Once again, apologies for the delay. I've been to Chicago and then to Bermuda and then I just kind of collapsed with exhaustion. Here's part one of the Nightfort, and a part from Winterfell. More to come.

Robb

When they first caught sight of the Nightfort a large part of the party paused a little to stare at it. It was a ruin indeed, with broken walls and roofs jabbing up into the sky. Here and there they could see new timbers and roof tiles though. The damage of centuries was being patched up, slowly it seemed, but it was being repaired.

But as they drew closer to it, the more he felt that something was wrong. "Ser Alliser," he called out to the sour-faced man, "Is there supposed to be a party of your men at the Nightfort? I can't see anyone there."

The master-at-arms at Castle Black shot him a look that seemed to combine surprise and very grudging respect. "I was thinking the same thing. There's supposed to be a party of builders and volunteers there, twenty strong."

"Why so few?"

A glower and then a shrug. "Nightfort's the oldest of the castles. Biggest of them too. The resources needed to get it habitable would be enough to restore two or even three of the others. We've got more volunteers coming in, but for the time being we've just got enough men there to repair the worst of it and just make a small part of it ready for when we send more men and resources to the bloody place." He peered at the approaching gates. "No smoke coming from it. No sign of a man on the gate. Nothing. I don't like it."

He nodded and then turned to Theon. "There might be trouble up ahead. Keep that bow of yours at hand and watch the upper parts of the building. I've got a bad feeling about this."

Theon nodded at him and then slowly unslung his bow. "Let the direwolves loose as we approach the gates?"

It was a good idea and he nodded, before looking over at Jon. His brother seemed to sense something wrong as well, judging by the frown on his face, and they exchanged a nod. Brother. Jon was his brother, no matter what anyone said should the secret ever come out.

The Wildlings seemed to sense something as well as they approached the gates. Ygritte's bow came out as well, casually, whilst Tormund Giantsbane seemed to be sniffing a lot, as if he was trying suck sustenance out of the very air through his beard.

The courtyard was deserted, but was at least clear of obstacles. He could see that trees had once been growing through the flagstones but that they had all been levelled and then cleared completely and the wood stacked up to be reused eventually. Scaffolding could be seen in what looked like the great hall.

Most of the party dismounted, with the exception of Tyrion Lannister and Val, both of whom were looking about with frowns. All three direwolves were on the ground and were looking about with ears pricked and whiskers whiffling as they sniffed the wind.

It was Grey Wind who stiffened first and then sniffed at something on the ground, before looking up at him. He took a long step over and looked down. There was a smear of blood on the ground. Looking up he peered at Theon, who was apparently fiddling with something on his saddle, using the horse to conceal the fact that he was actually fitting an arrow to his bow. 'Being watched,' Theon mouthed to him. 'Two archers on the roof.'

He nodded slightly, before looking at Ser Alliser and the others. They were tense as well and as he looked at them he could see that the bloody man was on the point of shouting a challenge to whoever was out there. It was then that the man of the Night's Watch saw how alert Robb was, as well as Theon's eyes sliding sideways to the roof. He opened his mouth for a moment – and then he tensed and nodded reluctantly, as if he was ceding command of this situation to Robb.

He clenched his fist as he held it against his chest and then he splayed three fingers at Theon, who nodded. Then two fingers. Then one. As he withdrew his last finger Theon sprang back and the bow sang, before he pulled out another arrow, nocked it and then loosed again.

"To arms!" Robb shouted as he pulled Ice free of his sheath on his horse. Ygritte's bow was singing as well and there were no fewer than five bodies slumping down, falling down off the roofs and onto the flagstones. They were dressed in furs. Wildlings. They were wildlings.

Seeing movement to one side he turned. A mass of men in furs were emerging from deeper in the Nightfort, led by hulking man who hefted an axe with a long handle. He seemed to have lost a lot of fights, given the scars on his face and the way that he was limping. He was also glaring at Mance Rayder with open hatred.

"Friend of yours? Robb asked drily as he hefted Ice.

"Just a fool who hated the fact that most of his tribe followed me and not him," Rayder said with a rather unsettling grin on his face as he pulled out his own sword. "Ho! Torgett! Come to lose again?"

"I'm going to gut you like a fish, Rayder," the hulking man growled. "Taken up with Crows have you? You always were soft."

"My people are passing through the wall and are safe," Rayder grinned. "Where's the rest of your lot? Abandoned North of the Wall? How many have you lost?"

There was no reply, just a bellow and a rush as they came at them. Theon and Ygritte's bows were singing again, but Robb barked a command to a snarling Grey Wind to stay back, before he faced the man coming at him. He was dressed in all kinds of furs, he had a rusty looking sword in his right hand and Robb swung Ice as Father had taught him, in a forward slash that shattered his enemy's sword and then bit deeply into his side. The man let out a choked scream and then Robb kicked the blade free and hacked his head off. This seemed to alarm the next man, who made the mistake of checking his rush a little. Ice caught him in the chest and crunched into something, because the man fell where he stood with a spray of blood upwards.

He wrenched the blade free again and set his jaw at the next man, who had a small shield and an axe. The shield shattered when Ice hit it, along with the man's arm. He screamed and dropped his axe as he clutched at the wound, which was why he never saw the Valyrian steel blade as it met his throat.

Memories were hammering at his mind, memories of the battles he'd fought against the Lannisters. Oxcross came to mind. "The North!" he found himself bellowing, "The North and Winterfell!"

Another man came at him and he swung twice, once to lop the poor bastard's hand off and again to reduce his face to a bloodied ruin. Men were avoiding him, which was a good thing. He could pick his own fights now.

Not that there were many of them left. Although one of Ser Alliser's men was down with a head wound that looked fatal the sour looking man was fighting like a man possessed by cold fury, with three bodies at his feet and two in front of his Night's Watch brother. A very pale Jon had killed two men and Theon's bow had claimed at least three more.

As for Mance Rayder he was still fighting this Torgett. The King beyond the Wall was unhurt, which was more than could be said for the hulking axeman. He was bloodied and looked as if he was tiring. Which was where he made his fatal mistake. He tried a great overhead blow, but he was too slow. Rayder was faster. His sword slashed out and all of a sudden it was Torgett who was gutted like a fish. He screamed as his entails spattered on the ground and as he screamed everyone paused to stare at him. The screaming ended when Rayder rammed his sword through his throat.

Robb looked about. The fight was leaking out of the remaining wildlings, but as he turned he heard a sudden shout from the gates. There was a party of ten men there, all wildling, who were throwing the carcass of the deer that they had been carrying to one side and drawing their swords. And they were in charging distance of Val and Tyrion Lannister.

He turned and grabbed for his dagger, before throwing straight at the face of the leading wildling, as the three direwolves snarled and darted at the new enemies. The man never saw it coming, the blade slashed into his eye and he screamed and went down. But there were others. Val threw her own dagger, whilst Tyrion Lannister drew his sword – and then there was another shout from the gate and three cloaked and hooded figures were there. Swords shone in the hands of the leading two, whilst the third had daggers that flashed through the air and into the backs of two of the rearmost wildlings, who screamed and then collapsed.

The two swordsmen were obviously friends, or had trained together, because they slammed into the wildlings like a well-trained pair of fighters. And whatever was in the hands of the taller of them, it sheared through the battered weapons that the wildlings held rather like Ice had.

Somehow he found himself in front of Val and as another wildling rushed at them he set his shoulders and unleashed a sideways blow that cut the man almost in half.

And then it was over. The remaining wildlings threw down their weapons and cried for mercy. Robb lowered Ice and stood there panting. There was blood all over the place, not a little on him. Grey Wind and the other direwolves were looking rather pleased with themselves.

"Do you know how close you got to getting a dagger in the back of your head?" Val said acerbically.

He looked at her. "I thought that you threw your only dagger?"

She sent a flat look his way and then all of a sudden there was a throwing dagger in both hands. "You thought wrong."

He tilted his head and looked at her. She was nothing like any other woman he had ever met. "I did indeed think wrong," he replied, before nodding at her. "A valuable lesson for me." She blinked at him as if he had surprised her a little.

"And who," said Ser Alliser as he stepped forwards, "Might our new 'friends' be?" He stared hard at the three at the gates.

The tallest of them sheathed his sword and then pulled his hood down. He was blonde, about ten years older than Father, judging by the touch of grey at his temples, and had a white patch over one eye. "Just some passing travellers," he said cheerfully. "Why, Tyrion! Hello there!"

Tyrion Lannister stared at the man, who was now framed by two young men, both of whom seemed to have Summer Islander blood in them. When he finally spoke it was at a squeak. "Uncle Gerion?"

"Well-met! Interesting company you came with." And then he looked about with a smile.

"Uncle Gerion?" The squeak was still there.

"Yes." Gerion Lannister peered at his nephew. "Are you alright, boy?"

"Uncle Gerion." The squeak was gone, replaced by flat incredulity.

"Yes. It's me. Your uncle Gerion." He spoke as to a small child.

"Uncle Gerion." And then Tyrion Lannister's eyes rolled up into his upper eyelids and he slumped over onto the neck of his horse in what looked like a dead faint.

Gerion Lannister darted forwards and caught his nephew just before he fell off. "Well," he said wryly. "I think he missed me."

Cat

The Terrible Threesome were playing in the courtyard again, watched discreetly by Jory Cassel and his smiling wife. From the way that young Edric was moving his arms stiffly and shuffling, they were playing Knights and Wights again and she shuddered delicately for a moment. "How quickly they turn terrible things into games," she muttered. "They're only boys."

Someone cleared a throat to one side and she started slightly and looked over. Ah. Luwin had come through the open door and was standing there with his usual look of stoic patience. "I'm sorry my Lady, I did knock, but you seemed intent on the view, so I entered." Heeding her nod of apology he walked up and looked out of the window. "Ah. Knights and Wights again?"

"It's just a game to them," she sighed. "Just a game. They don't understand the danger do they?"

"They're young, my Lady," Luwin sighed. "They think that their fathers are giants who will beat back any threat. They see no danger. Not yet, not truly."

She sighed and then shook her head. "When the winter comes, if it is a second Long Night, who know when it will end? By that end…. We might see all three of them wielding swords for real. It chills my heart Luwin."

He looked at her with sympathy in his eyes. "No parent ever wants to see their child go off to fight a war my Lady. But there are times when it must happen, no matter much you might not want to see it."

There was a long pause and then she nodded. "Aye. How go things anyway?"

The Maester removed a book from under his arm and then placed it on the table. "The amount of land under the plough for the harvest to come is... something of a record one. The number of people who are sowing what they can where they can is astonishing my lady. And with so much being brought in by these volunteers, well, there will be no shortage of seed any time soon. Barley, oats, grain... it is all being grown. And those rich enough to have the glass houses are taking full use of them. All kinds of requests and notifications are coming in as well. The Umbers are even talking about breeding a shaggier kind of cow for the winters to come."

She looked up from her perusal of the book. "Shaggier cow?"

"One with longer hair my Lady."

"Very well," she said, feeling faintly bewildered. "Tell them to do their best." Then she paused. "What news of the Company of the Rose?"

"They are about ten days travel away."

She sighed. "Odd to think of so many cousins to the nobles of the North being so far away, and for so long."

The Maester of Winterfell pulled a slight face. "I must confess, my Lady, that I had wondered the same thing. There are certain... oddities of timing to their existence that I find of interest."

Cat looked up again sharply. "Such as?"

"The founding of the company was so very close to the capitulation of the last King in the North. That is... interesting. No other families from Westeros saw family members go in such numbers. I wonder why? And given the book in the hidden room detailing what they seemed to be earning... well, I think that their leader needs to be asked about the reason behind the founding of the company. There seems to have been closer links between it and Winterfell than many might have thought."

That was indeed interesting and she paused to think about it. "I think that might be something to ask them about. I just wish that Ned – I mean Lord Stark – was home by the time that they arrive."

Luwin nodded sombrely – and then there was the sound of a knock at the door. They both looked over to see a rather sullen-looking Arya standing there. "You asked to see me, Mother?"

"I did. Come in and close the door behind you."

Arya obeyed orders, shooting the occasional glower at her and Maester Luwin, although she seemed to be glad that it was just those two adults she was facing.

Cat sat down in her chair and then, when Arya also sat in front of her, did her best to give her second daughter a hard stare. Arya seemed to be a bit restless at first – and then she stopped, straightened and much to Cat's surprise stared back.

"Arya," she said eventually, "Septa Mordane has been to see me. She is very disappointed in you. You seem to be refusing to learn any of her lessons and she's upset."

Arya seemed to droop slightly before bristling a little. "I'm very sorry for upsetting her," she said stiffly after a long moment. "But I'm not learning anything useful from her."

She frowned slightly. "What do you mean useful?"

This time Arya rolled her eyes. "Useful, Mother. All she teaches me is embroidery, and morals, and what the Seven think."

Cat counted to ten in her head and then looked severely at her daughter. "Arya, that's what she's here to teach you."

Arya sent back a flat glare. "What, how to be a lady?"

"Yes, Arya, you-"

"But I don't want to be a lady. That's not what I want at all. And given what's coming, why should I need to be a Lady?"

Cat rocked back in her seat a little, astonished by Arya's vehemence. "Arya," she tried to rally, "You are my daughter and you-"

"I am a Stark of Winterfell. I do not need to be a lady, I need to be a Stark. Winter is coming! That's our motto isn't it? Well, I need to be a proper Stark! I don't need to know about embroidery, or the Seven Pointed Star! I need to know about how to use a sword and a spear and to ride a horse! And I need to know about the Old Gods, not the New! I've seen the Old Gods speak through the mouth of my Father and my brother, so I've heard them!" It was an extraordinary outburst, at first spoken and then rising to a shout at the end, and afterwards her daughter sat there and looked faintly terrified – but also very resolute.

"Arya," she replied eventually through a very dry mouth, "You do need to be a lady. You have certain obligations as a daughter of Lord Stark and-"

"Mother, a long winter is coming, it might be that another Long Night is coming. The Others are coming. I know it. You know it. Everyone knows it. If the Wall falls, and the Others besiege Winterfell with an army of wights, what am I supposed to do? Embroider something and throw it at the nearest wight? I need to know how to fight. I am a Stark. I am a warg!" And after saying that last impassioned word she went as white as a sheet.

"Arya," Cat chided, "Just because you found that crypt with those tombs, that does not mean that you are a warg!"

"Then why did the Old Gods call me a warg when they took Jon over?"

She paused as her thoughts tumbled over a precipice. "I don't know but-"

"Mother I am a warg! So is Bran! And we need to learn how to warg better! Can Septa Mordane teach us that? No!" And with that her daughter sprang up and ran from the room, her eyes filled with tears.

"Arya!" Cat cried after her, in vain. "ARYA!" But she was gone. Cat passed a despairing hand over her eyes. "Maester Luwin, what is to be done with her?"

There was a pause and then she looked at the Maester, who looked deeply troubled. "Luwin? What is it?"

The older man pulled a slight face. "Given what has happened of late, well – I would take her claim seriously. Much has woken up of late my Lady. Why should we not think that she – and Bran – could be wargs?"

She thought about it for a long moment. There had been a time, not too long ago, when she would have dismissed it instantly. But now... "I think I need to talk to her again."