A few days after the Battle of the Crossing

Tywin

They had been camped in the passes of the hills, near the Gold Road, but not on it when he received the news that Rhaegar was dead. He was rarely surprised, not that anyone ever knew that he was, but he was surprised that the rebels had moved away from King's Landing instead of towards it. It meant that Jon Arryn had his wits about him still, for he was sure that the hotheaded Robert and the green Stark would not think strategically enough to choose the ground for the battle. Jon Arryn would need to be watched closely once the war was over. He had wondered whether Jon Arryn or Rickard Stark was the mind behind the power block they were forming; with Rickard Stark dying a fool's death though, it was apparent that it was Jon Arryn.

And he was beginning to see Arryn's play for being the power behind the throne. From all he had heard about Robert, he would not enjoy the day-to-day grind of the ruling, which meant Arryn would rule from the background. If Cersei became the queen though, he could keep Arryn's influence in check while increasing his own. He could foresee only two obstacles; the time it would take for King's Landing to fall and Robert's obsession with Lyanna Stark. If he could give the rebels King's Landing on a platter, he would be in an unenviable position. And if he made sure that Lyanna Stark was dead, he would ensure that his grandson would one day be the King.

How to approach King's Landing? Trickery was his best option. A siege was impractical, especially with the Royal navy still in good force. The best would be if the gates were opened for him; he would need to use the tunnels if that was not the case. He would start with a letter to Aerys. Aerys would enjoy Tywin Lannister, the humble servant of the crown; he would add another scroll for Pycelle with instructions for the correct things to whisper in Aerys' ear. If everything went well and Pycelle was successful, he would see Aerys and the other Targaryens die. If Pycelle was unsuccessful, mayhaps he had outlived his usefulness. He would need to use the tunnels then. He would need to decide on which tunnels to use and how to attack, but it was better than a siege.

That left the matter of Lyanna Stark. Where had Rhaegar hidden her? His spy had only mentioned Selmy, Darry, and Lewyn; no mention of Hightower, Whent, or Dayne. Pycelle had also reported that Hightower had been sent to find Rhaegar, and Rhaegar had returned to King's Landing briefly, but Hightower had not. Dayne certainly had enough sway in his house, and so did Hightower mayhaps. If Rhaegar had hidden her with the Daynes, she would not be in Starfall, mayhaps one of their vassals; High Hermitage would certainly be a good option, it was close enough to Starfall. A raven to his agent near Starfall and a ship from Crakehall to Starfall would be the fastest. And just in case the Hightowers were involved, the same ship could land men in Oldtown, and he would send ravens to a couple of his agents in Oldtown. He would task Roland Crakehall to deal with this. If she was in or near either of the places, he would learn about it and take care of Lyanna Stark, if possible.

Plans made, he asked for Roland Crakehall to be brought to him, and he began writing letters for Aerys and Pycelle.

Some days after the Battle of the Crossing

Howland

Summerhall

The uninjured soldiers and the cavalry had moved soon after they had received the news that the Lannister army was on its way to King's Landing. The initial plan had been for them to peel off from the army close to King's Landing, but with Lords Arryn and Baratheon staying back due to Lord Baratheon's injuries, Ned had been in charge of the whole army, and he had positioned them in such a way that they had peeled off much earlier, closer to Hayford. They had kept off the road and had been able to avoid the Kingswood altogether, making good time to reach Summerhall.

Wild was the only thing that came to his mind for the trees around the ruins. They had taken over the places untouched by the wildfire, and they looked decidedly different than the ones he had seen elsewhere; it almost reminded him of the Isle. They were taller and thicker than usual and gave off a menacing aura. The men were leery as if they felt someone or something was watching them. He drew a sharp breath when he realized the implication. There was magic here at Summerhall. None of the men with him could feel it, but then they did not have enough magic themselves and had not been trained to identify it. Even after all these years, whatever magic had destroyed Summerhall lingered still. Not the magic of the Old Gods; something else, yet as primal as the one he had been trained in. It was not as concentrated as it was on the Isle, but more so than any other place he had visited. Could he use it? If he could find a weirwood, he was sure he could make use of it, but even if he did not, with the amount of magic concentrated here, there was a good chance that he could make use of it.

He was content that Ned had been clear about leadership until they located Lyanna. It allowed him leeway in doing things his way; ways not easily understood even by his fellow Northmen. They would stay the night; he would ensure that only his men were awake, and the rest of the Rovers and Lord Forrester would have a pleasant and deep sleep. Tonight, if possible, he would convene with the Gods.

He had not found a weirwood unfortunately, but he would make do. With two of his men keeping watch, he ground the weirwood seeds he had brought with him into a powder. The wild redwood trees that he believed had been infused by the primal magic at Summerhall were dripping with red sap. He took some from a tree and mixed it with the ground seeds. He pulled out his hunting knife and a swift cut later, the ancient blood of the Children of the Forest mixed with the ground seeds and the sap. He mixed and swallowed the concoction and waited for some time before he could start to feel the effects of the paste. Once he started to feel a familiar tug at the back of his mind, he closed his eyes, prayed to the Old Gods, and pulled on the tether.

He opened his eyes because of loud, harsh screams. Once he opened his eyes, his own scream joined the terror for the wild trees surrounding the ruins of Summerhall were the ones screaming; they were screaming at him in a foreign language, if it was a language at all. But he did not need to know the language to understand the emotions. The trees wanted him out of there, that much was adequately clear. He was deciding whether to run when he heard something huge crash some distance behind him. He turned to see a great redwood, similar but larger than the one he had taken the sap from, snarl and move towards him as if it were walking. And he ran; there was no conscious thought, just survival instinct. He ran towards the ruins. The roots and branches of the trees in between tried to trip him and were successful a couple of times, but he persevered. Bruised and battered, he reached the ruins and took shelter behind the remains of a fallen wall. He peeked to see the trees waiting for him; it seemed that they would not cross into the areas affected by the wildfire, but he got the sense that they would wait for him with the patience of a hunter.

He willed his racing heart to slow down and sat with his back against the wall. The mad dash across the wild forest had left him panting and out of breath. He was enjoying the cool breeze across his face when he started to hear screams coming from within the ruins, familiar screams this time, human ones. He was about to get up and start towards the screams when he could feel the changes in his surroundings. The cool breeze from earlier had vanished, and he could feel the temperature rising slowly. He understood what he was about to see and shouted, "No, not the past, show me the present, show me my wild wolf." He waited with bated breath, the human screams continuing in the background. When nothing happened, he wondered if the Gods had heard him. He was about to repeat his request, when a voice whispered in his ear, "Come to the fire then." Startled at the sudden sound, a harsh and guttural one which brought all his terrors to the surface, he nearly shat and fell on his ass, wondering when he had stood up. "Come," he heard again, this time at some distance, and he followed the voice on trembling legs. He passed some broken stones and hard, cracked earth, and was near another ruined wall when a veritable wave of green fire rose in front of him suddenly. For the third time, he felt as if his heart would stop. "Look to the fires," he heard again, and he did, and he could see!

A ruined burning tower in the desert, he saw. A dark animal ran into the night, away from the tower. He could not see what it was, it was just a vague shape. Before he could think further about it, his eye was drawn to a wild, snarling wolf and birds as black as the night pecking at it. The wolf howled, fighting back, and he could see a smaller white wolf hiding behind what he now understood to be a mother. The birds were relentless though, coming in wave after wave, and he could see blood dripping from the mother wolf through multiple wounds. Lyanna, his mind whispered. His fears were forgotten then, only his will to help and save his wild wolf remained, and he jumped towards her, only for a skeletal hand to catch him and throw him at a wall. A skeleton with a golden crown rose from the wall of the green fire and spoke to him then, all the while walking toward him. "Your blood sacrifice brought you here, but will it be enough to save you? Begone with your magic, Child." And before he could understand what was happening, the skeleton picked him up and threw him into the midst of the waiting trees.

He came to what he felt like screaming, only to realize that no sound came out of his mouth. He could feel a pounding headache and he could feel his body burn from inside, like a fever, but much more intense. A great weight pressed on his chest, and he could not breathe properly.

"Water," he croaked, but before his man could bring it to his lips, he passed out.