Ned

"I bid thee farewell, Lord Stark. I will talk to the Lord Commander when I get back to Castle Black, especially about sending a party to the Nightfort, but above all I will send word about your brother's quest North of the Wall. And of course of any other developments." Maester Aemon then bowed stiffly in his saddle.

"Thank you Maester Aemon. I wish you a safe trip back to Castle Black. And I will send word of any other news that reaches us here. Winterfell stands with Castle Black. No – the North stands with Castle Black."

The old man nodded. "And I believe that I shall be one of the first men of the Night's Watch to witness the results of your new portage scheme up the Long Lake. It is an intriguing idea."

Yes, it was an intriguing idea. And ironically it had come from something that Theon Greyjoy had said in passing to him. Assembling the boats would be the tricky bit, but once that was done they could start to send a lot more North without overtaxing the Kingsroad to the Wall, which was still being repaired in places. It wasn't a complete solution – the Long Lake didn't go all the way up to the Wall – but it meant that more supplies could be sent North in greater amounts.

Of course there was also the little question of getting the supplies further North from there, but, well, he had some good men working on it.

He turned his thoughts back to Maester Aemon, who seemed to be doing some thinking of his own. "I shall also send word from Castle Black as soon as I have talked to the Lord Commander," the old man muttered, before smiling slightly. "Who would have thought that at my age I would witness such an adventure?"

Ned laughed softly at this and then sobered a little. "Give me your hand Maester Aemon." The old man extended an age-spotted hand and Ned grasped it firmly. "May the Old Gods grant you safe and swift passage back to the Wall. You of all people know of the task that we face."

"My thanks Lord Stark. May both the Old Gods and the New look over you here at Winterfell. There is so much at stake."

And then he looked ahead of him. "Lead on," he called, and then the line of men and horses started through the gates of Winterfell, heading North. The old Maester of Castle Black rode awkwardly but with a look of grim determination on his face.

As the last of them left and the gates closed Ned looked to one side, where Jon was standing, his face thoughtful. "Jon."

"Father." The young man who he had protected for so long smiled slightly. "Before you ask I said my farewells to Maester Aemon earlier. He promised to send word and asked that I do the same."

"Aye, he's a good man."

Jon nodded, seemed about to say one thing and then seemed to switch to something else. "I still can't believe that he's a Targaryen. He goes against everything I heard about them."

Ned eyed him carefully. "Never judge a family by a few members," he pointed out. "Aerys… was not always the man that he ended up as."

Boots scuffed to one side and they both looked over to see Domeric Bolton approaching them. The son of the Lord of the Dreadfort had been very quiet of late, obviously mulling what he had learnt. And now he looked as if that conversation that had been put off once before was about to finally happen.

"Lord Stark, may I speak with you in private?" The young Bolton looked distinctly young and awkward and pink-cheeked.

Ned looked at Jon for a moment, who was somehow both smiling and glowering at Bolton. "Of course Domeric – walk with me. Jon, you should return to your training."

Jon stomped off muttering and Ned led Domeric towards the Godswood. "I suspect that I already know the answer to this question, but what would you like to talk about?"

Domeric paused for a moment, as he seemed to be having trouble with his breathing, before swallowing hugely and then opening his mouth. "Lord Stark, I would like to thank you for your hospitality over these many weeks. You have made me most welcome here at Winterfell."

I was trying to keep you alive and away from your mad half-brother who is now thankfully very dead, Ned thought but did not say out loud. Instead he nodded. "Your help here has been invaluable," he replied instead, which was perfectly true. "Things have… been interesting."

"Aye," Domeric muttered. "The Others… well, on behalf of my Father you know that House Bolton stands with you." Then he coughed slightly. "I have enjoyed my time here and I have been much honoured at meeting your family. Lady Stark has been most appreciative and your son Robert is a good friend. But there is someone else in your household who has caught my respectful attention and with your permission I would like to speak of her to you."

They had arrived by the Heart Tree by now and Ned looked at the young man in front of him. "You are referring to my daughter, Sansa."

Domeric somehow went even paler and then looked even more resolute, as if such a thing was possible. "Aye, Lord Stark. I…. I would be honoured if I could be considered for the hand of your daughter Sansa."

Ned looked at him through slightly narrowed eyes and did his best to mirror the look at his own father used to direct at people, the look that once caused one minor lord to actually piss himself. Judging by the way that Domeric swayed slightly and then somehow straightened even further, as if he had replaced his spine with a spear, he had at least the basics of the look.

"You think that you are worthy of my daughter?"

Domeric opened his mouth for a moment, flushed slightly and then rallied a little. "I would battle to be worthy of her," he replied simply. "I would strive every day to be worthy of her."

This was an answer that he had expected from a man who had been fostered at the Redfort and it was so unlike anything that Roose Bolton would have said that he nodded slightly. "Well said," Ned muttered. "Well said. I must ask this of you though – does this come from you or your father?"

The young man swallowed jerkily. "My father urged me to press my suit, Lord Stark, but this request comes from me. I know that Starks and Boltons have not always been allies in the North, but given the threat to the Wall and the need for us to unite behind you against the Others, I think that closer ties between our houses would be a good idea."

Ned clasped his hands behind his back and then stared at the Heart Tree. "I shall discuss this with Lady Stark and also with my daughter, Domeric. This is not a decision that can be made quickly."

"Thank you Lord Stark, and I would heartily agree with you. I would not want this to be decided in haste."

Another point in favour of the lad. "Very well. Thank you for your candour Domeric. I will consider it most carefully."

Domeric nodded, turned to leave – and then suddenly turned back. "One last thing, if I may Lord Stark?"

Ned nodded slightly.

The Heir to the Dreadfort looked at him with eyes that burned with determination. "I am not my father Lord Stark. And I am most assuredly not the creature that I am told my half-brother was."

Ned smiled slightly. "I know that Domeric. If you had been anything like the thing that Ramsey Snow was, you'd be on your way back to the Dreadfort by now. Perhaps even with your head still atop your shoulders. Thank you lad."

Domeric nodded a little and then bowed respectfully, turned and left. Ned watched him go carefully. Yes, the name Bolton was one that had been feared once and he had his own quiet suspicions about Roose Bolton. Something still did not feel right about things around the Dreadfort. But his son was someone very different. Well, he had a lot to think about. Perhaps a chat with Cat, a word with Sansa and then a raven to the Dreadfort?

In the meantime the North had to be run and he strode off to his solar, with his usual list in his head. More ravens had arrived from remote areas of the North, promising aid and fealty to the Stark in Winterfell. Messages had even arrived from the Brackens and the Blackwoods and he winced at what his goodfather would probably have to say about two of his houses sending such a message to Winterfell.

As he strode down the corridor a throat cleared itself as he passed a side-passage and a voice called out: "Lord Stark I presume?" It was a Northern voice, a rough voice, but one with power in it.

"Aye, I am Lord Stark," he replied and peered at the man who was walking slowly towards him. He was in dark robes that looked travelstained and had a long face framed by greying hair. He also looked familiar. "Wait – I know you don't I?"

"We have met, long ago. I once rode as escort to Lord Commander Qorgyle when he came South to meet you."

Ned looked long and hard at the man. And then something clicked in his mind. "You are Mance Rayder."

"I am."

"Why are you here?"

"I must talk to you about what's happening North of the Wall. At once."

He looked at the man who others called the King Beyond the Wall and then nodded. "Join me in my solar."

Theon

He stared at the parchment and then wondered how he was going to ask his uncle all the questions that he dared to. It would not be easy, he felt as if someone had stuffed his head with straw at the moment. He was not sleeping well at all, he would wake at least once a night with a cry of fear from a nightmare. He could never remember the dreams, but he knew that they were related to that boat and his dead brothers. And that terrible shore. What had that figure been? Who had it been?

His eyes returned to the letter. All the news here in Winterfell was about the discoveries that had been made so far, all the old artefacts and documents – and all the holes that lay in them, sometimes literally. Lord Stark was doing his best to pull it all together but he did not envy the man. He admired him greatly now, but he would rather not be him. The Stark in Winterfell had so much weight on his shoulders.

Which was why he was writing to his uncle Rodrik. Rodrik the Reader was the only person he could think of in the Iron Islands with as open a mind as possible and who might – just might – have research as well that might help. He wished that he knew his uncle better, he wished that he knew how to best appeal to his uncle. Had his uncle heard the Voice?

His father… he had an instinctive feeling that if his father had heard the Voice, had heard the call to aid Winterfell, but that he would be doing his best to ignore it. The Old Way. His father was wedded to it. His father had made his stand on the Iron Islands based on it.

His father was a stubborn fool, he knew that now. The war had been a disaster.

As for Uncle Damphair…. No. He'd just get a curse back in return, if anything at all.

So here he was, writing a letter to an uncle he barely remembered, to help a people he barely remembered to help in turn Winterfell. He had to do this. He had to write it. He didn't know why exactly, but the dreams were behind this. He knew that much. So he bent over the letter again and kept writing.

Ned

As he led the former Night's Watch man into his solar and closed the door Ned found his mind racing at a great rate. Why was Mance Rayder here? If he meant him any ill-will surely he would have tried to stab him by now?

Instead he stood by the great table and stared at the huge amount of reading matter there with a frown on his face. "Your research on the Others?" Ned nodded. "Very impressive."

Ned gestured to a chair to one side, before pausing and walking over to a side table. This was a gamble, but one that needed to be taken. He poured a glass of wine for himself and then one for Rayder, before tearing off a hunk of bread from the loaf that must have been brought to his room recently. Digging around at the back of the table he discovered some salt in a little stone jar and he then carried wine, bread and jar over to Rayder, before returning for his own wine.

As he sat in his own chair he watched as Rayder stared at the offering - before what must have been some carefully concealed tension leaked out of him. "My thanks," said the King Beyond the Wall as he tore off some bread, sprinkled some salt on it and then bit a chunk off it, before sipping some wine.

"Given who you are and what it must have taken to get you here, I thought that an offering of Guest's Rights was important."

The other man smiled quickly and kept eating. As he did Ned sat back and studied him. Mance Rayder was no longer a young man, but whilst he had greying hair his eyes were still very lively and had a lot of laughter lines around them. He wore travelling clothes and riding boots, so he must have ridden South and Ned found himself wondering how he had gotten to Winterfell. As Rayder ate the last of the salted bread and then drank some wine he also leant back and regarded Ned carefully. "Well, Lord Stark, I will not waste your time by beating about the bush. The Others are coming. But then you know that, don't you? I was coming South anyway, after hearing word that you were looking for evidence of the Others – and then I heard that damn voice in my head, saying that the Others come again and that the Stark in Winterfell needs help. Damn near wet meself. So I came South even faster. Because you know that the Others have returned."

There was a certain amount of relief in his voice and Ned looked at him closely.

"I do. And your presence makes things easier for me. I was going to go to the Wall soon to try and get word of you. News that there is another King Beyond the Wall spread fast. As did word of your increasing raids."

Rayder raised a languid hand. "I have sent word for them to stop at once. Of course I cannot say that they will all stop. The Free Folk are… well, free. You think of the title of 'king' and you think of your friend Robert Baratheon. I… merely have influence. They follow me because I have a plan. And because we are desperate."

"When did the Others return?"

The other man shook his head. "That… is a very hard question to answer. Some of their creatures never left. And with the Free Folk so scattered… I will tell you what I know. You have a map of the North over there I see. We should look at it."

Ned sipped at his own wine and then stood. As they walked over to the map, which was parchment tacked to a board, he could sense Rayder's eyes looking over everything in the room. When they both stood before the map Rayder smiled slightly at the area North of the Wall.

"I see that your map is lacking in a few details," he said in a grim but almost cheerful voice. "May I add to it?"

Ned nodded and Rayder looked about and then grabbed a quill and a little pot of ink. "This river here goes Northwards, into the Valley of the Thenn. What lies beyond the Frostfangs to the West is a mystery, but to the North of the Haunted Forest and the Then lies…" he sketched a number of lakes, and then a mountain range. "This." The quill shook a little as he drew a long mountainous ridge that looked familiar.

"What's that?" Ned asked slowly.

"It has many names," Rayder said as he put the quill down and carefully stoppered the inkpot with hands that shook a little. "Some call it Deathridge. Others Winter's Heart. Depends on the tribe you see. But most call it Hopemourne. There was a time, when I was a lad, when you could go North and see it. From a distance at least. These days if you go North to look upon it you don't return. Don't return alive that is." His eyes seemed to go somewhere else for a moment and Ned recognised the look of a man viewing memories that he didn't want. And then Rayder shook his head a little and smiled bleakly.

"We know nothing about where they come from, not originally. The Lands of Always Winter are harsh and terrible, even for the lands beyond the Wall. But Hopemourne is where they have always been associated with since the building of the Wall. And it has always been… guarded. There are ruins there they say. Who built them – no-one knows. We know that the First Men built the Fist of the First Men, sad ruin that it is now, but Hopemourne?" He shook his head. "Men always tended to vanish there if they strayed too close to it. An evil place."

Ned swallowed thickly as he remembered the vision that he had had when the Heartstone had been placed in his hand. "A long mountain, like a ridge, with ruins on it, and guardians that were not… not human."

Rayder was looking at him oddly. "Aye. How can you know of it?"

Ned ran a trembling hand over his face for a moment. "A vision. From, I think the Old Gods. When the Heartstone was returned here from the Last Hearth. I saw it then, Rayder. I saw the mountain. And the great hall within it. There was a mockery of a Heart Tree. And… things that had once been men to the sides. And a dais. And a throne. And a creature on that throne that had white skin and blue eyes like stars."

The King Beyond the Wall went white as a sheet. "What was it?"

"From what I said after my vision brought me back here, it was the Night's King. The real one – not the twisted thing that legend said once held power at the Nightfort. This was something else, something terrible, something evil beyond words." He shook his head again. "So, yes. I know what we face. I might not have laid eyes on a wight, but I know the threat from the far North."

Rayder looked at him for a long moment and then little more tension seemed to leave his face. "Good, you share the burden then," he muttered, before turning back to the map. "The first villages vanished more than a year ago. Little places, far to the North. A handful of the Free Folk here, a handful more there." His finger traced a rough line. "And then it got worse. Worse quickly. We of the Free Folk have always burnt our dead. Suddenly we needed to. Wights. Just a handful at first, to match the numbers of people vanishing, but then they started to grow. And then the sightings started."

"Sightings?"

"The Others. White Walkers some call them. But – the Others. Places grow cold, quickly. The White Cold, they call it. And then they come. White hair. White-blue skin. Swords that will cut through any steel. Nothing kills them. Fire can drive them away." Rayder's finger traced a line down the map. "They have been coming South. We cannot stop them. We cannot touch them. We cannot kill them."

Ned nodded slowly and then walked back to the table, where he poured more wine. "You mentioned that the Wildlings – the Free Folk you call them – followed you because you had a plan. What is it?"

There was a pause as Rayder rubbed a hand over his chin and then strode over to join him. "My plan died the moment that I heard the Voice announce that the Others had returned and that you needed help here," he said slowly. "Which is why I hurried South. Lord Stark, what do you know of the early history of the Wall?"

"Just that it was built to stop the Others," Ned said with a frown. "At the end of the Age of Heroes."

"Ah," Rayder said with an ironic smile. "How you of the South forget." He paused, licked his lips and then looked at Ned. "The Free Folk remember what the Night's Watch have forgotten. The Wall was built in the one place where it could both last the summers and also use the land the best – the shortest and most defensible stretch. It cut off many of the Free Folk, but that was alright. TI think that there must have been a plan. The Free Folk were the scouts for the men manning the Wall. The Night's Watch patrolled the wall, maintained it and acted as a defensive force. And when the Others came again the Stark in Winterfell would call the banners and lead the real force to defend the wall.

"But when the Others vanished it all went awry. The Night's Watch changed. It had little to do, other then maintain the castles. Commanders died, other men came in, memories faded with time. The Watch started viewing the Free Folk as a threat. Of course it takes two to make a quarrel – it wouldn't have taken too much to get the hotter heads amongst the Free Folk to bit back. And there you have it. Too much time with no threat from the Others, too much familiarity between Night's Watch and Free Folk."

Ned stared at the man wryly. "Do your people really have such long memories?"

A shrug. "In places. Tales get told and changed a little, but once you compare a dozen of them you can see a common thread. Besides, there are inscriptions in the lands beyond the Wall. Runes. The men of Thenn still speak the Old Tongue, the language of the First Men. Learn the tongue and you can read the runes. There's a cave near the Fist of the First Men, Lord Stark. It's a shame that you don't know of it, because there's an inscription on one wall that says: "Ys Agreement wytnessed by Ye Starke of Wynterfell."

There was a short silence. "Agreement?"

"Something to do with the Wall. Part of it is lost."

Ned sighed. "I know nothing of it. But then we are still going through the documents discovered here in Winterfell." He caught sight of Rayder's raised eyebrows and explained. "There is a room near here that I knew nothing of until recently. My father did though and possibly my brother. A room filled with documents about the old times, about the Others. A room that had… objects, one of which I used without knowing it to send the call to those who seem to have the blood of the First Men. And a room that contained… well, I shall mention it later."

Rayder's eyebrows remained raised. "You knew nothing of it at all?" He choked the words out and seemed to be having trouble breathing. "How could the Stark in Winterfell not - " And then he sank back in the chair that he had half-risen from. "You were fostered in the Vale. And Aerys murdered your father and your brother when you were still young."

No wonder he was King Beyond the Wall. Ned nodded sombrely before standing and walking to the great box. "This was also in it," he said as he lifted the great mace within it. "The Fist of Winter."

Rayder stood the moment that he saw the weapon, his face very pale again and his eyes glittering with what seemed like unshed tears. "You know, there's a saying amongst the Thenn," he said slowly. "Who call themselves the last of the First Men. They say that the only time they'll ever leave their valley is when the Stark wields the Fist of Winter again. And the way they say it, it is as if they don't believe it will ever happen. You asked about my plan Lord Stark. I need to bring the Free Folk South of the Wall. I feared that only we knew about the Others, that by the time that the Night's Watch could be persuaded about the danger too many of the Free Folk would be dead, or worse. That I could somehow force a way South, settle the Gift and the New Gift and then persuade the stubborn fools in Castle Black that I could help defend the Wall."

He looked at Ned and then at the mace again. "When the Call came I knew that I had to talk to you at once, that you knew that they were coming. That you could help us. Do you know how to kill them?"

Ned nodded at the table to one side with the obsidian arrowheads. "Obsidian. Or dragonglass as some call it."

The unshed tears started to spill down Rayder's face as he screwed his eyes shut for a long moment, before opening them again. "The Free Folk are so called because we did not bend the knee. Will not bend the knee. But I know when to ask for help and when to do what must be done." Slowly, reluctantly, but determinedly he knelt. "Lord Stark, the Stark in Winterfell, help me save my people from what the night brings."

"Stand," Ned urged. "I would not have a proud man beg me to do what it right. Stand and help me. And tell me how I can help you."

Rayder stood and then bowed his head in a slow salute. "Thank you Lord Stark, I will not forget your kindness," he muttered. And then he laid a hand on the head of the mace. "I would swear an oath on this."

And then they both heard the crash of thunder overhead.