Apologies for the delay in this. We had a very merry Christmas and after such a horrible 2016 we decided to enjoy ourselves a lot. Anyway - Happy New Year!

Oberyn

His brother took one look at his face as he entered and then straightened in his wheelchair. "What is it? You are pale, Oberyn."

He tried to smile a little, but knew that it looked more like a grimace than an actual smile. He was tired, tired and shaken. Plus his hand still hurt from all the writing he had done. "I have been calculating, my Prince," he replied formally.

Doran's eyes narrowed a little. "So formal, my brother?"

"Aye, so formal." He sat down. "Winter is coming. I have spent I don't know how many days on the calculations, backed up with messages to Garin - now an Arch-Maester! - at the Citadel, to check my findings. And what I have confirmed is that a Long Winter is coming. It will be a bad one Brother."

A silence fell, broken only by the sound of water gurgling from pool to pool nearby. "How bad?" Doran eventually asked.

"As long as the Summer has been. Plus or minus a year, depending on the finer details of my calculations."

"Summer has lasted for nine years so far. You are certain that the Winter will be as long?"

He sighed. "The science of calculating the celestial spheres about us, as Garin describes it, is an intricate one. It depends on detailed observations at night, with a Myrish spyglass on a tripod. The only good thing about was the waiting. Ellaria will hold off on the moontea for a while I think." He paused. "I might even decide about... well, we will see. She's thinking about things.

"In the meantime... we know that we are one of a number of other worlds that go around our Sun. Think of it like a great... dance. Our world flings itself about the Sun at the same time as other worlds. The, ah, orbits are not circular. They are ellipses, we think. Combine them all together and you have the most complicated dance in existence. And sometimes... they all align. On one side of the Sun or the other. And sometimes... we are on one side and all the other worlds are on the other. I think that such times... affect us. Affect the tilt of our world. Pull us a little perhaps one way and then the other."

"Hence a long Summer leading to a long Winter?" Doran asked shrewdly. "And... word of the Others? Of magic?"

Oberyn paused and thought deep and hard. "I don't know," he said heavily. "Perhaps things like magic wax and wane because of the dance of those celestial spheres that Garin talks about. Perhaps there are other causes at work. Perhaps... well, I would be a liar if I told you that I know anything for sure about magic, except that it... exists. It might have its own logic, but one other than that of men."

Doran nodded slowly as he absorbed this. "And the Citadel agrees with you?"

"Garin at the Citadel agrees with me. The rest of the Maesters... well, there will be a lot of careful checking of calculations and then arguing about what it all means - there are always Maesters who disagree because of their own theories."

His brother raised an eyebrow. "Theories?"

Oberyn laughed softly for a moment. "I once met a Maester who claimed that we live not on a world but within a sphere. But then he also claimed that sparrows talked about him under their wings when he passed them. Nevertheless, they will confirm my calculations I think. Eventually."

Doran sighed a little. "So in the meantime Dorne must prepare for a long winter?"

"Aye. The good news is that it should not get too cold this far South. And the change of season should mean more rain - we might well be able to grow food at a time when it's too cold for that further North."

"And the bad news?"

"There is a legend told by the Stony Dornish about the last Long Winter - the Long Night they call it. Apparently it snowed everywhere in Westeros. Even here. Who knows what it will be like? We should plan for the worst."

"Very well," Doran said quietly. "I shall start to put together a plan. More food, more preparation, more... planning. And, perhaps, better relationships with the borderlords in the Reach and the Stormlands."

"That might be best, brother," Oberyn agreed, before looking up as Hotah appeared to one side and bowed.

"Your pardon, my Prince, but there is a man here who says that he has news of Lord Dayne."

Doran looked at the hulking captain of his guard and then looked at Oberyn. "Who is he?"

"He says that his name is Myras, captain of the Seahorse - which took Lord Dayne to King's Landing. He has ill news, my Prince."

Oberyn sighed a little and then looked over at the Water Gardens, as Doran did the same. "Very well, Hotah. Bring him here."

The captain was a tall, dark-haired man who looked as if he was bearing a great weight. The moment that he saw them he bowed. "My Prince - Prince Oberyn. I am Myras. It was my honour to take Lord Alster Dayne to King's Landing. It is my sorrow to tell you that he died there."

"I feared that was so," Doran said with a sigh. "He was ill enough when he left here. Good captain - what happened?"

Myras closed his eyes for a moment. "When he boarded he did not say that he was ill, my Prince. I started to suspect it as we headed North though. I wanted to make for the nearest port to seek a Maester, but he insisted that we head for King's Landing. He had to see his son, he said. He was insistent about it...dreadfully so. He had to see his son. So... we crammed on more sail, perhaps more than was safe at times. By the time we were five days from King's Landing he was no longer well enough to stand, let alone make it onto deck. Instead he spent his time in his cabin, writing. Instructions for his son, he said.

"When we got to King's Landing we were lucky enough to find a member of the Kingsguard there. Ser Jaime Lannister. He sent word to the Red Keep for Lord Dayne's son to come at once."

It was hard, but Oberyn somehow managed to keep his lip from curling at the very mention of the word 'Lannister'. Now was not the time, even if the man in question had once expressed regret about what had happened to Elia and her children.

"Ser Davos Seaworth was also there and he organised things to a nicety. Lord Dayne was brought ashore on a litter and a Maester was summoned at once. The Maester... well, he said that Lord Dayne was lucky to have lived as long as he had. And then Lords Arryn and Baratheon - Lord Stannis Baratheon - arrived. THey calmed Lord Dayne a little. Before his son arrived."

"He handed over Dawn then?" Oberyn asked shrewdly.

"Aye he did. Ser Jaime brought the blade from Seahorse. And he did not look happy about holding it. Lord Dayne was particular about that blade. Tywin Lannister's son did not appear to be content in holding it. Most odd."

Remembering the feel of the blade when he had laid a hand on it before Oberyn found himself shuddering in agreement. Yes, that damn blade was odd. More than odd in fact. "And then?"

"Lord Dayne's son. Edric Dayne, arrived." Myras bowed his head for a long moment. "Lord Dayne handed Dawn over to him. Told him that he was now the Sword of the Morning. Told him that he had to find a Godswood at dusk. Told him to go to Winterfell as soon as he could. And then he whispered something in his son's ear that no-one else could hear. After which... his son asked Lord Arryn if his father's watch was done. Lord Arryn said yes, it was. And then... then Lord Alster Dayne died."

The room fell silent, apart from the noise of the water outside. "He will be remembered," Doran muttered after a while. "He was a strong voice for the Stony Dornish. And a noble one. Where are his bones?"

"On board my ship, my Prince. I swore that I would deliver them in all honour to Starfall. And I will honour that promise. He was indeed a good man."

"And his son? Where is he now?"

Myras set his chin a little. "Riding for Winterfell my Prince. With all despatch."

Doran looked at Oberyn, who looked back at him levelly. "Winterfell again," his brother said eventually. "The Blood of the First Men is strong."

Oberyn looked back at the captain. "Our thanks, Captain Myras. Please - continue on to Starfall with our thanks. And a purse of gold for informing us."

Doran gestured at Hotah, who strode forwards, stamped in salute , and then escorted the seaman away. As the pair vanished he looked back at Oberyn. "It seems the Stony Dornish know something," he said. "We must know as much - or more."

Ned

The lad, Edric, was so like his father. Well, apart from the ears that is. Those were pure Florent. But the rest of him was pure Robert, from his shock of black hair to his blue eyes and his build. He had a warhammer at his back already, a small one, and judging from his muscles he was already practicing hard with it, despite his age.

He watched from a bend in the stairs leading down into the main courtyard. Edric was taking lessons from Ser Courtney Penrose, whilst a fascinated Bran and Robert listened to one side. Those two had become as thick as thieves in recent weeks, combining a love of horses with a penetrating need to bombard everyone around them with questions about... well... everything.

Hearing feet on the steps near him he looked to one side. Cat was approaching and he smiled and kissed her proffered hand gallantly. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell had to keep up certain... niceties. In public at least. In private... well, they both knew that there was a baby coming, but that was not yet cause to stop coupling as much as possible.

Cat smiled impishly at him and then looked down at young Edric. She opened her mouth to speak - and then she looked about them to make sure that no-one was near. "Strange to think that I'd welcome a bastard to Winterfell," She muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. "When I was growing up I was told to hate and fear bastards of any kind. Because they posed a threat to the trueborn. Father always mentioned the Blackfyres. Everyone always held them up as an example."

"Very true," Ned sighed in response. "But this... this is different. He's a trueborn son of Robert. You just have to look at him. Black of hair and blue of eye. He's Robert in miniature - and wielding a warhammer already!"

She nodded and then sank into his embrace a little. Just enough to assuage propriety. "Do you... do you think that all will one day rest on him?"

That was a good question and he paused to think it through for a long moment. "We have to act as if it might. At the moment Robert's true heir is Stannis. But he only has one heir, Shireen - and she is a sickly girl. After that it's Renly. And the rumours that Robb said that he'd heard from people - including you - about Renly and his... let's call them preferences... well, let's just say that House Baratheon needs as much support as possible."

Her face went still for a long moment. He recognised that look. "Oh, no - enough. Do not grieve or worry about decisions you took in a future that will not now happen. You were badly informed. I was apparently juiced to the eyeballs with milk of the poppy by Pycelle in King's Landing - a man who I have never liked as he's Tywin Lannister's creature. And Robb was badly advised. There's much that he now knows, that he didn't know before."

"Aye," she whispered. And then a steely look appeared in her eyes. "And P- I mean, Lord Baelish is no longer about to betray us all. I still cannot imagine it. How he could do such a thing. I thought I knew him."

He directed a sad look at her. "You knew Baelish the boy. You never really knew Baelish the man. From what I have learnt... he became bitter and twisted. And the moment that Brandon tried to gut him like a fish he hated all Starks. Those... the us from that future... we should have seen that. Seen that a mile off. But some fog of madness seems to have clouded our minds. It's gone now. He's dead. We still live. And we must protect our family."

"Aye," she said mistily as she looked at their nephew as he practiced sword strokes with Bran using wooden training swords under the experienced eye of Rodrik Cassel. "Especially from those we thought we loved. I still cannot believe that Lysa did what she did."

"The guards have been warned. If she somehow comes here, then she will be imprisoned in a cell and if she sends word to demand Robert then she will never get an answer. She cannot be trusted. Not with her son, not with anyone."

She nodded again and then buried her head in his chest a little further. "Is there any word?"

"None. If there had, you would have been the first to know. The last message from King's Landing was that Jon Arryn still lives."

"How she could attack him..."

"Baelish's poison," he whispered into her hair. "His poison."

After a moment she straightened up and wiped at her eyes almost angrily. "Ah, Ned, enough of this." Cat looked down at the courtyard. "All the preparations are made. The messages have gone out. They're ready. When?"

"Tomorrow. First light. I'll be there and back before you know it."

This earned him a laugh. "No, Ned, I'll miss you for every moment you're gone. But you've left me enough to do to keep me busy." Then she sobered. "Your plan for the Broken Tower..."

"Might not work. But it will still start the repairs needed at the very least."

She looked back down at Edric. "If we do win at this... if Robert discovers what we know about his 'children'... what if he marries again?"

He felt his face grow solemn. "The Long Night comes. We fight for the Wall. And after that Winterfell, if the Wall falls. There's a war coming, the like of which we cannot imagine. Robert needs an heir he can point to as a credible alternative to him if he dies. I care not if it's Stannis or Edric, or some boy yet to be born. But I swear by the Old Gods that I'll keep that boy alive long enough for Robert to make a choice and to know that he has such a choice available."

Cat looked into his eyes for a long moment. "I understand she said seriously." And then she kissed him lingeringly, before descending down the stairs and then talking to Bran and Robert, both of whom looked flushed from exercise.

He smiled a little and then strode back up the stairs briskly. There was much to do.

Tyrion

The first hint he had that he was no longer alone in the library was a rumbling crash as a book fell off a shelf. Quite a large book by the sound of it. This was followed by the sound of a youthful, and rather familiar, female voice muttering a number of words that Tyrion would have bet quite a number of Dragons that her mother would be horrified to know that she knew.

There was then a pause, interspersed with the sound of pages being flipped. And then, muttering. Quite a bit of muttering. Tyrion cocked an ear and picked up the occasional word here and there. Like: "Useless" and "Where's the bit I need?" and then "Bugger it!"

He pursed his lips in thought for a moment and then carefully closed the book in front of him, having marked the place, before getting down off his chair and padding towards the source of the noise as soundlessly as possible.

As he had thought, the source in question was young Arya Stark. She was sitting on a large chair with a huge book in front of her and she was rifling through the pages with a lack of care for the contents that made him wince. After a while she finished, scowled furiously and then slammed the book shut. "Useless!"

"What is?" Much to his gratification he saw how high she jumped at the sound of those two words. Then she caught sight of him and her eyes widened.

"The Im- Oh! I'm… I'm sorry. Lord Tyrion. Erm. Sorry?" She looked as if she was about to die of embarrassment.

"You're not enjoying your book then?" He asked after a long moment.

Arya Stark looked down at the book and then scowled again. "What? Oh. No. It's useless. It doesn't contain anything about what I need."

He looked at her quizzically and then down at the book. The title: 'A True Hystory of Ye Legendes of Ye North' confused him more than a little – surely a true history of legends was something of an oxymoron? – so he asked the logical question. "So – what information are you searching for?"

The girl looked about the room carefully and then bent down a little. "I want to know how-" Another quick look about the room. "-How to become a warg!"

"A warg." He said the words carefully, trying them out on both his tongue and his brain.

"Yes! A warg! My ancestors were Wargs! They're in the crypts, with their wolves."

He blinked a little. Someone had mentioned that, but he had not gone there just yet. "Your half-brother mentioned that you were a warg. Or rather the Old Gods did through him." He still didn't like remembering that. The red fire in the eyes, the voice, the feeling that he was about to piss himself in terror as something older and vaster than anything he could ever imagine peered at him.

The girl all but danced from foot to foot for a moment. "I know! The Old Gods called me 'Young warg'!" The dancing ceased. "But I don't know how to be a warg. None of the books or the legends say anything about it. They're useless!"

He looked at her for a long moment as he considered a wide range of potential issues. "And what," he said eventually, "Would you use any wargish – is that the right word? – powers for? What would you do as a warg?"

She looked at him as if he was raving mad. "I'd be a warg! Isn't that enough?"

He sighed and then pulled up a chair and climbed into it. "Frankly – no. Everything I have read about magic so far tell me that it has a price – that you must have a good reason to practice it. You cannot simply announce that you to warg for the sake of warging." He paused. "You seem unconvinced."

"I have Nymeria!" She snapped the words. "I could warg into her! And then I could bite Sansa on the arse!" At which point she blushed more than a bit. "That sounded wrong, didn't it?"

"Very likely. Let me ask you a different question. Surely you wouldn't want to hurt Nymeria, would you?"

Arya Stark frowned and then shook her head furiously. "Of course not! Starks of old were wargs and didn't hurt their direwolves! Why would I? Besides – that's what I'm looking for. Information on how to warg, safely." Her angry expression softened a little. "She relies on me. And I'd never hurt her!"

Tyrion looked at her for a moment. All of a sudden he needed a large goblet of wine. "You obviously haven't asked your father about this, as he would have forbidden it. Then I suggest that you keep reading – and make sure that you put all the books away afterwards. In the right places. Otherwise Maester Luwin will be irked."

She looked rather alarmed at that – and then, hearing the sound of footsteps to one side she darted away and vanished in the stacks. Tyrion sighed and then looked at the doorway, where Luwin was standing. "Maester Luwin."

"Lord Tyrion." The Maester approached the table and then looked at the books there. After a moment he moved his head to one side slightly – and then he sighed. "I see that Lady Arya has been in here again, looking for 'a big book that tells me how to be a warg'?"

Someone left out a harrumph not too far away, quickly silenced, and the two men smiled at each other for a moment, before the Maester smiled wistfully. "She is Lyanna Stark come again, Lord Tyrion. I knew her only briefly, but the same fire that burnt in her burns just as bright in young Arya."

"I would not want to be the man who is fated to get close to that fire," Tyrion muttered. Then he looked back at the Maester – and at the book he was carrying. "And what do you have there, Maester Luwin?"

"A book that I thought might interest you, Lord Tyrion. It was amongst the books and other writings that we found in Lord Stark's solar, a book that I have only recently discovered." He held it out – a thin, slim volume that looked as if it was hundreds of years old. "It contains notes written by the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch of some two hundred years ago. About the time of the abandonment of the Nightfort. Not his journal – that has been missing for many years. But the notes themselves are singular. They hint at more information, possibly hidden at Castle Black. And the name of that Lord Commander…. Lord Tyrion, does the name Tyrek Lannister mean anything to you?"

"I have a cousin of that name," Tyrion said slowly. "But there was also once a younger brother of an ancestor of mine… about thirty years before the Dance of the Dragons. I think he joined the Night's Watch. There's a bit of a blank spot in the family history that I read when it comes to that bit, to be honest."

Luwin's lips thinned for a moment. "The honour of serving in the Night's Watch was fading by that point, I'm afraid. Especially in the Great Houses of the South, as King's Landing grew in influence and power and splendour." He spat that last word. Then he made a slight gesture of apology. "Your pardon, Lord Tyrion. Here in the North…. Well, we have long been used to how little the South thinks of the Wall."

He thought about the reports that had been arriving of the descendants of the First Men sending help to the Wall, as well as the arrival of the Clans from the Vale, and smiled a little. "I think that you'll find that that has changed, Maester Luwin."

"Aye, it has. Well – you need to read this." The Maester turned to a particular page and handed the book over.

Tyrion looked at it with a frown. 'I, Lord Commander Tyrek Lannister, having ordered the abandonment of the Nightfort, due to the growing enfeeblement of the Night's Watch, have ordered that certain chests containing document and other artefacts pertaining to the secrets be concealed there. Lord Stark is to be kept informed of this. And when the time comes to reclaim the Nightfort, as I have forseen, then the second son, short of stature but great of intellect, of the Proud Lion will go there to reclaim what is his – and to help open the Black Gate for the Wanderer.'

Invisible ants seemed to crawl up and down his spine for a moment. After a while he looked up at the older man. "This all makes it sounds dreadfully obvious that very thick underwear and a lot of furs lie in my immediate future." It was a weak jape, but the best he could manage in the circumstances.

"I think, Lord Tyrion, that you must join Lord Stark and the Lords of the North at Castle Black."

"I think, Maester Luwin, that you are very right about that." He sighed. This was not going to be a pleasant trip, he suspected. It would instead be fast and arduous. And what was he going to 'reclaim'?