Four wolves go to a tourney; or, how the Knight of the Laughing Tree crowned the Sun of Dorne the Queen of Love and Beauty.

He bled out on the snowy grounds of the Night’s Watch, not expecting to wake again. But he did wake, and it was not in the forlorn outreaches of the Wall, but back at Winterfell, where King Robert Baratheon was a day’s ride away… Old Nan had always warned against changing fate, but how can Jon refuse a chance to prevent the game of thrones?

It had been a slash across her chest from a White Walker’s sword that finally ended her life. Sansa’d landed in a puddle of her own blood, and she’d died quickly, quietly. And then she’d awoken with a gasp, trembling, in a bed that had burned under Theon’s betrayal.

The dragons were devoted to the children first and foremost, but Drogon would snap and flame at anyone who came too close to Rhaella, Balerion could on occasion be found curled up on Elia's lap while she worked, and Ghost had once arranged himself just so along the back of the Iron Throne while Lyanna held court in her husband's absence - it was the most productive court session she'd ever been party to. Or, Rhaegar marries Lyanna Stark, and runs away with Elia Martell

Sansa burns Winterfell as the Night King approaches. Somehow, her story continues.

“You are more North than anyone of those cock-sucking lords and ladies, crow. You fought alongside us against the dead. You died for us, and for that, you’ll always have a home beyond the Wall regardless of who sired you.” Jon’s breath stilled in his lungs when Tormund pressed their foreheads together. He’d seen other wildlings embrace like this before, but it had always been between family members. Warmth bloomed from the contact. Jon swallowed, willing his heart to be still so he could hear Tormund’s whispered words. “Jon,” The fire-kissed wildling said, “Not a Targaryen or Snow. Just Jon.” (Season8!AU where Daenarys does not burn down King’s Landing, Jon actually helps, and Rhaegal lives. Self Indulgent Fix-it.)

The dead fell. The dead fell, and Gendry’s heart was racing, pounding so hard inside of his chest that he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. Silence crept across the courtyard and the sound of his heart beating only got louder. Puffs of air left his lips in tiny, gasping breaths as he stared down at the mountain of bodies below. Next to him, Tormund, the ginger wildling who had somehow wound up next to him atop the heap, spun in a circle, surveying. Across the courtyard, Gendry could hear someone shout, “What is this?” “Is this a trick?” Someone else responded. “He did it,” Tormund breathed. His voice was as soft as a whisper. Gendry turned to him, his heart still pounding in his chest and his fingers still wrapped around his hammer so tightly that he could seldom tell where his skin began and the shaft ended. Tormund’s blue eyes turned to him, wide, joyous. “That bloody crow did it.” Gendry couldn’t speak.

“You held your vow to my girls,” she croaks, and now she’s… half-smiling? Gods, what? “You did your best. I am thankful for it. I want to repay you as a last gift for your service.” Brienne nods, barely. “My lady…?” She’s aware she hasn’t said anything other than that until now, but what should she be doing? “You must choose. You want him, for what he’s worth, or his head?” Wait. Gods, is she telling Brienne that she’s willing to kill him for her or to just leave him to her if she wants him back?

What would change about the Song if the Chocobros and the Royal Guards were reincarnated into the world of Westros?

What would change about the Song if all those connected to the Tri-Ni-Sette reincarnated into the world of Westros?

Margaery goes back in time. She marries a Baratheon. Again. This time, she’ll make it stick.

What would Game of Thrones have been like with a strong, empowered Sansa?

King's Landing swallows Dornish princesses and chokes on their bones.

An uncomfortable family supper takes a turn for the worse after a secret is exposed. The King believes a hasty marriage can hold the family together, but how can that sustain peace when one of the grooms hates the other? “When were you going to announce that your second son is an omega?”

If the gods were going to take him away from Cersei and everything he’d known, bind him to a boy half his age, Jaime almost would have preferred it if Robb Stark had been a fool, had been as dull and self-righteous as his father. Seven hells, he could at least have been ugly.

“You let me go, I will find a ship and sail away,” Aegon pleaded. “Never to be found.”

Jon finds himself wandering. His feet carry him to one of the battlements, snow coming down in soft-feathered waves that dust the rooftops. Winterfell is alive with light, windows glowing and chimneys smoking, and Jon can't remember the last time he saw it so full of life, walls still standing tall. This Winterfell has never seen a Bolton occupation, has never witnessed the march of the dead, the wrath of dragon fire. It is eight years before the fall of the Wall, and it feels like a dream. Jon still can't bring himself to completely believe it. Mance Rayder is not yet King Beyond The Wall, the Free Folk have not yet begun to gather, and what stories there are of White Walkers and the dead that walk are still only that, just stories. It has not yet begun, Jon thinks, dread sinking in his stomach. And then- It has not yet begun, Jon thinks again, the thought taking on a new turn in his mind. - Jon has been given a second chance, a chance to change everything.

in which Ned doesn't die but wargs into one pigeon instead. Incidentally, it doesn't stop him from preventing a war and saving both his family and the entirety of Westeros.