Tyrion

He was still unsure about just how fast shit did indeed go through a goose but he did now know one thing – when Ned Stark travelled with urgency he moved fast. For the first time he knew what his father had meant when he had reluctantly admitted that Ned Stark could be dangerous. They'd ridden for miles more than he had thought was wise for the horses. But there had been a method to his madness and they were all now in a holdfast that had been warned ahead of time, so that their horses were being rested, fed and watered, whilst hot water had been drawn for all of them.

What baffled him had been how, after all that riding, he'd gotten a stone in his boot. Odd, that.

He pulled the other boot off and then dropped it on the floor. He felt bone-tired and he ached in places that he had never known he even had. The 'bath' was a copper half tub one that most men would find small. It was one of the few advantages to his stature that he would not find it at all small.

He stripped off, climbed in and then used the soap as much as possible, before leaning back and doing his best to bob. He couldn't quite manage it, but he came close. The water was still nicely warm, but he knew that it was cooling. Still, he enjoyed the moment to close his eyes and think.

He needed a woman and there were some quite comely wenches amongst the serving girls here. One thing held him back; he had the oddest feeling that Lord Eddard Stark was watching him. Assessing him. Judging him? It was an odd feeling, that. He knew that Ned Stark was nothing like his dead and headstrong older brother. No, Ned Stark was a cooler, quieter, more considering character, someone who observed and judged.

Frankly he had to admit that the man scared him just a bit. There was a… weight to him, in terms of influence. He'd seen Father judge people effortlessly and without mercy at times, just as he'd seen Father rule the Westerlands with a rod of iron. But Ned Stark… there was something happening here. Some old power, old force of support, or something like that, was emerging. People did not follow Ned Stark because they feared him. They followed him because they knew that he would make the right choices. Hard choices perhaps, but the right ones.

He opened his eyes again. And he had the feeling that Ned Stark was judging him on behalf of someone. He felt uneasy all of a sudden. No, it was fanciful. She was Stark's cousin and had a fine mind. Quite a fine body too, from what he suspect and… by the Gods, Old and New, he had stop this line of thought, 'lest he go stark staring mad. Heh.

The water was cooler and less enjoyable now and he climbed out and dried himself off with a woollen cloth. He still ached and after a long moment he pulled out the stone jar containing the ointment. The top stuck a bit in the unstoppering of it, but once it was off he sniffed the contents carefully. It was good that he'd been hesitant about it, because he felt his nostril hairs shrivel from the smell. It seemed most… medicinal.

A very careful application of it to the tenderest places brought a muffled exclamation as fire seemed to burn briefly on those spots… and then it eased to a soothing warmth. He sighed, re-sealed it and then dressed carefully in clean clothes.

When he reached the hall he could see that most of the others were already there. Ned Stark was to one side talking quietly wo his two sons and his ward. The latter three had their direwolves at their feet, all of which looked as grave as their owners. They seemed to almost grow a little every day now, although they were still too small to lope alongside the horses. Instead they had been silent, fascinated passengers in special attachments on the pommel of the saddles. To one side sat their mother. Frostfyre had run effortlessly next to Ned Stark the entire day. If word had not before spread far amongst the smallfolk of the North that Lord Stark had a direwolf, then the trip to the Wall would cure that. He'd seen the smallfolk point and stare – and cheer.

Word was spreading. It would spread faster soon.

GreatJon Umber waved him over to a bench and he sat rather gingerly, before a servant delivered a bowl of stew and a plate with several bread rolls, along with a foaming mug of ale. He peered at it and then shrugged. He was starving hungry. And the rolls were still warm, breaking open with a slight crack as the crust yielded to reveal warm white fluffy bread, which could then be dipped in the delicious mutton stew. He didn't eat his meal, he inhaled it, before washing it down with equally enjoyable ale.

By the time he finished and suppressed a belch he felt a lot better. He was also being observed with a grin by GreatJon Umber, who had just finished his second mug of ale. "Feeling better now, Lannister?"

"Much." He sighed, feeling replete and then waved for another mug of ale. "A hard day's ride."

The huge man's face hardened for a moment. "I've known harder. After the Trident. Getting there was bad enough. But afterwards, riding for King's Landing, knowing we were riding to get justice for Lord Rickard and Brandon… That was hard." He paused and sniffed. "Oh aye. Liniment?"

"A touch of it," he said, doing his best to sound careless. "Lady Surestone gave a jar of it to me in Winterfell. Said I might need it."

"Oh, you'll need it," Umber chuckled darkly. "Take it from me. You'll need it. She must like you then, Dacey Surestone."

"She took pity on me - I'm a mere poor soft Southerner amongst a flock of Northern wolves."

GreatJon Umber took a long swallow of ale and then lowered his mug and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh," he said eventually. "No. If Dacey Surestone sees something in you then there's some solid metal in you. That one's clever. As I said, I knew her father. A good man. He was clever too. Clever about the right things. And he could use a battleaxe on horseback like no-one I've ever met, then or now." He looked at him, and there was something dark in his eyes. "Don't you dare trifle with her, Lannister. Not her. If Ned Stark doesn't kill you for it, then I will."

He looked back at the Lord of the Last Hearth and did his best to keep that gaze level. "I have no intention of 'trifling' with her," he replied eventually. "Not her. She's clever and witty and knows her way around a library like no-one else I've ever met so far. Well, who isn't a Maester anyway. I'd… I'd not ever want to be the one to let her down."

Umber glared at him for a score of heartbeats longer and then nodded and drank some more ale. "Then don't let her down."

He paused and ran the conversation through his head again. "What exactly are you saying?"

"Oh by the Gods, don't ask me, ask Ned."

"Ask Ned – I mean Lord Stark – what?"

"Permission to court her!"

Tiny demons made from ice ran up and down his arms and legs for a moment, before dancing a very pretty gavotte along his spine. "I'm a Lannister," he said dully after a moment. "The last girl I properly courted I married. Without my father's permission. He… he did not take the news well. She, she was lowborn and… it is a long and cruel story that I'd rather not tell here. I was a fool. And my father was… cruel. He had it annulled. Since then… I have…"

A huge hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up to see GreatJon Umber peering closely at him. "By the Gods… I knew that Tywin Lannister could be a hard man. I even knew that he could be a right shit at times – you have to be if you're Hand of the King. But to hear his own son call him cruel… I'm sorry lad. I'm sorry."

Tyrion smiled through a sudden haze of tears, wiped his eyes and then drank his mug of ale with four long gulps. "It was a while ago. Years ago."

"Wounds of the heart don't heal as well as wounds of the skin and bones," GreatJon Umber said surprisingly shrewdly. "I learned that a long time ago. But I'll say this much – your father's not here and Dacey Surestone is cousin to Ned Stark himself, so no-one in their right mind would call her lowborn. So there's nothing to stop you courting her. That said – break her heart and I'll break the bits of you that Ned leaves intact. And then Roose Bolton will take his turn. He liked her father as well. We all did." He grinned at him and then waved for another ale. "You'd best get ready for an even harder day riding tomorrow."

He smiled weakly. What fun.

Davos

They had sailed on the next available tide that morning. He had placed his best man in charge of the Goldcloaks, a man who he knew had never taken a bribe in his life, and left for the docks at once to choose his fastest ship, a low sleek vessel called Sea Eagle that he used for courier work for Lord Baratheon. It was ironic that this time it bore Lord Stannis Baratheon himself, along with the Lady Selyse.

Sea Eagle didn't have very large cabins, but this was not something that bothered either Baratheon. Lord Stannis Baratheon spent most of his time on deck, not far from the tiller, while his wife varied from being next to his side to pacing about in the captain's cabin below. She seemed unable to keep still at times. Lord Stannis on the other hand… he seemed like a statue at times, his gaze fixed on the East. Always East, in the direction of Dragonstone.

The winds were good, a steady one from the West that sent the ship speeding East at a good rate of knots that ate up the miles with every hour. Davos was almost constantly at the tiller, only yielding it to Devan to relieve himself or to snatch forty winks. Devan was a good sailor, but Davos trust no-one but himself to get to Dragonstone as fast as possible. He summoned up every scrap of knowledge he had of seamanship, every instinct he had for wind and wave and ship.

He knew these waters like the back of his hand and used that knowledge to get everything out of the ship. The men shifted sails slightly at his direction, cramming on as much as he dared. If he could have he would have attached his handkerchief to the crow's-nest for that added scrap of push.

Shireen Baratheon had been teaching him to read, in secret. His lessons had been curtailed by his time in King's Landing, but that had been a poor excuse in her eyes and she'd sent him letters and books and notes, with new words clearly labelled and explained. The head of the Goldcloaks, she'd pointed out, had to know how to read. How to sign his name. After all, he'd be a lord one day.

He doubted that last part, but he'd swim through blood for that child. Wise beyond her years, but sad beyond her years as well. The thought that those scars might be gone, that the blight of greyscale… well, it was a dream come true.

They sailed on, through the night. The stars were his guide, the night sky his map, his nose aquiver for every smell of land if it came too close, the feel of the tiller's pull in the water his guide to current and tide. Stannis Baratheon remained on the quarterdeck, a still, stiff figure who paced occasionally but who then went back to staring ahead as the ship sliced through the waves as it raced before the wind. Occasionally Lady Selyse joined him, a white-faced strained look on her face. Sometimes she spoke to her husband in a low undertone. Only once did Davos hear their conversation.

"You must eat, husband."

"I cannot. I cannot keep it down. I am… nervous. I am unmanned."

"Never that. I want to see our daughter too. But if you do not eat or drink you will collapse. And the men will think you weak."

He shot her a glare, which seemed to turn to a more troubled look. "I have… tried. I want to. But the need to see Dragonstone drives me. To see our daughter."

A short silence fell. "I should have given you sons."

"There is still hope. We still have time. I was… wrong about my duty to you."

"And… it is appreciated. Drink something husband. And eat, even just a mouthful." And then she left. Stannis followed her after a short time, before returning later with more energy in his step to resume his silent vigil.

On they went, though the night. Devan took over twice so that he could have short naps, but he soon returned to the tiller. Navigating at night was not something that Daven was used to, not when it came to Blackwater Bay. The danger of impaling a ship on one of the Spears of the Merling King was too great if you didn't know exactly where you were – and Davos did, from that unique combination of instinct and knowledge. Every now and then they'd catch sight of a looming light from one of the towns on distant shores.

But it was the way that she ship behaved that told when they had entered the Gullet, even before they caught sight of a light on Driftmark. His quiet grunt of satisfaction had brought Lord Baratheon out of his silent vigil.

"What?"

"Driftmark, my Lord Hand."

"Good."

On and on, into the slowly lightening sky. And then the man in the crows-nest finally called down: "Deck there!"

"Report!" Davos bellowed back.

"A light on the horizon – three points to Port!"

"Dragonstone," Davos said with a tight grin. "Almost home my Lord Hand!"

"So soon?"

"Sea Eagle's a fast ship, my Lord Hand. And we've had good winds – and a fast passage."

"I will see you well rewarded for this, Seaworth."

He nodded shortly and then concentrated on the final part of the passage. There was another area of shallows that had to be skirted – and he sensed it almost before he smelled it. Sometimes there was a slight scent of sulphur from it. Easily avoided. Well, for him anyway.

As the darkness started to lift further he had Lord Baratheon's personal standard hoisted from the tallest mast as they beat up the long reach towards the docks. By the time they were on a course to dock the sun had risen – and they had been sighted, based on the guards running towards the dock and the dockworkers pulling out a gangplank with handrails.

Davos guided the ship in with practised ease, roaring orders to furl the sails at the correct moment and using wind and current to come to a halt at the right place. Lines were heaved and made fast to bollards, rush fenders were put over the side and guards came to attention as they saw Stannis and Selyse Baratheon waiting to disembark. As the gangplank was out into place Davos saw a figure in black robes approach. Cressen.

The moment that he was able to, Lord Stannis hurried down the gangplank, his wife just behind him. As Davos turned to give Devan a brace of orders about the ship he heard his patron bark: "Cressen, where is my daughter?"

"In the Godswood my Lord."

"Godswood? What Godswood? There is no Godswood on this damn island Cressen!"

The old man raised both hands in a placating manner. "That's what I thought too my Lord – but come with me. I shall show you it. Lady Selyse as well."

He turned and scurried off, with the two Baratheons and some guards hot on his heels. After a moment Stannis seemed to remember where he was and turned to wave a hand at him. "Seaworth! Come!"

Gratified but apprehensive he followed, as Cressen led them along the dockside, down some steps and then onto a strand and towards what had once been a sheer cliff. Davos had seen it before. But this time one of the notches in it looked different. Debris had been pulled away from it and as he approached he could see stonework. The remains of a wall? Guards stood on either side of the entrance with swords and shields, stepping away smoothly as the Lord of Dragonstone came closer – and then stopped and stared.

"I've never seen this before." He sounded stunned. Davos didn't blame him.

"No-one living had my Lord. Shireen found it with the aid of Gendry Storm. Before the fool Patchface died he told me to tell her to look for the Godswood."

"Patchface is dead?" Three people said the words almost as one and he blushed and looked at his feet as he realised that he'd almost spoken over Lord Stannis.

"Aye. I wrote everything in a full letter to you my Lord, which is doubtless waiting for you in King's Landing. He… went mad one night. He'd been restless and disturbed, but one night… he snapped. Running and howling and saying things that I thought made no sense. I've… changed my mind since. I've ordered what he said to be written down. I think… I think that his near-death did something to him. I think that he was a seer. It was just that all we ever saw was the fool."

"How did he die?" Lord Stannis barked.

"He threw himself from the Great Window. Before he did he told me to tell the Lady Shireen to seek out the Godswood. Then he said that it was a life for a life – and then he threw himself out of the window. We never found his body. Shireen was very upset. And then days later a ship came in, with the King's natural son Gendry Storm."

"I know the boy – I've met him. I thought he was being sent to Storm's End."

"He was my Lord. The ship he was on sailed into a storm and lost a mast. They were fortunate to get here. He cut the cables to release the broken mast. The Lady Shireen… she took him under her wing. Showed him Dragonstone. She likes having a cousin who was not afraid of her greyscale."

"Cousin! A bastard!" Selyse Baratheon muttered the words.

"They were walking down here, with guards my Lady – when they found a Weirwood tree leaf. Then they found this opening." He turned and led the way through it and then up a winding path that went through the cliff. "The path was cleared by the boy – he's strong. He made sure it was safe for Shireen and I – they sent for me."

Up they went, on and on. The path was rough in places and he could see that scree had been cleared from it. And then they turned a corner. Before them was a dell, a bowl-shaped place. Cliffs loomed around it – but there were trees there. Weirwood trees. He'd read of them and even seen some, from a distance one. Now he saw them closer. White trunks and red leaves. And one of them had a face carved into it. A small figure was sitting under it, reading a book. To one side two guards were nudging each other at the sight of Lord Stannis and beyond them a black-haired young man was kneeling over what looked like a cairn of some kind.

He'd seen Stannis Baratheon with many expressions on his face. He'd never seen him with such a look of shock before though, as he stared at his daughter. He could not blame him. The girl's face was unblemished. She looked up at them – and then delight filled her face.

"Ser Davos – oh! Father! Mother!" And then she was running across the dell, her parents going to meet her, before her father swept her up in a massive embrace. She gave a squeal of surprise – and then she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him, as her mother also embraced her.

There was a long moment of silence – and then he gently put his daughter down and looked intently at the side of her face, where the greyscale had been. Davos stood there, stunned. There wasn't a trace of it, just a slightly pink area that looked as if normal skin had grown there, like the skin present when a scab above it falls off.

"It's gone," Stannis Baratheon said wonderingly. "It's really gone… the greyscale scars…"

"Are gone my Lord," Cressen broke in gravely. "I have inspected her twice a day, every day since it happened. No trace at all."

"How?" Selyse asked in a trembling voice. "How did it happen? It's like a miracle."

"I touched the Heart Tree, Mother," Shireen said gravely. "And then… the next thing I knew I felt this burning throughout me – but the scars were gone. Apparently I spoke something, but I don't remember anything about it."

"She touched the tree my Lord," Gendry Storm said quietly. Lord and Lady Baratheon stared at him intently and he in turn stared at his own boots. "And her eyes… they turned red. Like red fire. And she spoke with this voice… like a forge in the ground was speaking."

"What did she say?" Lord Stannis asked, looking thunderstruck.

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but it was Cressen who spoke next. "Her words are engraved in my mind, my Lord. She said: 'A child born from storm and garden! It is as it was foretold. The blood of the First Men still burns here, like the heart of the mountain. Send the harvest on. The dragonglass is needed on the Wall. Then the boy asked who spoke through her and she answered: 'Another child of the storm! Well met! You have many miles ahead of you, child of the storm. Your father will need you.'

"I in turn asked who spoke and she said: 'You stand in a Godswood. The Gods are here.' I asked if they were the Old Gods and they said…. Yes. They replied: 'We speak through this child as a conduit. You have found this place again. We wax. Send the dragonglass North. The Stark in Winterfell needs it. And the Maesters of Oldtown – they must not meddle any further. The Call has been sent. Magic has returned. The Others come. The Stark calls for aid. You are needed.'"

Lord and Lady Baratheon were both white by now as they stared at Cressen and then Shireen and then back at Cressen. "Did they say anything else?"

"They did. The boy asked what he had to do. They replied to him that he had to help his father, that the Storm King returns within him. And then they said one last thing: 'You heard the Seer. He was touched by things that some would not have survived. And he gave his life – for this life. The bargain was struck. We will honour it.' And then red fire enveloped your daughter – she was not hurt but the scars burned off her, the greyscale vanished. And she was whole again."

Lord Stannis stared at the trees again and then at Shireen, whilst his wife appeared to be in deep shock. After a while he seemed to rouse himself. "Well now… well met again Gendry Storm."

The boy bowed awkwardly. "My Lord."

"You know who your father is now."

"I do," The boy said the words shakily. "I am glad… glad I was able to find this place. It's… peaceful. And it helped the Lady Shireen."

"I wouldn't have found it without him Father," Shireen said pointedly. "And he's my cousin. He's nice. And he's not like Joffrey."

Something flashed over the face of Lord Stannis, a mixture of strong emotions that were swiftly repressed. "Why were you two here today?"

She smiled and then waved her book at him. "I've been looking through the old histories of this place. I might have found a few references to it here and there. I'll show them to you father. And Gendry thinks he's found runes by the cairn."

"There's a rock over there by it, my Lord. It's been protected from the rain by that overhang in the cliff. I can't read what the runes say, but they're there. And there's a carving. I think it's a man with horns."

"I think that the cairn is the grave of a Green Man my Lord," Cressen said sombrely. "There were deer horns on a scrap of leather by the cairn."

Lord Stannis nodded absently and then looked at his daughter's cheek again. "Cressen?"

"My Lord?"

"Has the dragonglass on the lower parts of Dragonstone been going to the North since this happened?"

"It has my Lord. I did not think that it would hurt."

"Indeed not. Good. Why dragonglass?"

"The First Men always sought it out. I think that it was used to fight the Others."

"Find out more. About the cairn too. Gendry Storm?"

"My Lord?"

"I owe you a great debt. I will talk to your father about this. Are you being trained to use that Warhammer he gave you?"

"Not so much my Lord, there hasn't been time."

"Bugger that," Lord Stannis, sounding exactly like his brother for a moment. "I'll teach you myself if need be. We have a great deal to do. And very little time, unless I miss my guess. Ser Davos?"

He stepped forwards. "My Lord?"

"The North is calling. Provision the fastest ship here for myself and my nephew here. We sail in two days. We are needed."