Catelyn

The direwolves were restless. They paced the kennels ceaselessly, never making a sound but always in motion, always prowling. Night and day they did this, only stopping to feed and, sometimes, to sleep.

The wolves' pacing seemed to infest their masters, as well. Cat's dreams were filled with a need to be somewhere, to do something that seemed just on the edge of her understanding. The days were not much better, filled with an edge of anticipation that led her on a looping route around Winterfell. Robb worked the house guards with feverish intensity, running drill after drill in the courtyard, fingers always tap tap tapping on the hilt of his sword. Rickon ran about the castle in a blur of activity, poking and prodding and cajoling others into playing with him until he dashed off again in search of what, Cat knew not.

Only Bran, her sweet wounded boy, seemed mostly unaffected by the restlessness, limping about Winterfell on the crutch Maester Luwin had fashioned for him. But even if Bran seemed untouched by anxiety, he still seemed distracted at times, looking up at the sky as if he was expecting something.

For seven days and seven nights this went on, until on the morning of the eighth day the northern quiet was broken by the sky-ship's distant rumble. Cat emerged from the great hall to find Robb ordering the guards back into formation as the ship rumbled over the walls and slowly turned to loop around the castle. "Another mouth to feed, it seems!" he called cheerfully as she approached.

"Did you have word of this?" asked Cat. That the sorceress would come and go was something she had come to accept many moons before, but considering that she had gone to King's Landing with Ned... returning without advance warning felt wrong.

Robb shook his head. "No ravens from Father, if that's what you mean." The wrong feeling in Catelyn's belly deepened. Ned would have sent word ahead. "Shall we go to meet her, or let her meet us at the gate?" he asked.

"What do you think?"

"I think we should go meet her." Robb grinned, and Cat was struck by how boyish her son still was, no matter that he was the Stark in Winterfell. So young, too young. "I never get tired of seeing that ship of hers."

Cat swallowed her worry and smiled, just a little. "Then we shall do exactly that." The sky-ship had dropped behind the wall near the south gate, just where it had berthed when the king's progress had come to Winterfell.

The sky-ship's thunder was replaced by a great clamor from the direction of the kennels. Men rushed towards the sound, as did Robb. "Sorry, milord," the kennel-master said, "the wolves want out all of a sudden."

"Well then let them out," cried Robb. "And for the gods' sake, stay out of their way!"

"Robb, is that wise?" Cat said quietly, out of others' hearing.

"They won't hurt her," he replied with confidence.

The kennel-master opened the pens and the wolves leapt out, howling joyously. They raced through the courtyard towards the south gate. Behind them, Robb and Cat followed at a more sedate pace. Bran met the little procession at the gate, leaning on his stick with a smile she had almost forgotten he could make on his face. The wolves milled at his feet, waiting.

The gate opened and the wolves launched themselves through the door, the mother leading the pack straight towards the ship. The ship's mistress had descended from the ship and was making her way up towards the gate when the massive wolf jumped and pounced, knocking the poor woman to the earth.

"Agh!" she cried, pinned to the ground by the mother direwolf's bulk. "Off! Off, you ambulatory shag carpet!" Moro barked happily and moved off, leaving Mistress Jade lying in the summer grass. Ever gallant, Robb offered the sorceress a hand up.

"Are you alright, my lady?"

"Yeah," she groaned, accepting the hand and clambering back to her feet. "Bruised my dignity is all. Just as well, I wasn't using it for anything." She shot Moro a baleful look, who responded by sitting down and huffing. "I'd ask what I did to you, but I'm afraid you'd give me an answer."

Robb coughed delicately. "Welcome back to Winterfell, Lady Jade," he said. "What brings you here? We all thought you were going to stay in the south for longer."

Mistress Jade rubbed the back of her head. "Yeah, well, so did I," she said wryly. "Things kind of... got involved. Also, I'm running an errand or two—"

"Mother!" The cry came from the foot of the ship, jerking Cat's attention from the sorceress to the sight of her Arya running at her, arms outstretched.

"Arya?" Cat said, picking her youngest girl up in an embrace. "What are you doing here? Did you stow away?"

"(Like that, among other things,)" Jade muttered.

"I didn't stow away, Father sent me home," Arya said breathlessly. "He said I wasn't enjoying myself in King's Landing and I suppose I wasn't and I missed Nymeria so much but still I was going to start catching cats in the Red Keep soon and that sounded like fun but Father decided I should go home and he and Sansa were going to stay even though Joffrey's a little brat—"

"Arya!" Cat said, scandalized. "You shouldn't say such things about your sister's betrothed!"

"But he is!" Arya protested.

"Lady Jade?" Robb asked, cutting into the argument before it could get truly started. "Father asked you to take Arya home?"

The sorceress nodded. "Her and a few others," she said. "And he asked me to pick up a few things while I was here, too." She reached inside her coat, froze, then frantically began patting her other pockets. "Shit shit shit I didn't leave it behind did I of all the stupid things oh no wait there we go." She produced a letter sealed in wax with Ned's personal seal. "For you, I think," she said, offering it to Robb.

Robb took the letter, broke the seal and read the contents with a frown. "This is... troubling," he said. "Another score men to the south? We can do that, but it leaves the Winterfell guard a bit short-handed. Ser Rodrik will know who is the best of what we have here." He looked at Jade. "When does Father expect them in the city?"

"As soon as possible," the sorceress replied. "Which is more on me than you. If you can get your men assembled quickly I can have them at the gates of King's Landing before dinner." She glanced at the sun. "Probably before dinner," she amended. "It'll be tight, but we can make it. Won't be a comfortable trip, though."

"Soldiers are used to discomfort," Robb said. Cat hid a smile as he repeated his teachers' words to the sorceress. "And better half a day's discomfort than a moon's turn or more on the march. Now, my lady, Mother," he continued, "if you'll excuse me I need to confer with Ser Rodrik and choose men to help Father."

"Of course, Robb," said Cat. "Get the men you need." The worry in her stomach turned into a sour stone. There had been time for precious few ravens since Ned had arrived in the capital, and now he was sending Arya home and calling for more men. "Is something wrong?" she asked the sorceress once Robb had gone off with Arya in tow to find the master-at-arms and pick the twenty they would send south.

Mistress Jade shook her head. "No idea," she said. "The main group of guards finally showed up yesterday, and I know he was glad to see them. Things have been a little weird the last couple days. Beyond that, I haven't pried. If the Hand thinks he needs reinforcements I won't be the one to tell him no."

That wasn't passing near the reassurance Cat wanted. "Will you be staying in King's Landing tonight?" she asked. The unspoken question will you be there to help Ned? hanging in the air.

"I'll only be there long enough to drop off the troops, then I'm back here for a day or two before heading to the Wall," the sorceress said. "There's... I don't know what's going on. I really don't. But I can feel something moving around just out of sight, you know?" And the odd thing was, Cat really did know what she felt like. Moro took this moment to shove her head under Cat's hand, a gesture she'd become familiar with over the long days of her husband's absence.

"And you think this thing you're seeking lies at the Wall?" she asked.

"I don't know." Mistress Jade shrugged helplessly. "All I can do is keep digging and see if I can bring it to light. It's what I do."

Log Entry: Surface Day 108

When I was but a wee lass (she said in a horrible mock-Irish accent) my grandmother told me stories about her life as a road train driver, running the long haul down the Watney Trail through Schiaparelli to Hellas, or leading a train all the way around the world on Route One from Valles-New Shanghai and back again. For a little girl who grew up in the world with shuttleports and the planetary transporter grid, Grandma's stories of huge processions of trucks trundling down endless worn dirt paths through equally endless fields of boulders for days on end—and all of this just for crap you could make at the local autofac—seemed like the craziest thing ever.

I now have a far greater appreciation for my ancestors' toil than I did yesterday. Stark called in a favor, asked me to move some people around and damned if I didn't just spend the entire day doing exactly that. I delivered Arya and a few of his less-essential courtiers to Winterfell, hauled a couple dozen Stark soldiers to King's Landing and then returned to Winterfell in the middle of the night for a dinner of tube rat flambé and just enough time to hang a do-not-disturb-violators-will-be-toad sign on the door before I passed out. I thought I knew what boring flying was like; I was so very, very wrong. I have no idea how freight pilots do it.

Anyway.

Winterfell was pleased to see me, which is nice. The Starklings are all as well as they can be—Bran's still got a nasty limp but he doesn't seem to hold it against me. Things haven't changed much in the three weeks or since I left, in fact after being so busy in the south Winterfell being pretty much like I left it feels oddly restful. Also, it's nice to be somewhere where the sewers are better maintained and not nearly as overwhelmed as King's Landing. Even with the ship's filtration systems the smell was starting to infest my dreams at this point. I mean, Jesus.

Young Lord Robb wasn't expecting me, which means something I haven't quite yet decoded. Stark's not a man who does stuff on a whim, so the idea of packing his youngest girl and a bunch of servants back to Winterfell couldn't have been a spur-of-the-moment decision. I haven't seen anything in the capital that suggests the situation's getting that tense as of yet… but then again I've been looking at the heart trees and trying to stay out of local politics, so I might've missed something, or a lot of somethings.

(Incidentally, when I voice my whole I'm-not-involved thing, Al just gives me this pitying look and Thoros says something along the lines of "you'd be better off demanding water stop being wet." I really hate it when they're right about this crap.)

But we'll burn that bridge when we come to it. I've got… roughly fifteen days, give or take a few, before I'm due back in King's Landing for Bob's tournament. In other circumstances it'd be an interesting cultural activity; never been to a proper Postclassical tourney before. Problem is, I've got bigger things on my mind at the moment.

Cultural enrichment can wait, there's Science to be done!

First things first, I need to go back over Luwin's library looking for things I might've missed. The first survey was largely general history & the like, this time I need to drill down and look for things specific to the North, the Old Gods and the Others. The Citadel had a lot of theorycrafting but not much in terms of specifics. The Stark stronghold should have more.

So will Castle Black, so once I'm done here we're off to the Wall. I need to give that damned thing a proper examination with the full suite of sensors. I didn't spend nearly enough time on the survey the last time I was there, just running a baseline environmental study. The Wall looms large in the Westerosi mythspace… it's just as key to this polar business as the weirwoods, I think. I need more data… and to talk with Mormont and Aemon again.

If I'm right—if Brynden's right—they need to know more than anybody else.

And then I have to get back south for a tournament. Joy.

The Spider's Tunnels

The meeting was risky, but perhaps also necessary. The last moon's turn of life in King's Landing had been set ever so slightly off-kilter, like a painting or tapestry hung at a subtly wrong angle. On the surface, everything seemed normal enough but there was that ever present hint of wrongness that drew the eye while the mind wondered. At least the journey would be simple enough: Pentos was close and his friend had many fast ships, most of which carried legitimate cargoes, to race to Westeros aboard.

At the appointed time, the master of whisperers slid from his office in the Red Keep with a grace belieing his round softness, removed the robes and perfume that made him so distinctive and applied one of his more useful costumes.

A burly guard soon enough left his post near the spymaster's quarters and made his way to a quiet place where he could move between the walls unnoticed and undisturbed. Truly an amazing place, the Red Keep. Old Maegor and his mad tyranny had build something wonderful, all riddled with hides and holes waiting for just the right person to come along and put them to good use. Down he traveled through passages known only to him and the rats, until he reached a secluded spot near where the hillside reached the sea. Waiting for him was the man he'd sent for not long after reports of witchery in the north started reaching his ears.

Illyrio Mopatis been handsome and lithe, once. That was a long time ago, muscle and vigor replaced by wealth and fat. Jeweled rings glittered on his stubby fingers as he bowed. "My old friend," he said warmly. No names, of course. Even here there was a chance, however small, of being overheard. "So good to see you after so long."

"And I you," Lord Varys said with a gruff note in his voice. "Though I wish the circumstances were more welcoming."

"Oh? Our last reports said things here were coming along nicely."

"They were. They still are, in fact. Perhaps too nicely. Lord Stark's investigation is moving faster than I expected. This Ulthosi business has the king distracted, but we cannot hope for that to last... and it has dangers of its own. War is coming soon, I fancy. We have to move our plans forward to meet it or be left behind."

"Too soon, too soon," his old friend protested. "What good is war now? We are not ready. Delay."

"Would that were possible. But even if I could, a delay would not be in our favor."

"The princess is with child. The khal will not bestir himself until his son is born. You know how those savages are."

"Then perhaps we must put aside the khal and his princess for now," Varys replied. "The game is expanding in scope far beyond the original players. Stannis Baratheon and Lysa Arryn are beyond my reach, and the whispers say they are gathering swords to their sides. The Knight of Flowers plots to make his sister the new queen with Lord Renly. Littlefinger... the gods only know what game Littlefinger is playing. And Lord Stark... he has the bastard, he has the book and soon enough he'll have the truth. If the queen even suspects Lord Eddard knows, she will make her move. Wolf and lion are already snarling at each other across a divide, what happens next will send them leaping across the chasm, fangs bared. And into all of this comes our mysterious visitor from far Ulthos. An element we didn't see and didn't expect. It concerns me."

Illyrio raised an eyebrow. "Truly, old friend? The noble houses of the Seven Kingdoms are but balls to be juggled, and one foreign woman with a wain full of queer devices troubles you?"

Varys shook his head wearily. "Juggling balls is one thing. Juggling knives is a different thing altogether, and I fear Robert's pet witch may well be one knife too many. Consider, my friend: the Lady Hasegawa has no swords but she has influence. She has the king's interest, whether she likes it or no, and the Hand owes her a debt which cannot be repaid for his second son's life. Furthermore she has been gathering allies in unlikely places, from the Citadel to the red priests of Volantis to House Martell—though I doubt she knows that last one yet. She's been content to chase after the northmen's gods for now, but when things come to a head?"

The fat man stroked his beard thoughtfully. "An interesting problem," he said. "Perhaps a matter for the skilled men of Braavos?"

"I had considered it," Varys admitted, "but her defenses are uncanny enough that I doubt we could afford the cost of such a thing. Besides which, it would be in our interest to keep the woman alive and, if possible, favorably viewed towards us." A radical suggestion to be sure, given the sorceress's ties and what little he knew of how she viewed the world. And yet he plunged on. "You must understand old friend, this woman is no exile seeking succor from the Iron Throne. She is a castaway biding time whilst waiting for rescue. Lady Hasegawa says her people will come—are coming—for her, and I see no reason to doubt that."

"A compelling argument against assassination," Illyrio agreed. "But why try and tilt her towards us? Her people will come, take her away and we are free to resume playing, no?"

Ah. His friend had pierced the heart of the matter, and now they strayed into waters Varys had less understanding of. "Her people will come and return her to their lands yes," he said cautiously. "But listening to the witch I believe that may not be the end of it. It is possible that her people will tarry and treat with those who sheltered their kinswoman in a time of need."

Illyrio's hand stopped mid-stroke as he considered the implications. "If whoever sits the throne has treated the witch with hospitality they would be... yes, I see where you're going with this. I like it." He shook his head violently. "And yet we are still not ready. Less so if we cannot count on the khal. We must delay. We need more time."

"Time? Time is our enemy now," Varys said quietly. "The opportunity will not last long at this rate. Delay, you say? Make haste, I reply. Even the finest jugglers cannot keep a hundred balls in the air forever. The swifter we act now the better our chances in the future."

"You are more than a juggler, old friend. All I ask is for you to work your magic one last time. I will do what I can to accelerate our plans, but quick movement was always going to be difficult. Give us enough time to be ready as you can."

"I will do all that is possible," Varys said. "I will need gold, and fifty new birds."

"So many? The ones you need are hard to find... so young, to know their letters... it will be difficult."

"Even a sorcerer requires his tools to work, my friend."

"Humph. Very well, I will scrape the barrels clean and find them for you. But remember, delay as much as you can! We will need every moment you can squeeze from the hourglass."

Tyrion

When they arrived at Castle Black, the ship was waiting for them. It wasn't a complete surprise: that morning as the party of recruits and their dilettante tagalong broke fast, thunder rumbled above them. Jon Snow's direwolf perked up at the sound, pointing his head to the sky and barked. Tyrion had just enough time to look up and see a tiny white object, too fat and distant to be a bird, shoot across the sky. Snow's gaze followed his own, and he looked thoughtful and graver than usual that morning. Sure enough, riding down the kingsroad some hours later they saw the white bulk of the Ulthosi sky-ship berthed near the castle gate.

The ship had gone south, then returned to the north in the same time it took the party to struggle up the kingsroad from Winterfell. "I feel vaguely cheated," Tyrion muttered to himself. Not quietly enough though, as Stark's bastard turned and gave him a funny look. "What?"

"You could've gone back to King's Landing with the king and his party," Snow said in reply. "They all took a trip on Carefree Victory."

"Aye, I could have," he agreed. "But that would have meant missing out on the Wall, and I'd regret that to the end of my days." Not to mention that I'd already spent far too much time with Cersei and Joffrey on the journey north as it was. Not that he'd ever say it aloud, of course: Lannisters were a united front to the world, no matter how complicated things were elsewhere.

That statement drew a bark of laughter from Benjen Stark. "You sound like a black brother already," he said. "Are you sure you don't want to join the Watch, Lord Tyrion?"

Tyrion chuckled politely. "What good would a dwarf be to your noble order?" he asked. "I suppose I could caper about and amuse the wildlings to death… but if we're going to be honest my capering's never been that good and I doubt they would appreciate my wordplay." He spread his hands to encompass the whole of the castle. "Better I stay with my books and young, strapping lads like Snow here take up swords to defend the realm."

Stark raised an eyebrow. "Wit's more useful in the lands beyond the Wall than you might think otherwise, my lord Lannister," he said mildly. "You may think of wildings as savages, but you don't survive winter in that country by being stupid savages."

"I defer to your experience and wisdom, my lord Stark," Tyrion said. "Besides, we have much more interesting things to talk about than my fitness for the Night's Watch. Like this ship! Remarkable, isn't it?"

"Aye," Benjen replied. "I was out on a ranging when the ship first came here. It was all anyone could speak of when I returned." He turned to Snow, who was alternating between looking at the Wall and the ship. "You flew in it with Robb, didn't you Jon? What was it like?"

"It was…" Jon trailed off. "There was very little sense of motion. It quivers a little, but if I wasn't looking out the window I would have had no idea we were moving. Nothing like a horse or a wagon." He shook his head. "It was unlike anything I've ever done before."

Tyrion had no good reply to that. Instead, as the party drew close and then past the sky-ship he contemplated getting into the vessel himself. He still had plenty of gold for the journey home, and it wasn't as if he was bereft of charm. If nothing else, learning more about the girl and her plans would be a golden opportunity. I wonder how long she intends to stay at the Wall, and where she's off to next?

Entering the courtyard, they found the sorceress standing off to one side, apparently deep in discourse with one of the little machines she called familiars. A cluster of black brothers gathered opposite the side, watching her closely. Some of the men looked wary, while others combined that wariness with a naked longing that Tyrion was intensely familiar with. He idly wondered if the sorceress understood what a woman walking around the Watch's stronghold unaccompanied was doing to some of the brothers. Or even if she cared.

The sorceress looked up from the familiar as they approached. She blinked, then looked at Jon Snow with more than a little surprise in her eyes. "Jon?"

Snow nodded his head a fraction. "My lady," he said evenly. It seemed that some unspoken communication passed between the two of them in that moment. The sorceress sighed and nodded.

"Made your choice, huh?" she asked quietly. Jon averted his eyes.

"I had no future at Winterfell," he said simply. "Lady Stark made that very clear to me. At the Wall I may at least do something useful with my life."

"There is that," she replied. "Though if you're going to try and sandbag my prediction like that, that just means I have to work harder," she added with a teasing note. Jon's cheeks reddened, though Tyrion couldn't quite grasp why.

"You wouldn't dare," he muttered. The sorceress just smiled.

"Try me, kid," she said. Jon got even redder and stared at the nearest tower.

Benjen coughed. "Ah, excuse me my lady," he said. "I believe we met briefly during the King's visit. A pleasure to meet you again."

"Benjen, right? Ned's brother?" Jade said. "Good to see you again too… keep yourself handy, we may be talking again pretty soon." The sorceress's eyes turned to Tyrion. They were, he noted, almost Lannister in their color, perhaps a shade too bright a green to be part of the family. "You were with the king's party," she said to him. "I don't think we were ever properly introduced, though."

He could feel the smirk crawl across his face. He'd kept his distance during the stay at Winterfell, content to skulk about and listen in when he could, secure in the knowledge that Cersei would do her best to keep him away from anything important. "I do have a tendency to be hidden against a backdrop. Someone must have forgotten to introduce me. A regretful error on my sweet sister's part, no doubt. Tyrion Lannister at your service, my dear captain," he said grandly, sketching a brief bow.

The sorceress returned his bow with one of her own, not quite as stiff nor as deep as the one she gave Robert. "A useful skill, keeping a low profile like that," she said. "Never was very good at it myself. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Tyrion."

"I find myself simply bursting with questions," Tyrion said, waving his hand towards the wagon. "The first of which being, are you in need of a drink? I daresay Castle Black doesn't have much of a wine cellar, but I have brought a few skins of Arbor gold along with me…"

"The offer's appreciated, milord," Jade replied, "but I'm in the middle of something at the moment. Perhaps this evening at dinner?"

Not quite a yes, but still not a no. Further than Robert got at a stroke, at least.

"If I might be so bold my lady, Benjen said, "what exactly are you doing here?"

"Research," replied the sorceress. "I'm seeking the hows and the whys and the wherefores of Westeros, and where else to start but the top?"

Jon looked a touch confused. "But, wait, you were already here," he said. "Why visit again?" A fair question, that.

Jade laughed. "That was just a preliminary," she said. "Confirming that yes, it really was there. But now the game's afoot. I'm onto it now, it won't outfox me this time."

"I'm surprised His Grace let you out of his sight so quickly," Tyrion put in. "It's not been quite a full turn of the moon since you arrived in King's Landing, isn't it? Has the bloom come off the rose so quickly?"

The sorceress's eyes narrowed a fraction. Tyrion felt a distinct chill arise in the air. "The king and I have an arrangement," she said after a moment. "I give him counsel on certain matters, and in return I can keep up my studies."

"Ah, of course. Forgive any unintended slight, I beg you." The moment passed and the woman was all cheer again.

"No worries," she said. "In any event, I've seen some fascinating things so far. Spent a few days in Oldtown; wonderful library there at the Citadel, though getting in was a bit of a pain. I even picked up—" At this moment a maester burst out of the far gate and ran towards Lady Jade.

"My lady!" the maester called, waving some sort of small puzzle box in a thin dark hand. "My lady!" The maester—no, not a maester, he thought, he has no chain. An initiate, perhaps—skidded to a stop, panting, then straightened himself and presented the box to the sorceress. "I took the readings in the tunnel like you suggested. Look at this!"

A pane of light erupted from the box, causing the First Ranger to recoil back in surprise. "Gods," he croaked. Tyrion for his part was no less surprised, but held his astonishment better as the light resolved into an image of blurry dark lines in a fog of blueish gray.

The sorceress looked intrigued. "How far back are they?"

"Three, possibly four yards from the tunnel wall," the novice maester said promptly. "See how they're spaced at regular intervals? I only looked at the first twenty yards, but if it keeps up…"

"I see it," Lady Jade said quietly, then grinned. "There are no weirwoods at the Wall, my entire ass," she crowed.

By this point Lord Benjen had recovered from his shock and was looking at the ghostly image with deep fascination. "My lady?" he half-asked.

Lady Jade pointed at the window. "I wanted to know more about the Wall's internal structure," she said. "So I asked Al to take a scanner into the tunnel you use to get to the other side. This is what we found: weirwood posts set into the ice every five meters or so. There aren't any weirwoods near the Wall because they don't need to be near it, the whole damn thing is built on weirwood."

"I… am unsure if that means what you think it does, my lady," Benjen said cautiously. "There are no heart trees near the Wall, true, but there is plenty of weirwood in the area. The armory is full of weirwood bows taken off dead wildings, for one thing. If the Builder truly did use weirwood posts to raise the wall, well, I shudder to think of how many trees it took but I fail to see how that means anything."

Sorceress and initiate shared a look. "Well," Jade said, "this is maybe heading into a discussion we shouldn't have out in the open, but I've learned recently that weirwood is only as dead as it wants to be." The image in the pane changed: the dark lines were still there, but now they could see the base fully and, instead of holes in the earth where the sorceress's supposed posts were planted, the lines combined into a wild tangle of roots.

Jon stared openly. Benjen gave the picture a look, then gave the sorceress a more considering look. "Not in the open," he repeated.

The sorceress nodded gravely. "I started a conversation with the Lord Commander when I arrived this morning," she said. "He and I, along with you, Maester Aemon and Ser Alliser I think need to finish that conversation."

"Aye," Benjen replied. "I am at your convenience, my lady."

The lady waved vaguely. "I'm here for a week or two, until the king needs me back in the Red Keep for something or other. Just stick close and keep an open mind, yeah? Things… might get a little weird."

Shireen

Her first glimpse of the red woman came the day she arrived. It was pure happenstance that Shireen had been at a point overlooking the docks when the ship from King's Landing had come in. She saw the woman in her red robes step onto the dock, and for a moment felt like she was being watched. Shireen turned to see, but there was no one behind her, and when she turned again the strange woman was gone.

She turned up again sitting near the high table at dinner. Maester Cressen looked disapproving, Mother seemed a bit awestruck and Father was… Father, she supposed. He asked the red woman questions about King's Landing, the new Hand and most of all about this mysterious "master of magic" the ravens had told of. The red woman answered his questions, but that only seemed to make Father graver than usual.

The next day, Shireen asked Maester Cressen who she was. "The Lady Melisandre is a priestess of R'hllor," he told her. "The red god of Essos, worshiped by slaves and the unfortunate. They're quite well-known in the Free Cities, the red priests. It's said that they see things in their fires. Some even claim to have greater power."

"Is Lady Melisandre one of those?" Shireen asked. Maester Cressen looked troubled.

"She claims the fires led her here. How true that is I know not," he replied. "I'm not sure I like her trying to be close to your lord father, though. This bodes poorly."

"Why?" asked Shireen, but Cressen would not answer her.

The next few days it seemed that the red woman was everywhere on Dragonstone. Shireen saw her walking the castle grounds, standing quietly off to one side as Father inspected his guards, kneeling before the hearth in the great hall. She spied her speaking quietly to Mother near the sept the morning of the third day, only for them to duck around a corner before she could hear what they were speaking of. One night, unwilling to sleep, Shireen snuck out of her chambers and quietly padded through the silent halls until she heard the sound of voices coming from Father's solar.

"I recommend sending the woman away, my lord," she heard Maester Cressen say.

"Nothing would give me more pleasure," Father grumbled, "but she has valuable intelligence from King's Landing. Robert would sooner take the black than tell me anything, and my own men within the city are too few or compromised. This Essosi shadowbinder knows things, things I need to know."

"Through visions," Cressen said flatly.

"Aye, through visions. What of it? If the knowledge is useful does it matter where it springs from?"

Shireen might've tarried to hear more, but then she heard something clanking down the hall and she fled back to her room, mind whirling.

At sunset on the sixth day since the red woman had arrived Shireen stood near one of the friendlier dragons near the top of Dragonstone, looking out at the sea and wondering what was going on. Father had come back from the city grimmer than usual, more and more guards were arriving every day and now this red woman had come and upended things again. It was strange and worrying, worse yet that nobody, not Father nor Cressen nor good Ser Davos would tell her a thing about what was going on.

"Are you well, my lady?" The red woman was beside her, suddenly, staring at the sunset. Shireen jumped at the sudden noise.

"Aye!" she yelped, then smoothed out her nerves and went on much more like Father. "I am well, thank you Lady Melisandre." The red woman favored her with a small smile and went back to examining the setting sun. "I was just wondering what Father was doing," she went on, if only to fill the silence. "He's been so busy since he came back from King's Landing, I've barely seen him."

"Lord Stannis is preparing for war, my lady. He stayed silent to keep you from worrying. Of course," the red woman said dryly, "he did not expect you to find his silence worrying as well."

If nothing else, that sounded like her father's reasoning. Shireen forgave it instantly. Still, the thought of war was unsettling. She was far too young to remember the Greyjoy Rebellion, the last time her father had gone to war, even though she'd heard the story from Maester Cressen and (sort of) Patches. "Who is Father going to fight?" she asked. The ironborn again? Or mayhaps the Targaryens?

Lady Melisandre looked grave. "Your lord father believes he knows what the coming war is about. He is wrong. This will not be fought over who wears a crown or rules a land, it is much greater than that. This will be a war of justice against injustice, kindness against cruelty, love against fear, warm against cold… spring against winter." He gaze turned to the first stars appearing in the twilight glow. "We all have our parts to play in the war to come. I, your father, your uncles, the lions, the wolves, the green witch…" She looked at Shireen, a sharp gaze that seemed to burrow down into her very soul. "And you."

"Me?" she squeaked. The red woman loomed over her like the stone dragons, her hair glowing like a bonfire in the sunset light. She wanted to shrink back, to run away from this dragon in woman's shape lest she devour her, but her father's blood roared in her veins. Father would not shrink back, and neither will I. She quailed only a little and asked, "Wh-what part do you mean? I, I don't…"

The red woman held still, her hair still flickering in the dying light. Then she sagged, the dragon fading away and leaving behind nothing more than a woman with sad, tired eyes. "We declare our war," she said, almost as if to herself. "We spend so long preparing to fight for spring, knowing we are in the right… but the seasons change a day at a time, and without noticing we find ourselves adrift in the snow."

"My lady?" Shireen said.

"I know not what your part will be, Lady Shireen," Lady Melisandre said with a great sigh, "but I will help you fulfill it. The Lord of Light illuminates the path we must walk, and it is a difficult road to be sure. But we are the ones who choose the steps we take. Neither god nor mortal can choose that path for us."

Shireen felt herself at a total loss. "I don't understand."

"You will. In time, you will." The tiredness left the priestess's eyes, replaced by a hard look that reminded her of how Father had looked ever since he'd come home from King's Landing. "I shall teach you what you need to know. If my colleague can take an apprentice, then I shall take one as well and we will all walk this path together."

In the distance, she could hear Patches singing softly. "In the sky, in the sky, feathers fall a-burning from the sky. Red sun and red moon, green sun and green moon, into the dark they go. Down in the dark where the dead are dancing they go, they go."