Sorry for the recent silence. I have finally started my new job! Which is with my old company, so it's all been a bit bewildering as they have reactivated my old email account, so I have access to emails and Teams Chats archives from two years ago. I'm already busy writing on all kinds of things.

However, my uncle also died, so the recent holiday in Newquay, Cornwall, was a bittersweet one. Cherish your loved ones whilst you still have them, people. Cherish them.

Aemon

By the time the King finally fell silent and leant back in his chair, Stormbreaker propped against the table to one side, Aemon had closed his eyes and then placed a trembling hand over them. Robert Baratheon's tale of what he had seen, thanks to the Green Man, at the Ruby Ford so many years ago had obviously deeply affected him.

"Aemon, I don't know what to say," the King said eventually. "I have hated Rhaegar Targaryen for so long, for what he and his father did, that now, knowing that it was only talking to me that drove him to his death… I have no words. What can I say? It sounds like madness."

He thought back to Egg, so many years ago, and his letters bemoaning his elevation to the Iron Throne, as well as his own sorrows from the news of the rebellion. "You have closed a circle you were not aware of, your Grace," he said sorrowfully. "You have done what you had to. What, perhaps, you were born to. The Gods can be cruel at times, and merciful as well. Rhaegar… he thought he had interpreted prophecy correctly, when he had not. These things are difficult to interpret, hard to understand. You did the right thing."

As he opened his eyes again he could see that the King was staring at the fire. After a long moment the younger man smiled a bitter smile. "I never thought that I'd ever say that I felt sorry for Rhaegar Targaryen. And I could not tell him what else lay ahead. That letter from his daughter. That poor little scrap. She wrote to him of her cat. And I killed him, before she was murdered by Tywin Lannister's men. She didn't deserve that."

"You did what had to be done," he replied tiredly. "And you could not have known what Tywin Lannister intended. Revenge, for him, is something… personal. And wide."

There was a silence in the room for a long moment, before the King nodded. "Aye, you have that right." He rubbed at his forehead for a moment and then swept that large hand across his face and sighed. "Lyanna told me, in Winterfell, that I had to set things aside to become the Storm King. Her shade, her ghost, call it what you will… gods, whoever would have thought I'd be saying such things and not being taken for a madman?"

Aemon shook his head a little. "There are forces at work here that we cannot fathom, not yet. Who knows what our ancestor Daenys the Dreamer foresaw? Two lines were combined within your blood – Durrandon and Baratheon, reinforced with more Targaryen. The Durrandon line seems to be coming to the fore, but do not forget that you too are descended from Daenys. Who knows what the blending has created? You will be a Storm King alike and yet unlike your ancestors of Storm's End. You must not hold back. Embrace what you feel. Lead us."

There was a long moment of silence and then Robert Baratheon, the King, nodded slowly. "You speak wisely, Great Uncle. I'll think on what you said. I have to." Another silence, and then: "Gods, I should have talked to you before. Asked you south or come to the North myself. Foolish of me not to. My bloody pride."

"You were angry," he replied with a sigh. "And anger can fester at times. Deepen. Become poisonous. And you were married then to a woman whose father… takes grudges rather seriously."

The King laughed softly at his words. "Aye, that's putting it lightly. Castamere."

Someone knocked on the door and they both looked over. "Enter!" Robert barked, and the door opened to reveal Ser Barristan Selmy, who was holding a message.

"Your Grace, this has arrived from Winterfell."

The King took the proffered message with a nod to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and then looked at it, his eyebrows flying up as he read it. "Oh my," he said dryly and then passed it over to him. As he read it he could feel his own eyebrows rising as well.

The King rubbed his chin and then called: "Ser Barristan!"

The door opened again. "Your Grace?"

"Could you please send word for Lord Umber and Mance Rayder to come here at once?"

"I shall send word at once, your Grace."

As the door closed again the King rose to his feet and strode about the room for a turn before chuckling slightly. "Gods. I wonder what Ned would say of this?"

"I think that he would say that it would strengthen the North at a time when it needs all the help it can get, your Grace."

The younger man paused to mull that over and then grinned and nodded. "Aye, you have that right."

After a short time they both heard boots on floorboards outside and then a loud knock. The King smiled at him and then raised his voice: "Enter!"

GreatJon Umber strode in first, followed by the former King Beyond the Wall, both of whom bowed before their King, the latter slightly more flamboyantly than the former. "Your Grace," Rayder said formally, "You sent for us."

The King nodded and then stood, before looking at them both with a slightly quizzical smile on his face. "Aye, I did. Word has come from Winterfell. Lord Umber, young Ned Umber has arrived there, escorted by Mors Umber."

The GreatJon looked pleased but also a little confused by that. "Oh, aye? Good news."

"Aye indeed, but Mors Umber was able to confirm something once he arrived there. A party of Wildlings – Free Folk – arrived. And one of them was Rowan Umber, the daughter of Mors."

The Lord of the Last Hearth stood there, genuinely stunned. Finally he found the words to say: "Truly? Rowan?"

"Aye," the King said with a certain something in his voice. "And he has acknowledged his granddaughters – Dalla and Val." He looked at the equally gobsmacked Mance Rayder. "I believe that you are married to Dalla?"

The two men eyed each other and he could see that GreatJon Umber was in two minds as to if he should laugh or swear violently.

"I remember Rowan Umber well," the Lord of the Last Hearth rumbled. "She was taken by a bloody wildling. Taken against her will. If that means that-"

"Peace!" Rayder said, throwing his hands up. "I know the tale of Rowan, although she left out the facts about her birth. The man who stole her and took her north of the Wall was not the father of Dalla or Val. The man who took her made the mistake of letting his guard down around Rowan and she castrated him and stuffed his cock and balls down his throat, killing him. The father of Dalla and Val was Gwyn, a good man who won her heart. They were married before a Heart Tree." He winced a little. "He was killed fighting the Others. I made sure he'd never rise again afterwards."

There was a strained silence. Then the GreatJon nodded. "Good." He looked at Rayder. "And when you married my cousin was it before a Heart Tree?"

"It was," Rayder said firmly. "I made sure of that. Marriage customs amidst the Free Folk vary a lot, but I knew that I had to do it right."

The King looked at them both and then nodded sharply, before looking at the message. "Good. Robb Stark writes that he requests that I make it clear that Dalla and Val are of House Umber, further binding the North and the Free Folk together. I agree and declare it so. Anyone want to challenge that?"

The GreatJon and Rayder both hurriedly shook their heads.

"Excellent, as it looks as if Robb Stark has his eye on Val Umber. After all, they both faced that attack by The Mountain. Lord Umber – would you object to being linked by marriage to House Stark?"

"Gods, never," Lord Umber said. "It would be a very great honour."

"Then Maester Aemon I need to send a message to Winterfell if you please."

"I will prepare one at once," he smiled, wondering a little at the chain of circumstances that had come together for this.

"One moment – first you must witness something. Rayder – kneel." The King stood, a great tall presence that seemed to fill the room with something on his face that made the former King Beyond The Wall go pale and then go down on one knee. Robert Baratheon reached out, pulled Stormbreaker from its scabbard and touched Rayder lightly on both shoulders. "Rise, Lord Rayder. You have served all of Westeros well. You have saved your people, helped the North, repaired relations between the North and the Free Folk and bloody well earned your title. Ned Stark should be the one doing this, but he's not here and I am. He'll sort out the details when he gets back, but know this now: you have done well."

Rayder seemed to be wrestling some great emotion as he bowed his head and then stood almost shakily. As he seemed to fight to find the words he needed to say GreatJon Umber strode to one side, poured out four goblets of wine and then handed them out, starting with the King. "This isn't ale, but it'll do. Welcome, good-cousin. Treat Dalla badly and I'll have words to say."

He chuckled, as did the others in the room, and they toasted the matter. It was not a fine wine, but it was better than he had been used to and would suffice.

But then, as he prepared to go and send that message to Winterfell there was the sound of hurried boots outside, raised voices and then a rap on the door that opened at the King's command to reveal Ser Barristan with another man who was holding a message. There was a red thread attached to it.

"A message for his Grace the King, from the Lord Hand! Marked most urgent!"

The King waved a hand and the men bowed quickly, handed it over and then stepped back. There was a moment of silence and then the King looked up, his eyes wide and his mouth open. "Fetch the Lord Commander, Lord Lannister and his brothers, the Green Man, Ser Bryden Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Lord Tarly and Lords Royce and Redfort at once. Go man!"

The messenger bowed hastily and then ran out as the King looked about the room. "We need a map. My Lords, Maester Aemon, the Others have attacked Pyke. According to Stannis they failed – there were three of them and many wights, in an iceberg of all things. By all the Gods – has this ever happened before?"

Ice seemed to flow through his veins for a moment and then he shook his head. "I do not recall reading of such an attack of that kind," he said in a voice like iron. "But Lady Mormont did say that something had been happening off the Frozen Shore. Freezing fog, as I believe she put it." He walked as fast as he could over to a bookshelf, perused it briefly and then pulled out a map, which he unrolled on the table.

The others joined him there and Rayder hissed as he looked at the map. "So far south? But they failed?"

"They failed." The King stared down at the message again. "Gods, this is strange." And then he frowned slightly. "Wait, there's two messages here." The second message, again with a red thread, was pulled out and he stared at it.

Hurried boots approached again outside and then the Lannisters arrived, bowing and curious, followed by the Lord Commander and the others.

"My Lords," the King rumbled, "Word has come from Pyke. The Others attacked there. They failed, but Balon Greyjoy is dead, him and his brother, killed by their kinslaying brother. Asha Greyjoy is now Lady of the Iron Islands, acknowledged as such by the Lord Hand and myself."

There was a moment of utter stillness and then Tywin Lannister strode forward and took the first message from the proffered hand of the King. "Gods," he said, sounding genuinely shocked. "The Others – at Pyke?" He narrowed his eyes and stared at the message. "From the date of this… wait, no word has come yet of any other attack."

"We had a raven from Shadow Tower this morning, saying all was well there," the Lord Commander rumbled as he took the proffered message from the Lord of the Westerlands. "And word from Bear Island just yesterday that all was well." He paused and his eyes seemed to go somewhere in thought. "Wait – when Maege was here, she spoke of strange mists off the Frozen Shore, mists that moved southwards… could that have been this? It must have, surely."

"If they can outflank the Wall…" Lord Tarly sounded as if he was deep in thought. "Wait. Why Pyke? Why now? Your Grace, my Lords, this makes no sense."

The King held out the second message. "This hints at an answer. Balon Greyjoy and his religious lunatic of a brother Damphair were killed by their own brother, Euron. He literally vanished after the attack, but Stannis writes that Euron Greyjoy's ship was discovered and that… a thing was found on it by Asha Greyjoy and Jon Stark. Some abomination of bone and flesh and blood. Foul magic of some kind. They and others escaped it and burnt the ship down around it."

The room was silent after he said those words. Brienne of Tarth swapped a worried gaze with the Blackfish, whilst Gerion Lannister looked absolutely horrified. And then the Green Man stepped forwards, took the second message from the hand of the King and read it in full before handing it to Tywin Lannister, who read it as if it had personally offended him.

But it was Gerion Lannister that the Green Man turned to face. "You once battled a Fleshsmith I think, from the sound of it. And as you said, if you could make it into the Smoking Sea by being careful, then so could others. Euron Greyjoy is a man of foul reputation. I wonder he might have picked up from his travels? And now, it seems, he has allied himself with the Others."

"But why?" Gerion Lannister said, bafflement in his voice. "Why ally with the Others? All they offer is death!"

"He might seek to use them," Tywin Lannister said softly. "The message says that he intends to kill the Drowned God. And… if he has indeed been to Valyria then, well, who is to say that what came out of that cursed place was still entirely human? There are terrible tales of that place."

Aemon nodded. "After the Doom, many tried to go there and secure it. Few if any ever returned and those that did either spoke of madness or were unable to speak anything at all. Lord Lannister is right – we must assume that Euron Greyjoy is not as we all are. Not now."

"Warning has gone to Oldtown." The King said each word heavily. "Ned will be warned. He'd better be warned." He looked at the map for a long moment and then straightened up. "The attack on Pyke might be a one-off or it might be a precursor to a general outflanking of the Wall. Warning of the western shore of the North has been sent out. Winterfell should be aware by now. The coastlines of the Riverlands and the Westerlands must also be warned. The Vale too."

The King turned to Jeor Mormont. "Lord Commander Mormont, how goes the refurbishment of the castles on the Wall?"

"There are parties of Builders and volunteers working on all of them now. Some are approaching decent shape. Some are still needing a lot of work."

"Create a list of what needs to be done to each castle and how urgent each one is. My Lords – we must work harder than we have ever worked before on this. We must hold the Wall and be prepared for anything from now onwards. Call on whatever you can for this. I will send ravens today calling for yet more help. The Realm stands or falls here, at the Wall. They are coming for us. We'll spit in their face and deny them every inch of ground. So say I. What say you? So say we all?"

"SO SAY WE ALL, YOUR GRACE!" The bellow filled the room, and as it did there was the crack of lightning and thunder right above their heads, that made the room almost shake.

Stannis

He had to admit, begrudgingly, that the Ironborn could sail. They were beating down towards Great Wyk, almost in the teeth of a hard Westerly wind that some crews would have had trouble with. Not the crews of the little three-ship squadron that they were on.

He also had to think that Asha Greyjoy would make a very good ruler of the Iron Islands. She might have been a Greyjoy, but she was free of her father's grasping malice and inability to admit when he was wrong, as well as the madness of two of her uncles and the brutal stolidity of the other.

No, she took after her mother's family more than her father's. Which nothing but good for the Iron Islands after all the mistakes that her father and his siblings had made. She was clever, knew when to admit that she was mistaken about something and had a voice that could out-bellow fools like Lord Dunstan Drumm, who had sailed from Old Wyk with his sons and then arrived at Pyke with a pompous speech about how the Ironborn would never follow a mere 'slip of a girl'.

Well, that slip of a girl had stared at the pompous fool as he droned on, a stare so hard and pointed that Drumm's sons and followers quite quickly fell silent in their support for Drumm – not that he had seemed to notice at first. When he did, he faltered – and then Asha Greyjoy had stood and proceeded to tear Drumm to verbal pieces, in the way that the Robert of a year ago might have demolished a roast boar. By the end he'd almost felt sorry for the man, who had been reduced to a red-faced state of humiliation, unable to match the power of her voice or the fact that, as she said, she was giving him one chance to be silent before she ordered his throat be cut.

Stannis had then stood, nodded at Asha Grejoy, and then simply said: "As the Hand of the King, I can say that the Iron Throne recognises Asha Greyjoy as the ruler of the Iron Islands. Her father willed it, the Reader supports her, the Iron Throne supports her, House Stark supports her and House Baratheon of Dragonstone supports her."

Drumm had stared at him, looking like a man who had totally miscalculated everything, whilst his sons had looked as if they wanted the ground to open up and swallow them. And that had been that – they had all but slunk from the room, glaring a little at Ygritte Stark's comment that Drumm was a 'pompous fart, all stink and dribble'.

He'd been impressed by her then – and he'd also seen the way that Theon Greymist had watched his sister as she had gone about the work of ruling at Pyke. He had known that the boy could be prone to boastfulness and bragging and after hearing the terrible tale of the future that Robb Stark had seen he'd wondered why the Starks now trusted him, the man who had captured Winterfell in that other future and possibly killed Brandon and Rickon Stark.

But that Theon Greyjoy was gone. In his place was Theon Greymist, someone who seemed to think a great deal before he did things. There were times when he could see him opening his mouth with a sly smile to perhaps make a jape, or suggest something off the top of his head – and then pause, rethink and change direction from where he had been going. He knew that the boy had been told what he had done in that other future – and that he had been horrified by it all. Ned Stark had had a huge impact on the former heir to the Iron Islands. And now the Call and Robb Stark's tale had also had an impact. Theon Greymist was not Theon Greyjoy, not any more.

Well now. It remained to be seen where the lad would go from here.

Someone hailed the ship from one of the other vessels and he looked over to see that The Reader was gesturing to one side. Ah. Great Wyk could be seen, a small shape on the horizon partially shrouded from view by sea mist. He had not seen it since Balon Greyjoy's foolish rebellion, which had cost the Ironborn so dearly.

He had been surprised when Asha Greyjoy had announced that she was travelling there, but then he had heard that she had almost been summoned there by a message from the Stonebrows, the leaders of those who had hidden their worship of the Old Gods on the Iron Islands. Elys Stonebrow was apparently dying and she wanted to see Asha at once. Given the nature of the rupture that had divided the Iron Islands so badly he could see why the trip was necessary.

Orders were roared from various throats and he looked up to see that pennants were being hoisted on all three ships. All were flying the flag of the Greyjoys, but now the ship he was standing on was also flying Asha Greyjoy's personal standard, whilst the right hand ship was flying that of The Reader.

As they tacked into the Great Bay of the island and started to approach the little harbour that he could see that they were steering towards he could also see that there was a crowd gathering there. Perhaps someone with keen eyes or a Myrish spyglass hade seen them approach, but they did not seem to be hostile.

And then as they docked and the various passengers assembled on the decks of the various ships he could almost feel the mood of the crowd shift from caution to cautious hope – and then to something else when they caught sight of first the direwolves and then the green cloak and horned hood of the Green Man who had accompanied them. Alwyn of the Isle of Faces was standing there on the deck, a silent figure with a knapsack with a pot containing a Weirwood tree sapling at his feet.

He eyed the crowd, wondering what they were thinking. The last time he had been to Great Wyk it had been to conquer it, during Balon Greyjoy's doomed rebellion. He'd been responsible for the deaths of many on the island. But now, as he came to think about it, none of them had been Stonebrows. At the time he'd thought that parts of the island had merely acknowledged the reality of the situation, of the overwhelming power that the Iron Throne could bring to bear against the Iron Islands.

He wasn't so sure now. What was especially interesting were the murmurs rising from the crowd – "Stark" was one of the words on many lips, "the Call" were other words and then "Green Man". There was something in the air – not dangerous but something that he could not describe or define.

As the gangplank thumped down and Asha Greyjoy's guards and crew flowed down it he could see her almost twitching with impatience to be ashore again – and then she was off, striding down and then looking at the crowd, before smiling slightly. "Benjen Stonebrow, Ned Stonebrow. I take it that your mother still lives?"

"She does," the older of the men said and Stannis looked them over. They were hawk-nosed, dressed in browns and greens with a badge embroidered on their tunics of a white tree on a red background. "She has little time left though. You must see her at once. The Green Man and the others too."

Things happened rapidly after that. Horses had been brought for them and he paused to wonder as to why there were the exactly correct number for their party. And then they rode up the long hill, banners snapping in the wind.

The Stonebrows led them to a long house made of stone and timber with a roof that seemed to have been retiled recently. There were more guards at the doorway that they strode through and he noticed their livery again. The Stonebrows seemed to be stronger in numbers and in influence than Asha Greyjoy had said and he could see the same realisation on her face.

And then they came to the room where Elys Stonebrow lay on a bed, a white-haired shrunken figure. Yes, she was dying. But as Asha Grejoy approached where she lay she opened her eyes and then smiled a smile with a remarkable number of teeth for a woman of her age.

"I knew you would come. I dreamt it." She paused and then seemed to gather her remaining strength. "My Lord, Asha Greyjoy, ruler of the Iron Islands. Long may you rule. Long will you rule."

Asha Greyjoy looked at her before nodding choppily, tears in her eyes, before she went over and knelt by the bed. "You told me to come. So I came. Is there nothing-"

The old woman shook her head and ran her hand down Asha Greyjoy's face. "No… nothing. As I told you, death comes as an old friend to take the pain away. But… there are things that must be done first." She looked at Theon Greymist, whose face was white with strain. "Theon, come here."

The lad approached and knelt next to his sister. "Old Gram… I remember you and-"

"You have done the right thing. Never forget that. You chose the North. You were right to. You have killed wights. You saw what must be done and you have turned away from that boastful, vain, empty other self that you could have been. Never forget that! Never. It must become your strength." A gnarled finger jabbed at his chest.

And then, as if tired, she leant back before looking at Jon Stark. "You made… a good marriage, my boy. A good woman. Your children will be strong. Remember what you are, remember your heritage. It will be important in the war on the Wall."

"I will," Jon Stark said, looking strained. "Thank you."

There was a pause and then the old woman looked at the Green Man. "We have waited a long time for you."

Alwyn nodded. "Yes. And now your wait is over."

She shifted in her bed and looked out of the window for a moment. "There was a Heart Tree near here once. My ancestors chopped it down to appease a Drowned Man who would have killed them otherwise. I am sorry."

"You should not be. Your ancestors did what they had to, to stay safe."

"The Drowned God is a jealous god."

"A dying god."

"I know."

Alwyn smiled a little. "The roots are still there. They have always been there, deep in the soil. They were waiting. Deep roots are not touched by the frost. They hid just as you did."

There was a moment of stunned silence. And then Elys Stonebrow slowly and painfully sat up in bed and grasped the hand of the Green Man. "What… are you saying?"

Alwyn patted her hand for a moment and then unslung the rucksack from his back and held it in front of him so that she could, with trembling fingers, touch the red leaves and white bark of the sapling. "Give me a few minutes outside. And a spade. I know where to dig."

"Benjen!" The old woman snapped the word with a voice of command. "Give him what he needs!"

The two men departed and as they did so Elys Stonebrow laboriously started to pull the sheets aside. "Asha, help me up. Ned, give me a knife, a sharp one." As she stood, supported by Asha Greyjoy and dressed in her white robes, she smiled a little. "I hoped of this. I dreamt once of this." And then she was hobbling towards the door, where she waited for a moment.

When the door opened again it was to reveal Alwyn of the Isle of Faces, who bowed to the old woman respectfully and then led her out into the sunshine. People were muttering in awe to one side and as he followed them out he realised why. The Weirwood tree had been planted in a spot well away from the building – and it seemed to have shot up in size at least six feet and grown in girth. He gaped at it – and then he heard Elys Stonebrow sigh in contentment.

"I dreamt of this once." She knelt at the foot of the tree. "Thank you."

"The roots were always there. Your family and others never forgot. The Old Gods remembered. As did the tree."

"Thank you again." She laid a hand on the trunk of the tree. "Ned."

"Mother-"

"Give it to me."

The man handed the knife over to his mother. And then she drew the knife over her palm without displaying any sign of pain before placing the bloodied palm over the trunk of the Weirwood tree.

"Old Gods, hear me now! We were faithful! We were true! We hid in the darkest of times. But we did not forget. We will never forget! So take what little I have left and use it to fight the Others!"

And with that Elys Stonebrow stiffened and then fell to the ground, lifeless. And as he looked at the tree it seemed to grow upwards and what might have been the beginnings of a face formed on the trunk of the tree.