Bit of a shorter one than usual due to a small amount of writers block, as well as illness.

Jon Stark

He found Robb in the Godswood, sitting in front of the Heart Tree with Ice on his lap. He was staring at the bared blade, an odd expression on his face, as if he had never seen the weapon before. As Jon approached he seemed to return from some far away place in his mind, before looking up.

"Jon."

"Robb. Father sent me to find you. It's almost time."

Robb nodded – and then he smiled wryly at the blade. "Peculiar to have a blade that you can clean and polish but never have to sharpen ever again. There are times when I look at it and barely know what to do with it. I've seen Father wield it so many times, but to hold it is… beyond words."

He looked around carefully and then sat down next to Robb. "But surely," he said softly, "you must have wielded it in that… that other time?"

Robb shook his head. "No," he said in just as low a voice. "Father took Ice with him when he went South to King's Landing. And I never saw it again. The Lannisters kept it. When I fought it was with an ordinary blade."

Shock roiled through him. The thought of Ice in the hands of anyone who was not a Stark…

"But it's not just that I was thinking about. It's all the faces I see here at Winterfell that were dead in that other time. Not just Father. Luwin. Jory Cassel. Rodrik Cassel. Septa Mordane. Harys. Will. They all went South with Father or they died here in Winterfell. And yet here they are now, alive and well. I feel like a ghost from the future at times – a future we can't allow to happen."

He spent a long moment trying to imagine what it would be like to not have the people that his 'brother' had listed alive. It was… not something he liked to consider. Rodrik Cassel and Luwin were two of the rocks that Winterfell was built upon. And Jory was a good friend. They all were. Even the Septa – well, she always meant well.

"Oh, there are other things," Robb sighed as he stared off at the trees again. "I was married in that other time."

He stared at him. "Married?"

"Aye. Jeyne Westerling. That's what got me killed by the Freys."

"I don't… I don't understand."

"I was supposed to marry Roslin Frey. It's… it's a long story. One I'd rather not think about. I'd go mad otherwise, thinking about what could have been."

"Then don't. Think about it that is. Stay in the here and now. Father's alive. The Others are coming. We have a war to fight."

"Aye… aye. I wish I'd known about the Others before. It would have changed everything. But then there's an odd thing." Robb rubbed his chin. "There's one difference, between this time and the other."

"What's that then?"

"Walder."

"The guard who fences with Jory at times? What of him?"

Robb shifted a little, his face puzzled. "I don't remember him like that. He was different. He lived in the stables and he was a simpleton. All he ever said was one word – Hodor. And that's what he was called."

This was mad. "What sort of a word or a name is 'Hodor'?"

"I don't know. It must mean something."

He thought it over. "And that's the only difference?"

"Aye. I overheard him talking to Jory the other day about horses. He knows a lot about horses, Walder does. Odd though. They brought me back – so why change that one thing?"

Jon stood. "Something to think on. Now – we have to get ready."

"I am bloody ready," Robb said with a sigh as he stood himself. "My saddlebags are ready. Are yours?"

"Aye."

"So who are we waiting for?"

"Father needs to say his goodbyes."

Tyrion

He looked at the book on the table worriedly. "It's the only one of its kind. What if I drop it in a puddle? Or trip and drop it off the Wall?"

"I'd advise against it doing either," Dacey Surestone said in a voice that was almost as dry as the sands of Dorne. "Just read it. I have all of Father's notes and also his rough draft of it, anyway, just in case you do fall off the Wall or disappear in the Nightfort."

He peered at her. "How touching."

"Just bring it back."

Tyrion nodded and then looked at the other books. "These three I think."

"Not a bad collection." There was a short silence. "At least you're dressed properly for this trip. How long do you think you will be?"

"I thought a month at least. However, when I asked GreatJon Umber he laughed a lot and said: 'When Ned's in a hurry he travels like shit through a goose'. Not a metaphor I like the sound of. But with the staging posts, and the boats at the Long Lake and the repairs to the road… well, I have no doubt that I at least will arrive at Castle Black as one huge saddlesore."

"Old Nan gave me some ointment for you." She passed over a small stone jar.

He peered at it somewhat dubiously. "I suspect that I'll need a barrel of it. But thank you." He paused for a moment. All of a sudden he seemed to feel the need to fill the air with witty banter but for some reason all the words he wanted to use failed to assemble themselves in his head. Just before he opened his mouth again he heard the sound of hurried footsteps and they both looked around to see Arya Stark bolt into the room and look around wildly.

"What's wrong Arya?" Dacey asked with an odd tone in her voice.

"Dacey! Father needs to see you at once! I heard him say so! And I need to say goodbye to Robb and Jon! And Septa Mordane wants me to be ladylike and I can't, so… wait… where's Nymeria? Oh! There she is!" And then she ran out again.

Tyrion and Dacey stared at the doorway for a long moment and then she looked back at Tyrion and sighed. "I'm told that Cousin Lyanna was just like that. Impulsive is too dull a word to describe her."

"She likes you a lot."

"She can't understand why I read so much though." She sighed and then stood. "I need to find Ned. I suppose that he'll be outside. I wish that was coming with you. With you all I mean. The Nightfort! What a chance to record and study the place!"

He gathered up his books, placed them in the backpack that he had bought especially for the trip and then got down off the chair. "I still wish I knew why I was going. Truly knew."

"You have been summoned, Tyrion," she chided him lightly as she strode along next to him down the corridor. "Summoned by the Old Gods themselves."

They found Lord Stark in the courtyard, in full riding garb and talking quietly to Lady Stark and their eldest son, as well as the former bastard. Theon Greyjoy was to one side in riding garb, looking very serious. He'd heard that the Greyjoy was coming with them as well. He still wondered why though. Brandon Stark was standing to one side looking mulish.

The moment that Ned Stark saw Dacey he stiffened a little and then beckoned her over. Tyrion wen with her, partly through incorrigible nosiness and partly because Emmon was standing to one side with the horses. The Westerlander was still in Winterfell, as Captain Harklin had sent word from Father himself that Tyrion needed a retinue. Emmon was that retinue.

"Dacey, my Goodbrother, Edmure Tully, has sent a raven. Ser Willam Bootle has been found and arrested on suspicion of murdering your father and stealing your inheritance."

She stopped dead in her tracks, the blood visibly draining from her face. "Truly?"

"Truly," Lady Stark said with a small smile. "He was apprehended about ten miles North of Seagard. And he still had everything from Surestone."

Dacey was shaking slightly now. "Everything?"

"Everything," Lord Stark said with a grim nod. "You will have Surestone back, cousin. I swore it and it shall be so. He's coming back for questioning and trial. You are the heir to Surestone, not him."

"There must always be a Surestone in Surestone," said a quiet, level, voice to one side, and Tyrion looked over to see Roose Bolton standing there by his own horse. "Every Lord of the North knows that. This… Bootle… will pay. I knew your father, Lady Surestone. A good man."

"Aye," rumbled GreatJon Umber from the top of his large destrier. "And he could hold his ale."

Lord Stark nodded again and then looked at Dacey. "By the time we return he should be here. And you will have it all back, cousin. Lady Surestone."

"Thank you Ned," she whispered just loudly enough for Tyrion to hear. And then, more loudly: "You have my thanks Lord Stark. Surestone thanks you."

"Think nothing of it." Lord Stark looked around the courtyard. "In my absence, my son Brandon Stark will be the Stark in Winterfell. Something he will take very seriously. Now – my Lords! To horse! We ride to Castle Black!"

There was a great susurration as men mounted horses. As Tyrion mounted his own with the aid of Emmon he looked around. Lord Stark was embracing Lady Stark, whilst his family looked on with various looks of amusement (Rob Stark, Sansa Stark and Jon Stark) and revolted astonishment (Arya Stark and Brandon Stark).

As he settled himself in his own specially designed saddle he felt a hand on his leg and looked over to see that Dacey was standing next to his horse. "Tyrion Lannister – you come back in one piece," she said in a low intent voice. "I will... show you the library in Surestone one day."

He took her hand in both of his. "Of that I have no doubt, my Lady. And I shall return. I promise it."

And then somewhere in front of them a horn blew and the small host of mounted men stared to ride towards the opening gates. He released her hand, took the reins and then urged his horse forwards. Well, now. Time to see the Wall.

Jorah

The great harbour, of which White Harbour was named, was filled with shipping. Every kind of ship seemed to be there, from Dornish galleys to cogs from the Reach to some of the… odder… ships from Essos.

He sighed as he leaned against the railing of the ship and looked at the wharf that it was now moored to. The Company of the Rose had come home and its homecoming looked to be deeply emotional already by the looks on the faces of people like his distant cousins, one of whom had tears trickling down her face.

Feeling awkward he looked away and back to the wharf. And then he sighed a little. There was a man on a horse staring at him. Staring at him as if he could not believe his eyes. He was a fat, bald man with a walrus moustache and Jorah knew him at once because they had once fought side by side at Pyke. Ser Wylis Manderly, the eldest son of Lord Manderly.

The big man dismounted laboriously and then strode onto the wharf. Jorah sighed and then turned to Leera, who was looking about the harbour in wonder. "I have been recognised."

She looked about slightly wildly, caught sight ofg the approaching Ser Wylis and then scowled at him. "You fear him?"

"He was my friend once. We served together against the Ironborn."

"I shall get The Stone." She scurried off. He watched her go wistfully and then took a deep breath and moved to the gangway that led down to the wharf.

As he approached the bottom he saw that Ser Wylis was standing there motionless, one hand on the pommel of his sword. A long moment passed and then the Manderly finally spoke. "You're a lucky man, Ser Jorah Mormont. A lucky, lucky, man."

"How so?"

"My father's not here at the moment. You know what he thinks about… those who commit the kind of crime you did."

He shivered a little. Oh yes, he knew. "Ser Wylis-"

"That was your first bit of luck. My father sailed for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea four days ago, leaving me in charge. He's off to Castle Black, at a meeting of all the Lords of the North, as summoned by Lord Stark."

Jorah's skin crawled for a long moment. The Lords of the North were converging on Castle Black? Then something occurred to him. "My first bit of luck? What was my second?"

The big man in front of him harrumphed for a moment. Then he looked him in the eye. "A raven came from King's Landing this morning. A fast one by the look of it. It had a message from the King. 'Ser Jorah Mormont has been pardoned, his exile is ended.' Just in time to greet you. Otherwise I'd have you dragged off to a cell by now."

"Ser Jorah Mormont has been very helpful to the Company of the Rose, and is under my protection," said a voice behind Jorah and he turned to see Edric Stark and Leera walking towards them both. "But you say that he has been pardoned?"

"He has. The Company of the Rose, you say? And who are you?"

"I was once The Stone, the leader of the Company of the Rose. The Company is about disperse back to its families. And I am Edric Stark."

The look that Wylis Manderly sent at Edric Stark combined utter astonishment with no small amount of shock. "Edric… Stark? Are you a relative of Lord Stark?"

"He is my cousin. Many times removed."

The eldest son of Lord Manderly did an excellent impression of a fish for a long moment, before rallying. "I think that some ravens must fly today. To Castle Black and Winterfell."

"I think that many ravens must fly. I need to send one to Winterfell myself, to tell of our return formally. The Starks had a hand in the creation of the Company of the Rose – and that it all I can say at this point. In addition there are scions of most of the main great houses of the North, along with some that died out here in the North. They will need to plead their cases to the Stark in Winterfell. Oh – and then there are Manderlys amongst us."

Ser Wylis gaped at him again. "Say what again?"

Edric Stark looked about the growing crowd behind him and then pointed to a stout man about ten years younger than Ser Wylis, who had a small flock of family around him. "Godric Manderly."

The younger Manderly stepped forwards and bowed formally. "Greetings cousin and well-met."

After a moment Ser Wylis rallied and bowed back, before stepping forwards and clasping forearms with his cousin. "Well-met indeed. This is a day of unexpected joy. Welcome home, cousin. Welcome home to your family too." He looked around. "Welcome back to you all!" he shouted. "Welcome back to the North! Your exile is over!"

And the shout of joy that arose from the people assembled there seemed to Jorah to shake the sky itself. But he still noticed as Leera slipped her hand into his and squeezed it, before whispering into his ear: "Welcome home my love. Welcome home."