Eddard

Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, sat alongside Vayon Poole in his solar, battling with numbers to determine the cost of importing foodstuffs from the Reach. It was truly a pain making some sense out of the ledgers.

After what happened some weeks prior, when the night's sky came crashing down, all the North was alert. The general assumption was that the Old Gods sent a message, a warning: Winter is Coming. The shamans, followers of the old way, predict that it will be the harshest in centuries, that the Weirwood Trees themselves were weeping for the grim future.

Eddard did not know how to react to this. Luwin said this phenomenon had never occurred before in recorded history, as only single instances of stars have fallen per time in previous accounts; more of all, they were said to be white, not coloured.

But Eddard could be sure that the Lords of the North were restless. The mountain clans have begun sacrificing cattle to satiate the gods, and the Umbers sent a raven stating that they were ready to stand with the Lord of Winterfell against everything that comes. The Reeds broke their silence as his old friend Howland announced that he was moving north to relay news vital for the well-being of the North.

Others take him, even Roose Bolton renewed his loyalty to Eddard. It has been a long time since the last Bolton had been so openly true-hearted to the Starks. There's something afoot, and the Lord of Winterfell had no control over it.

"I believe we've done enough for the day, my Lord." Vayon interrupted his thoughts, "Tomorrow, we should review the costs of building more glass gardens. I would expand the granary too to accommodate more food, but that it's up to you, my Lord."

"Thank you, Vayon. We will talk more about it later." He answered. With that, he left the solar and went towards the crypts. He had to bring a new garland of Winter Roses.

Arya

Gods! Now what do I do?

Arya thought exploring the flooded wing of the crypts could have been fun. The legends surrounding the ancient burial mounds were plenty: Vermax's eggs, old books of magic, Valyrian Steel swords... believing she could find all, she ventured inside.

How wrong had she been.

Treading the small pathways to reach the corridor she was currently in was hard enough, but traversing it with her lower body underwater was a pain. Mother would've fainted if she had heard the curses she threw left and right during the trek.

Now she accidentally leaned against the wall, and a secret door opened! There was a long flight of stairs inside, and she fell for the entirety of them. It hurt so much that she preferred to attend Septa Mordane's embroidery lessons.

Now she was inside a chamber, thank the Gods her torch didn't extinguish, or she would've died there. There was a great door. She could make out a direwolf head engraved in the stone, along with some inscriptions written in some dialect of the Old Tongue she couldn't decipher.

She decided to push the great door, and in front of her, a great hall manifested. It was as large as the dining room of Winterfell, many statues depicting people forgotten by time occupied the side ends, and each one had a sepulchre below. By the end of the Hall, a grand mural with an epitaph engraved in its entirety stood, with a bigger, more elaborate burial tomb at the centre.

She was amazed by the scene unveiled before her. She quickly climbed the stairs and recalled the path she needed to emerge from the crypts. Father would need to know about this.

As Arya ran across the last row of burials, she found him. She wasn't expecting him to be here, but it would make things easier.

"FATHER, FATHER! I've discovered a secret hall inside the crypts!" She yelled. Her father was taken aback by the sudden noise, "Arya, what are you doing down here? I told you many times not to come in the crypts alone!" He scolded her.

She then explained all she had seen without giving Father the occasion to ask any questions. Father exhaled an exaggerated sigh and answered, "Calm down, little wolf, is everything you said true?" She nodded energetically. "Aye then, I will summon Maester Luwin and some others. Wait here, and DON'T move, am I clear?"

She nodded one last time. Today was going to be fun, after all.

Robb

Robb parried another blow with his buckler. Jon was a respectable opponent, especially with a weapon such as a Two-Hander. The sword he was using was a longer variant, it is usually used by swinging it around violently in an attempt to space out the opponent, and the psychological effect of such a blade is not to be underestimated. However, brandishing it for too long could tire out its wielder, so the blademaster had to finish off the opponent quickly, or at least hold him off until reinforcements arrived.

Jon was not so lucky this bout and overextended his arm too much in his latest swing, and Robb took the opportunity: he dodged to the left and brought his short sword against his half-brother's neck. "Dead," he said. "This bout is mine, Snow."

Jon groaned and dropped his sword, "Old Gods preserve me, I need a drink." Jon reached out for his wineskin and took a swing, "Next time I'll get you, Stark."

As Robb was preparing a jape, he saw Father striding quickly by the courtyard, followed by Maester Luwin and some guardsmen, so he decided to approach them. "Father, what is happening?" He asked.

"Arya has found a hidden hall in the crypts. I've assembled some of the men to map and document it," his father answered, "It could hold some important artefacts that might interest Maester Luwin. You could join us, we could benefit with a hand or two, Jon included."

Well, that was unexpected. Honestly, everything seemed odd since The Fall... even the Godswood had a strange atmosphere around it. He was sure that something was watching him from behind when he gave his prayers before the Weirwood tree.

There was no room for more questions, he nodded, and Jon unconsciously followed him. Arya was waiting near the grave of Aunt Lyanna and led the party towards their destination. They traversed a flooded wing and descended a flight of stairs that seemed unending. Even in the darkness he could notice the bleached face of his Father, probably considering his small daughter went through all of this.

Then a great door was before them. Luwin approached it slowly to read the engravings; after some minutes, he said, "My lords, the inscription of this gate is written in an ancient dialect of the Old Tongue, also known as the First Runes. It refers to what's inside as 'The Catacombs of the Starke, shields of the First Men'. We could've found the oldest hall of the crypts."

The party was staggered. That was one of the most important discoveries of the last decades, no... the last centuries! Robb was excited to see what secrets the graves of his oldest ancestors held.

As Robb entered the great door, the scenery Arya described was unveiled. She surely wasn't exaggerating the size of the blasted room, it was enormous. What did strike him as odd was the fact that every Stark statue had a direwolf of its left, with a small stone urn below. By the Old Gods, did every Stark own one? It was truly astounding.

Maester Luwin was busy translating the inscription by the end of the hall. Gods, he was white as a sheet as he started talking, "My lord... this grave... Brandon the Builder was buried here..."

"What?"

It was all that Father managed to mutter with a strangled voice. Robb scanned the statue below the writings: a man with a crown, a hammer in his hands, and at his feet surged a great wall with nineteen castles...

Others take him, Luwin was right.

"The engravings continue. It is written that when the Stars Fall, the Stark in Winterfell must wield Brandon's hammer again, so that his destiny may be forged at will. Unfortunately, the rest will take more time to translate, the runes are faded, and the meaning of them I know not." Said Luwin. Father took a step forward and eyed the statue's hammer. Slowly he grasped it. The sculpture released its grip, and suddenly a white light engulfed the room.

Eddard

Eddard opened his eyes.

A great abyss below him had opened, and the Lord of Winterfell fell and fell, for what appeared to be an eternity. He hit the ground eventually; as he started to get up, he could feel something on the ground...

Snow?

He recognised the building in the distance. It was his fief: Winterfell. As he scanned the horizon, he noticed a great army in the distance. Their armour was crude, and their swords odd, except for the man in the front. He was protected head to feet with bronze plates, and he brandished a hammer with his right arm. A sudden realisation struck him. The man in question was his ancestor, Brandon the Builder... he was having a vision of the past.

Then a great screech pierced the air. Eddard rapidly turned towards its origin and froze in place. Tall, blue eyes, pale skin that looked like ice, and the bloody giant spider he rode...

An Other.

Suddenly the ground shook. As corpses began emerging from the snow, the army charged, shouting like madmen, and clashed with the dead.

But everything went black. A series of images flashed through Eddard's eyes: horrors beyond comprehension rose from the seas, a black lion assaulted five great castles, three dragons stood near a white-haired woman, a man talked with the storms, a Kraken fought against a madman before a sealed labyrinth, and great black creatures roamed a dark forest.

He found himself on the ground, Robb, Jon, Arya and Luwin around him with some of his guardsmen. "My Lord, are you well?" Luwin said, "When you took the hammer, a great white light blinded us, and we found you on the ground, convulsing."

Gods, he had quite the headache, "Let us go to my solar. I have much to tell you."