Comments and Reviews would be welcome as always. :3
Second Moon of 285 AC, Winterfell:
The summer snows had begun to fall in earnest when the raven came.
Maester Luwin found it perched in the rookery just after sunrise, feathers soaked, bearing a ribbon of pale grey silk and wax stamped with a crude symbol—half a direwolf, half a crude mountain. He blinked, turned the scroll over, and frowned.
It was addressed to Eddard Stark. Not "Lord Stark," not "Winterfell." Just a single word: "Brother."
By the time the message reached the great hall, the royal party had broken their fast. King Robert, grumbling over his hangover, reached for a haunch of bacon when Ned entered with the parchment in hand.
"Robert," Ned said, his voice uneven. "You'll want to hear this."
Robert took it, eyes still bleary—and then blinked as he read.
Then read again.
Then stood up abrubtly.
"Seven hells."
Catelyn looked up sharply, a fuzzy Robb in her arms having kept her up most of the night. "What is it now?"
Robert lowered the parchment and then began laughing loudly. "Hah I told Ser Arthur those two would not die during a simple adventure. They're alive, Ned, gods be damned."
A hush fell over the hall.
"Who?" asked Ser Barristan quietly.
Robert's face broke into a grin. "Torrhen and Lyarra. The bastard twins. The miracle bastards! They've sent word from Skagos. By the gods, they're alive."
The room exploded in voices. Elia dropped her napkin. Catelyn gasped.
Alysanne, seated beside Rhaenys, asked, "Is that the brother and sister Uncle Benjen told stories about?"
Benjen, stunned, could only nod.
Robert looked to Ned with wild delight. "This changes everything. I want to see them myself. I want to see the boy who fought at the Trident, came back from the grave und jumped on the mountain's back"
Ned cut in before Robert could answer. "If the seal on this raven is true, they are forging a holding of their own—and raising banners."
"A house of their own?" a young Renly asked eagerly, leaning forward. "Truly?"
Robert threw down his goblet. "Damn the schedule. Castle Black and the monsters beyond can wait. If the North has birthed a new house on that strange island noone has stepped a foot onto in decades if not centuries then I'll see it with my own eyes."
"Is Torr really coming back?" Rhaenys asked her mother quietly, her memories with the kind boy who had played with her still fresh to her despite the amount of time she hadn't seen him.
Ned, recovering from the shock, finally smiled, "I'll make ready. They'll return to Winterfell and be received with the honor that they deserve."
The castle was soon buzzing like a hive torn open.
The beloved twins were alive and would soon return from their adventure.
**Scene Break**
Third Moon, 285 AC — Winterfell
POV: Lyarra Snow
The towers of Winterfell rose from the snow like old friends. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, the scent of pine and roast meat dancing in the cold air. Lyarra breathed deeply as they crossed under the gatehouse—past familiar guards and grey stone.
They had returned. Victorious.
The gates closed behind them with a low groan. Torrhen rode beside her, his new cloak bearing the white wolf and crossed blades of Skane, flapping in the wind. Behind them came Alex and Steve, their honor guard and a dozen of their new sworn men from Skagos. The warmth of the courtyard hit her harder than expected—not from the fire pits or the hearths within—but from the faces.
Maester Luwin stood in stunned silence. Vayon Poole dropped the bundle he had been carrying. Ser Rodrik's eyes widened. Elia, Benjen, Ashara—all turned, blinking in disbelief.
Then—
"Lyarra?" came Ned's voice, raw and hoarse.
She dismounted at once.
He pulled her into a hug, and she held on, the months of absence vanishing between heartbeats. Torrhen embraced him next, clapping his brother's back.
"You look older," Lyarra muttered into Ned's chest.
"You look taller," Ned replied, smiling faintly, though his voice cracked. "What in the gods' names happened to you? Where have you been all this time?"
"You wouldn't believe us if we told you."
"We're going to anyway," Torrhen said.
Before they could say more, a booming voice interrupted, "I'll be thrice damned—this is them? These are the miracle twins? Wait noI recognise you from the rebellion boy, gods be damned now you are even almost as tall as me"
King Robert Baratheon stood in the entrance to the great hall, a cup in one hand and a grin stretching across his broad face. Beside him, Barristan Selmy watched in silence, and several knights and courtiers followed.
"Robert Baratheon?" Torrhen muttered under his breath.
"What's he doing here?" Lyarra whispered back.
"He said he wanted to see the Wall again for the monsters that have appeared there," Ned said quietly. "But he's lingered ever since you sent word you would be coming. Drinking. Hunting. Brooding. The usual."
Robert crossed the courtyard with surprising speed, clapping a heavy hand on Torrhen's shoulder and giving Lyarra a sweeping grin.
"I've never seen Ned write a letter that long in all the years I've known him. Said you returned from your adventure, conquered an island, tamed Skagos and brought riches enough to drown the Vale. I had to see it myself." He looked over at Steve and Alex. "And these two?"
Torrhen stepped back. "This is Steve. And Alex. They helped us accomplish everything."
Lyarra added with a grin, "Literally."
Steve, uncomfortable under royal scrutiny, cleared his throat and gestured to a heavy wagon at the edge of the yard. "We brought gifts. Gold, silver, iron, obsidian, enchanted weapons, redstone… we thought it would help Winterfell. And the realm."
Even Ned's jaw slackened. "Gods."
Eddard stepped forward, composure returning. "On behalf of Winterfell… thank you. Torrhen—"
He turned, taking the banner of Skane from a guard's hand and unfurling it.
"By right of conquest and in recognition of your loyalty, I name you Lord of Skagos and grant you rule from the seat of Skane. May it stand strong and cold forevermore."
Torrhen knelt. Lyarra did too.
Robert moved beside Ned, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. "Rise then, Lord Torrhen of Skane. And you, Lady Lyarra."
That evening, wine flowed and tales were shared in the Great Hall. Lyarra told their story, how they had felt a mysterious pull that they eventually just had to follow, how they found a gateway to another world filled with riches, of making House Stane and House Magnar bend the knee peacefully and of the battle against the Crowls. When they finished, Robert sat in stunned silence, then began to laugh—a deep, bellowing laugh that echoed off the walls.
"I've never seen you smile like this, Ned," he said later that night, when the hall had mostly emptied.
"You've never given me a reason to," Ned replied with the smallest smirk.
**Scene Break**
pov Torrhen Skywalker
The next day, Robert summoned Torrhen and Barristan to a private solar.
"You want legitimisation?" Robert asked, raising a brow. "Fine. But not as Starks. I won't have a second Stark house meddling with succession nonsense a few years down the line."
"We accept," Torrhen said at once. "We'll take a new name. A new house. A new legacy."
Robert looked to Barristan, who gave a slight nod, the two obviously had had a discussion about this.
"Done, then. Your bastard name ends here." He produced a scroll and gave it to Vayon Poole who dipped his quill. "What name will you choose, Torrhen?" he asked with a smile.
Torrhen looked to Lyarra, who gave him a tired look and said, "Just do it."
Torrhen grinned. "Skywalker."
Robert blinked. "…What?"
"It has meaning to us," Lyarra said, already resigned. "And I'll be getting another name when I marry anyway."
Vayon chuckled and signed with a flourish. "House Skywalker of Skane."
"Frostgate. We decided to name our castle Frostgate"
"A strange name but I have heard worse so... so be it. I do think the name for your future castle is a very good one however. Very well what will your sigil be?".
"Hmmm... can I have some more time to talk about this with my sister?"
"Done." said Robert, not caring in the slightest.
Torrhen and Lyarra bowed to the king. Then Torrhen added, "One more thing. I want Jon and Alysanne to be recognised as trueborn Starks. For their sake."
Robert sighed, rubbing his temples. "You're collecting favours like a Lannister banker."
Torrhen opened a chest beside him. Gold bars shimmered.
"Is there more where that came from?" asked Robert with a grin. He wasn't one for copper counting but Jon had been annoying him about the crown's expenses for some time now so if he could get some gold out of this he would.
"Absolutely, how about 10 chests full of gold bars?" Torrhen asks with a raised eyebrow.
"…Very well," the King muttered, taking one for inspection. "Done."
"I'd also like to request minting rights for Frostgate" said Torrhen and he knew from the way Robert's eye twitched that he was slowly reaching the end of the king's generosity so he simply asked, "Fifteen more chests?".
"Hmpf fine... I don't even want to know where you're gonna take all that gold from but if you make sure it arrives in King's Landing One in the next 6 moons I'll be satisfied... There is a last matter however," Robert said, almost grumbling. "Elia Martell. I know you two are betrothed but I've been told you haven't been entirely happy with the betrothal I arranged for you and I wish to know why because she is a Princess, no?"
Torrhen took a deep breath, "With all respect your grace but Elia is almost thirty while I am ten and five. We are more like friends and could never work out as husband and wife"
He didn't mention the gold Torrhen had offered earlier in the day.
"You are both free," Robert finished. "But Elia remains here or she comes with you, I don't care, as long as she stays in the hands of a Stark and you may not carry the name but Ned always insists you two are Starks in all but name. Elia Martell's still a political hostage. Don't think I will forget about Dorne's quiet insubordination so easily."
Torrhen and Lyarra both bowed. "Thank you, Your Grace."
Later, walking through the godswood, Lyarra paused under the weirwood and turned to her brother.
"So. Lord Skywalker."
"You'll get used to it."
"I doubt it."
He smirked. "Anyway, we'll need new colors. New banners. And someone to marry you off to."
Lyarra scoffed. "Please. Not this again."
"Oh, come on. Now you're legitimate. The houses will come knocking—"
"I'm still not marrying a Bolton."
"Deal. What about our banner however?"
"I cannot choose that for you but how about we make it a little unique? Something to do with us being on our second life perhaps."
"How about a yellow/orange phoenix on a field of red and blue?"
"... that could work. Westeros might not recognise the significance about the red and blue but to us it will always be about Anakin and Vader"
"See? That wasn't too hard was it?"
Her brother grinned, and for a moment the chill of the north felt warm again.
**Scene Break**
Third Moon of 285 AC, Winterfell:
POV: Torrhen Skywalker
Torrhen was reviewing a rough map of Skagos in the solar—his finger tracing the southern coast where a new port might be established—when a polite knock interrupted him.
"Enter," he called.
Vayon Poole stepped in, looking only mildly nervous. He held a ledger under one arm and had a faint crease between his brows.
"My lord," he began, closing the door behind him. "Forgive me, but… I was reviewing the record of your legitimisation and found myself curious about your sigil."
Torrhen arched an eyebrow. "The phoenix?"
Vayon nodded sheepishly. "Yes. You described it as a bird of flame, rebirth, and immortality, but I must admit—I've… never heard of such a creature in the lore of Oldtown or the archives of the Citadel. Is it a thing from the Skagos?"
Torrhen smiled faintly and leaned back in his chair. "Not quite. The phoenix isn't of this world—it's from the other one."
"The other world," Vayon repeated, carefully.
"It's a symbol where Steve and Alex come from. A bird that dies in fire and is reborn from its own ashes. It represents transformation, resurrection… the triumph over death."
Vayon blinked. "Ah. I suppose that makes it rather fitting, considering…"
"Considering we rose from the grave?" Torrhen finished. "Yes. It felt appropriate."
"I see." Vayon made a note in his ledger, then hesitated. "If I may ask, what sort of bird is it? Is it closer to an eagle? A hawk? Or more like a peacock, perhaps?"
Torrhen laughed. "Majestic like an eagle, but cloaked in flame. With wings that shimmer like the sun. It's not a bird of prey, not in the usual sense—but it's still powerful. Regal."
"Very well." Vayon made one final scribble. "I'll have a design mocked up for the bannersmiths. You'll approve the final image, of course."
"Of course."
As Vayon turned to leave, Torrhen called after him.
"And Vayon?"
"Yes, my lord?"
"Thank you. For asking. I'd rather have a steward who cares enough to get it right."
The older man bowed. "Always, Lord Skywalker. I have always strived to serve House Stark with all I can."
"I don't suppose there is a way I can convince you to go with me and the others back to Skane, is there?" Torrhen asked with mock sadness.
"Unless your brother were to kick me out, no my Lord. This is my home as much it can be and I rather like it here"
**Scene Break**
POV: Lyarra Skywalker
The clang of steel echoed through Winterfell's training yard, ringing against the pale morning sky. Lyarra stood near the edge of the sparring circle, arms crossed, watching with growing interest as Benjen Stark and Dacey Mormont circled each other, blades flashing in the snow-dusted dirt.
Benjen ducked a sweeping blow, rolled, and sprang to his feet with a grin.
"You're quicker than before," he called.
"You're slower," Dacey retorted, smirking as she lunged again. Their swords clashed, locked, and held.
They moved like they knew each other's rhythm—half-dance, half-duel.
Lyarra tilted her head.
"They're awfully chummy those two" she mutters with a intrigued expression.
She turned, spotting Martyn Cassel watching from the shadows near the armory wall, arms folded.
"Ser Martyn," she said, approaching.
"Lady Lyarra," he said with a polite nod.
She gestured to the sparring pair. "Those two seem awfully close today. Has something happened? What is Lady Dacey doing here at Winterfell anyway?"
Martyn gave a half-smile. "Ah, you haven't heard? Benjen and Dacey have been exchanging letters ever since he met her at Castle Black."
Lyarra blinked. "Truly?"
He nodded. "It started with formal reports—Benjen was helping transport Night's Watch supplies and to confirm the rumours of the monsters beyond the wall and met her at Castle Black. Apparently she beat him in a duel and he never quite recovered."
Lyarra snorted. "Of course she did. Mormont women can be terrifying."
"She's been visiting Winterfell for a few weeks now," Martyn added. "Lord Eddard didn't seem surprised."
Lyarra folded her arms, considering it. "It makes sense, I suppose. House Mormont may be poor, but they're proud, loyal, and bold as hell. And from what I've read, Jorah Mormont did quite well in the Rebellion and he has been quite busy in Walrus Bay, hasn't he?"
"Taxes from Bear Island are said to be more than double after next harvest." Martyn confirmed.
Lyarra glanced back to the yard where Benjen and Dacey now laughed breathlessly between sparring bouts. Snow clung to their cloaks, and a softness lingered in their gazes.
"They suit each other," she murmured. "Warriors. Northerners to the bone."
Martyn's expression became unreadable for a moment, then he said, "It wouldn't surprise me if Lord Eddard is already considering it seriously. The Mormonts may not bring much gold, but their loyalty is worth more."
"And Dacey wouldn't just marry anyone," Lyarra said. "She'd fight beside him."
She looked away, brow furrowed. And when the Long Night comes… he'll need someone like that she thought with a grim smile.
Martyn turned to leave, then paused. "I suppose now you'll be receiving marriage offers yourself."
Lyarra rolled her eyes. "Gods help us all."
She turned back to the sparring ring just as Dacey disarmed Benjen with a deft twist and sent his blade skittering across the dirt. He laughed even as he landed flat on his back.
"You yield?" she asked.
"Never," Benjen replied, reaching up with mock solemnity. "But I do admit you have won this one."
Dacey helped him to his feet.
Lyarra smiled faintly, her breath curling in the cold. "Good for them."
**Scene Break**
Third Moon of 285 AC, Winterfell:
POV: Torrhen Skywalker
The air in the solar was still, save for the quiet crackling of a log shifting in the hearth. Eddard Stark sat behind his desk, hands folded, the weariness of lordship etched into his face. Across from him, Torrhen leaned forward, resting his arms on the edge of the table.
"I want Skane to remain neutral in all wars for the next ten years," Torrhen said calmly. "You can call it isolationism. Or pragmatism. But it's necessary."
Eddard's brow furrowed. "That is… a bold request. You would not answer the banners if the North is called to war?"
"We'll defend the North, always," Torrhen replied. "But if the southern lords or the King drag you into one of their pet squabbles, I need to know we won't be forced to follow. My people need time to grow strong. To prepare."
Eddard was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "And what do you offer in return?"
Torrhen smiled faintly. "Moat Cailin. We'll fund its reconstruction—stone, timber, iron if you need it from us but mainly gold, we have enough of it so don't worry. We'll make it strong again, like it was in the Age of Heroes. And once it's done, you give it to Benjen. Let him and Dacey hold it in your name. A new house, a new legacy. A shield against the South."
"Funding the reconstruction of Moat Cailing will not just cost a few thousand gold dragons, Torrhen. I didn't think Skane and Skagos did have that kind of resources" Ned said before a small smirk formed on his face "I take it, you are confident you can find enough gold in that other world of yours?" he asks.
"We have a steady income there and should meet the demands of a full reconstructions".
That gave Ned pause. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed. "You thought this through though I get the feeling that you aren't telling me everything."
"I've had time to," Torrhen said, then hesitated. "And no I am not, but a lot of the knowledge Lyarra and I now have is extremely dangerous. Just take a look at this."
He reached into his satchel and produced a small leather pouch. From it, he drew a golden apple. The light of the hearth danced across its gleaming skin.
Eddard blinked. "What is that?"
"A gift," Torrhen said. "And a warning. This apple—eat it, and it heals wounds, mends fatigue. Strengthens the body for days. It's not alchemy. It's something else."
He placed the apple gently on the desk. "This is a taste of what we've found… but it's not the reason I'm here."
Eddard's gaze flicked to his face, wary. "Then what is?"
"I had another dream," Torrhen said softly. "The kind I've had since… since we came back."
Eddard's lips tightened. "A greendream?"
"Yes. I saw the Wall. Heard the horn blow three times. Saw dead things walking in snow. A blue-eyed king beneath the stars, his hand lifted, and the dead rose to obey him."
He met his brother's eyes. "The Long Night is coming again, Ned. And we have maybe ten years before the Night King stirs. Fifteen before the dead march."
Eddard didn't answer right away. He stared into the fire, jaw tight.
"Ned… why do you think they built the Wall? A magical wall of ice, woven with spells, ancient and terrible. It wasn't to stop wildlings. It was to hold something worse back."
Still silence.
Torrhen pressed on. "Why do you think Aegon the Conqueror truly came to Westeros? He saw the Doom of Valyria and knew something worse was coming. My namesake, the last King in the North, bent the knee to ensure the North would have allies in the fight to come. They all knew."
Ned exhaled slowly, eyes still on the flames. "You've predicted things before… Lyanna's pregnancy, Clegane's attack on Elia's chambers … Skagos. All of it. But this… this is different."
"It's bigger," Torrhen agreed. "And it's real. And when it comes, the North must be ready."
He reached into the satchel again, drawing a stoppered glass vial filled with faintly glowing red liquid. "This is a regeneration draught. One dose restores broken limbs, closes deadly wounds. Not instantly—but fast enough to save lives. I'll give you one now, and more later."
Eddard finally looked at him, eyes sharp. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because the North needs Starks," Torrhen said simply. "When the Long Night comes, this house must endure. You and Catelyn… you must have more children. Strong children. There can't be enough Starks guarding the Wall when the dead return."
Eddard gave a wry, incredulous snort. "And you think a golden apple will make her fertile?"
"No even without my intervention she would have given you five healthy children, a lot more than many other Lords can boast about. It will definitely decrease the chance of anything going wrong during the pregnancy and subsequent birthing process however." Torrhen held up a hand before Ned could argue. "But you must keep this secret. If the lords of Westeros learn what we carry—these potions, these apples—they'll try to take it. And I don't want that target on my back. Not yet."
Ned nodded slowly. "Very well. I'll tell no one but Catelyn and make sure she keeps this to herself"
Torrhen smirked. "You can tell Benjen and Dacey if they swear in front of the old gods not to spread the knowledge to anyone. Here have some more golden apples. It should make sure Dacey too won't have too many difficulties." he said materialising half a dozen more golden apples in his hand and handing them over to Ned.
"You say the supply is limited and yet you give them to me like they are loafs of bread" Ned said with a curious expression.
"We do have plenty more but only after spending a looot of gold and time to get these. And yes, actual gold is used to create these apples" Torrhen said seriously.
They sat in silence for a moment, the crackle of fire the only sound between them.
Eddard finally stood. "You'll have your ten years. And Benjen will have Moat Cailin once he weds Lady Dacey, I am sure the Mormonts will gladly accept the marriage offer."
He extended his hand. Torrhen took it, and they clasped wrists.
"Winter is coming," Eddard murmured.
Torrhen nodded. "The North remembers."
**Scene Break**