Part 1

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***

Sansa lay on the bed Jon had given her, but despite being wildly tired, she couldn't sleep. Not because she was scared, but because the thoughts in her head kept the girl awake. She replayed the conversation with her brother many times in her head, trying to evaluate it the way Littlefinger had taught her. Remembering Baelish, Sansa sighed heavily:

- You've got someone to think of, you fool,' she whispered, an impotent anger rising in her soul. - The despicable traitor...

Right now she wished Littlefinger a painful death, but she had to forget her bloodthirsty thoughts for a while. According to John, if Baelish had the sense to come to the North, nothing good would be waiting for him. An ordinary death by sword would seem an act of mercy to Petyr, especially compared to what Ramsay Bolton did to his victims.

Forcing herself not to think of Baelish, Sansa mentally returned to her conversation with Jon. Sansa blamed herself for not paying much attention to her brother, and she couldn't tell if Jon had always been the way she saw him. She remembered the conversation with her brother completely.

***

-... That's how I ended up here,' Sansa summarised, her story taking several hours to tell. She told Jon everything from leaving Winterfell for King's Landing to her escape from the monster who was her husband. The monster she'd been sold to by a man who called himself her friend. And whom Sansa foolishly believed.

- What did Baelish want by giving you to the Boltons? - Jon asked, who had been silent for the past few hours, for which Sansa was grateful. She needed to speak, to let out all the pain that had built up in her.

- I don't know,' Sansa admitted. - Littlefinger is a plan within a plan, every move he makes, he thinks several steps ahead. You can't play games with him, Jon, only kill him. If you try to outsmart him, you'll be a fool yourself before you know it.

- I'll keep that in mind,' Snow nodded. - Anyway, if Baelish comes at us, he'll regret it.

- You'll kill him?

- Without blinking an eye,' Jon promised his sister, and Sansa realised he wasn't joking. The quiet, unsociable Teen Wolf had grown into a wolf who was soberly aware of his own strength. - Unless you're confusing things in your story, Baelish is to blame for the start of the war. It was he who organised the alliance between the Lannisters and the Tyrells that led to Stannis' defeat. Although, there's no telling how Baratheon's victory would have turned out for us....

- And I think he was the reason I was married to Tyrion Lannister, ruining Olenna Tyrell's plans,' Sansa added. - I could be wrong, of course, but I believe it was Baelish's doing. I was lucky to be married to the Imp, though. He was one of the few people in the capital who treated me well and protected me from Joffrey. Even the Tyrells, for all their contrived concern, just wanted to use me to strengthen their position when they got Winterfell. I was a fool to believe anyone and everyone.

Jon took his sister's hand and squeezed it in his fingers:

- No one can use you anymore. We will decide our own fate now, and if Baelish tries to play his games with us again, we will crush him like a cockroach. Simply and ruthlessly.

Sansa smiled as she heard what she had long dreamed of. Life had shown her that in this world you could only trust yourself and your family. Everyone else would only think of their own benefit, covering themselves with contrived care. But Jon's next question shattered that beautiful picture:

- Did that bastard Greyjoy say where Bran and Rickon might have gone?

- No,' Sansa sighed sadly. Her story about how Theon had helped her escape hadn't changed Jon's attitude toward him, which wasn't surprising. - They were searched for, including the Boltons, but they never found anyone. They had simply disappeared.

Jon was silent for a while, then said quietly:

- My friend Sam met Bran when he was returning to Castle Black from beyond the Wall. With him were his direwolf, Hodor, and the children of Howland Reed. They were travelling north beyond the Wall, but Rickon was not with them.

Not believing her ears, Sansa looked at her brother as if she was seeing him for the first time, then exclaimed:

- Why didn't you say so in the first place!

- I forgot.

That simple answer shocked the girl. She looked at Snow's face and saw that he was not joking or mocking. He had indeed forgotten, and it was only this conversation that had allowed Jon to remember such an important thing.

In the name of all the gods, New and Old, what had happened to him? Sansa had noticed several times before that her brother sometimes looked away and had a strange expression on his face, but she couldn't understand it. He would occasionally wrinkle his nose and rub his temples tiredly, as if he had a headache. It was clear to Sansa now - Jon was remembering. Remembering things he had forgotten for some strange reason. And now she was afraid, for him and for herself, but she dared not ask what had happened to him.

- Jon, I have a favour to ask of you,' Snow looked at her expectantly, and Sansa asked. - 'If you meet Theon, don't kill him.

- Sansa...

- Jon, please! - the girl pleaded. - I understand your anger, I was angry with him too! But back at Winterfell, I saw what Ramsay Bolton did to him! Theon has paid for his mistakes, and if it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here.

- Greyjoy betrayed us,' Jon clenched his fists in rage. - Betrayed Robb. Stabbed him in the back. It's his fault Winterfell fell and so many good men died.

- I know,' Sansa urged him fervently. - Theon knows it himself, and he is fiercely sorry for what he has done. He realises what he has done, and he is his own executioner. Jon, please, for my sake... Don't kill him.

Snow stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the snow-covered yard. He longed to wring Greyjoy's scrawny neck, but he didn't want to upset Sansa either. His sister had been through enough, enough violence and deaths

- All right, I promise I won't kill Greyjoy,' Jon finally said, and Sansa's heart was relieved. - But he'll still get his face kicked in!

Sansa smiled. It was foolish to expect Jon to calm down so easily, but at least now she was sure that Theon would survive the encounter with her brother. That Snow would keep his word, Sansa had no doubt. And now that the question that plagued her had been resolved, it was time to get back to the matter at hand.

- What are we going to do about the Boltons? - Sansa asked.

- Kill them,' Jon said, the certainty in her voice making her uncomfortable. - I'm not going to watch those animals run our house. We're going to kill them.

- It won't be easy,' Sansa said.

- No, it's going to be exactly that,' Snow smiled. At that moment something flashed in his eyes, something elusive but incredibly menacing. - The Boltons, for all their toughness, are only human. They can be wrong, they can be misguided, and they are mortal. They can be killed, and that's what we're going to do. All we need is an army.

- And where will you find one? - Sansa suddenly wondered if her brother had gone mad. He spoke as if he had victory in his pocket, even though he was going up against one of the most brutal men Westeros had ever known.

- I already have,' Jon smiled, but his smile was cold. - But we'll have to get it, and we'll need all the eloquence we can muster.

- And who are you going to go to?

- The Carstarks.

***

Tired of lying on her back, Sansa rolled over onto her side, placing a palm under her cheek. The conversation with Jon had alarmed her, but on the other hand it had filled her with a strange confidence, as if it had been passed down from her brother. She really wanted to believe that Jon wasn't wrong and wasn't falling headlong into a trap, but the fear wouldn't let her go. The Karstarks had betrayed Robb, abandoned him at the most important moment, thereby condemning the Young Wolf to death. Sansa did not know why they had done so, and now she could only wonder if the same fate would befall them.

On the other hand, she knew next to nothing about Jon except what her mother had told her. Bastards, in Catelyn Stark's opinion, were treacherous and cruel, inherently mean, and the same Ramsay Bolton justified those claims entirely. So did Joffrey Baratheon. In Sansa's opinion, these two brats would have found common topics of conversation and would have become fast friends on the basis of bullying those around them. But were these traits inherent in Jon, who was raised under the watchful eye of Eddard Stark? Was he the monster the Lady of Winterfell made him out to be?

Deciding that such musings before bed would do no good, Sansa closed her eyes and tried to put the thoughts out of her head. In less than a minute she was sound asleep.

***

Jon Snow didn't sleep.

He didn't want to sleep, because every moment allowed him to savour life, to feel the wind on his skin and the blood in his veins. He looked at this new and yet so familiar world, so different from the one he had left behind. The one he had left the moment old age had taken its toll and Dovakin's soul had left his mortal body for the Apocrypha, the domain of Hermeus Mora.

How long had he spent in this abode of forbidden knowledge? An hour? A year? A century? Or perhaps an eternity? How many books and ancient manuscripts did he have to study to find the very sacred knowledge that had helped him break free? Yes, he knew he could never return home, the road there was closed to him forever, but that life had ended the moment his last breath came out of his mouth.

So what if his new life would be spent in the foreign lands of an unknown world? Had obstacles ever been a hindrance to him? No, he'd always gone forward no matter what, sweeping away anyone who was foolish enough to stand in his way. Bandits and necromancers, monsters and ancient mechanisms, the dead and the living - he defeated them all, unable to prevail only against time.

'Time flows only forward.'

Only in his old age did Dovakin fully realise the meaning of the ancient dragon's words. No matter how much you hide, no matter what tricks you use, sooner or later time will take its course. Either you yourself will get tired of running away, or someone will come who will cut off your seemingly endless existence. Perhaps one day the gods and Daedra princes will die, and then the entire Universe. Who knows what the future holds?

And now here he is. In a world almost devoid of magic, so different from Nirn and yet so similar. Intrigue, murder, betrayal. It's all so familiar. And, of course, war. Perhaps in all the worlds that exist, war never changes. It shows its ugly face to the world, lavishing its bloody tribute. Families are destroyed, fortunes are broken, innocents die. War doesn't care. Give it the will and it will swallow the world, but even that will not be enough. War is an insatiable bitch.

His head ached again, and the young man grumbled. Jon Snow's and Dovakin's memories were blended into one, and it was getting harder and harder to tell which was which. It was getting harder by the hour to separate one personality from the other, and the moment was not far off when the two would finally merge, giving birth to something new. Yes, he would still bear the name Jon Snow, so as not to embarrass others, but it would be a different person.

Jon Snow was an honest young man, kind and honourable. If he broke his word, he always felt remorse. Trying to act according to honour and conscience, he stood in opposition to all others, taking in return the merciless blows of fate, the last of which entered his heart in the form of a dagger. Snow loved and was loved, even if his alliance with the willful wildling was doomed from the start. Nevertheless, he still felt the bitterness of loss in his soul.

It was hard to call Dovakin a good man. He robbed, looted, cheated and killed. He endangered the lives of civilians, stormed fortresses and cities. He was no stranger to blackmail and bribery. In his soul there was practically no room for sentiment and extraneous feelings, although he knew those who dreamed of becoming his wife. Only one girl had managed to resonate in his soul, but for the first time he himself had no answer. And what Dovakin had done when following the orders of the Daedra Princes was better not to remember. Compared to them, Ramsay Bolton might have seemed an innocent child, prone to childish pranks.

And so these different personalities were intertwined into a whole, changing each other and changing themselves at the same time. Moreover, some people were already beginning to notice these changes. Ser Davos and Tormund were among them.

This girl, Sansa, despite her hopes, did not believe in their victory. She thought her half-brother had gone mad, and basically the personality that was forming in Jon's body understood her. Anyone in Sansa's shoes would have thought the same. But Dovakin had been in more delicate and dangerous situations, such as with vampires or Mirak, but he had survived against all odds and now his experience would be useful here.

And soon enough he would be able to use Tu'um. He felt the ancient words tearing from his tongue to shake this world, but the time had not yet come. The essence born of Jon Snow's and Dovakin's personalities realised that the moment had not yet arrived, but felt that the wait was not long. Sometime later, when the merger was finally complete, his fiery breath would turn his enemies to ash, his Scream would split the heavens, and his enemies would fall to their knees, trembling with terror.

But that will come later. First he will get himself an army.