Disclaimer: May shock you, but I don't own any of GRRM's works.

"Come to bed, love." Cat's sleepy voice murmurs from the bed.

It's tempting. Hunched over in the dim candlelight for the past hour, with the sun long being set, Ned's eyes grow weary.
He turns in his chair to the bed where Cat is, undoubtedly warm and comfortable; then back to the piles of assorted letters and reports on his desk.

Ned cracks his neck and groans, rising from the chair, "Coming, Cat."
He is almost at the bed when a furious knocking interrupts. Ned considers just telling whoever it is to go away, but to come to his chambers at this time must be important.

It is.

Ned Stark stares uncomprehendingly into the piece of paper, as if through thorough scrutiny it would reveal the answers to all his problems. But it is not so.

"How can this be true?" Ned frowns at Maester Luwin.

His Maester's wavering voice answers back, "I know not, although Maester Aemon is not said to lie."

The report still stays the same, elegant handwriting for such catastrophic tidings.

Lord Commander Jeor Mormont of the Night's Watch has been slain in his chambers by a creature of Winter, and the wildings attack the Wall with increased fervour. The Brothers are in chaos, and the Brother Bowen Marsh has taken on acting Lord Commander. With so little men, The Night's Watch implores the Crown and all Lords to send immediate reinforcements.

Yours in dire need, Maester Aemon of the Wall.

Ned wants to believe that the old Maester Aemon has finally gone mad, that he is having delusions. It would be easy just to past it off as that.
But it is not that. Winter was coming, aye, as Winter is always coming. But Ned remembers the deserter. The words he spoke.

Ned has been passing it over for too long. Now it wouldn't be just the Winter coming this time.

He sits down at his table, resting his head in his hands.

Gods help us all.

The Night's Watch haven't sent the tidings to anyone else, and Ned can see why. None but the Northerners would have even the slightest chance of believing the idea of legend turned to reality, and none but the Starks have enough influence with the Crown to bring the reinforcements.

Ned asks Cat to bring Robb. Maester Luwin looks to frail at the moment to attempt a journey to fetch Robb. They come back about ten minutes later.

"Father, we don't have any evidence. How can you be sure?" Robb's mind was in overdrive about the things his father had just told him. He knows he has to be reasonable, has to try and negotiate with this madness. More than anything, it frustrates Robb that deep down he knows this letter isn't a lie.

"Maester Aemon is a reliable man. The story aligns with other reports we've been having. Now is the time to accept the possibility of the impossible. Robb, what do we do next?" Ned raises his eyebrows at Robb.

Robb is sure his father has already decided what to do, but is testing him – the latest in a series of never-ending tests to see if Ned can actually trust Robb with the responsibility of ruling the North.

"We send men to aid the Night's Watch, and we notify the Crown," Ned nods, but the expectation in his eyes tells Robb there has to be more.

Then the realisation hits, "They won't believe us."

His father's lips tweak. "Exactly."

Robb frowns, "But…but Jon is King. He'll believe that we're not lying, he'll send his men."

"A King's power comes from the loyalty and belief of the men that follow him. If his people believe him a fool, then it will undermine his authority. Jon is too clever; Lyanna and the Small Council are too clever to do that."

"So…we need to give them proof?"

Cat speaks up, "Should I bring Rodrick, Vayon and Jory as well? They might want to hear this." Her eyes are sunken. She looks weary to the bone.

Ned shakes his head, "It's too late in the night, love." He claps Robb on the shoulder, "You've done well considering how late it is."

"Maester Luwin, write back to the Wall. We need proof of these wights to give the Crown, that we can't send any men until we have that. Even Winterfell will laugh at us if we send men without proof. Aemon will understand." Ned scratches his beard absently, "I will write to Jon Arryn. I won't tell him the details, but I'll let him know that we may have to send large numbers of men to the Wall."

"And Lyanna." Catelyn reminds him. Catelyn and Lyanna haven't always necessarily gotten along, possibly more because they don't understand one another.

Ned agrees, "And Lyanna. But she'll believe the truth. It will be helpful when the time comes."

Jon lies awake in his bed. He doesn't know the exact time, but the bell tolled midnight a while ago.
Finally, he drifts to sleep. As he sleeps, he dreams.

Their bodies lay intertwined on silk sheets. Jon feels vibrations as the woman laughs. Her silver-white hair splays across the pillows.
The woman looks at Jon with loving violet eyes, and without knowing the woman's name, Jon knows that he loves this woman.

Jon touches her face, "What would I do without you?"
She brings her face so close that their foreheads are touching, "Probably be holed up in some godforsaken pile of snow, my love."

The dream flashes forward.

The beautiful woman is at Jon's side, and the pair stand with their hand linked and raised for the masses. The cheer is deafening.

Jon leans to the woman, murmuring in her ear, "They love you."

She smiles back at him. There is so much in that smile, love, happiness, but most of all there is acknowledgment. Acknowledgement that together, all foes would fall at their feet – the world would fall at their feet.

And who would dare stop them? They were gods amongst men.

And she whispers back fervently, tightening her grip on his hand, "They love us. We rule them. It is our birth right."
It is then Jon notices what they are wearing. Clothes adorned with red and black…

Red and black…

The dream changes again.

Jon is running, but he is not fast enough. He doesn't know what is chasing him, only that Jon is the slower out of them.
A heart tree beckons. Jon's chest is heaving, sweat rolling. His heart feels like it is going to explode, but he pushes on. He is almost there!

Jon gives a cry as the roots of the heart tree trip him.

He is falling…falling...falling…

On his back, Jon can see the branches of the tree. It is on fire – the bloody face of the heart tree sneering –but it is not burnt, and the flames are rising high into the sky. Within the branches, there is a crow cawing mockingly.

Jon hears a snarl, low and vicious. He pushes himself up and frantically turns around. Scrabbling for a stick with which he might defend himself.
Jon closes his eyes just as the monstrous wolf tears his throat out.

He opens his eyes. Closes them. Opens them again.

Jon can feel the bile rising in his throat. Swallowing doesn't do much, but hopefully it is enough to stop him from emptying the contents of his stomach.

He sits at the edge of his bed, mind pouring through his dream. The woman from his dream –the white hair, the violet eyes. He was dreaming about a gods-curst Targaryen?

On the other hand, Jon reasoned, she could just be a scion of House Velaryon. But no Velaryon Jon had ever seen. Moreover, red and black were not the colours of House Velaryon.

"It is our birth right…"

Then there was that horrifying wolf, fur blending into the icy background and red eyes boring into Jon's soul. It's too big to be an actual wolf; its size reminds Jon of Robb explaining how big Grey Wind was going to grow.

"It is our birth right…"

Night terrors were not uncommon for him, although he tries to hide it from the nobles and such, he has no doubt that the servants whisper about it. And if the servants know…well then everyone else is assured to.

"It is our birth right?" Jon forms it as a soundless question on his tongue.

The sun pierces through his curtains. Jon sighs and shakes his head as if will clear all images of dragon-clad women and direwolves and burning heart trees.

Time to start another day.

The gardens are possibly one of the most beautiful places in the Red Keep. Jon often remembers all the times his mother took him to her favourite spot

Jon felt a rush of adrenaline and lust as Arianne of Dorne approached…A beautiful woman for a beautiful garden, dark hair curling down her back and sultry brown eyes.

She wore loose-fitting silk robes, Jon could only wish that she wore something more tight-fitting like many of the ambitious women here in King's Landing. She was five years older than Jon, but in his eyes, this just made her more desirable.
Her full lips were about to open to speak, but a voice interrupted from the side.

"Your Grace, if you would give me the honour of being introduced to my fair sister, Roslin of House Frey."

Jon turns to see a bulky man with a weak chin that is still visible even through his extra chins. There is a girl behind him, a dainty, pale skinned girl.
She is pretty, which surprises Jon – unfortunately Lord Frey has seen fit to send Jon many of his daughters and granddaughters.

A polite coughing sound comes from where Arianne stands, Jon turns back to Arianne. But his face falls – it is not Arianne. Arriane has moved on to another social circle.
The Red Viper smiles back at him. It's not a friendly smile, his dark eyes impossible to read.

"Forgive me, Ser Frey, I must have a talk with His Grace for a moment."

Jon is glad for an excuse away from the ambitious family of the Twins, he nods and gives a polite smile to the Frey whose name escapes Jon, "I apologise, this may be urgent. It has been a pleasure to meet you." Jon turns to the Frey girl, kissing her hand, "And you, fair lady." Her cheeks turn pink.

Jamie Lannister and Barristan Selmy follow Jon. Jon has grown used to their presence, if not comfortable with it.

He hears Jaime mention to Barristan, "What a delightful little trap our King seems to get himself into between young girls and their socially aspiring relatives."

Jon cannot help but agree.

Which brings him back to the matter at hand… Jon motions to Oberyn Martell, "How does a walk through the gardens sound?"
It wasn't really a question, but the Red Viper nods as if it were one.

As soon as his Kings Guard are out of earshot, Martell says casually, "I have a favour to ask on behalf of my brother, Prince Doran."

This could be interesting, "Oh?"

"Concerning my niece, Arriane." But the next words out of Oberyn's mouth were not what Jon was expecting, "He implores you not to choose her as a wife."

They keep strolling as if nothing has happened, but Jon is deeply confused. "And why is that? Most Houses would jump at the chance of aligning theirs with the Royal House. It is not conceited to say so, it is merely the truth."

Nevertheless, the Viper's eyes narrow slightly, "I will be honest with you, Your Grace. Arriane is skilled when it comes to leading. More so that her younger brother, Quentyn. The Prince wishes her to succeed him as the Ruling Princess of Dorne." Oberyn pauses, "That would be difficult if she were here playing brood mare to Your Grace."

Anger shoots through Jon at his insolent tone, but Jon keeps a calm face. Oberyn Martell was known for having a sharp tongue. Jon says lightly, "That would be difficult indeed. Although, if I wanted to, I could take her as my wife – "

"And risk making an enemy of Dorne?" The Viper's furious voice cuts through.

Jon meets his eyes levelly, "As I was saying before you interrupted, I could take her as a wife. If you objected, it would be Dorne against all other Houses," The Viper's eyes are taking a poisonous look, but Jon continues, "But I'm not going to do that."

The Viper abruptly halts, but Jon keeps walking. Eventually he feels the Viper come back into stride with him.

"Then what will you do, Your Grace." The tone is suspicious.

Jon stops to admire the flowers. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Jaime Lannister and Selmy stop as well, still out of earshot yet Jon never leaving their sight.

"Arriane is a beautiful woman, and as you say, no doubt clever. I believe she'll make a wonderful ruler of Dorne. But House Martell is one I would like to consider becoming friendlier with, and if not a union between myself and Arriane, I can only think of one other arrangement."

After a pregnant pause, there comes, "Yes?"

"Your nephew, Trystan, I believe is of age with my sister Myrcella. Yes?"

Oberyn's black eyes take on a new light, "I will have to correspond with my brother first, of course, but I believe that will be gladly arranged in recompense."

Jon grins.

After the meeting, there is the dreaded instance of Jon having to tell his family. Jon is pleased for another reason, but it doesn't mean his family will be.

Surely his mother will understand. The Martells had to be brought back into the fold somehow, and this was a golden opportunity. Even though Jon loathes letting his sister go, Jon has just eliminated the possibility that Myrcella would marry that sadistic little toe-wart, Joffery Baratheon of Dragonstone, who recently is beginning to look at Myrcella in a way that makes Jon want cage him in the black cells for all eternity.

Tyrion lounges in his chair, halfway glaring at his father that stands opposite the room.

"You have no idea the amount of influence I had to use to allow you a place at court."

Tyrion can barely keep himself from cringing at his father's biting words, instead affecting a bored look.

"You, unfortunately, will represent the Lannister family at King's Landing, so try not to behave like a fool. Do not disappoint me, or you will find yourself back in charge of all cisterns and drains Casterly Rock can provide. Is that understood?"

Tyrion looks up at his father, inwardly cursing that he is too short to even meet his father in the eye. If his father would ever deign to actually look at him.

But King's Landing…far away from his father's overpowering, ever present disgust.

"Yes."

The day has ended, and Jon retires to his chambers. As he enters, he is shocked by a lovely sight stretched out on his bed.

Jon closes the door and laughs, "You're certainly a sight for sore eyes."

He cannot be bothered with wondering why the woman is here. There's definitely a reason, but he is tired and frustrated and she is so, so tempting. Rather than asking questions, Jon starts undressing and goes to join the naked woman on his bed.

A/N: I'm just reminding you all; I did rework the timeline of the canon to write this story.

Also, guys, many of you have brought to my attention several slip ups of the last chapter. Regarding cousin marriages, I am aware of it, but for some reason my head was somewhere else when I was writing last chapter. Oops. Just look past it for now.
But regarding what I said on Joffery's mental stability, I'll still stick by that. It might have been just my own reading of Joffery's character, and I don't have any true stance on the whole nature versus nurture debate. I don't profess to be any expert, but hypothetically, if the Lannisters had a recessive insanity disorder somewhere along the line then Cersei's children would have an increased risk of receiving that trait. That's my reasoning, even though I know it doesn't say it anywhere in the books.