Apologies for the delay on this people. I had a spider bite that became poisoned. Here's a tip: when you see red lines going up your arm from a bite or a wound seek immediate medical help. All ok now, but it was a bit scary at the time.
Myrcella
So far the North was not what she had been expecting. Mother had told them all that the North was a savage place filled with pagans and wild animals. So far White Harbour had not been any of that. The white walls were everywhere, the harbour was large and efficient and it seemed to be a true city in every sense of the word.
And she had to admit that it was a lot less… stinky… than King's Landing.
That said, there were things that she did not understand. The fact that the people of White Harbour were so intent on something that she didn't understand was one thing. They seemed to be convinced that Winter was coming for a start.
Yes, it was colder than King's Landing, but not cold enough for snow. It was confusing. Why were they so certain? They all seemed to be so busy, preparing, growing, sowing, barrelling, bottling… the entire city was buzzing. And there was an awful lot of talk about sending help to the wall.
She watched everything from the walls of the New Castle. Mother appeared to be in a permanent rage, whilst Father was ranging about the place, sometimes with what looked like half a tree on his shoulders again.
Father… Father had changed a lot these past few weeks. He was no longer the slightly morose but often angry man that she had become used to, the man who would just grunt at her in the mornings when they broke their fast together. Now… Father would smile at her and make jokes and comment on how pretty her hair looked. He'd joke with Tommen too, like a great bear playing with a small cub.
He didn't treat Joffrey any differently though. There was something there, a layer of reserve between those two. If she didn't know better she could have sworn that Father didn't trust her brother.
Good. Joffrey… he wasn't right. There was something very wrong with him at times, something that he tried to hide. Worse, he thought that he was succeeding in hiding it.
"Princess."
She started slightly at the unexpected voice and then turned. Wylla Manderly was standing there. She was… odd. She had blond eyebrows but she had dyed her hair green. It looked a bit peculiar. And there was something about her that puzzled Myrcella. The other girl had a high thin voice, but there was something about her that seemed very, well, deep.
"Hello Wylla."
"Would you like a tour of the New Castle? You and Prince Tommen?"
Tommen? She looked around, confused – and then she saw her brother as he ambled into view, a rather large and slightly confused cat in his arms.
"Myrcella!" He burst out when he saw her, before striding up to her. "Look at the size of this kitty! I shall ask Father to knight him as Ser Sleepy!"
"My Prince, his name is Jaspar," Wylla said. "And… he seems to like you. Normally he scratches strangers. How odd. This is normally his time to take a nap. Or three."
Tommen had also started a bit at hearing the voice of the green-haired girl, but then he relaxed a bit. "He is a bit heavy," he conceded. "Perhaps I should put him down?"
"Yes, Tommen," Myrcella said with a smile. Then she remembered her manners. "A tour of the New Castle, Lady Wylla? I would be very glad to see your home." Eyeing Tommen out of the corner of her eye she paused. "Wouldn't we, Tommen?"
Tommen was watching the retreating form of Jasper with a certain amount of sadness, but then jerked upright. "We would? Oh, yes. Of course!"
Wylla Manderly turned out to be a good guide. She showed them all around the New Castle, explaining all the various parts of it and being especially proud of the point where both harbours could be seen – something that surprised both Tommen and herself.
"There are two harbours?" Tommen asked, astonished.
"The layout of White Harbour is deceptive," Wylla Manderly told them with a slightly odd look on her face. "It has… surprises."
The last thing that she showed them was the Sept, a very beautiful place indeed, with a set of statues of the Seven that made her pause to reflect on their nature.
"Your Sept is very lovely," Tommen muttered, awestruck.
"I know. But… I don't pray here anymore," Wylla admitted quietly. "Not anymore."
Myrcella was about to ask why when they all heard the sound of boots on flagstones – and then she cringed internally as Joffrey swept in, Sandor Clegane just behind him. Her brother was wearing a new cloak, rich red with black fur around the shoulders. His hands were gloved – he seemed to like gloves a lot these days – but there was still that look of angry petulance on his face.
"Ah, there you are," Joffrey drawled as he looked about the Sept. "How… quaint."
"Prince Joffrey." Wylla bobbed briefly into a curtsey. "I was just showing the Princess and the Prince about the New Castle."
"Yes," Joffrey said curtly. "Your father has given me a tour as well. Odd that your grandfather isn't here."
"He is at Castle Black my Prince."
"He should have been here to greet my Father, the King."
"The distances were too great."
This seemed to annoy Joffrey, but he seemed to rein it back after a long moment. "So this is your Sept," he said eventually. "Where you pray. You are unique amongst the great houses of the North, I believe? You pray to the true gods."
Oh seven hells… But she remained quiet. Joffrey was in one of his tiresome moods today. He was best appeased and then avoided. She didn't want to see his nasty streak come out.
Wylla Manderly looked at Joffrey until he seemed to become restive and shift from one foot to the other. Only then did she speak: "Most of my family pray to the Seven here, my Prince. I and a few others do not."
"There is another Sept?"
"No my Prince. We pray to the Old Gods. At the Heart Tree in the Wolf's Den, the old citadel of White Harbour."
"There is a Heart Tree? Here? A true one?" Joffrey sounded surprised – and mocking as well.
"Yes, my Prince."
"I would see it. Never seen a real Heart Tree. Show me. I command you."
Wylla said nothing for a moment but then curtsied again. "Then follow. We will need to warn the guards there."
"Why?"
"Because the Wolf's Den is now a prison. But that is where the Heart Tree is."
Sandor Clegane went before them to the old keep, despite the fact that Wylla Manderly had indeed sent a message ahead of them. The Wolf's Den had black walls that did not look in good repair but which still stood. And it looked ancient, old beyond words.
Inside was a Godswood – a true one. Not like the one at the Red Keep back home at King's Landing, a real one. White trunks of Weirwood trees, red leaves… and in the middle a huge tree with a carved face. The Heart Tree. Just looking at it made her shiver a little.
Wylla Manderly walked up to the tree and then placed a hand on it. "I have prayed here every day, since I heard the Call. As have others. My new cousins come here too."
New cousins? Myrcella was about to ask about that when all of a sudden Joffrey snorted with derision.
"The Call? That mummery? There was no 'Call'. I doubt that it happened. I heard nothing."
Tommen was suddenly staring at his feet, his face turning more than a little red and she knew in that moment that he had heard at least something. She did indeed still feel that odd pull North. But she also knew that they could not say anything to Joffrey that might gainsay what he had just said.
Joffrey could be cruel at times.
"I heard it, my Prince," Wylla Manderly said scornfully. "I heard it loud. 'The Others come. The Stark calls for aid. You are needed.' It was heard throughout White Harbour. It was heard throughout the North."
Joffrey looked at her and then at the Heart Tree, his face working. "Mummery," he repeated angrily. "Mummery!"
"Truth," Wylla Manderly said in calm response. "Nothing but truth. The Call was sent out. We have answered it. The blood of the First Men is strong here. We Manderlys may have come here as refugees from The Reach, but we still hear the old songs of our ancestors. And we heard the Call. Magic returns, as was foretold. You should know of that."
Confused, she looked at Tommen and then at Joffrey. "Foretold?" Joffrey asked, playing with the glove on his right hand as if something pained him.
Wylla Manderly placed both hands on the Heart Tree. "Storms break at Storm's End," she intoned in a voice that seemed deep and strange. "Bran built it well. When the sword wakes at Storm's End, Storm Kings will as well."
And then she turned quickly and looked at them. And for a moment Myrcella thought that she could see something red in her eyes.
Edd
It was very quiet in the trees as they rode North. A bit too quiet for his liking. In fact he didn't like this whole mission. The First Ranger had been very clear in his in orders, before he'd gone off South with that wight's head. He wasn't sure what was worse, going South with a rotting head or going North to look for something that he didn't know even existed.
They said that the head was in cage that would slow the rot. However, no-one knew how. It was a cage. He shivered a little and then pulled his cloak a little closer. Wights. There were wights out there. Wights and possibly worse than wights.
As they rode he looked about carefully. Ser Jaremy Rykker led the ten men and he wasn't bad. Not as good as the Halfhand or the First Ranger, but not bad. The Halfhand was said by many to be the best, but he'd bet on the First Ranger. Benjen Stark had a way about him. He could be a bit dour at times, but he knew his business when the boot met the shit and went squish.
There was a break in the trees ahead and he caught his first glimpse of the Fist of the First Men on this trip. It loomed on the horizon like a great… well, a fist. The First Men called a spade a spade. And in this case a fist. He wondered for a long moment why they had abandoned it and then shook the thought off.
One of the supply horses lagged slightly and he checked that it was alright. Just a tussock underfoot. He eyed the tussock carefully. What might a wight look like under snow or branches? Then he looked back at the trees. No sign of any hooded men on elk either. That was an odd one, that was. The First Ranger had been bloody clear about that too. This 'Coldhands' was to be left alone.
Whatever he was.
On they went and soon the hills by the Fist started to loom. He eyed them as well. He'd ridden past them before. To think that this Overlook place had always been there was… well, it was vexing. They rode on and before the sun had passed too far overhead they were riding down a small valley, with Ser Jaremy carefully consulting a little map that had been drawn by the First Ranger.
"This way," he said eventually and then led them further down the valley, towards a great cliff. This was mad. There was nothing there, was there?
But then he noticed that there was a cleft in that cliff and before he knew it they were trotting through old gates and into a cave beyond it. He stared in astonishment. It was just as the First Ranger had described it – almost a stable, with a passageway heading off.
They had brought torches and lamp-oil, but Ser Jaremy was cautious as he led and five others up the stairs, leaving the others to unload the horses. "The gates were open – anything and anyone could have wandered in here. We search as we go up."
Along the passageway and then up the spiral stairs that led up, every nerve stretched as they watched and listened for anything at all. Nothing. Up to another doorway and then a room beyond that, filled with light. He stared at that. There was a wall, with holes in it filled with some kind of crystal. The sun was shining through.
And there were passageways off the room. Two other rooms as well, one some kind of barracks and the other an office with a desk. The barracks had bedframes that seemed to be made from wierwood, as they were still strong. As for the passageway it led to another stairway, this one headed down to a round room. It was warm there, with a pool fed by a warm spring that bubbled up from one corner of it. Oh and there was a line of privies to one side. He peered down one. It smelt like… water? Perhaps an underground river or something. Smelt nothing like a privy in other words.
By the time that he trudged back up to the main room with the wall with holes Ser Jaremy was in something of a taking. "That this place should have been lost from memory! 'Tis perfect for the Watch! What a treasure for Rangers!"
"Aye," Dywen muttered to one side. "I've ridden past here many a time before. And I remember many a Brother who died of injury or cold not far from this place who might have been saved if I had known of it. How could it have been lost?"
"'Tis the doom of men that we forget," Edd pointed out quietly. "Time, pestilence, men being secretive… it all adds up. It's been a long time since anyone was here."
"Then let us make the best of it," Ser Jaremy said very firmly. "Let's get the supplies up here. I want the bedding laid down and a meal prepared. This was once a base for the Rangers. It shall be again." He peered at the sunlight outside. "According to the First Ranger this Coldhands mentioned caches on the Fist of the First Men. The Lord Commander wants to know what those caches are and why the Others would be on the Fist. Weapons that could be used perhaps? We have a job to do."
Oberyn
He put the message down and then scowled at the nearest wall. Every time that he thought that he had found firm ground again under his feet, what with all the news of the Stony Dornish going North, a Long Winter being on the horizon and his daughters being their usual unruly selves, something happened to knock him off balance yet again.
This time it was this news from Pentos. It was confirmed. It was all confirmed. Motapis was dead, which was a shame – the man's greed could be used to make him willingly jump through all kinds of hoops. Viserys Targaryen was dead as well, which was actually a good thing, given that he seemed to have been as raving mad as his father at the end.
He had never mourned for that madman. Their vengeance was for his sister and her children. And now that vengeance was delayed. Delayed but not forgotten. Never forgotten. Not Elia. One day he would sit back and watch as Tywin Lannister choked out his last breath in front of him.
Oh and Daenerys Targaryen had somehow hatched three dragons. Odd, that. Three people seemed to have died and three dragons had been born from a terrible fire. There had to be a link. Three dragons. Daenerys Targaryen would be a power one day. If she lived that long. Dragons took their time in growing. It was worth pondering on.
Sighing he turned and left the room, passing down the long corridor outside that led to the Water Gardens. He did love this place, but coming here always left him with a pang of sadness. Elia had liked it as well.
Hearing the sound of clashing blades he looked over to one side. Tyene was sparring with Obara. Judging by the smirk on the latter's face his younger daughter was still learning how to use the spear properly.
"Watch your feet, Tyene," he chided her gently. "Fighting with a spear demands a different stance and way of balancing yourself."
"I've told her that, Father," Obara grinned. "She never listens to me!"
"If we were fighting with daggers then I would have won three times by now!" Tyene snapped.
"Maybe," Obara scoffed. "But not likely. You are too impulsive sister."
"I'll show you impulsive!" And with that she launched a flurry of attacks with her spear against her sister. But he could see at once that Obara was going to win this one. Her stance was better, she parried more crisply and above all she didn't overbalance. Within a heartbeat Tyene was on the ground, winded from a blow to the stomach from the butt of Obara's spear.
He looked at her carefully and then smiled as he helped her up. "Tyene, you need think a little more before you move," he told her. "And watch your feet."
"Yes… Father…" Tyene gasped as she rubbed at her stomach and then glared at her sister, who raised an eyebrow and then smirked at her.
After her moment of triumph Obara looked at him. "Father, you have Tyene learning the spear, me learning the bow and Nymeria learning the daggers. Why?"
Oberyn smiled at his daughter. "Because all of a sudden I think that we should all treat a day when we do not learn something new as a day wasted." His smile faded a little. "This is important, daughters. We must all change the way that we do things, the way that we think. We must learn new things, fight in new ways. Something is coming, something dark and terrible and Dorne will not be untouched by it. We must have our eyes on the horizon, our eyes on the threat. The exact shape of it is not yet visible – but it is there and we must prepare."
They both stared at him for a long moment – and then they both brought their spears up before them and formally saluted him. "Yes Father," they chorused.
After kissing them both on the forehead he left them there, sparring and snarking at each other again. The Water Gardens stretched on ahead, a very beautiful place indeed.
Doran's location was signalled by the hulking presence of Areo Hotah, who seemed to be trying to suppress some kind of emotion. He nodded at the man – and then discovered what was affecting the man. Doran Martell, his brother, was standing. He was wincing a bit as he rocked back and forwards, but he was standing.
Oberyn must have made some kind of shocked noise, because Doran turned towards him and then waved a finger in his direction. "I hold you responsible for this, brother. This is all your fault, and I am annoyed."
The words were sheer madness and he paused to run them through his mind again for a moment. Then he finally said: "What?"
And this brought a clap of the hands of delight from his brother, followed by a laugh the like of which he had not heard from Doran in quite some time. "To see your face! Oberyn Martell at a loss! Mother would have cried laughing!" Doran shook his head. "You recommended that clever young Maester to me, young Robas. He has made a study of gout, you said, try and listen to him you said. Well, I did and this…" he shuffled a few steps. There was still some discomfort in his face, but nothing more.
"The pain is not as bad?" Oberyn asked.
"Not as bad," Doran replied. "Oh, I can stand and walk, but I cannot run. Robas told me to stop drinking the finest red wines and move to other lighter ones, he gave me a list of things I should avoid eating… how the stomach and the feet are connected he did not say. But his advice has helped me. And he has some herbs for me."
He absorbed this and then nodded in a baffled manner. "Well… good. Wait – why are you annoyed?"
Doran rolled his eyes as if he had said something stupid. "Because all the things I should not eat are the things that I truly love to eat!"
Oberyn looked his brother up and down. "Too bad. It's worth it to see you on your feet again."
His brother nodded, sombrely this time. "Yes. I need to be on my feet. I need to get fit again. Too much time in that chair, too much time getting soft and flabby from the pain. No more, brother, no more. Sunspear will see me again."
He looked at Doran and then nodded. "Then when you are ready we will get you back in fighting trim. There is much to do, my brother. Much to do."
Benjen
He sat in the Godswood and stared at the Heart Tree. He had a decision to make and he needed to make it soon. He shouldn't be here, he needed to be on the road – but in which direction? He should be headed South, either to White Harbour or to Moat Cailin and then onwards, but he had the oddest feeling that he was needed somewhere else. North. On the Wall.
He ran a hand over his beard and then looked at the carved face on the tree. "Give me a sign," he whispered. "Where should I go? South or North? And what about the cage with the head of the wight?"
But if the Old Gods responded to to him then it was lost in the sounds of wind and leaf above him. He sighed, stood and then strode off. There were some workmen in the scaffolding around the lower half of the Broken Tower and he wondered yet again about why that scaffolding wasn't taller yet.
To one side he could see Cat talking to the Terrible Threesome again. By the look of them they weren't in trouble, just being told about something instead of being lectured about what they shouldn't do. A smile crossed his face as memories bubbled up, memories of the old days, with Brandon, Lyanna and Ned. Then the smile slipped. That had been before the dark days. Before the Rebellion.
"First Ranger!"
He half-turned to see old Ser Rodrik striding towards him. He suspected that he would be doing a lot more about Winterfell in the wake of young Jory's upcoming wedding. From what Benjen could see of the lad and his wife-to-be from the Vale and how affectionate they were to each other then... well they would be… well, if she didn't give birth nine months after the wedding then it wouldn't be from lack of trying. Apparently Jory had a lot of ardour and Annah had a lot of appreciation of such ardour judging from the way that the two were looking at each other all the time and right now Benjen needed to not think about that attractive maid with the great big…
Damn it, what was wrong with him? "Ser Rodrik? Anything wrong?"
"A group of men from the Night's Watch has arrived, recruiters headed back to the Wall. I mentioned that you were here to their leader. He expressed a desire to speak with you."
He frowned a little. "What's his name?"
"Yoren."
"Truly?" he grinned and then strode off to the main gates where he could see a very familiar figure. "Yoren! You old rogue!" And he embraced his old friend, thumping his back and then stepping back and looking him up and down. "Damn it man, have you been?"
"Busy, First Ranger, busy." Yoren jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Come and see who my lads have got."
"Lads? You normally fly alone as a Wandering Crow."
"I bumped into two more of us on the road. Gueren and Conwy." And with that he pointed. Benjen gaped a little. There had to be almost 150 men in the courtyard, most armed and the rest with horses and provisions.
"I know that things had changed with Ned's sending out of the Call, but… so many?"
Yoren gave him an odd look. "Lord Stark sent out the Call?"
"He did. Where were you when you heard it?"
"Lannisport. Almost shit meself. Fortunately I was on the privy at the time. And yes, so many. Some want to take the Black, others just want to help. Never known the like before."
"Oh, there's more," Benjen said grimly. "Yoren, I've been North of the Wall these past weeks. I've seen wights. Killed wights too."
His friend stared at him. Stared at him as if he was looking deep inside him. "Wights," he said eventually. "You've seen wights."
"I have."
"There are those to the South who will need proof."
"I have the proof. I have the head of a wight. In a cage. Our ancestors were wiser than us Yoren. They built cages that were enchanted to slow the rot so that proof of wights could be sent South." And then something seemed to slot home within his mind, like a key turning. "I was going to go South with it, but a feeling has grown on me that I am needed on the Wall again. Your face is well known South of the Neck as a Wandering Crow. Would that cage be better in your hands than in mine? Gueren and Conwy could take your recruits North. I feel as if I need to ride North today."
Yoren stared at him again. "A head of a wight? That could get the Watch even more recruits." He nodded. "Give me that cage Benjen. I know Lords in the South that would quail before it."
He grinned at his friend, slapped him on the shoulder and then took off at a dead run. He had a lot to do.
And a maid to catch as well.
Sarella
She woke up slowly. Everything seemed to be fuzzy about the edges, as if she was waking up after a night of very heavy drinking. Only she had not been drinking. She frowned. Where was she? The last thing she remembered was riding next to the wall, her cloak half around her head, feeling so very cold… and them oddly warm and then fuzzy and… that was it.
She looked about. She was on a bed. A rather distressed-looking, bed, but a bed. She had a lot of furs piled on top of her and some oddly warm things were to either side of her. She poked at them carefully. Stones. Warm stones. Wrapped in cloth?
"I see that you are awake," said a voice to one side. She looked over. There was a large fire going at a hearth and Gerion Lannister was standing at it, warming his hands. "Good. You had us worried. Any headache?"
Headache? Confused she shook her head. "Erm… no. Who are you?"
He tilted his head at her and looked at her with a mirthful eye. "You know very well who I am. You've been following us for the past two days now. Until you fell off your horse that is. My son and I would like to know why. That said – I have my suspicions."
"You are Gerion Lannister."
"I am.
"You're supposed to be dead."
"I got better."
She opened her mouth for a moment and then coughed roughly. "Do you have any water?"
"Better than that – soup. Allarion is getting it now."
"Where are we?"
"Rimegate. The castle isn't in as bad a state as we thought. Judging by the stacked stones and limber someone's been working on this place. We met a few volunteers in Long Barrow who said that they'd been working on repairs all along the Wall. And they built this place well. This is the room of the commander of the castle, in the old days. And it will be again I think."
She eyed him carefully. After a moment the door creaked open and the boy came in. He was holding a small copper cauldron, with a cloth around the carrying handle. From the steam that came off it – and that amazing smell – here was the soup. The boy placed a ladle into the cauldron and used it to transfer some of the hot liquid into three rough bowls, one of which he handed over to her, along with a spoon.
The soup was lumpy and filled with carrots and some kind of root vegetable. She didn't give a damn, because it was warm and filling and gave a feeling of heat inside her. She slurped down every scrap of it and then lay back down. She felt… better. Less cold. "I still don't understand what happened to me."
Gerion Lannister looked at her owlishly. "You're Dornish," he said as if they explained everything. Then he saw her baffled look and sighed a little. "This is the North. This is not the Lands Beyond the Wall, but this is the Wall and this is the North and this place is colder than anywhere you have ever been in your life, yes? You bought a lot of clothes at Eastwatch by the Sea. That doesn't mean that they were necessarily the right clothes, or that you wore then the right way. You've been cold ever since you came here, I'll guess. And that you didn't ask anyone about clothing here."
She stared at him again. "You might be right," she said reluctantly. "But surely-"
"Too much wool soaks up sweat. It's not good for you when it's very cold but you're being active. You need furs and wool in the right order here. I once came to the North to escort the son of an old friend of mine to the Wall. I learnt a lot then. I passed it on to my son. I'm not sure that he believed me at first." He grinned at his son, who looked a bit abashed. "But he does now!"
"Yes, Father," the boy said dryly. "You were quite right." And then he directed a green-eyed look at her that made her feel as if she was being intently studied.
Gerion Lannister poured her another bowl of soup and then looked at her as well. Then he smiled slightly. "So then, what's your name?"
"Alleras," she eventually said through a mouthful of hot soup. "I'm studying to be a Maester."
The man and the boy swapped looks. "Original," Gerion Lannister said after a long moment. "Because when we found you by your horse and picked you up you slurred that you were called Sarella."
"I wasn't in my right mind," she said after a moment.
"And your voice was higher." Allarion said. "Not deliberately pitched lower, like it is now."
"That was the cold."
"Give it up, girl," Gerion Lannister said kindly. "You have given it a good go, but the time for subterfuge is past. The more I look at you the more I realise that I know why you have been following us. You are Dornish – with something else. Summer Islands I think. Your eyes – the shape of them I mean – are familiar. Same as your nose I think, and your hair. My home is on the Summer Islands. And I hear things. The tale of a female ship captain who was seduced by one Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne, is one such thing.
"And the fact that he had a daughter with her is another such thing. You are that daughter I think. Sarella Sand. Oh, stop that girl. I see your fists balling under the furs. We will keep your secret. Women this close to the Wall are rare – although less rare than they used to be – and are to be protected. The Night's Watch, I have recently heard, is more than it recently used to be. More than the dregs that were sent to the Wall. But enough of those old dregs are still there to worry me a bit."
His face stilled. "I am not my brother," he said forcefully. "Tywin and I grew up watching our father make mistake after mistake after mistake. He was a weak man, our father. But Tywin responded by overly strong. There were times when he confused cruelty with strength. I know that now. He placed his family over what was right. And what happened to your aunt was not right."
She stared at him for a long moment, before closing her mouth with a slight snap. "You are a very odd man, Gerion Lannister. You see well – for a Lannister."
"I am now a Lannister of the Summer Islands. And I see far further then my brother. You're following us because I am a man that your father thinks is dead. But why were you in the North at all?"
"My father sent me. The Stony Dornish have been sending help to the Wall. He would know why. So would my uncle, Prince Doran."
Gerion Lannister looked at the ceiling for a moment and then at the floor. And then at his son, who raised an eyebrow at his father.
"You did not feel it then?" Allarion asked.
"Feel what?"
"The Call."
"What call?"
"The Call North. It's why we're here. It's something others have heard. I heard it in my dreams – 'The Others come. The Stark calls for aid. You are needed.' Father said that we were going to Winterfell at first, but then our destination changed. The Wall instead. The Nightfort precisely."
"The Nightfort? Why there?"
Allarion looked at his father, who smiled slightly. "I dreamt that we needed to be there. Now – rest. Sleep. We start in the morning." And with that they both left, closing the door behind them.
She stared at the door and then at the ceiling. Well. She had come for answers to Father's questions. Perhaps she'd finally found a place where she'd get those answers.
Edd
He woke up at dawn, stretched in bed and then stared at the stone ceiling. He'd had the best night's sleep that he'd had in ages. That probably meant that something bad was going to happen today. He had a feeling about these things.
So with a sigh he got his things together and went down to the bathing area to have a quick scrub. The water was warm without being too warm, the soap lathered nicely and all in all he had a thoroughly enjoyable wallow. He was drying himself on a rough blanket and dressing when the others started trickling down. Even Dywen came down, and he was a man not noted for being particularly clean at times.
Ser Jaremy went down last of all and only when Edd came up from the bathing chambers. He was a good man. The men came first, especially of late. It was as if he had become aware of just what had changed of late.
After breaking their fast quickly they went down to the horses, saddled them and then opened the gates and rode out. They left one man as a guard, with orders to close the gates and wait for their return.
"There's something out there," Ser Jaremy muttered to him as they rode for the Fist of the First Men. "I feel it in my bones. Not close… but out there."
Edd shivered a little and watched the horizon a little more attentively than before. And Ser Jaremy was right. He felt it too.
The closer to the Fist they got the more he marvelled at it. The walls were broken in many places, but once they had been tall. Wind, snow and the years of the ages had brought them low, but once this had been a strong place. As he dismounted he stared at the surrounding landscape. Bleak wasn't the word.
"I wonder why they came here?" Dywen asked as he joined Edd in staring at the view.
He thought about that for a long moment. "I think that they were afraid," Edd said seriously. "There's nothing here to defend. No towns, no cities, no villages. No roads or rivers. No, they came here to get away from something. And I'm not sure that it worked."
"Why do you think that then?"
"Why else would they have built the Wall?"
"A good point Tollett," Ser Jaremy said quietly, before hefting one of the staves they were all carrying. "Right then – we're looking for caches. So, we'll use the staves to probe the snow. Form a line, a foot apart and probe. Probe and walk."
It made for a very dull morning. For first an hour and then another hour, by the path of the Sun, they probed. And found nothing. Apart from a moment of excitement when Jerl found a skull. They all paused to view it suspiciously, but it seemed to be just a skull.
And then they kept at it. "What would a 'cache' look like, anyway?" Edd grunted as he stabbed the snow with his stave, found nothing, stepped forwards and stabbed again. But this time his stave went 'clunk' as his hit something about a foot below the snow.
"What the Seven Hells is that?" Dywen muttered.
Edd sank down and swept the snow to one side with his hands. After a moment he felt something. Stone. Worked stone. "Ser Jaremy! I've found something!"
The knight was by his side in an instant, as they all started to pull at the snow. Jarl pulled out a shovel from his backpack and they let him work for a moment. What emerged from the snow was a round capstone. And it was covered in runes. They all stared at it for a long moment.
"And that, brothers," said Ser Jaremy, "Is a bloody cache. Right. Get that capstone up. Rollen? I want you to copy those runes in the best drawing you can manage. Record it all. Tollett – you found it. You open it."
He nodded and then, with the others, pulled the capstone up. It weight a bloody tonne, but they got it up and off so that Rollen could brush the snow off and then start to copy the runes. Maester Aemon and the First Ranger had been very clear at that. Any runes were to be copied.
Which just left the cache. He reached down and scrabbled. Yes, there was something there. A bundle. He pulled it up. "It's a cloak," he muttered as he stared at it. "A cloak of a Brother of the Night's Watch too!"
Placing it on the ground in front of him he stared at it – and then he undid the rotted leather straps that bound it. Something clinked inside it and as he opened it stone ground upon stone. "Dragonglass," he muttered as the contents were revealed. "It's all dragonglass."
"Dragonglass knives," Ser Jaremy corrected as he picked one up. It had old leather wrapped about the bottom of it. Then he pulled out another one. "And spearpoints. Look at this. Look at it all, Brothers. These are weapons to be used against the Others. This is what we're looking for. Keep probing! There must be more!"
They kept at it, this time with more heart. Hour after hour, as the sun passed overhead. They found a cache just before noon, when they had some bread and cheese, and another just after noon, both containing dragonglass weapons.
"Look at this stone – it must have taken hours of work to get it like this," Edd muttered as he fingered one spearpoint that had caught his fancy. The colours were amazing – black, then red then almost as clear as glass. "What with chipping or knapping it. Hours."
"They made it for a purpose," Ser Jaremy muttered as he looked at the horizon. "And a Brother of ours thought it important enough to bury here. Keep looking."
They kept looking. One more cache was found, this one empty, and then nothing for a long time. Finally, as the Sun started to sink down to the horizon, they found one more. And like the first one it was Edd whose stave thumped against stone in the discovery of it.
Once again their hands discovered a coverstone. And once again he pulled out a bundle that had once been the cloak of a Brother of the Night's Watch. It had dragonglass in it. But this time it also had something else. A horn. And a well-worked one, with what looked like silver bound around it at both ends. And there were runes on those silver bands.
Ser Jaremy stared down at it for a long moment. "This is important," he growled. "I know not why, I just feel it. Tollett?"
"Ser Jaremy?"
"You'll get this to Maester Aemon. You understand?"
"Aye, Ser Jaremy."
They all stood up, the silence broken only by the scratch of Rollen's pen, and Ser Jaremy looked about at where they had left their tracks. "We've done our job today Brothers. We're covered everything here. Back to the Overlook, now. The Sun's setting and… there's something out there. I can feel it. Replace the coverstones, cover them in snow, erase our tracks as much as we can – and then we ride."
He was right, Edd could feel it. That sensation that someone or something was out there was getting stronger and he joined the others in covering and smoothing, before they got on their horses and trotted – and then galloped – down from the Fist. Back down over the small river that somehow ran through the snow at the base of the Fist and then back though the valleys that led to the gates of the Overlook.
Ser Jaremy blew his horn once as they approached and the gates opened slowly, one leaf at a time, closing behind them as they rode in. Only once the doors clunked closed did Ser Jaremy seem to relax. "Lock the gates," he said grimly. "We keep a vigilant watch tonight, Brothers. There's something out there."
A few did not look convinced. Edd was not one of them. He helped with dinner that night, carving a salted ham that needed quite a bit of boiling to get the salt off, but he was left with a feeling of… well, he wasn't quite sure. It was a cold night outside, that enough could be seen through the crystal windows. A white mist was rising on the Fist of the First Men.
He went to bed with that feeling. And he wasn't surprised to be woken when it was still dark. Dywen shook him awake. "Ser Jaremy needs us all awake now. No lights."
They did not need them. A full moon was hanging in the air, and the light was shining through the crystal windows. All the lamps were doused and Ser Jaremy was staring out at the Fist.
"You need to see this, Brothers," Ser Jaremy said in a hoarse voice. "You must all see this."
Now very curious Edd looked though one of the windows. He could see the Fist… and then he saw them. The white figures striding slowly about the Fist. They seemed… very white. Very pale. No cloaks, from what he could see. After a long moment his mind seemed to realise what he was seeing. "Wait," he muttered, "Are those… are they… Others?"
"They would seem to be," Ser Jaremy muttered quietly. "Look them. So cold outside now. Look at that freezing mist! Yet they wander about, without a care. Wait…"
And then a group of other… men? appeared. They… well, there was no other word than 'shambled' past the Others. Edd stared in horror. "Were those," he asked eventually, "Erm… wights?"
There was a strained silence for a long moment. Ser Jaremy broke it. "I think so," he muttered almost dazedly. Then he seemed to shake himself and recover his balance. "Brothers. We ride for the Wall tomorrow. We leave this place provisioned but we ride. Because we've seen something that no Brother of the Night's Watch has seen in more than a thousand years – the enemy had indeed awoken."