worth it. L-Let's just—"

Rather abruptly, Torrhen jolted back to attention. "Lya-!" he started, sounding rather worried. But he cut himself off, blinking in confusion at the empty chair Lyaella had been in before.

Realization dawned on Lyaella, but just to be certain, she gently nudged his shoulder. He whipped around, eyes wide and face frantic. Calming slightly when seeing it was her, he still looked rather confused and unsure. That was all the confirmation she needed.

His fire flickered out again.

"You two gonna stand there all day?!" Marlon snapped, making them jump. "Don't bother me if you're not sick! Get out!"

They didn't need to be told twice. They hurried out the door before he could yell at them again.

Torrhen waited until they were halfway down the corridor and the door to Marlon's workroom had fully closed behind them before daring to speak. "I don't know how you do it, Lya. If it were me drinking that stuff, I'd throw up every time."

It was a casual statement, but it was also too casual. It was him pretending everything was fine.

Lyaella did her best not to frown. Past experience had taught her how to tread around her brother whenever his fire flickered out. It was best to tread lightly. At least at first. If he still pretended nothing happened though, then it was necessary to be demanding. "I almost d-did this time. I could… taste it on my t-tongue… But it's either drink that s-stuff or get the tube. Anything's b-better than the tube."

"Yeah, can't deny that."

"And it's b-better to… to not talk about your flame flickering?"

"What flame flicker?"

"Tory, please—"

"I had a moment of weakness. So what?"

"Don't—"

"I just got lost in thought, Lya. No big deal."

"Stop."

Torrhen jerked to a halt, gawking at her. It wasn't always easy for Lyaella to find her inner strength, but whenever she did, she was truly a forced to be reckoned with. Arms folded across her chest, she fixed him with a piercing glare. One that Torrhen had seen her give him many times during the rare instances she truly got angry, and he matched it easily.

"Come on, Lyaella. I'm not—"

"Stop. Talking." Her words were sharp and precise, a far cry from her usual quiet murmurs and occasional stutters. "One, you're lying to me. You know what the rules are about lying. And two, your flame did flicker out. Don't pretend it didn't."

There was a long pause, but finally Torrhen sighed in defeat. Letting his eyes wander, he kicked away a wrinkle in a long rug spread out across the stone floor. Such a fine thing, the rug. Very decorative and ornamental. Every bit of furniture in Winterfell castle was of the finest quality, very expensive and fitting for stuck up royalty that the Stark's were. From the hand-stitched tapestries lining the stone corridors to the finely crafted silver candelabras on every end table.

"Fine, I lied. Sorry 'bout that, you're right. Truth or Half-Truth always applies. But… But what do you want me to say about the flames?"

"The truth, Torrhen. You know the rules."

"The rules let us tell half-truths, Lyaella! Well, that's a half-truth! I don't even know what to say!"

"Third time in two days. It's getting worse."

"You think I don't know that?"

"I hate our relatives just as much as you do, but… but maybe we should—"

"No."

"Torrhen—"

"No! You know what happened last time! I'm not letting everyone start calling us 'mad' again!"

Lyaella paused, seeing his point. Torrhen was right about that, at least. The last time they tried explaining to their aunts about his 'fire flickering out' episodes had been during a rare occasion when Lady Arya had returned to Winterfell for a few days aside from the yearly memorial service for the Long Night. Lady Arya hadn't understood the situation, but it was entirely clear that Queen Sansa hadn't believed them. Especially not when Maester Marlon had waved off his odd moments as him simply getting lost in thought and being a vivid daydreamer.

But Torrhen and Lyaella both knew it wasn't him daydreaming during these weird moments. It was something else entirely.

Still, it was their word against the words of the uncaring Stark's and cranky maester. Rumors had spread rapidly throughout the castle that the twins were both spacey and stupid, even though the problem only pertained to Torrhen and not Lyaella. People even began speculating that would both go 'mad.' Just like their mother.

From then on, the twins learned to keep their mouths shut whenever Torrhen's fire flickered out. No one genuinely cared about them, after all. No one but each other.

That being said, the little episodes had always happened randomly in the past. And it was rare that many would happen during consecutive days.

"I'm just worried, Torrhen. I'm allowed to worry about this," she said finally.

Seeing her glare soften, Torrhen smiled. "I'll be fine, sis, really. I always bounce back."

"But what if it's worse next time? What if you stay out of it longer? Or… Or you don't bounce back at all…?" She trailed off. Torrhen scoffed, still adamantly denying the situation. His dismissive attitude didn't reassure Lyaella, and she glanced sadly out a nearby window without even truly seeing what was outside. "Part of me's scared that… that whatever's happening is a sign."

"Sign?"

"That we're supposed to end up like mother and father. Dead."

For the first time since leaving Marlon's office, Torrhen looked genuinely alarmed. "Why in seven hells would you think that?!"

Lyaella turned away from him, focusing all her attention on staring out the window. If she concentrated hard enough, she could make out the various expressions on the Stark guards preparing for the candlelight ceremony later tonight. Concentrating on them rather than her own feelings was the only way she could endure voicing this secret fear.

"I'm sick, Torrhen. You're sick."

"I'm not—"

"Deny it and you're lying again. You're sick, Torrhen. No one else believes it, but it's true. We're both sick."

Torrhen scuffed his heels against the floor, considering her words. "So what if we are? That doesn't mean we're gonna die. And it doesn't mean we're gonna go mad," he told her firmly. "We promised each other years ago, remember? We would never believe the shit they say about Mother."

"I remember."

"And what about Father? They call him a fool, but he wasn't mad."

"I'm not talking about Targaryen madness, Torrhen. I'm talking about real sickness."

"That doesn't matter. There's no stories about either of them being sick."

"Not them… but what about the rest of House Targaryen?"

Torrhen blinked. "What?"

She pressed her palm to the against the window, feeling the cold, frosted glass chill her fingers. "Everyone only sees us as the Targaryen bastards of the Mad Queen, the Queenslayer—"

"Don't call them that."

"—and they think we're either gonna go mad like Mother did, or be foolish like Father was. They already consider our existence a greater shame on House Stark than Father had been on the late Ned Stark. They're all waiting for the day to come when we turn out to be just as mad or foolish as our parents. They'll be rid of us for good. Northerners only remember the madness part of House Targaryen being about insanity or cruelty, like the stories they tell about Mother. Or her father, the Mad King… Years and years of incest in House Targaryen… It makes everyone only remember that part of Targaryen madness. No one ever remembers some of them weren't mad, but sick."

Running her hand across the glass in a fast circle, she cleared away some condensation.

"So many Targaryen's were fine mentally, but they died anyway because of their health problems… Queen Rhaella, Mother's mother? She only had three children that lived. Can't remember how many times she miscarried, but two babies I know died when they were born…"

"And three more so sickly they died in less than a year…" Torrhen trailed off.

"We're sick, Torrhen. Maybe not to the same extent that other Targaryen's were, but we're sick. Don't tell me I'm being stupid for being scared about this. You're the only one I can talk to about it."

Torrhen was silent for a short time as he processed it all, and Lyaella was exceedingly grateful. She needed him to take this seriously.

"You're not being stupid," he said finally. "I see what you're saying. But we don't need to worry about it now. We're not that sick. We're not gonna die anytime soon."

"What if we do, though? What if one of us wakes up tomorrow only to discover that one of us is gone forever?"

"That'll never happen. You wanna know why? Because if we ever lost each other, you know what I'd do?"

"What?"

"I'd find you again! Me and Shadow together, I swear it! I'd cross oceans just to find you! I'd slay a thousand warriors if they stood in my way! Nothing could stop me from finding my little sister!"

His words definitely cheered Lyaella up. She giggled lightly. "You're barely older than me."

"But I'm still older," he teased. "I'd find you again Lyaella, no matter what! I promise! No, I pinky promise!"

He stuck out his hand, pinky extended to make the vow.

Giggling some more, Lyaella pulled her hand away from the window, pinky wrapping around his.

"Thanks, big brother. And… And I promise the same! If we ever lost each other, me and Sōnar would do everything we could to find you and Shadow. I'd… I'd search everywhere beyond the Wall… Even stand up to Queen Sansa if it meant finding you!"

"You? Going toe-to-toe with the Bitch of the North?" Torrhen doubled over, clutching his stomach as he cracked up. "Oh, oh wow! I'd love to see that!"

"Ha, ha. Very funny. So's the idea of you and Shadow crossing the Narrow Sea."

"Hey, it could happen! You never know what the future holds!"

Shrugging her shoulders dismissively, Lyaella let the comment slide. He was right, after all. While Northerners always claim that remembering the past was important, the future was something they always wished for to be better, yet was still impossible to predict. It was ever-changing and never set in stone.

"We've got a few hours before dusk and the memorial service starts. Wanna go riding?" she asked.

Torrhen grinned. "Sure, but what about Shadow and Sōnar? I thought for sure you'd rather spend the day with them with our instruments."

"Let's play our instruments tonight, when the feast is going on," Lyaella told him. "We'll need to make lots and lots of music then to drown out the feasting. But we can bring Shadow and Sōnar with us now. Shadow misses us, and it's not right that Sōnar has to be locked up now that she's getting bigger. She's miserable in that cage!"

"No kidding, Shadow's the same. He's restless in the kennel. He wants his freedom!"

Laughing merrily, they set off towards the kennels. They and their only friends might be stuck in here Winterfell, but as long as they stuck together they could bear the hurtful words and hated stares they got from everyone. And indeed, as they crossed the courtyard a second time, they felt dozens of eyes narrowing upon them the moment they appeared, but unlike earlier, the twins found it somewhat easier to ignore them. They'd be able to escape all the judgment for a few hours before the memorial service begins just as soon as they fetched their friends and saddled up some horses. There was hope for the future that they could endure this yearly abuse that the memorial service always brought.

It was almost always a terrible nameday for the two of them, but not this year. No, this year would be a better. One day they could look back on today and be able to remember how they were able to make the best of the terrible situation that their nameday always brought considering it always fell on the same day that the memorial service for the Long Night was scheduled.

Entering the kennels, Torrhen got down on his hands and knees and began searching the crease between the ground and the stone walls. It took him a minute, but then he found what he was looking for: a small hole in the wall at the crease due to the stone cracking over time. Lyaella smiled as Torrhen fished around inside.

"C'mon… Where is it? Where is it…? Ah-ha! Found it!"

"Shh! Not so loud! D'you want the guards telling the queen we know where the extra key is?!"

"Right, sorry."

Pulling his hand out, his fist now clutched a rather large key to the kennel cages. Ignoring the bits of dirt and grime now coating his breeches, Torrhen got back to his feet and motioned Lyaella to follow him further into the kennels. They found Shadow's cage right away. The black direwolf had been lying down in his cage, resting his head atop his paws and looking so lonely and sad, but the moment the wolf caught a glimpse of his two little masters, he shot straight up. Wagging his fluffy tail back and forth, Shadow eagerly pawed at the pen doors.

"Shadow! Hey, boy!"

Lyaella watched fondly as her twin slid the key into the lock. The moment the door was open, the wolf pranced right out, circling around Torrhen as he leaned up affectionately against his boy. Torrhen laughed, running his hands through his black fur.

"Hey, buddy. Sorry Lyaella and me had to let you get caged up again earlier. We didn't want to. But stupid Queen Sansa made us. You're not mad, are you?"

Quiet panting and a swishing tail were his only reply.

"Good, part of me was worried you'd be mad at us."

"Can I have the key? I wanna greet Sōnar."

"Give me a sec, Lya! I want a few more minutes with—"

A low growl echoed threateningly from further inside the kennels. A growl the children knew didn't come from Shadow. Torrhen took the hint the growl insinuated and passed Lyaella the key.

"Sorry, Sōnar. Didn't mean to make you mad," he called out apologetically into the darkness.

Deeper in the kennels, cage bars rattled. The creature locked away inside was obviously anxious to be free.

The twins knew that better than anyone. "Here," said Torrhen, tossing Lyaella the key. "Better let her out. Can't have her breaking out like Shadow did. The queen'll twist it around."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Tory."

Leaving her brother and Shadow alone to continue bonding, Lyaella ventured further down the row of cage doors, eventually stopping at the pen at the very far end of the row. Spotting the silver-haired girl approaching, the beast inside screeched happily, moving up close to the bars to see her better.

"Hi, Sōnar. Did you miss me?" Lyaella greeted, poking her hand through the bars to gently stroke the dragon's head.

Yes, dragon. Not direwolf. Lyaella's only true friend was a dragon.

Sōnar wasn't a large dragon, though. She was actually very small whereas compared to what people in the North would generally envision when imagining dragons, especially those who had lived long enough to remember the Long Night many years ago and remembered the enormous dragons that had fought during the Great War. Barely reaching the size of a small horse, Sōnar was a snow white dragon, almost completely pure white aside from a few scattered scales tinted winter rose blue. Her spines were the same shade and her wings faded from blue back to white near the edges. Her eyes were a slightly different blue though, bordering more towards ice blue like Lyaella's dress, and they lit up excitedly as the little girl unlocked her cage door and darted inside.

Feeling nothing but joy at the sight of her kind, gentle-hearted dragon, Lyaella gathered Sōnar's head up in her arms and peppered her snout with kisses. "I'm sorry I couldn't come visit earlier, girl. I meant to, but Queen Sansa… well, you know…"

Ignoring all mention of the Queen of the North, the dragon rumbled kindly. Blowing a slight puff of wind out from her nostrils, Sōnar leaned in deeper to Lyaella's embrace, preening from the loving kisses and cuddles. Lyaella felt a great weight leave her shoulders. Sōnar wasn't upset with her for taking so long to visit today, and judging by how Torrhen was laughing as he attempted to fend off Shadow from knocking him over to cover his face in happy licks, Shadow wasn't upset with him either for being forced back into his cage this morning after he broke out. When the two of them were little and first found Shadow when he was still only a small pup and then had Sōnar once she hatched from her egg, Queen Sansa had allowed them to keep their new pets in their bedroom. They'd been so attached to their little wolf pup and new dragon hatchling they had the servants push their beds together back then that way they could all sleep together. It was so wonderful back then, falling asleep and then waking up together with small Shadow and Sōnar between them.

Those days were long gone, though. Ever since Shadow had grown to the size of a regular wolf and Sōnar had become bigger than a typical hound and was capable of breathing long strains of fire on command, the queen had their best friends locked away in the kennels every night. It was so cruel, taking away the freedom of two extraordinary creatures who had done nothing wrong. She ordered it simply because she was afraid of what they were and what they could do if they got mad. Didn't they deserve the chance to prove to people that they were capable of being good?

No, of course not. In the eyes of House Stark and other distrustful Northerners, a dragon was dangerous no matter how kind and gentle it pretended to be, and a wolf was only good so long as it was loyal to its own kind — other wolves and Notherners. Not dragonspawn.

Having finally calmed down Shadow, Torrhen joined her in Sōnar's pen, stroking her neck softly. Shadow trotted quietly up to the cage door behind him, watching them silently as he sat down.

"Hey, Sōnar. I know you love Lyaella, but you like me too, right? Don't go giving her all the attention!" he teased. Lyaella huffed in fake annoyance as Sōnar gently butted her snout against his shoulder. Torrhen grinned cheekily at his sister, and Lyaella couldn't help but stick out her tongue. Her irritation only seemed to encourage him, and he couldn't help but grin even more.

Lyaella rolled her eyes. Pressing her lips one last time against Sōnar's head, she glanced back at him. "Keep acting like that and you can go riding by yourself," she warned. "I'd rather sit alone in my room and get dragged back to Marlon if my lungs act up than go anywhere with you when you're being this arrogant."

"Okay, okay. I'll be good."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, promise. Now, c'mon. Let's go find some horses."

With their dragon and direwolf at their sides, the twins exited the kennels. Ignoring all the stares from onlookers, they set off in the direction of the Winterfell stables. But they had barely walked more than two yards before a sharp voice halted them.

"Torrhen, Lyaella."

Torrhen groaned as Lyaella let out a deep sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shadow plop to the ground irritably, but Sōnar nudged her and Torrhen repeatedly with her head, begging them to keep going. But they couldn't. Should they deliberately ignore the queen right now, everyone in the courtyard would see and things would be downright miserable for them throughout the entirety of King Bran and Lady Arya's visit.

They turned around. Queen Sansa was approaching them as they expected, but Lady Arya and King Bran were with her too, Ser Podrick pushing his chair and Ser Brienne dutifully following. Lyaella felt herself frown is absolute misery as Torrhen rolled his eyes. Was it impossible for them to do anything today without having to see or speak to their aunts and uncle?

"Your graces, Lady Arya," Torrhen said slowly, trying to suppress his annoyance from creeping up in his tone. He couldn't fully contain it though and everyone could tell. "Is something wrong?"

Queen Sansa pressed her lips together. Without a word, her eyes slid from them to Shadow and Sōnar. The frown on her lips was dripping with clear disapproval. "I told you both earlier. We're not going to have your pets running around everywhere today."

"We're… We're only going to the stables, Queen Sansa," Lyaella murmured, feet shuffling a bit as she averted her eyes. "We just want t-to go riding with them."

"Out of the question."

"W-What?"

"Aw, come on—!"

"Our bannermen are busy setting up for the memorial service tonight, and things are too restless in the North right now. It's not safe for you both to leave the castle without proper guards."

Torrhen threw up his hands, anger and annoyance fully obvious now. "We're not planning to go far! We don't need twenty armed guards!"

Lyaella nodded, feeling somewhat miffed herself. It was ridiculous to the twins, how Queen Sansa considered it necessary for people to watch them every single moment of the day. It was one thing for her to send only two or three guards to protect them should they leave the castle grounds, but if they even wanted to do something so simple as going horseback riding, she would order at least twenty of her most trusted bannermen to accompany them. It was like she thought they were planning to order their dragon and direwolf to kill and burn everyone in their path if they were left alone for even a moment. She was that distrusting of them.

Such a ridiculous notion. They weren't like the Stark's. They had no plans whatsoever on killing anyone who they deemed as cruel, manipulative, or stood in their way to power like the three of them did nine years ago.

"It is necessary, Torrhen. Neither of you are to leave the castle grounds without proper escort. That's my final word."

Without waiting for the children to respond, Queen Sansa waved over some bannerman.

"See to it that Shadow and Sōnar are returned to their pens," she ordered.

Nodding their heads, one guard led Shadow away despite his pleading whines to stay by Torrhen. The other guards eyed Sōnar fearfully for a few moments, but then found their strength and steered the dragon away from Lyaella. The children tried to follow the guards, not wanting to be separated from their dearest friends, but King Bran's chilling voice halted them.

"You are both so anxious to leave us. Why is that?"

Torrhen scowled at the slight curl of Bran's lips, but Lyaella had to suppress a shudder. To everyone else in the world, King Bran came across as emotionless and distant aside from rare smiles or occasional furrowed brows, but to the twins, he was creepy. Being the Three-Eyed Raven as the most powerful greenseer and warg in all the world made him the keeper of all memories. So even though his physical body was completely ordinary aside from being crippled, he was the furthest thing from ordinary. He could enter the heads of ravens and fly around seeing everything they could see. He could look back in time and see everything that ever happened in the past, as well as things that were happening now all over the world. He could even catch slight glimpses of things that were yet to come in the future.

The fact he could see anything that might happen in the future was a telltale sign that the Stark's were terrible people. King Bran had to have known what would happen to their parents so many years ago. He was the one who completely changed the game and set their parents up for failure and death by informing their father of a shocking secret.

Queen Sansa may have used that secret to her advantage by manipulating other important players, Lady Arya may have stood idly on the sidelines letting the chips fall where they may to reap the benefits, but King Bran was the one who changed everything there was to know in the great game of thrones.

He won. He won despite never actually doing anything. More than that, he made sure his family won.

His Stark family, that is.

"What does it m-matter? We have no freedom… we're j-just as much chained up as… as S-Shadow and Sōnar."

Their uncle's lifeless smile didn't change, but their aunt's exchanged emotionless looks at Lyaella's words. Finally they focused back on them.

"We went looking for both of you in Maester Marlon's workroom just now," said Lady Arya, effectively ignoring the prior statement. "We thought we'd all go down to the crypts together."

The twins blinked. "The crypts?" they said in unison.

Lady Arya nodded. "It's your namedays. We know you both prefer to go down there today rather than… the anniversary. We thought we'd all go down there together with you."

"As a family," Queen Sansa added.

Lyaella bit her lip while Torrhen tensed. They exchanged their own silent looks to one another. What were they supposed to say or do? Their aunts were technically right. They did like going down into the crypts on their nameday. It wasn't a secret they did this, but they preferred to do so at night, after the memorial ceremony for the Long Night was over. They wanted to be alone when they visited the dead, the only exceptions being bringing Shadow and Sōnar after they came into their lives. Even though they were bastard Snow's rather than true-born Stark's, their father had grown up amongst his Stark relatives right here in Winterfell despite having the Snow surname, too. They had just as much of a right to go down there as the last living Stark's did.

But they went down there alone because of everything they say and do while down there. It wasn't just so they could visit their father's statue.

Unsure of how they were going to talk their way out of this, the children both turned back to their aunts.

"I-I don't—"

"That's not—"

"Your grace! Riders are approaching the castle!"

Queen Sansa blinked, turning to look at guard hurrying towards them.

"Riders?" she repeated.

"Aye, your grace," said the guard, nodding. "A whole entourage."

"A minor house? Latecomers?" Lady Arya asked.

"If they are, they're being pointedly late," said Queen Sansa, distinct irritation in her tone.

"Actually, your grace, the banners aren't of any Northern house."

"Cousin Robin with Lord Royce and the Knights of the Vale, then?"

"No, your grace. We're… We're not entirely certain where they're from."

The Stark's and Snow children exchanged curious looks. It wasn't often that the North received unknown visitors ever since they became independent from the rest of Westeros. It made the adults uneasy, the children could tell, people they didn't know coming here. Northerners were alway so distrusting of any outsiders. Yet another reason why Torrhen and Lyaella had every reason to hate their relatives. Their distrust was what led to them being orphans.

The children turned to quietly leave, but Lady Arya's hands quickly grabbed their shoulders.

"Come on. We'll go see what they want. Together."

Before the children could protest, their aunt was already steering them along behind Queen Sansa and King Bran, being wheeled again by his guards. Exchanging irritated looks with one another around Lady Arya's body, Lyaella felt completely at a loss. Why was it that their nameday had to be on the date of the memorial ceremony? Namedays were supposed to be fun, happy affairs. But not for them. No, their namedays were always a day they dreaded. It was so unfair.

As they reached the main gate, they saw a group of horseman ride inside, the banners they carried being a lovely shade of yellow with an emblem of a red heart on fire. There were a few of them carrying swords, but none of them appeared to be knights or extremely skilled fighters. If anything… they almost looked like they were priests since they all wore identical red robes. They formed a tight, protective unit around a beautiful young woman with shiny black hair. Like them, she appeared to be of the same order since she wore a striking red dress. A priestess. Despite the chill of the Northern air, her cloak was surprisingly very thin, yet she didn't shiver in the slightest.

The twins were very curious about these newcomers. Like the guards, they had never seen such religious men and woman of this unknown faith before. They tried to inch closer to see them better, but Lady Arya's hands tightened their grips upon their shoulders.

"Stay behind us. Both of you," she hissed quietly.

"Why? What's the matter?" Torrhen asked.

"Do as your aunt says," the queen ordered. Like Lady Arya, her eyes never once left the faces of their visitors. They followed every movement the priestess in charge made without blinking once. Torrhen turned to Lyaella, making a rather obvious eye roll. Lyaella bit her lip to keep from laughing. Queen Sansa's attitude was such an overreaction just for unexpected guests.

"Ser Podrick," said King Bran, his usual lifeless drawl a tad firmer than usual. "Take me to them."

His Ravensguard knight obeyed his command, quickly pushing him towards the newcomers. Queen Sansa fell into step beside him, her stride steadfast yet commanding. Lady Arya would normally walk right alongside her siblings, yet this time she lingered back a few steps, making sure that Torrhen and Lyaella were glued to her side at all times.

Lyaella shot Torrhen a quizzical look. What was it about these visitors that had their relatives so on edge?

The priestess was clearly the one in charge, because she quickly stepped forward as they approached.

"The Queen of the North, I presume. Sansa Stark," she said pleasantly, her ruby lips turning up in a warm smile.

Queen Sansa's smile was anything but warm in return. "Yes. That is me," she said stiffly.

If the priestess took any offense at her tone, she didn't show it. She instead turned to King Bran. "You are the Three-Eyed Raven king, the one who worships the trees."

The emotionless seer said nothing. He simply stared at her with furrowed brows.

"The sibling rulers, the one's who rule Westeros," said the priestess, her tone light and airy. "It is good to finally meet you both. And your other sister." Her eyes fell upon Lady Arya. The twins blinked as they felt their aunt push them a bit behind her. "Lady Arya, the Many-Faced assassin."

Lady Arya's eyes narrowed. "You're a Red Priestess," she stated. "A Red God worshipper."

The priestess merely smiled. "I am Lady Kinvara."

Lyaella tilted her head slightly, mildly surprised. A quick glance over at her brother confirmed her brother thought the same. Red God worshippers of the Lord of Light generally never ventured to the North. They almost never came to Westeros at all, as their head temple was in Volantis across the Narrow Sea. The twins had little exposure whatsoever to religion, because even though the rest of the North worshiped the Old Gods and prayed at the Heart Trees, Queen Sansa was such a cynic she held no beliefs whatsover, and Lady Arya believed that the only god that existed was the Many-Faced God, otherwise known as Death himself. King Bran on the other hand would rather live permanently next to a weirwood tree so as to better watch everything happening around the world all the time.

Between living with one aunt who didn't care about religion, occasionally visited by a second aunt who worshiped the God of Death, and visited once a year by an uncle who was so devoted to the Old Gods he could almost become a god with his seer powers, it was no wonder why the children had never really cared for their Stark relatives religious beliefs. They knew their father worshipped the Old Gods before he died and that their mother had once needed help from red priestesses back when she had been absent from the city of Meereen in Essos long before she had come to Westeros, but aside from that, they didn't know all that much about what their parents thought about regarding religion. But in this case, it was something they had little interest in learning more about regarding their parents.

Aside from the stupid prophecy people believed about them, that is. The Prince or Princess that was Promised being Azor Ahai reborn to bring the dawn.

But it hadn't mattered in the end. The Long Night ended, the Dead were defeated, but their parents still died. If one of them had been the fabled hero of legend reborn to restore peace and order across the world, then they had failed to fulfill their destiny. Westeros still had power hungry leeches like the Stark's who would do whatever they had to do to maintain their power. The King of the North and the Dragon Queen were dead, and they left their only children to grow up as bastard orphans, raised by the very monsters who had plotted their downfall. Religion was pointless.

"We weren't expecting any red priestesses to come for the memorial ceremony," Queen Sansa said shortly. "We didn't prepare any additional guest rooms."

"I'm sure you weren't, Queen Sansa. The Lord of Light has told me so many things about you. And about your family."

"Whatever visions you see in the flames mean very little to Northerners. We pray at the weirwood trees."

"I mean you no disrespect, your grace, but one who never prays has no right criticizing those who do pray, let alone to what they do with their beliefs."

Lady Kinvara might as well have slapped the queen, what with how dumbstruck she was by that honest, polite statement. The twins had to bite their lips to keep from snickering, but they weren't able to stay fully silent. They both stopped when they realized that the red priestess was now staring directly at them.

"Torrhen Snow. Lyaella Snow," she said, her smile suddenly much warmer and genuine than it had been a moment ago when addressing the Stark's. "The Lord of Light has shown me many visions of you both in the flames."

The children stared at her for a moment, then sheepishly smiled.

"Oh, really?"

"O-Okay…"

They had no idea what they were supposed to say to such a remark, or even how to address Lady Kinvara. She didn't seem to share their uneasiness, though. If anything, she purposefully sidestepped around the Stark's in order to see them better, but Lady Arya quickly stepped in front of her again.

"If you did come for the memorial ceremony tonight, you should have sent word earlier," she told the priestess. "It's odd, showing up out of the blue."

Lady Kinvara wasn't the slightest bit intimidated. "We do as the Lord wills us to do. He told us to come, so we came. It is not our place to question his word."

"There are no guest rooms left," said the crippled king. For once, his tone wasn't dull and lifeless. If anything, it sounded the slightest bit commanding and angered. "Leave. Now."

"There's no need to worry about us. We've already set up accommodations for ourselves in Wintertown. We'll be fine there. We only came to express our well wishes to you all for the service tonight. As Lady Melisandre fought and died here so many years ago, we are here to pay our respects and to carry out R'holler's will for the future."

"We do not believe in your Red God here," said the queen, her cold eyes regaining their usual icy glare. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Queen Sansa, rest assured. We will hardly be any concern of yours before tomorrow comes," said Lady Kinvara rather mysteriously. Then, before Lady Arya or Queen Sansa could stop her, she breezed past the lady warrior and curtsied directly to Torrhen and Lyaella. "It was lovely to meet you both, Prince Torrhen, Princess Lyaella."

"I'm not a prince."

"I'm not a princess."

The statements were made so firmly that it made even the Stark's cringe. Torrhen and Lyaella cared little what their relatives thought. Their full attention was on Lady Kinvara. It didn't matter it was her of all people who had addressed them with a royal title. They weren't a prince and princess. They wouldn't let anyone call them as such.

Lady Kinvara paused, but quickly regained her composure. "Until tonight, then."

Turning back to her guards, they left without another word. The Stark's, however, didn't dare let down their guard until they were sure they were gone.

"They will cause problems," said King Bran, face vacant as usual. "Don't allow them to attend the service, Sansa."

Queen Sansa sighed. "I can't stop them from attending for no reason."

"Nothing good ever comes from R'hollor worshippers, Sansa! You know that!" Lady Arya snipped.

"Yes, Arya. I know that," said the queen, sounding rather tired. "I don't trust them anymore than you do, but considering Lady Melisandre fought to protect Winterfell… they have a right to be here. There's nothing I can do."

Lady Arya huffed irritably and King Bran's lips fell into a displeased frown. The twins shrugged away their aunt's and uncles' irritation with the priests and priestess. Lady Kinvara was an anomaly in their eyes, but they didn't care whether she or her people were here for the ceremony or not. If their presence bothered their relatives, that was just fine with them. Nodding to one another, they turned to go.

"Where are you going?" said King Bran, his tone suddenly more alert.

"Anywhere but here," Torrhen grumbled.

"We were going to go down to the crypts together," Lady Arya reminded him. "We agreed on that."

Lyaella simply stared at her warrior aunt with sad eyes. "W-We never agreed… You decided t-that on your own… J-Just like how you always d-decide what's best with us."

Lady Arya tensed while Queen Sansa's lips formed a tight line, but King Bran only blinked, not at all fazed. Their lack of denial over that statement was more that enough to disgust Torrhen, and he shook his head at them before grabbing his sisters' hand and dragging her off.

"Stay inside the grounds!" Queen Sansa called after them. "Don't go anywhere near that red priestess or the priests!"

Torrhen rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Bitch of the North," he muttered quietly. "Whatever you say…"

Lyaella cracked a small smile. "What should we do now, then? Marlon told me to stay outside for fresh air, but we can't go riding and we can't play with Sōnar and Shadow. What should we do?"

Torrhen folded his arms as his eyes closed, thinking hard. Finally he looked back at Lyaella. "Well, we got everything ready for tonight after the ceremony finished yesterday. Stashed them down in the crypt for safekeeping… how 'bout we train for awhile? Not much else we can do anyway."

"All right. Let's go."

And with that, the twins set back off to the castle. It was sad that this was what their nameday was reduced to being. No warmth, no real family, no one to celebrate the day at all. It was only above being no different than any other day because it was always scheduled on the same day as the memorial ceremony for the Long Night, and they hated the date because of it.

But what could they do? They were only the children of the Mad Queen and the Queenslayer. Like their father, they had grown up in House Stark with the social stigma of being known as the Bastards of Winterfell. Like their mother, they had grown up believing they were the very last of House Targaryen. Like both their parents, they had grown up being hated and treated lower than dirt for the terrible crime of simply being born.

But unlike their parents, they were alone aside from each other, Sōnar, and Shadow. Their relatives were only relatives, not family. Were it not for the fact that they were their father's children, they probably would have plotted for them to die like they plotted for their mother to die. They had no friends, no allies, no one who was on their side. Nobody wanted them. If the rest of the world had their way, they probably would never have been born at all.

No one else in the world would ever see things their way. No one would ever admit that the reason their parents died was because of the choices other people made in the past. No one would ever realize that they were forced to grow up as bastard orphans was because of those choices.

They were only Torrhen and Lyaella Snow, the twin dragonwolves of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, and Jon Snow, secretly the true-born son of the late Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. The last two true-born Targaryen's and legitimate heirs to the long disposed of Iron Throne.

The past was over, and no matter how much they hated their lives and how their greedy relatives took everything for themselves, there was nothing they could do to change them.