FF allows a very limited summary, so here is the full thing from Ao3:

A series of connected short stories set after ADWD/Season 6, with a mix of show and book elements. Jon, now King in the North, discovers his parentage and fights an ancient enemy. Daenerys arrives in Westeros, meets new allies, and battles for the right to rule the kingdom of her ancestors. Jaime Lannister seeks redemption, and the scattered Stark children return home, armed with new skills. Cersei struggles to hold on to her power, and the ancient orders of Westeros choose sides in the Great Game.

Features: all of the Starks warging, the Brotherhood Without Banners, Edric Dayne, Harrold Hardying, Robb's will, Howland Reed, the lost Targaryen swords, Sam at the Citadel, Nymeria's pack of wolves, and more, though it is mostly centered around Winterfell and the Wall.

(This was meant to be the 'chapters' or 'episodes' of TWOW/S7 I wanted to see most, written as short stories so I could skip ahead to writing the good bits. But as it turns out, everything is the good bits. I've filled in the gaps until it's one monstrous story. You could still read each part separately if you liked, though they'll make more sense in sequence.)

Rated M for some gory battles and murders, and some disturbing magical mutilation. Most of the story is more of a T rating, but I'm just playing it safe.

Romance fans beware: the story is tagged as Jon x Sansa, but it will be a long, long time before that comes to fruition! I intend to evolve that relationship as naturally as I can, and since I'm jumping off from the end of S6, these two see themselves as distant half-siblings at the beginning. If you hate the pairing with a passion, you can back away early and save yourself before you get invested. If you like or are indifferent to the pairing, remember that it's a very slow burn, and will not even begin until Jon knows his true parentage. Jaime x Brienne is a different story, of course; those two don't need my help.

In any case, this story's primary focus will never be romance; it will be sprinkled on like sea salt on caramel, but the meat of the story will be the adventure, the family dynamics, and the game of thrones.


Part 1 - A Rose and a Mockingbird

Petyr Baelish has pledged the Knights of the Vale to the North, and wormed his way into Jon's council. Unfortunately for him, the Brotherhood Without Banners is coming to Winterfell, and among them is a man who can expose Littlefinger's worst deeds...

Sandor I

Winterfell was not what he'd expected. Sandor had known the road would be cold and treacherous, with daily snowfalls, black ice, and fallen trees that the Boltons hadn't thought to clear. He'd known his traveling companions would be unbearable, and the food they'd packed sorely lacking; they'd been that long before reaching the North!

But the ancient home of the Starks, which he knew had been taken by enemies, sacked, and burned, looked very similar to the castle he remembered. To the Hound's tired eyes, it looked strong and even inviting.

Well, he amended, that is, assuming we can get in.

"Halt!" ordered a guard from above the outer gatehouse. "Who goes there?"

"I am Lord Beric Dondarrion," replied the Lightning Lord. "We are what remains of the Brotherhood Without Banners. We seek an audience with the Starks, if they will hear us."

"I will vouch for these men, if need be," spoke up Harwin the Northman. "I am Harwin, who rode south with Lord Stark and King Robert. Hullen was my father."

Suspicious eyes peered down at the ragtag group, and Sandor watched as the Stark guards spoke among themselves, possibly asking if these men were to be trusted. He suppressed a snort, wondering if the men inside such a mighty fortress had all lost their cocks to the cold. Were they truly so afraid of this little band?

Soon enough, the guards raised the portcullis and lowered the drawbridge, allowing the Lightning Lord and his companions to cross the moat between the outer and inner walls. No one seemed to recognize the Hound, not with his new scars and without his dog's head helm. He and his companions were divested of weapons, and sent to the main hall to await the new King in the North and his sister, the princess Sansa.

Sandor fought back a laugh. The little bird he remembered had been so eager to marry Joffrey and become his princess, and in the end she'd become one on her own, by virtue of her father's blood. He wondered what she'd done in between, and if she'd kept any of the innocence that had so infuriated him. If the rumors around the Riverlands had any truth to them, the pretty songbird had become a murderous vampire-bat, and it was about time!

When the pair of Starks entered the hall, the Hound thought he was seeing things. The Bastard of Winterfell and his sister looked like Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully come again, except the girl was even prettier than her trout of a mother. It was no wonder that Littlefinger trailed after Sansa Stark like a stallion after a mare in heat! And the boy looked more like Ned Stark than any of his trueborn sons ever had. He was wearing a fur-lined cloak with the Stark sigil embossed on the leather, and had grown out his hair and beard like his sire.

Sandor was no stranger to kings and their displays of power. In this harsh land, looking and dressing like Eddard Stark's twin would serve the boy far better than fine clothes or jeweled crowns.

Princess Sansa's eyes roved over the group, widening at the sight of Dondarrion, and even further at the sight of Sandor himself.

"Ser Sandor!" she cried. "I did not think to see you again."

"Nor I you, little bird," he answered honestly.

"Sansa has told me that you offered to smuggle her from King's Landing," her brother spoke up, regarding Sandor with shrewd gray eyes. "Although she did not take the offer, I thank you all the same."

The Hound shrugged. It had been an impulsive and stupid offer; he'd have been caught at once with such a distinctive beauty on his horse, but she had refused him, making the point moot.

"May we have bread and salt, your grace?" asked the Lightning Lord.

Jon Snow waved at a nearby servant, and the girl approached with a small tray of bread. They each took a piece, savoring the taste after so much dried meat, stale black bread, and broths that were mostly water.

"Lord Beric, I see the rumors of your death were greatly exaggerated," the King in the North told their leader, raising an eyebrow.

Dondarrion flashed a quick, sardonic grin. "As much as the rumors of yours, your grace, and more besides. Thoros here is a servant of the Lord of Light, and has called me back from the void more times than I care to remember."

None missed how the king's face darkened at the mention of the Red God. The Red Woman in their midst, disguised as a black-haired squire with a bulbous nose, lowered her head.

"Then I am sorry for you," Jon Snow said at last, and obviously meant it. "What brings the Brotherhood to Winterfell?"

"Thoros has seen the danger beyond the Wall in his fires," the Lightning Lord explained. "Your father sent us to protect the realm from harm, and so we have done, to the best of our ability. But there is no danger greater than this, your grace."

"I agree," the king replied. "You must know, however, that fire—even the magical fire of your god—can only do so much. It will destroy wights, the servants of the Others. But the Others themselves can smother all fires; it takes dragonglass or Valyrian steel to defeat them."

"We know," said Thoros of Myr. "We have a few obsidian daggers and arrowheads among us," he added, showing the king the black dagger he kept at his belt. "On our journey north, we passed through the barrowlands. I had a dream the night we camped there, and we entered one of the barrows to find these."

The scattered Northmen around the room gasped.

"You entered a barrow?" Sansa asked, her blue eyes wide.

"Aye, Princess," Harwin spoke up. "I wouldn't have done for love or money, but Thoros said it was necessary. We encountered no surprises, in any case; we just took the weapons and ran for it."

That was an understatement. Harwin had bored them all stupid with northern superstitions, complaining loudly that he wanted no vengeful barrow kings coming after him, especially since he was a Stark man, and the Starks and the barrow kings had long been enemies. Sandor had been tempted to knock him unconscious and leave him in there, but the Red Witch had stopped him.

"Well then, I suppose you're as prepared as any of us. Are you headed for Castle Black?"

"If the Lord Commander will have us," replied Dondarrion.

"Any man who wishes to defend the Wall is a friend to us, and I know Acting Lord Commander Tollett will agree," the King in the North declared. "I will have rooms prepared for you, and your mounts stabled and fed for the nonce. Be welcome to Winterfell, sers."

The Brotherhood bowed, some more awkwardly than others. It was easy to see which of them had been knights and which had been lowly peasant soldiers, Sandor thought. They sat at the nearest table, and Winterfell servants brought them food and drink. After such a journey, the simple meal in front of them looked a feast.

Sandor reached for the nearest plate of chicken, groaning in pleasure when the warm meat and spices hit his tongue. If there was one thing he remembered fondly about his first trip to Winterfell, it was the food.

He was so busy eating at first that he didn't notice the men and women filing into the hall. Most of them were grizzled Northmen in heavy furs, then one or two women, and a tiny little girl wearing a bear sigil. Finally, apart from the others, came a smirking face Sandor Clegane knew all too well.

"Littlefinger?" he asked, unable to comprehend how the brothel-keeper came to be here.

"Clegane, I did not expect to see you in Winterfell," the sly Lord of Harrenhal replied. "I thought you'd be halfway to the Summer Isles by now."

The Hound snorted into his ale. "You know nothing, Baelish. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be whispering poison into the Arryn boy's ear?"

"Robert Arryn is perfectly safe in the Vale," Littlefinger replied smoothly, ignoring how the rest of the Brotherhood listened to their conversation. "I am a part of the King in the North's council, however, since the Vale and the North are once again allies. You do know the meaning of the word?"

"You are no one's ally but your own, whoremonger," Sandor told him viciously, a sinking feeling taking hold of his breast.

Littlefinger shrugged off the accusation with forced good humor. "Come now, Clegane, surely we can be friends? We are all in the North now, far from the Lannisters."

Sandor did not reply to this, glaring in silence until the mockingbird tired of waiting. He walked off with a halfhearted chuckle under the Hound's black gaze. The latter tried to return to his food, but his appetite had disappeared.

Why should he care if the little bird and her idiot brother trusted the biggest liar in the Seven Kingdoms?

Sandor could not explain it even to himself. And yet...he doubted they knew how depraved Littlefinger truly was. Would Sansa Stark truly have made Littlefinger part of the council, if she'd known what the man had done to her little friend? The steward's daughter had been dragged out of the Tower of the Hand by her hair, and thrown into Littlefinger's brothel; surely the Stark girl didn't know that!

He had to warn her. If Jon Snow was like their father in more than looks, Littlefinger would have a knife to his throat before long, and Sansa Stark would be left alone again. That he could not allow, and he had to act fast. Littlefinger might poison all the chickens in Winterfell just to kill Sandor, and the Hound could not bear such a tragic waste of his favorite food.

Finding the little bird in her own home was much more difficult than it had been in the Red Keep. Without the cloak of the Kingsguard, or the protection of the Lannisters, Sandor lacked the freedom to move about the castle as he pleased, and Sansa was well-liked here. He didn't think she was hiding from him; he caught glimpses of auburn hair now and then, and saw efficiency and order wherever she'd been. The princess was a busy woman, a capable mistress for her family's castle.

While the rest of the Brotherhood rested or explored the castle and godswood, the Hound wandered around the massive complex, searching for the girl's distinctive Tully hair. Despite the wars that had decimated this part of Westeros, the castle was full of people. Northmen went about their duties, usually dressed in somber colors and with their hands full. Wildlings, recognizable by their heavy furs, gathered around cookfires, shared ales, or trained with spears. The knights of the Vale and their squires were there as well, training, resting, or otherwise making nuisances of themselves. They were the most colorful visitors.

The Hound finally caught up to Sansa Stark when it was nearly suppertime. He saw her leaving the kitchens, dressed in a simple green gown enhanced with silver embroidery. He was sure she had done it herself; he'd seen enough of her needlework in King's Landing to recognize her skill. He sped up, catching her as she was about to enter the main keep.

"Little bird," he said quickly, getting her attention. It pleased Sandor that she no longer flinched at the sight of him, though he wondered why. "What are you doing with Petyr Baelish?"

She sighed, and led him inside the keep, to a dead-end hallway full of storage rooms. Sansa said nothing until she had checked the hallway for eavesdroppers, and found it empty.

"He came to the rescue with the Knights of the Vale, just as my brother and his army were about to be slaughtered. I can't leave him out of the council now, no matter how much I might wish to. I certainly don't trust him," she added, "and you must have seen how I avoid him when we're not in meetings."

"Lady Stark, do you have any idea what that man did?"

The Princess in the North scowled. He'd never seen such anger on her face before, not even when Joffrey had made her look at her father's head on a spike.

"He sold me to Ramsay Bolton, a man who tortured women for sport," she said, venom oozing from her voice. "This is the same man who knows everything, but he says he didn't know Ramsay was a monster before he sent me to the family who butchered mine."

Sandor looked her over, and realized that his moniker no longer fit. She was no more a bird than he was a dragon. Eddard Stark's oldest daughter had finally found the wolf in her blood.

"He's done worse than that, Princess. Do you remember the little girl that was with you in the Tower of the Hand, when the Lannisters killed all of the Stark men?"

Sansa frowned a bit, then remembered. "Jeyne? Jeyne Poole, the steward's daughter? What happened to her?"

"Cersei Lannister said that she'd been upsetting you and must be removed from your presence. So she gave the girl to Littlefinger, and Littlefinger carried the girl away to one of his brothels, kicking and screaming. I heard tell he had her beaten black and blue, until she stopped asking for her father or for any Stark. She's still in King's Landing today, unless one of her clients killed her. She became a plaything for men just like that Ramsay fucker."

The sweet little bird of old would have wept, or screamed, or called him a mean old liar, mayhaps. But the Princess Sansa Stark who stood before him now been beaten, humiliated, sold and widowed. Now she stood in her family's castle, reborn as a Princess of Winter, and closed her eyes in a brief moment of pain. When they opened once more, the blue orbs shone with fury.

"Anything else?" she asked quietly.

"Your father had discovered that Joffrey and his siblings were not the king's children," Sandor explained. "He asked Littlefinger to get the City Watch on his side, so he could arrest the Lannisters. Baelish promised him this, and betrayed him. I was in the throne room myself, when Littlefinger held a dagger to your father's throat. I did warn you not to trust me," he said.

Sansa was biting her lower lip. Angry tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but they did not.

"What else, ser?"

Sandor knew the last would be the most damning.

"Cersei Lannister and the rest of the small council meant for your father to take the black. It was Littlefinger that convinced Joffrey your father had to die; he wanted your mother for himself, and Eddard Stark was in the way. I watched him poison the boy king against your father, and smile when Ilyn Payne took his head. He filled Joffrey's fat head with ideas of how the world should bend to his will, beginning with stubborn lords."

A tear fell from her left eye. Sansa seemed too angry to speak. Her face, now stripped of the artifice of King's Landing, spoke loudly enough in any case. Before Sandor could do or say anything, a massive white beast appeared at the girl's side, barreling past the man to lick the princess' delicate hand.

"Ghost," she murmured, patting the gigantic wolf's head. "Never mind my tears, boy. I'm well, thank you."

"I'd forgotten your family had those wolves," Sandor said, watching the direwolf carefully. "This one is your brother's, then?"

"Yes, this is Jon's wolf," she replied. "He's been guarding us both since we took back our home."

Ghost inspected Sandor then, studying him with red eyes that were far too intelligent for a wolf. Sandor offered a hand for the beast to sniff.

"I bet he's torn out a throat or two," the Hound said, staying very still as the white monster inspected him. "You ought to feed Littlefinger to him."

"I'd never feed Ghost something so horrible," she replied. "But Petyr Baelish will die. Will you help me, Sandor Clegane?"

Seven hells. This girl had always been his weak spot. He had no idea what she would ask of him, but he nodded almost at once.

"Excellent. Ghost," she ordered the wolf, "bring Jon to his solar. We have work to do."