Disclaimer: All rights and properties belong to George RR Martin, Hbo etc... I own nothing.

Jon:

Winterfell. The ancient home of the Stark Kings had witnessed many strange occurrences over its eight thousand years. Countless generations of Starks had been born and had died within its walls. Battle's beyond count this castle and its numerous inhabitants witnessed during its lifetime. It would be safe to say that Winterfell had witnessed just about everything it possibly could. That would not be the case. On a crisp summer's morning just before dawn, in the ancient fortresses great keep it happened. In a small but well-kept room laying on a bed a boy of sixteen namedays sat up quickly and gasped.

Jon looked around furiously trying to place where he was. The last thing he could remember was sitting by the heart tree in Winterfell's Godswood. There he tried come to some semblance of peace within himself and to mourn all that he had lost. It had been five years since he sailed north from Dragonstone, with allies and a large army. He had sailed on that occasion towards his homeland with real hope in his heart.

He had faced the prospect of war against the army of the dead with the hope that the living had put aside their differences to unite and fight. And with a big enough army, they would have enough to defeat the Night King. Jon was wrong. Although the living prevailed after five harrowing years of war. The cost of winning was just too high. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions were dead. What was once a large army now numbered less than a thousand.

Jon had lost nearly everyone he had ever cared about. The only member of his family still living was Bran, and Bran was Bran in name only. The sweet boy he called brother who dreamed of becoming a knight, who would spent countless hours climbing the walls of the boyhood home was gone. All that was left was a distant all seeing being wearing his brothers face. Jon spent quite a bit of time trying to look past the vacant expression of the man he had become and see if he could spot the boy he was. Jon never could.

After the war was won, Jon returned to Winterfell, The castle lay abandoned with nary a soul to be found. All its inhabitants had either fled south or marched north to fight with the army of the living. Those that stayed died there when the army of the dead came, 'including Sansa' Jon thought mournfully. He was the one to find his sister dying in the great hall, stabbed with a white walker's blade. He had been too late to save her and she'd died in his arms. Jon had burned her body himself and placed the jar containing her ashes in the crypts beside their father.

Jon couldn't bear to walk the halls of his boyhood home any longer and so he sought the Godswood to come to terms with everything that had happened. He had not been there long, less than an hour before he found himself gasping for breath in a darkened room. 'Where am I?' was the first coherent thought that Jon could manage as he tried to catch his breath. As his eyes adjusted to his surroundings the first thing he noticed was a sliver of light peeking through what appeared to be a shuttered window.

As he caught his breath and his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness all Jon could think was 'how did I get here?', 'Where am I?' Finally as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and Jon could view his surroundings, his breath shook at what he saw. 'This is my old room' he thought furiously. 'This is my old room in Winterfell. How is this possible?' It eerily resembled the room he grew up in. The room he had left for good over a decade ago. 'It looks the same, completely the same' were the disbelieving thoughts running through his head. "How is this possible?" he finally spoke aloud. And then upon realising what he had heard Jon froze.

'My voice' he thought confusingly. He spoke once again trying to grasp what was happening. 'My voice sounds different' it was not the voice of a man grown, yet not the voice of a boy, but somewhere in between. Jon was starting to breathe more heavily as one surprise after another kept creeping up on him. Suddenly a whispered thought came to his mind 'what if'. He slowly climbed out of his bed and realised it immediately. "I'm shorter" he whispered to himself. Not overly shorter but short enough to realise the difference. His balance felt off as well, his steps felt more forced, less smooth. He quickly moved to a dresser and lit the candle upon it and then removed his shirt.

'This is impossible' was all Jon could think as gazed upon his upper body. The scars that littered his chest were gone 'for the watch' his mind traitorously whispered. His body was also less defined, as if all the years of fighting, running and riding that had honed his body had never occurred. He decided to dress as quickly as possible and venture out of his chambers. The clothing he found was familiar, well worn, well made leather tunics, woollen breeches and boots that he knew well. Upon dressing he walked towards the door of his room, took a deep breath and opened it.

Jon walked the empty corridors of Winterfell in amazement. Though the corridors were empty, there were signs of life, life that he had not seen within his boyhood home in years. The floors were clean, torches were lit all down the passage that Jon walked, a far cry from the dusty ruin that it was since he had seen it last. He finally made his way towards the entrance to the courtyard where he could just make out the light of dawn slowly shining over the high walls. Jon stopped suddenly as he soon noticed another occurrence, voices. He walked quickly towards the entrance to the Winterfell courtyard and audibly gasped at what he saw.

Ghosts. Ghosts of people Jon knew to be long dead. Maids that served his sisters and Lady Stark were walking past him and into the great keep. Hullen feeding the hounds, Hodor feeding the horses, even Maester Luwin was there speaking to Mikken at the forges. Jon couldn't believe his eyes. 'How is this possible?' he asked himself for possibly the hundredth time. He quickly walked through the yard, not stopping to talk to anyone. He made his way towards the Godswood. 'Maybe Bran has an answer? He must'. Finally upon reaching the heart tree Jon knelt quickly in front of it and spoke.

"Bran?" he asked hurriedly. "Bran, are you there?" he spoke again, hoping to hear from his brother, the only person he could think of that would surely have an answer. None came. Jon spent close to an hour calling for his brother, his voice getting more desperate each time. "Bran please! What is happening? How am I here?" He asked despair evident in his voice. "Hello Jon" a voice spoke, only this voice did not come from the heart tree but from behind him. Jon spun around quickly and was shocked at what he saw.

It was Bran, but not the Bran he knew. That Bran was a man grown crippled from the waist down. This Bran was a boy. Nine or Ten years old at best, and he was standing on his own two feet. "Bran" Jon whispered out breathlessly "You're…what is happening? Where are we?" Bran looked upon his brother for several moments and smiled. "We are in Winterfell Jon" he spoke almost casually a far cry from the detached almost empty voice Jon knew him to speak with. "We have been given another chance". Jon just stared his mouth opening and closing shock evident in his expression. "Another chance at what?" Jon spoke in a much gruffer voice than intended. Bran walked slowly towards him and smiled once again before answering "Everything" he smiled. "Come Jon, there waiting for us in the crypts".

Ned:

Staring upon the remains of his father Eddard Stark could not help but reflect upon all that had happened to in the past hour or so. Waking up in his wife's chambers after dying at the hands of Ser Ilyn Payne wielding his own great sword was quite a shock. Watching his wife wake up screaming their oldest sons name was another. Cat looked absolutely stunned to see him lying in bed next to her and clung to him as if she had not seen him in years. Ned could understand her surprise, he felt the same. Never did he think he would gaze upon his wife again. The events in Kings Landing, the betrayals he felt from Littlefinger then Joffrey weighed heavily upon his mind. His last thoughts, that he had failed his family weighed heavily upon his heart. To see his wife again brought great joy and sadness upon him. Joy that he could see her again, sadness that she had to join him in death to do so.

The appearance of Bran quickly put a stop to those thoughts. At first Ned was saddened to think his son had died. But when Bran told him that they were not dead and was very much alive, Ned had felt nothing but confused. An emotion Cat shared if the look on her face was any indication. Bran told them to break their fast in their chamber, to get dressed and to meet them in the crypts. After a lengthy argument both he and Cat finally relented upon seeing how insistent their son was.

What followed was perhaps the quickest meal Ned had ever eaten. Once finished and dressed Ned followed his wife down to the crypts of his ancestors. Neither spoke for both were consumed with their own thoughts. Upon nearing the resting places of his nearest kin, Ned felt two bodies smash into him. Only luck prevented him from falling. Gazing down at his two daughters, both of whom had tears in their eyes Ned could not help but marvel. While trying to decipher the words that were being spoken to him by Arya and Sansa, Ned quickly sent a prayer to old gods thanking them for a chance to make amends with his children. He would never fail them again he vowed.

He finally removed his eyes from his daughters to his wife hugging their son Robb as if he was a babe in swaddling clothes. Behind them he could Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick Cassel looking upon them, confusion and bemusement in their expressions. Theon was their too, looking very uncomfortable and sporting heavy swelling below his right eye. 'What happened to him?' Ned thought to himself. "Father" his oldest son's voice uttered breaking his thoughts. Ned quickly turned to luck upon his son. 'He looks older' Ned thought. Not in appearance, in that sense he looked younger then when he had seen him last. But the way he held himself, the look in his eyes spoke of a man grown who had seen too much.

Despite that Ned embraced his son, pleased to see him, especially alive and well if Bran was right. Turning towards his daughters he could also see their faces and like Robb, though youthful in appearance, their gait and expressions spoke of someone far older. Finally after embracing his children he turned to the others. "Luwin, Rodrick I am pleased to see you again, your both well?" he asked his old friends and trusted councillors, after suffering Varys, Pycelle and Littlefinger it was nice to back among men he trusted.

What he was not expecting was the utter look of confusion and perhaps bewilderment upon their faces. "Pardon my Lord" Luwin spoke for both of them "we only just spoke last night". Ned could not but to look at them in confusion. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cat and Robb looking equally confused. "What are you talking about Maester Luwin, don't you remember?" replied Robb, sounding as baffled as Ned felt. Again this was met with looks of utter confusion by both men as this time Rodrick responded "Remember what Robb?"

Before Robb or he could reply another voice spoke from behind them. "They didn't come back Robb, there is nothing for them to remember." Ned along with the others quickly turned and spotted Bran looking far less confused than anyone else. "What are you talking about Brandon?" his mother asked impatiently "What is happening?" she asked again. 'Perhaps we will finally getting an answer' Ned thought impatiently, he had waited long enough for an answer. Bran only smiled at his mother and spoke "you will get your answer now mother. We're all here after all."

"Now-"

"Wait where is Jon?" interrupted Arya quickly, sounding much older than she was. Ned looked around quickly and realised that Arya was right and Jon was nowhere to be seen. As he was about to ask about Jon's whereabouts he heard a voice within the darkness behind Bran. "I am here" spoke the voice of his nephew as he appeared out of the shadows and walked towards them. "Jon!" Arya screamed as she ran towards him enveloping him in a hug, Robb quickly after her. Surprisingly Sansa also followed her siblings and hugged him with a smile on her face. Ned quickly glanced at Cat and was unsurprised to see a scowl upon her face. Ned pushed his thoughts on that to one side and went to greet his 'bastard'.

Upon reaching him, Ned observed the same things in Jon that he had seen in Robb only more pronounced. Jon's youthful appearance was marred by old tired eyes and a weariness that seemed to sink into the depths of his bones. Despite that, Ned could see that Jon held himself strongly with a confidence that Ned could not recall ever seeing upon him. Upon reaching him, his children stepped aside and Ned quickly swept Jon into a firm hug. "It's good to see you lad" he told him. "It is good to see you as well…father" Jon replied hesitantly. Momentarily confused Ned was interrupted by Bran who had started to speak.

Tyrion:

Tyrion had woken up five minutes ago. After coming to terms with the fact that he was no longer being eaten alive wights and after catching his breath and inhaling a large mug full of wine Tyrion began contemplating as to where he was. 'It looks like my old chambers' he thought to himself. The chambers he grew up in, ones that were as far away from the rest of his family as his father could put him that would not have been considered improper to those who carried the Lannister name. Chambers he had not set foot in since all those years ago when he had left to join Robert Baratheon's party on its way to Winterfell.

'I hated this room' he reflected. 'Much smaller than anyone else's in the family' he chuckled as thought that, remembering bringing it up with his father once and being subjected to a number of thinly disguised dwarf jokes. "It is appropriately sized for you" his father told him. "Fucking cunt" he spoke out loud for the first times since awaken, his voice conveying the bitterness he felt. 'I hope you enjoyed those appropriately sized bolts in your belly father' he thought darkly. 'A man of your stature deserved nothing less'.

A lot had occurred since he had last seen this room. He had visited Winterfell, travelled to the Wall, got taken prisoner, then escaped to find the world had turned to shit. He did enjoy his time as Hand of the King despite the fact that the King was a vicious idiotic cunt who deserved his very painful death. 'I would have enjoyed it more had I not been charged with killing him' Tyrion reflected.

Those days spent in a dark shit and piss stained cell had been some of Tyrion's worse memories. Despair had eaten away at him as Varys and Bronn had deserted him to save their own hides and he had pushed away Podrick for his own safety. The fixed nature of the subsequent trial along with Shae's betrayal had been as equally bad. Short lived respite had come in the form of Oberyn Martell 'but alas it was not to last'.

Being publically sentenced to death by your own father coupled with the fact that his cunt of a sister had apparently beaten him had been rock bottom. Thankfully his freeing by his brother Jaime and Varys whisking him across the Narrow Sea to Pentos had prevented Cersei from getting what she wanted. Despite that Tyrion could take no comfort from avoiding Cersei's wrath, the trial by combat resulting in Oberyn's death coupled with killing his own father had resulted in circumstances that led to the deaths of his beloved niece and nephew Myrcella and Tommen.

'Had father lived, Cersei could have controlled and Ellaria Sand would not have dared threaten Myrcella' Tyrion thought morosely. But given that he had not and Myrcella and Tommen had both died led to Tyrion feeling quite melancholic. 'There is no use dwelling on the past as Tyrion looked around his old room again. 'I always said the Gods were vicious cunts, they would have to be to have put me here.' were the thoughts running through his head. Tyrion hadn't expected much from the gods especially given that he had killed his Father and if many members of his family were to be believed his Mother as well.

'At least they didn't put me in a room with Cersei' he thought rather cheerfully. He didn't think anyone deserved that. 'Except maybe Father, Littlefinger or Joffrey.' Thinking of those people made Tyrion angry, so with a great amount of effort he pushed them to one side and started to reflect on what he considered happier times.

His time with Daenerys was a much happier time in comparison. Liberating the Bay of Dragons from the slavers. Sailing to Westeros allying with the Reach, Dorne and later Jon and his allies in The North, The Vale and The Riverlands, which despite a few setbacks had been much cause for hope. "That hadn't lasted long" Tyrion snorted to himself, the melancholy sinking back in. Finding out the existence of the White Walkers and their armies had switched their focus from defeating Cersei and liberating Westeros to fighting for their rights to simply live. All their efforts were then solely focused and defeating the Nights King.

'We almost did' Tyrion though bitterly. Despite the fact that Cersei betrayed them and most of the Lannister forces didn't come. The combined forces of The North, The Riverlands, The Vale and Daenerys' forces had come so close to ending the threat of the White Walkers for good. On the open fields of The North, a short distance from Winterfell the army of the living clashed with the army of the dead. 'And the living were winning, Jon had been so close'. Tyrion reflected bitterly. Feeling that bitterness, combined with utter hopelessness seeping deep into his bones.

'Jon had come so close to beating the Night King' he remembered, thinking back to watching that awe inspiring clash of swords. He remembered thinking at the time that victory was within their grasp. 'But then that fucking cunt had to ruin it all' he remembered as the bitterness he had been feeling gave way to almost uncontrollable fury. The Army of the living were the decimating the Night Kings armies, Jon's strategy of targeting the White Walkers themselves combined with Daenerys using her dragons meant that wight's were dropping like flies.

'The Night King underestimated our resolve and our abilities. He never did it again' he thought, 'And he was given plenty of opportunities thanks to Cersei'. Tyrion remembered it well, how could he forget. The army of the dead on the verge of defeat and then here comes the missing Lannister army to attack while our back is turned. 'By the time we knew what was happening hundreds of our men were slaughtered.' Forced to fight a second army caused the army of the living to lose focus which was all the Night King needed to retreat.

Thousands lay dead in the aftermath 'Including Pod and Greyworm' Tyrion reminisced sadly. Over 50,000 of the army had been killed. But the Lannister army was defeated and the army of the dead had disappeared. 'Cersei thought that she had beaten us' Tyrion reflected 'But all she did was hasten her own death'. The Night King and his army had not retreated North as had been thought but had travelled south killing every living thing on the way. 'It helps when you have a Dragon' Tyrion thought bitterly. The Night King had kept the Viserion out of the battle in the North, but had no qualms about using it down South. 'By the time we realised it, it had been too late'. Kings Landing had fallen and The Army of the Dead numbered over a million.

'The war was lost' Tyrion thought sadly 'I died not long after'. Jon and Daenerys upon realising where the army of the dead had gone had made a desperate attempt to reach them before they attacked Kings Landing. It failed. Their army met the newly strengthened army of the dead near Harrenhal. 'And I died' he thought, feeling nothing but failure. 'I don't even know who survived, if anyone did'.

Tyrion was brought out of his reminiscence by a sound coming from behind him. He turned and saw a raven perched upon the windowsill of his open window. Making his way towards the bird Tyrion spotted a letter attached to its leg, which he then took and unfurled the message that had been sent to him. As he read the messages contents, a number of emotions went through him, confusion, shock, awe and hope. He took special care to neatly roll up the message and to use that time to gather his thoughts. 'Well…it looks like I have work to do.

Brienne:

Brienne was packing. The message she had just received lay open upon the dresser of her chambers. Brandon Stark had written to her, explaining what had happened, why she had awoken in the chambers of her childhood home. A place she had not seen in over 10 years. Brienne's last thoughts before dying somewhere in the North was of failure. Failure to protect Renly, failure to protect Lady Catelyn, failure to protect Podrick and failure to protect Lady Sansa.

She would not fail again. So she packed. Basic essentials, only what she needed for the journey she was about to make. Her old armour and sword lay in the corner of her chambers ready to be used. 'It's not what Ser Jaime gave me but it will do' she thought pragmatically. She had done without the specially made armour and Valyrian steel sword once before, she can do without it now.

Once dressed and packed she made her way towards the docks of Tarth to organise a ship to take her to the mainland. Upon reaching them she spotted someone she had not seen years. Her father, Lord Selwyn Tarth was a tall man, though not as tall as his daughter, blonde of hair and had blue eyes. Despite recently passing his 50th year, the Lord of Tarth looked and carried himself like a younger man.

"Daughter" he spoke in voice that though was not as deep most men, but carried an authority with it that many lacked. "Good Morning father" Brienne replied. "I have come to take a ship to the main land" she answered. "Is that so my daughter" her father answered humorously, by now he was well used to his daughters wandering spirit. "And where on the mainland are you heading daughter…to see Lord Renly perhaps?" he asked knowingly well used to his daughters affections for their Liege Lord.

"No father" she replied much to his surprise. "I'm travelling to The Reach". "Oh?" her father queried curiously, genuine confusion painted over his face. "And what takes you there? Last I heard Lord Renly had arrived at Storms End this past moon". "I'm not going to see Lord Renly father" Brienne answered curtly. "I travel to the Reach in the hopes of taken part in a tourney" she lied, unwilling to state the real reasons for travelling to her destination.

Laughing her father replied "Yes I suppose you're bound to find a tourney or two to compete in there. Very well daughter I wish you well upon your voyage and pray that you write me as often as you can". "Yes father" she replied affection creeping into her voice, a smile upon her face. She hadn't realised just how much she had missed her father until this moment. "I shall write to you as often as I can" she finished, and upon hugging her father and stepped onto the boat. As she was watching Tarth get smaller from her ship she swore to herself that if possible she would not allow such a length of time to pass before seeing her father again. Turning away from Tarth and looking towards where the Stormlands would be, Brienne softly muttered to herself "Highgarden…here I come."

Melisandre:

In a red temple in Volantis Melisandre of Asshai was also packing to leave. She had no need of a letter from Brandon Stark, her Lord had already told her of everything she needed to know. She now knew what was coming, she had faced it once before, had died facing it once before. Westeros was her destination. One half of the chosen two would need her in the times to come.

It would not be easy once she reached her destination she knew. She would be facing those who mistrusted her, who found her past actions deplorable, many of whom would not hesitate to kill her. But she had been tasked to do this by her Lord. Many of the mistakes that she had made in the past, many of which Melisandre herself had found deplorable could now be avoided.

She now knew who her Lords chosen was, knew what their purpose was and she was ready to help them achieve that purpose. Melisandre hoped that her past actions towards the end of the war would buy her some trust amongst her potential allies, but was cautious enough and experienced enough to know that may not be the case. None the less she had a task that needed to be fulfilled. Her Lord had chosen her for this. Out of his many followers he had chosen her, and she had no intention of letting him down. Melisandre left the temple and onwards towards the North.

Jorah:

The heat was sweltering in Pentos. Many of its inhabitants, although used to warm weather given that such occurrence was a regularity in Pentos had sought the refuge of the shade .Ser Jorah Mormont felt none of this heat. His eyes fixed upon the letter in his right hand. 'What am I to do' he thought despairingly as his mind replayed the words that Brandon Stark had written to him over and over again. 'How can he possibly expect me to do this' he contemplated bitterly, almost crushing the paper in his hand to dust, such was the frustration he was feeling.

"Daenerys will not remember until the dragons hatch" The letter had said. "You must not change anything, no matter how much you wish to." And Jorah truly, deeply wished to change it. How could he not. The source of perhaps his deepest regret, easily in his mind alongside his selling of poachers into slavery was his betrayal of Daenerys Stormborn. His actions then had brought a great deal of shame to himself and sorrow to his Khaleesi. He was more than aware that what he had done had indirectly brought about the death of her child, something Jorah had never forgiven himself for. And now Brandon Stark was asking him to do it all over again.

'How could I possibly do this again?' he thought desperately. 'How can I willingly inflict such pain upon his Queen for a second time?' And he knew full well what he would have to do if his Queen was to hatch her Dragons. He would have to spy on her for Robert Baratheon, inform him of her pregnancy which would initiate a chain of events that would lead to her death of her husband and son, that would destroy any chance of her ever having children again.

'How can I do this?' Jorah asked himself again. Though deep down he knew the answer. 'If you don't then you are sending thousands, if not millions to their deaths.' The world needs Dragons he knew needed them now more than ever. They had been the great equaliser against the army of the dead. 'We all would have perished at Harrenhal without them'. Jorah remembered it well, the army of the living had been surrounded by the Night King and his army, all thought the end was near. The end would have come if it were not for the actions of Drogon and Rhaegal. Rhaegal had perished in the battle, but thanks to him and his brother the Night King lost the use of his Dragon.

'All would have been lost without them' Jorah reflected. 'We cannot hope to win this war and come out of it without suffering almost total loss' he contemplated. After all they had two Dragons last time and less than 1,000 of the army survived, including himself. "We need the Dragons" he stated softly to himself and with great reluctance came to a decision, one that would haunt him the rest of his life. But with no other choice, Jorah reaffirmed the decision once again in his mind, while hoping that his Queen would someday forgive him. Upon making up his mind Ser Jorah Mormont began making his way through the almost empty streets of Pentos towards the home of magister Illyrio Mopatis.