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Catelyn

Hectic.

This was the word that best described the situation in Winterfell at the moment.

Complete madness had invaded the North and the castle, with the second War for the Dawn approaching…if it hadn't already started.

With a heavy heart, the Wildlings had told her that they had sealed the last entrances to the forts on the Wall due to more and more wight attacks. Attacks which strengthened with each passing day.

Catelyn had to sit with Rickon as reports of giant spiders made of ice made their way to them. Half-dead bears and elk or deer charging onto the thick, icy, walls, accompanied them. Things that made her stomach turn.

And as usual, she would have to assign men to each castle, to man the forts. Men from the North, but also the Vale, the Riverlands, and, more recently, the Crownlands, Westerlands and even Stormlands. The Reachers and Dornish would also come to bolster their strength at Moat Cailin in time.

And at the heart of it all, there she was.

Jon Snow had bent the knee, ending Rickon's short-lived reign as King in the North.

In her mind, she should resent him for that action. But she also knew that the Targaryen dragons were too valuable.

She had seen the army of wights amassing under Castle Black. She had seen the unending sea of dead men walking towards the Wall. Mance Rayder himself had to support her as she nearly fainted once again.

Not this time, though.

She had endured through many hardships, and she would continue to endure. Seeing the dead men only strengthened her resolve to protect the North and Winterfell. Ever since, she had worked tirelessly to achieve it, and dragons would be key to that end.

Arya and Rickon helped, of course. Arya volunteered for missions, which Catelyn refused at every turn.

However, with the threat of the dead, she had to concede that any training she could get with a blade was essential.

She herself had started taking lessons.

Should the wights come for her, they would not find a weak, defenceless lady. She would fight for her last breath, and she definitely would not let these arrogant Northern lords do so for her.

As for Rickon, he was as wild as ever, but no less determined for a boy his age. He rode Shaggydog as if it were a horse, brandishing a battle-axe and calling himself 'the Wild Wolf'.

Well, in the North, any help was needed.

Every man, woman or child old enough to bear arms did so. From swords to axes to hammers to knives, all made with dragonglass, of course.

Dragonglass made its way to the North at too slow a pace for her liking, whether up the Neck from Dragonstone or across the Bay of Seals from Skagos. Catelyn was thankful the isolationist Skagosi houses had honored their vows of fealty and pledged to deliver as much dragonglass as they could ship across the treacherous waters of their strait.

Now, Catelyn Stark had the North in her hands, completely.

With Jon Snow having resigned his position after making peace, he had left the Regency to her. A…surprising move, but one that was accepted by all, from Umber to Karstark to Manderly to Reed. And since then, she had slept little and worked much to ensure that every sword was given a wielder, every grain was stored, every ounce of meat or drop of ale accounted for and every single southerner housed.

Speaking of southerners, they had started coming in droves. From the Riverlands, first of all. Then, from the Vale. Then came Lord Yronwood, forced to take the black after some form of treason, with Ser Kevan Lannister and Lord Mace Tyrell having landed in White Harbor, ready to join him. Then, the Westerlanders and Crownlanders, Braavosi and Lorathi, Pentoshi and Reachers and Dornish…all waiting to see the War for the Dawn start.

Those who did not believe made a quick trip to the Wall and had their eyes opened. Some of them never woke up again, fear having stricken their bodies past the point of what they could handle. They would be fuel for the first pyres of the war.

Yet, between all of this, Catelyn's mind still wandered.

She had lost Robb, yes. But Sansa was alive and brought to Riverrun, Arya was alive in Winterfell along with Rickon…but where was Bran? It was as if he'd disappeared completely. She had asked Rickon, of course, but he had said that they separated to avoid being caught by Theon if he sent search parties…but where? Where could Bran ever have gone?

These thoughts helped to keep her awake in the few nights of rest that she got.

During the day, though, other worries clouded her mind. The North was at the forefront of everything, now, and she was caught in the middle of it all.

Today, she had to preside over another meeting around the high table, with herself seated at the place of honor, besides Rickon and Arya.

And, like every meeting, the Northern lords talked over each other in an indescribable hubbub, each trying to speak louder than the other, as if that would validate their argument over their counterparts.

Thus, like every meeting, Catelyn sat in silence until they either tired themselves out or she grew too annoyed by their childishness.

On this day, it was her who snapped before her lords.

Knocking loudly on the table, she cried out,"MY LORDS!"

The shouts died down, with everyone slowly sitting as she stared down the last recalcitrant.

"One at a time." She sighed, having to remind everyone of this basic courtesy for the hundredth time. "Lady Flint, if you would start."

Lady Lyessa Flint, a grown woman with dark hair, stood up. "The sea between Skagos and the Northern coast has frozen. It is now impossible to ferry dragonglass from there safely enough."

"Even by taking the east route?" Catelyn asked.

Lady Flint shook her head. "Waves as large as mountains have been reported. Three ships have already been lost and even the Braavosi cannot weather these storms."

"And the western shore has started to freeze as well!" Robett Glover pointed out. "I have sent a message to my son who passed it to…Prince Daeron and the Small Council in King's Landing, but the situation around Bear Island and the Shadow Tower is looking grim. We have had no news of the Mormonts for a week now…"

"Ravens cannot fly in these conditions, Ser Robett," Catelyn countered.

"Aye, I agree, Lady Regent." Robett inclined his head respectfully. "But no ships from the island have reached Deepwood Motte and I fear for the worst."

"You fear that the dead may try to outflank us?" Catelyn narrowed her eyes.

There was a murmur amongst the audience.

It had been suggested for a long time that the dead would just try to sneak around the Wall instead of breaking through it. And as the shores of the North had started to freeze, the number of men garrisoning it had started to rise.

"Lord Greengood, your men watch the Bay of Ice, surely they would have received reports?" Catelyn then asked.

Lord Helman Greengood was a man of three-and-thirty, half-blind in one eye, but whose imposing stature commanded fear and respect.

"Yes, Lady Regent, but my men have not observed anything out of the ordinary. Cold winds, fog and mist, aye, but no dead have started walking on the ice yet."

Robett Glover pushed his point, "With all due respect, if they came from the Frozen shore onto Bear Island, Lord Greengood's men would not have seen a thing."

"I fear that if the Mormonts have indeed been attacked, there is not much we can do," the Smalljon Umber said with a shake of his head.

"Well, the pass between Deepwood and Bear Island is still open and relatively sheltered, is it not?" Catelyn asked. "Ser Robett, have a ship readied and sent to Bear Island and report back immediately. Do not let them take any risks."

"It will be done, Lady Regent." Ser Robett acquiesced.

"Lady Regent," another voice spoke up from the crowd. This time, it was Dunstan Overton. "I must ask, what of the grain supplies from the Reach. How will they be distributed with the newcomers? We have so many mouths to feed now, I fear that we will have to delve into our reserves before the dead even start their attack."

"The reserves we have at present should be able to sustain our entire population, the Wildlings and the armies coming up North for at least a year." Catelyn frowned, trying to find her numbers in the mess of papers before her.

"Yes," Lord Overton agreed. "But that was excluding the southern armies. Ten thousand Valemen, ten thousand Riverlanders, forty thousand more of various other allegiances that have arrived or that are in the process of arriving…that is much, especially since they will have to be fed proper rations."

"The Crown has promised to give even more food supplies than we already have," Catelyn answered, taking Sansa's raven as proof. One of the concessions of Tumbleton and one of the burdens inflicted on the Tyrells…

"With due respect, Lady Regent, I do not trust the Crown…"

"Well, if you have any other solution, Lord Overton, I am listening." Catelyn narrowed her eyes. "Because apart from sending these soldiers – soldiers which we absolutely need to face the common threat – home, then I do not know what you wish to do."

"Not to mention, Lord Overton, that much of our population has already started fleeing," Gamyn Flint, a Flint of Flint's Finger, pointed out. "Moat Cailin has reported columns of people fleeing towards the Neck, wishing to try their chance with the swamps rather than the dead. As it stands, those are much fewer mouths we have to feed…"

"Which also raises the point of properly keeping the Kingsroad open, both for reinforcements and for the steady supply of food!" Daryn Hornwood took over from the Flint. "If the Kingsroad is flooded with columns of fleeing smallfolk, it slows down the pace of reinforcements and supplies…"

"And blocks Moat Cailin as smallfolk start to realise the folly of trying to cross the Neck," Harlon Knott, a Mountain Clansmen with a thick, brown, beard and long hair scoffed. "They run south, and then realise that south of Moat Cailin lies the graveyard of the Andals, with swamps as far as the eyes can see."

"Did Marlon Manderly not complain about this a few days ago?" asked Lyessa Flint. "If so, it presents another problem for the defense of the Moat, especially with the Reachers and Dornish taking quarters there.

"One at a time, please!" Catelyn calmed everyone down. "Yes, there is the problem of the bottleneck of Moat Cailin, but there are solutions. First of all, the empty carriages that carried grain from the south will be used to carry the smallfolk from the Neck towards the Twins. As many as possible, but also enough to not be a hindrance to the constant supply of food and weapons."

Catelyn paused. She also knew that such displacements would be a massive loss for the North if they were to win the war. Most of the resettled populations likely would not like to come back to their devastated lands and simply choose to settle in Blackwood lands in the Riverlands, Royce lands in the Vale, or any other lands that let them worship the Old Gods in peace. And there would be many that would welcome these new faces in the Riverlands after the hardships of these past years.

"As for the Kingsroad, its defense and proper circulation will be enforced by Lord Reed's Crannogmen, along with my brother's forces and the Crown's forces," Catelyn added. "Therefore, you can consider this point to be moot. The issue we have at hand, though, is the overcrowding of castles on the Wall, which goes directly against my orders!"

"I don't want any wildlings on my lands," the Smalljon gruffly replied.

Harrion Karstark nodded. "Neither would I."

Catelyn resisted the urge to slap them both. The issue of the wildlings was one that was long resolved, or at least, resolved in her mind. Anyone without a weapon and more suited to agricultural tasks would be put on Stark lands, or houses that wished to accommodate them. No one was forced into anything.

As for the warriors, they were lined at the Wall, in each castle. About twenty thousand warriors in total, enough to man a few castles. Then, how in the seven hells were they overcrowded?

"No one is talking about letting any wildlings through," Catelyn gruffly pointed out. "What I wish to know, is how each castle on the Wall is putting a strain on our reserves. Surely, we have enough castles to garrison elsewhere?"

"Orders take time to travel from Winterfell to Castle Black, especially in this weather, Lady Regent," Ser Leobald Tallhart politely replied. "And then, from Castle Black, they have to be dispatched elsewhere. Everything takes a lot of time, and when we have sorted it, more problems arise."

"More problems that could be easily solved if everyone followed the predetermined instructions instead of absolutely wishing to be the first to slay an Other." Catelyn sighed. "Send for the five hundred men stuck at Torches and Long Barrow and move them back to Last Hearth. They are taking enough of a strain on our already stretched lines. As for Brandon Lightfoot's men, I wish to move them out of Eastwatch and back to Last Hearth as well. His six hundred men are appreciated, but I do not wish them to overcrowd Eastwatch when the Braavosi and Lorathi are already finding it hard to find shelter. Find a messenger and be quick about it!"

Leobald Tallhart inclined his head and left the room, leaving Catelyn to have to deal with the rest of the lords.

"Right, as it stands, how many more men can Last Hearth and Karhold take?" she asked.

The Smalljon bowed. "Last Hearth can probably sustain another thousand men, Lady Regent.""Karhold can sustain five thousand. We have not been very solicited." Harrion Karstark bit his lip.

"Good. Well, the Lychester and Bracken men will go to Last Hearth, and Karhold can have the Freys, Waynwoods, Royces and the small contingent of Westermen that arrived yesterday." Catelyn breathed a sigh of relief. At least she would not have to worry about them.

Winterfell, mighty as it was, already hosted twenty thousand warriors and would soon greet twice as many more. All for the defence of the heart of the North…

In any case, there was not much else to be done. Count the barrels of wine, count the sacks of grain, count the men, the swords, the axes, the hammers, the arrows...and the number of smallfolk who had left.

A trying task, but one where she did not have to bear the burden alone. She had dozens of girls who knew their numbers helping her in this task, mostly lowborn or merchants' daughters.

Gods knew this was an endeavor, but one she was proud to have brought to fruition. These girls came from all over the North, and even some from the Riverlands. She doted on them as if they were her daughters, educating them on the political classes of the North, teaching them numbers and letters…she felt like her pride had swollen as they began to work to direct the massive undertaking the North was doing.

The women were not the only ones put to work. Every abled-bodied man or child that could not hold a weapon or was not training or resting was assigned to work on rebuilding Winterfell's defenses after what the Turncloak had done to them.

Surely, while Winterfell is not as proud as before, it is slowly making its way towards that goal.

Catelyn looked at the paper in front of her, and kept making her way down the lists. All of the points she wished to address had been discussed, the only thing remaining was to warn Ser Marlon Manderly of the arrival of the Reacher and Dornish hosts in the coming days, along with the Royal forces soon following.

Then, they would have amassed in the North what would probably be the largest fighting force the world had ever seen.

"I think, my lords, that this session of the Council is closed." Catelyn scratched her brow. "We can…"

Suddenly, the door flew open and Catelyn just sighed deeply. What kind of inconsiderate fool would barge in like this and not have the decency to close the door?

"Lady Regent!" the man, out of breath, called out to her.

Annoyed, Catelyn didn't flinch.

"What is it, ser?"

"I…" the man's chest heaved, clearly gasping for air.

"Well, come now, lad. Out with it!" Harrion Karstark laughed.

"You must come into the courtyard at once my lady. It is…unbelievable."

"What is?" Catelyn asked. "I have seen dead men and dragons, ser, I think I can stomach about anything. What are we dealing with?"

"It's…it's your son, Lady Regent. He's come back."

Catelyn's face suddenly drained of color as she and Arya rose almost simultaneously from the table.

"What are you saying?" she narrowed her eyes.

"It's…it's him, Lady Regent. You must come."

Catelyn did not even think twice about that. Any hope she could get, she would. And if it turned out that the poor lad just confused another crippled boy with her son…well that was just another disappointment she would have to live with.

Escorted by several guards, she made her way with Arya and Rickon down towards the courtyard, where quite the crowd had assembled.

Once everyone realized Catelyn arrived, the crowd parted to reveal a young girl with brown hair, along with a chariot with a lot of furs…and then her heart almost stopped.

In it, her son, little Bran, was there, sitting without a care in the world.

Catelyn raced towards the cart, and immediately jumped into Bran's arms, hugging him tightly.

"Bran!" she clutched him in her arms, hugging him tightly. "Gods, I thought we had lost you for good. I thought you were…"

"Lady Stark!" the girl called out to her. "There is no time!"

Catelyn wanted to shout at her, to tell her that she had no right to speak like that when she was seeing her son for the first time in…gods, years. The son she thought was long dead, that she wept over every night.

"Where did you come from?" Arya asked, wide-eyed.

"From beyond the Wall," Bran replied simply.

Catelyn stopped hugging him and looked him in the eyes.

"That can't be."

Bran spoke without the hint of any emotion, "Yet, that's where we were." "There have only been dead men past the Wall for the past weeks," Catelyn replied. "How could you have avoided them?"

"They were not there." Bran's answer was as cold as ice.

"And how did you even get here? Surely the Watch would have seen you."

"We came through the giant breach in the Wall," Bran continued.

Silence.

"Lady Stark, the Wall has fallen. The Nightfort is no more," The brown-haired girl said swiftly. "As I said, we have no time."

Catelyn's eyes widened.

"We would have had word. From the Wall, Queenscrown, Last Hearth, anywhere…"

"Magic," Bran answered. "The Great Other cloaks his army in a dark veil. An illusion forms to stop those who cannot see properly. One that will not last. But I can see properly, and I am warning you now. The dead have breached the Wall and are marching towards us, and you will not know of that until they set upon your castles. I can see, and I am warning you now. We must prepare for the fight that is coming."

"Ser Harrion?" Catelyn asked.

"Yes, Lady Regent?" the Karstark boy approached.

"Send word to every single castle, holdfast and fortified keep in the North, then the rest of the damn Seven Kingdoms. The dead are coming, prepare for war."

THE END

(of the main story)


A/N: There will be four epilogues, but the main story is over.