Robb Returns

by The Dark Scribbler

The Red Wedding has happened and the Old Gods are getting worried about what has happened. They have no choice. Robb must return.

106. Chapter 106

Tyrion

Oddly enough Mance Rayder turned out to be a very good artist indeed, skilled with charcoal on paper. His sketch of the Throne of Winter, or rather the oldest Throne of Winter, was a remarkably fine one and he was now inking over the charcoal with a quill.

The room was bare now, swept clean of the filth that had been everywhere. The bones had all been burned. All of them, and the rags that so many of them had been in. There was still a smell in the air but the room was as clean as it would ever be. It made the Throne of Winter stand out even more than it already did. It was, and the pun was unintentional, quite a stark thing.

The carvings were odd. They were old, oh, so very old. Cleaning them had been something of a trial, as no-one wanted to get anywhere near the bloody thing. He'd ended up wiping it down with a ball of wet cloth on the end of a stick, using the other end of the stick to push away the nastier debris at the base. All of that… filth… was gone as well. They'd had a big pyre for it all.

On the back of the seat of the chair there was a carving of a man, possibly with the head of a wolf overlaying the head of the carving. It had to be a Stark. On the sides of the throne, facing outward to the right and the left, were a small figure that might have been a child, except that it didn't seem to have enough fingers and toes, and some kind of sinuous dragony-thing. It was hard to tell and he really didn't want to get too close to it. Oh and in the left hand arm of the throne was a little alcove. It was empty.

All in all it was a most perplexing thing. The simplest way to test out what it was would have been to have a Stark sit in it, but neither seemed to want to go anywhere near it – not that he could blame them whatsoever. That said, both Starks were looking at it now, from some distance away. They seemed to have having a whispered conversation that covered much of his own thoughts. Whatever it was it had been… hidden? Certainly sealed away. Why? And what did it do?

He heard the sound of boots behind him, but didn't turn to look at whoever it was. He was thinking too hard. The boots stopped suddenly and then a new voice said: "Bugger me, Robb, what have you found? What is this thing?" Startled, he turned. Benjen Stark was standing there in riding gear, looking rumpled, travel-stained and deeply weary. Deeply astonished as well.

"Uncle Benjen?" Both the Starks said the question at the same time, before grinning hugely and striding over to embrace their uncle, who returned the gesture with a grin that reminded him of Uncle Gerion, as their direwolves walked over and sniffed at him. "Whatever are you doing here, Uncle?" Robb Stark asked. "I thought you were headed South with the head of that wight, to show all the naysayers in high places there?"

"I was," the First Ranger sighed, "But then I felt a sudden need to be here. At the Nightfort. I met a wandering Brother of mine, Yoren by name, and gave him the head in the cage as he headed South and then I rode North as fast as I could. What in the name of the Gods is it?"

Tyrion smiled wryly as he stumped up to the older Stark. "The Throne of Winter, and yes, I know, that's at Winterfell. This seems to be a different, possibly older, version. The chamber was locked with the deal of the old Kings in the North, but we found, well…"

"People had found a way in through the ceiling Uncle Benjen," Jon Stark muttered. "And there's a carving on the throne that says that only a Stark can use it. If you're not a Stark… well, you go mad, we think." He looked at his uncle sombrely. "There were a lot of bodies here Uncle Benjen. Just bones, but… well, there were cooking pots in here too. We think that this is the place where the Rat King ruled, if you can call it that. This seems to be the place where all the dark tales of the Nightfort come from."

Benjen Stark stared at them all carefully and then looked at the throne. "Are those runes on it?"

"Aye," replied Robb Stark. "Old ones, according to Tyrion here."

The First Ranger turned to look at him. "Lord Tyrion. We met briefly on the road to Castle Black did we not?"

"We did," he replied as he shook the hand of the new Stark. "And I am very glad that you don't have that head in a cage any more. It positively made the hairs on the back of head stand on end. Ah – the runes. Yes, they are old indeed. Very old. As old as the Wall I think."

"By the Old Gods," the other man muttered, before peering quizzically at Rayder, who was carefully inking the last of the drawing. "Why the picture? And… from the description, is that Mance Rayder?"

"I am," Rayder replied as he looked up from his drawing. Then he grinned almost boyishly. "I've been asked to draw this for Lord Tyrion there and his lady friend – who sounds very interesting."

Benjen Stark looked confused. "Lady friend?"

"Lady Dacey Surestone's father was a notable historian," Tyrion said with as much dignity as he could summon. "He wrote a history of the First Men and this surely deserves mention in it. She'll want more than a description. Rayder here mentioned he could draw and by the Gods he surely can." He paused. Benjen Stark's face had frozen.

"Was? Lord Surestone is dead?"

"I'm afraid so. We think that he might have been murdered by a Riverlander who thought he was the Heir to Surestone. I escorted Dacey Surestone, his real heir, on the Kingsroad to Winterfell."

"I remember him," Stark said sadly. "A good man. He visited Winterfell one year with his family, just before I left to join the Night's Watch." He peered at Rayder again, his eyes hooded. "Your people are settling well into The Gift, from what I saw."

Rayder walked over to Tyrion and handed him the drawing, before smiling slightly. "We've got a lot to do there," he muttered, before pulling a face. "I'm afraid that in places it's-"

"Badly neglected?" Benjen Stark shook his head. "We've tried. All too often we've failed. Of course, past raids by your people haven't helped."

"I know," Rayder sighed. "Ironic isn't it? We repair the damage that we helped to inadvertently cause, because doing so will save us both. Winter is coming, as you Starks say." And with that he walked off.

Benjen Stark watched him go with an enigmatic look and then a shake of the head, before looking back at the throne. "What in the name of the Old Gods is it?"

"We don't know," Robb Stark replied. "Perhaps there might be a reference to it in some record somewhere?"

His uncle nodded slowly. "Perhaps in Castle Black or Ned's solar? Well… you've been busy."

More boots sounded and then Ser Alliser Thorne strode in – and blinked at the sight of the First Ranger. "What are you doing here, First Ranger?"

"Good to see you as well Alliser!" He grinned at him until the sour other man finally unbent enough to smile back just a little. "I had a sudden feeling that I was needed here. Given what else has been happening of late, I thought I should listen to it. Sorry I was late to the party here."

Something tickled at the back of Tyrion's head. Late. That meant something. But what? Late. Then he remembered. Watch out for late wolves. "I was told… I was told to watch out for late wolves here," he said, suddenly startled. "In that letter written by my ancestor, Tyrek Lannister."

"What letter?" Benjen Stark asked, confused.

"A long story. A letter was found in Castle Black from one Tyrek Lannister, the last Lord Commander of the Night's Watch to command from the Nightfort, addressed to me. It said I had things to find here – which I have. The ancestral weapons of the Casterleys. And that I had to help a man through a gate here. Oh, and I had to watch out for late wolves."

"What gate? The main gate here is still mostly blocked."

"We've found the Black Gate," Ser Alliser replied gravely. "That's why I came here. It's in a bloody well for some reason, in the kitchens. You need to see it. Oddest thing I've ever seen." He seemed to think about that for a long moment. "I never thought I'd say that."

"Yes, well, life has been more than odd since the Call was sent out," Tyrion said wryly as they trooped out of the door and down the corridor.

The well was a big one and an odd one. There were iron rungs on the side of one wall that allowed them to go down into it, something that gave Tyrion a bad case of the creeping horrors, enlivened a little by the excited whimpers that the direwolves gave as they were carried down. The light of the lanterns that someone had hung at the top of the well and again about ten rungs down were enough to see by – and also the glint of dark water far below. But the oddest thing of all was the doorway in the wall. It was open but Tormund Giantsbane was standing there, a lantern in one hand, staring hard at the wall of the well opposite the entrance. He made room for them all as they crowded in and then pointed at the wall. "There's another door there. It's bricked up, but there's something there."

Tyrion looked at the place the Wildling was pointing at and then blinked. Yes, there was indeed a bricked up entrance there. "Perhaps we should see what's on the other side?"

"I'll get a sledgehammer," Giantsbane said with a slightly mad glint in his eye. "I like that sledgehammer that I saw up there. You can do some proper damage with that." And then he vanished up the well, moving remarkable fast for such a big man.

Tyrion looked at the others, noted Mance Rayder's wry shrug and then turned around. The Black Gate was made of white weirwood. And there was a face on it. It was old, pale, shrunken, and wrinkled, but it was a face. The creeping horrors were back. Alliser Thorne was next to it, as pale as a ghost, whilst Benjen Stark was almost as pale.

"This is a gate?" Thorne asked. "From what Maester Aemon said I expected something more… gate-like."

"How does it work?" Robb Stark asked as he peered at it, obviously fascinated.

"Apparently only a member of the Night's Watch can open it," Thorne replied. He looked at Rayder sidewise. "I wonder if a former member could as well?"

"How about I don't try at all?" Rayder replied. "You go ahead."

Thorne looked at the gate, took a deep breath and stepped up to it. To Tyrion's astonishment – and the astonishment of them all – the eye of the face on the gate opened, seemed to focus on Thorne and then said in a moaning voice: "Who are you?"

After a moment of what looked to be a great effort of pulling himself together, Thorne replied: "I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers. I am the shield that guards the realms of men." And then the mouth of the face started to open, gaping wider and wider until there was nothing but the void. There was a passage on the other side.

Thorne and the First Ranger started down the passageway, along with the Starks and Rayder. Just before Tyrion followed them he heard the sound of feet on the rungs again and looked back to see a rather excited Tormund Giantsbane hefting a sledgehammer and then giving the wall opposite him the kind of look that Aemon the Conqueror might have given the old map of Westeros before the Conquest.

The passage was as cold as the Wall above, and it made Tyrion wish that he was wearing better boots as it was a bit slippery in places. And it emerged on the other side of the Wall, not far from a grove of trees. As he passed through there was an odd noise behind him and he turned to see the passageway close until it was nothing more than a faint face on the Wall.

The other side of the Wall was… well, rather like the other side. Nevertheless he still shuddered as he looked North. Now that he knew what was out there… well, it gave a new sense of dread. There was something black and terrible out there. He shivered a little. "You know Rayder, it's still Summer and I would hate to live North of the Wall. Winter up here must be… horrible?"

"Beyond horrible for a southerner like you," Rayder said wryly. "Cold like you wouldn't believe, with a wind that can slice you to the bone, or that's what it feels like."

Tyrion shivered a little. He couldn't put a finger on it, but he felt uneasy and he really didn't know why. And the worst of it was that the feeling was getting slowly worse. He also felt as if he was missing something. "Something's wrong," he muttered. "Something's about to happen, but I don't know why or where or how. Why was I supposed to come here? Who needs to be let through the wall with my help?"

"Well," Benjen Stark said with a sigh. "At least we know where the Black Gate is now. How so few knew about it escapes me."

"Time, I expect," Tyrion replied. "Nothing but time." The feeling was still growing.

"Tyrion, what's wrong?" asked Robb Stark.

"I don't know. I just have a feeling that something somewhere is wrong. Perhaps we should return to the other side of the Wall."

The others nodded to varying degrees and then they started to walk back to the Wall, where Benjen Stark repeated the words to open the gate. But then, as the passage opened again, they heard the long high wailing noise of a horn, far off. Benjen Stark and Alliser Thorne both stopped dead in their tracks and looked at each other, before turning and looking North, followed by Mance Rayder.

"Do you have any patrols out there?" Benjen Stark asked.

"No, we drew them all back in. The Halfhand didn't want to take any chance that a patrol might clash with a party of Wildlings coming South to the Wall. Things were tense enough as it was." Thorne frowned. "That was the horn of a man of the Night's Watch though."

The unease grew stronger in Tyrion. "This is the only place where a man can cross near here, right?"

"Yes, the gate here at the Nightfort is still blocked. First Ranger, if we hear it again you should answer it with your own horn."

His right hand itched for a moment, but before he could speak Robb Stark stepped forwards. His face was set and he seemed almost to be sniffing the air. "You're right. Something's wrong. I think that that horn is the man you are supposed to help through the gate. I also think that we need to be very, very, careful. And I also think that you need Rocktooth. There was a reason why Tyrek Lannister was buried with it. Go – back down the passage and get it, as well as the others. Tell Theon to bring the dragonglass-tipped arrows."

He ran. Whatever it was that Ned Stark had been teaching his sons, it was very effective and included the kind of voice of command that Father would give his eye teeth for. Down the passageway he ran, as fast as he could and he cursed his legs his little stumpy accursed legs. He almost slipped and fell several times as he ran and he made sure that he slowed as he reached the other end of the passage, as he had no intention of going for a bath.

Much to his surprise Tormund Giantsbane had hammered the bricked-up entrance open and there was more than a hint of brickdust in the air. There was a passageway that seemed to head upwards, or that was what he seemed to see. "Tormund?" There seemed to be a light up the passageway, a light that suddenly started to approach. It was Tormund Giantsbane, who seemed highly excited.

"I found a passage! With this hammer here!" The Wildling leader gestured with the sledgehammer. He was covered in all kinds of dust and his eyes were a bit unhinged. "It goes up! I think there's another bricked up door at the end!"

Tyrion frowned. That actually seemed to make sense. Putting the Black Gate in the well seemed to be a very silly idea, unless someone had blocked it off and then forgotten about it. "Forget about that for a moment, we need to get the others. Something happening the other side of the Wall."

The red-bearded Wildling frowned a lot and then gestured up the passageway with his thumb. "Faster to get them this way than climbing up. You climb up and get them, I'm going find out what's at the other end of the passageway!" And then he turned and ran off, shouting what seemed to be an encouraging hammer song.

Tyrion shook his head and then sprang up the rungs, using every trick that he'd been taught for tumbling. When he emerged in the kitchen he orientated himself and then ran for the doors. As he did he seemed to hear a low but regular noise, as if someone was using a sledgehammer on a wall somewhere close.

The others were in the main keep. Theon Greyjoy and the Ygritte girl were discussing arrow-binding for some reason, watched by Val and the Greyjoy's direwolf, whilst Uncle Gerion, Allarion and the others were watching Pod as he stitched something together that looked leather. As Tyrion skidded to a halt, panting, Pod looked up. "I finished the harness for Rocktooth, Lord Tyrion," his squire said with a slight smile. "Scabbards for the knives too, there was some good leather here."

"Did I hear a horn earlier?" The other man of the Nights Watch, Larkin, was frowning in the direction of the Wall. "Wait, there it is again."

And then they heard another horn, this one on the other side of the Wall, or that was what it sounded like. Larkin stood up with an oath. "What's happening?"

"We're all needed on the other side of the Black Gate. Pod, give me my weapons please. Robb Stark sent me back to get you all. Theon Greyjoy, Robb Stark said that you need to bring the dragonglass-tipped arrows."

The squidling went as white as a sheet, exchanged a horrified glance with Ygritte, who also looked strained, but then stood and picked up a quiver of arrows. Uncle Gerion exchanged a long look with his son, who looked worried, but then fastened his swordbelt around his waist and also stood. Brightroar was a reassuring presence, but nothing compared to what he felt as pod helped him with the harness that carried Rocktooth. The moment that he put it on it felt strangely right. The itch in his hand stopped for a start. The daggers went onto his belt and then he started out with the others for the kitchen.

Not that they got there. All of a sudden there was a crash and a section of wall gave way to one side, revealing a triumphant Tormund Giantsbane. He was in an even more dusty state, but he was grinning hugely and waving both his sledgehammer and his torch. "Not one but two doorways! And here I am! This must be the passageway that originally led to the Black Gate! Ha ha!" He looked at them and then seemed to realise what he looked like. "Bit dusty, but no rungs!"

Tyrion gaped at him – and then pointed at the passageway. "Down there!" Then he paused. "Wait – we need planks or beams to cross the well at the bottom."

They managed it. The passageway was indeed filthy. Covered in the dust and accumulated filth of the centuries, if not the thousands of years, since it had last been used, but they made it to the bottom, bridged it and then crossed to the Black Gate, which was closed. Fortunately Larkin was there to say the words and after a long moment of astonishment from the others after seeing the gate open, they were hurrying though.

I have dreamt this, Tyrion thought desperately as he ran back down the passageway, I dreamt this days earlier, didn't I?

As they emerged at the other side he could feel the tension. Benjen Stark had his sword in his right hand and a horn in the other, whilst all the others had drawn their swords. As the newcomers arrived then they too drew their weapons, whilst Robb Stark lowered Ice and turned to them. "There was a horn from the North, in the Haunted Forest. Once from far away and then again from closer. Uncle Benjen replied to it. Someone is coming. One blast is the sign of the approach of a member of the Night's Watch."

"What are the others?" Uncle Gerion asked, Brightroar in his hand.

"Two for approaching Wildlings," Alliser Thorne barked. "Three for Others. No-one's heard that last one for thousands of years. I think we might hear is soon on the Wall."

They waited. Val was talking quietly with Rayder, who seemed to be giving her tips on the best way to wield a dragonglass knife, whilst Jon Stark was watching Ygritte and Theon as they strung their bows and readied their arrows.

And then the horn call came again, nearer this time and urgent. Benjen Stark quickly replied to it and then there was another pause. It was broken by Pod. "Lord Tyrion, are your knives… glowing?"

He looked at them and then blanched. They were indeed glowing, just enough to be noticed, but the glow seemed to be waxing. And then he made the connection. "The Warnings, they were called. Gods above, they warn."

Alliser Thorne looked baffled. "Warn? Warn of what?"

The answer came as the horn sounded again to the North. First one blast, then a pause – and then another one, followed by another. And then another. Terror prickled his scalp for a moment as all the direwolves growled at the same time. "Others come! The Others must be chasing him!"

Benjen Stark cursed and then shrugged off his backpack and rummaged through it, before pulling out about ten small clay pots. "Oil, for wights," he explained. "Torches! Keep those torches lit! We'll need them."

They waited again – and then Tyrion narrowed his eyes slightly. Birds were erupting from a part of the forest ahead of them. Someone was coming and he pulled out Rocktooth from its harness and weighed it in his hands. It was heavy but it felt right. Everything about it now felt, well, right.

More birds erupted upwards and then he could see something coming. It was an elk, a galloping elk, with a black-clad figure on its back. There was what appeared to be a bow in one hand of the rider and he seemed to be looking behind him, before turning his head and then spurring the elk towards the waiting group by the Black Gate.

"Coldhands!" Benjen Stark said and then shouted: "COLDHANDS! HERE!"

But the birds were still stirring in the forest and Tyrion knew with a sinking heart that whoever this Coldhands was he was not alone. The treeline shivered for a moment and then suddenly there were dozens of running figures there. He stared at them – and then he went white. Wights. They had to be wights. They were in rags or worse, bloodied or worse, maimed… or worse. Skin was white or in some cases green or even black and here and there he could see a ribcage or an armbone.

"Wights," Jon Stark growled. "Stand ready!"

They waited – and then the bows in the hands of Theon and Ygritte sounded again with their deep thrum. The two were good and they had easy targets – the wights they were aiming from never even tried to dodge the incoming arrows – but not every arrow found its mark and there only two of them. Nevertheless, those arrows that found their mark killed the wights.

The elk was almost on them, and as it approached it slowed, its chest heaving with exertion. The rider seemed to be almost reeling in his saddle but when he saw Benjen Stark he raised a trembling hand and croaked: "Well-met brother! I told you that we would meet again." And then he leant over too far and fell to the ground, before seeming to regather his strength and standing on shaking legs, before pulling out what seemed to be a piece of a spear from his side.

Tyrion eyed this with horror, before looking back at the oncoming wights. "They seem to want you rather badly."

"They want me dead," Coldhands rasped, before picking up his bow and then joining the other archers in sending arrow after arrow at the wights. "Brother, I have oil in my saddlebags as well."

And then the wights were on them. Tormund Giantsbane roared as he hammered at their ranks, left and right with his sledgehammer, crushing skulls and breaking limbs with each sweep, but it was the swords in the hands of Robb Stark and Uncle Gerion that seemed to do the most damage. Every wight that they stabbed went limp and died – as did the wights facing Jon Stark. That sword he bore… was it Valyrian steel? The three direwolves snarled and darted back and forth at the feet of the Starks, lunging for every exposed tendon on a wight and tearing them out. Alliser Thorne and Larkin fought together, hacking off limbs with their own swords, whilst Allarion stabbed at any wight that tried to flank his father. As for Mance Rayder and Val, they both had a sword in one hand and a dragonglass dagger in the other, and they chose where to stab with great care as some of the wights had rusted armour on them. And then Benjen Stark started to throw his oil pots around, their wicks lit. He aimed at the wights still approaching and they went up like kindling.

Most men would have quailed and then run from such a slaughter, but these were not men or women, these were the dead and the dead felt no fear. They just kept coming, to be struck down or smashed to pieces or set on fire. And there were a lot of them – so much so that eventually two got past the flank and then ran at Tyrion. He gulped – and then Pod got the first one, hacking it to pieces with quite a bit of venom but also taking a bit too much time, because the other one was still coming. Tyrion hefted Rocktooth in both hands, eyed the oncoming wight – and then he stepped to one side quickly and swung the axe at the centre of the wight's chest with all his strength.

He expected it to perhaps smash the wight back and perhaps gain enough time for a second swing. What he was not expecting was for the blade of Rocktooth to obliterate every rib the wight had, as if the bones were made of paper, before the wight literally fell to pieces in front of him, as if rot had suddenly sped up. "Fuck me," he whispered as the pieces fell to the ground. "Now that I did not expect."

"Tyrion," Uncle Gerion shouted as he rammed Brightroar through the eye socket of a wight that was almost a skeleton, "What the Seven Hells was that?"

"Rocktooth is not fond of wights Uncle," he called back with a slightly hysterical laugh. And then he shut up because another wight was running at him. This time he swung for the legs and before he knew it, it was raining pieces of wight.

"The Imp has fangs!" Tormund Giantsbane roared as he smashed a wight's head so far down into its chest that the rotting blue eyes looked through its own ribs. "He needs a better name though!"

"Tyrion 'Lionfang' Lannister," Robb Stark laughed as he cut down a wight with a great overhead blow. "Why not?"

Another wight came at Tyrion and he dealt with it in the same manner, before he noticed that Pod had gotten his sword stuck in the chest of a wight that was now scrabbling for the boy's head with rotten hands. "Pod!"

"My Lord?"

"Duck!"

The lad threw himself back and down and Rocktooth cleaved the air where he had been standing and hit the head of the wight, which froze and then disintegrated, freeing Pod's sword.

"We're out of arrows," Theon Greyjoy shouted as he threw down his bow and then drew his sword, followed by Ygritte – but then they looked about in vain for more wights.

"By the Old Gods," Robb Stark panted as he looked about as well. "Was that the last of them?"

"No," rasped Coldhands as he stood over the wights that he'd killed with his won sword after running out of arrows. "Beware – there are Others out there somewhere. I can feel it." The man, or whatever he was, wasn't out of breath at all.

"What now?" Thorne barked. "Back through the Gate?"

"I cannot pass through the Gate," Coldhands muttered. "Not without help."

"What kind of – wait. Tyrion, your daggers are glowing again."

They were indeed, only this time it was with a colder, harsher light. They seemed to startle Coldhands, who peered at them and then at him as if he was only now seeing him properly. "By the Old Gods – are those the Warnings? And is that Rocktooth?"

"Yes to both questions," Tyrion answered as he watched the treeline. "I am Tyrion Lannister. Wait – you've seen them before?"

"When I was a child," Coldhands said almost sadly. "In the hands of a Lannister who did not think that they were good enough weapons for his House."

"Yes, well, they're more than good enough for me," Tyrion muttered slightly dazedly. Then he paused. There seemed to be a bit more vapour in the air when he breathed. It was colder than it had been a few minutes ago. "It's getting colder. Is that normal North of the Wall?"

"Others!" The call came from Alliser Thorne, who looked as if he did not believe what he was looking at. Tyrion turned his head a little. Oh. A figure had emerged from the trees, with frost spreading out from the ground wherever he trod. Its skin was almost a white-blue colour, its hair was pure white and its eyes were like small blue stars. It was dressed in a kind of old-fashioned looking grey armour that seemed to be a kind of leather with metal on it and he was holding a sword that looked odd, as if it was made of ice or crystal.

And it was not alone. Three more figures, similar to it in dress and appearance, joined it. They looked at the group by the gate and then they looked at Coldhands – and then they started walking towards the wall, spreading out as they came.

"Fire deters them," Rayder said urgently, "Is there any more oil?"

"I used the last of it on the wights," muttered Benjen Stark as he hefted his own sword. "Coldhands, what do they want?"

"Me," rasped the hooded man, "They want me. They want me dead to be precise. They've long hunted me. We need fire and dragonglass – your swords are useless."

"We have no more torches and that's all the dragonglass we have," Rayder muttered as he looked down at his dagger. "Damn it, we should have brought more."

"Father," said Allarion quietly, "We need him. But the danger is-"

"Worth the risk," replied Uncle Gerion. "We have something they've never seem before – Valyrian steel. Let's test a theory." And with that he stepped forwards towards the nearest Other.

"Uncle, NO!" Tyrion shouted in anguish, but it was too late. The Other stared at Uncle Gerion as if he was nothing and then lifted his sword with frightening speed and slashed at his neck – only for his sword to meet Brightroar with a clash of metal on ice. It was a loud, discordant sound and it drew the eyes of everyone, including the Others, who stared with suddenly wide eyes.

"Test confirmed," Uncle Gerion grinned, before pushing the Other back and then slashing at its eyes. The creature fell back a step, apparently astonished, before parrying another blow and then attacking itself. Gerion blocked the first blow and then the second, before shouting: "Don't just stand there you Starks – attack!" And then he ducked under a great slash and plunged Brightroar into the chest of the Other – who imploded into a million shards of ice.

As Uncle Gerion stepped back, panting with effort, the two Stark brothers burst into action. "For the North!" they both bellowed, "For Winterfell!" Their swords hammered at the upraised blades of the next two Others, who seemed to still be astonished at what was going on.

"We need to kill them all," Tyrion muttered, before raising his voice. "They must not escape – they don't know about Valyrian steel!"

"Easier said than done," Robb Stark replied as he hammered at the Other with Ice. "But yes – kill them all!"

"Where did Ned Stark's bastard get a Valyrian steel blade?" Thorne muttered dazedly.

But that wasn't what was bothering Tyrion. Robb Stark was engaging one of the Others, Jon Stark was fighting another, with Uncle Gerion coming to his aid, but there was another one out there and he was striding inexorably towards Coldhands.

Larkin was the closest to the creature and was falling back – but not fast enough. The blade it bore slashed out suddenly and then the man of the Night's Watch was falling to the ground, his throat a bloody ruin.

The next closest was, naturally, Pod and Tyrion. "Get behind me Pod," Tyrion shouted as he raised Rocktooth, "Get behind me NOW!"

The boy scurried behind him and Tyrion dug his boots in and watched the Other as it came. The skin was tight on its face, as if it was almost mummified and the eyes glittered with an inexorable purpose. To one side he heard a shout of triumph as something erupted into the air, and then another, and he knew that the other two Others were defeated and there was now just this one, but the Starks and Uncle Gerion were all the way over there and he was all the way over here, and his palms were sweaty and his heart was hammering at his chest and her knew that he was about to die, but he still lifted the axe with a snarl on his face. "Piss off, you blue bastard," he shouted and then as the Other swung its sword he lifted Rocktooth.

Something seemed to chime deep within him for a long moment and then everything seemed to slow to a crawl. He could see Robb Stark running to one side, approaching with a glacial slowness as he swung Ice, but right now there was just Rocktooth and the icy blade of the Other. He pulled on the handle somehow as he twisted himself, willing himself to move faster – and then time seemed to speed up and then suddenly he felt Rocktooth judder to a halt. He looked up to see that the blade was buried in the belly of the Other, which was gaping down at him, and then it seemed to wail and then explode into a thousand fiery fragments that shot up and away from Tyrion.

There was a long silence, or that was what it felt like to Tyrion as the blood thundered in his ears, before he lowered the axe. "Bugger me," he whispered. "Why did my ancestors hide this thing?" He suspected he knew why though – it worked on Others very well indeed, and no-one had seen them for thousands of years.

And then the silence was broken as various people started to talk. Tormund Giantsbane had his sledgehammer over his head and was bellowing with triumph, whilst Mance Rayder was embracing Alliser Thorne and Benjen Stark, all of whom were laughing with stressed relief. Theon Greyjoy was joking with the Starks, the two Wildling girls were staring at the Starks, Uncle Gerion was grinning at his rather exasperated son… and Coldhands was just standing there.

Tyrion walked up to the hooded man. "Why can't you pass through the Black Gate?"

Coldhands seemed to consider this question for a long moment, before seeming to sigh. "Wights cannot pass the Wall of their own accord," he said sadly. "And I… I am something that falls between human and wight."

This broke the spell of laughter and relief. All turned to look at the hooded man, although Benjen Stark seemed to ne nodding in sudden understanding. "What are you?" Alliser Thorne barked.

"No," replied Tyrion, "Who are you?"

"He's a Stark," replied the First Ranger. "Rickon Stark. The son of Edwyle Stark." He looked at Coldhands. "You've been wandering beyond the Wall for a long time, Brother."

Coldhands looked down at the ground for a long moment – and then he pulled his hood back and tugged his scarf off. Tyrion swallowed. This was not a wight – but he was not alive either. The hair was black, but touched with silver at the temples, but the face was thin and drawn, the skin white in places and black in others, especially at the jaw. He looked around at all of them in turn, his eyes flinching a little as he looked at the Stark boys.

"I need to get through the Wall to complete my mission," Coldhands said slowly. "But I don't know how."

"What mission?" Thorne had a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"When the Wall was built, it was by men. By Bran the Builder and the First Men. But they did not understand the magic that was – is – in the earth. The soil. The trees. As the Wall…" he clenched his fists, "Solidified, the links between North and South were slowly cut. The Children of the Forest North of the Wall could not talk to their brethren in the South. So they prepared a great magic and they sent word to the Wall that they what needed to be done to fix it. I went North, to talk to their greatest leader, their Greenseer of Greenseers. He gave me a task to perform, I had to bear something South of the Wall. Magic.

"But the Others felt it, or knew somehow of it, and they stirred out of their long sleep to try and stop me. And they… found me. Almost killed me. I would have died if not for the Children of the Forest. They were able to stop me from turning. I do not breath, I have no pulse, but Brothers I am no wight. I am my own man, I do not hear their orders. And I have waited these long years."

Thorne still had his hand on his sword. "Waited for what?"

"There was a prophesy. There would be a man with a golden mind, and a boy who died and fell through time. They'd help me. And something else. Swords of fire. That's all I know."

Tyrion peered at him. "I know that I am the man with the golden mind – I'm a Lannister. As for the boy who died and fell through time – I don't know. But as for swords of fire – we have three swords made from Valyrian steel here. As I have long suspected that the Valyrians made their swords with dragonfire… perhaps we should test something. Uncle Gerion, could you hold Brightroar near Coldhands?"

His Uncle stared at him for moment, but then drew his sword and held it close to Coldhands – who shuddered in reaction. "I like that not," the almost-wight said with a groan. "But I feel heat and fire from it."

They all stared at him, before a sudden slight movement reminded them all that some of the wight parts were still twitching. "We must burn them," Robb Stark said, before looking at Larkin's body sadly. "He was killed by an Other. Will he rise again?"

"He will," Rayder replied. "Ser Alliser, do you need my dragonglass knife?"

The bitter man looked as if he was about to spit to one side, but then seemed to restrain himself. "No," he said as he walked over to the body and drew his sword. "I'll deal with him meself. He was a good man." A short savage stroke beheaded the body.

As the others collected fallen wood from the treeline – having first all stared at the Warnings, which were making him a very popular man – Tyrion stroked his chin and frowned at the sensation of a fledgling beard rasping against his fingers as he thought about the problem. As the first flames started to rise and the pieces of wight were thrown onto it – why did wights burn so easily? – he came to a decision.

"I think I have a solution to the matter of getting you through the Black Gate," Tyrion muttered. "Uncle Gerion, Robb and Jon Stark, would you please draw your swords? Three swords, placed in a triangle around, erm, Rickon Stark here. And then perhaps we might be able to escort him, in a way, through the Black Gate. First Ranger, would you open it please?"

The Stark brothers looked at each other doubtfully for a moment, before turning to the… non-wight (was that the best term?) in front of them. "With your permission," Robb Stark said, "We would not force you."

"Oh, you'll have to force me," their ancestor replied, "But you have my permission." He watched as one sword was held to one side, met with another sword and then finally Brightroar was added to complete the triangle. Coldhands winced visibly, pulling his arms close to his body, but then eventually nodded. "We can try this. Someone will need to get my elk though. He and I have been though much together and I would not see him abandoned North of the Wall, not before a Long Winter."

It was Val who took the reins of the rather skittish elk, before soothing it by stroking its muzzle. The elk burbled and then shook its head a little but followed her as they all slowly walked to the no open Black Gate, where a solemn Benjen Stark was waiting.

Tyrion never forgot that passage through the wall. The man they were escorting let out a choked scream as they forced him through the gate and then slowly down the passageway, twisting in place at times and jerking. The closer he got to the middle of the passage – and the Wall – the more he jerked. As for the screaming… Tyrion wished he could stop his ears up, but he dared not. By the time that they reached the other side of the Black Gate everyone looked tired and strained, but at least Coldhands had stopped making noises. He just walked slowly, his eyes showing a pain and weakness that grew with every step.

"Bugger me," Thorne said ahead of them, as the Valyrian steel blades were finally sheathed, "Where did this passageway come from?"

"I found it," Tormund Giantsbane told him with a fierce grin. "Me and my sledgehammer here! There was a bricked-up doorway here, as I said, and then another going up, and then another up again."

"Bricked… up?" Coldhands said slowly as he looked at the metal rungs to one side. "I don't understand… there was always a… passage here."

"It has been a long time since you were last here Brother," Benjen Stark told him sadly. "The Nightfort was abandoned centuries ago because it could not be maintained. It is being restored now, but it's not yet in a fit state." He looked at him more closely. "What is wrong?"

"I am dying," Coldhands whispered. "The passage through the Wall has weakened me... and the magic that protected me… cannot be felt here. It is the Wall. I need to get to… a Heart Tree. Quickly, Brother."

The First Ranger grabbed the left arm of Coldhands and placed it around his shoulders and then supported him as he staggered over the planks that crossed the well and then up the passageway, the others following them. The elk just about fitted into the passageway, its low moans of concern for its rider echoing up from behind Tyrion as the direwolves ran on ahead.

As they reached the doorway at the end and negotiated the rubble, Coldhands looked about in dismay. "It's worse than… I had ever thought," he groaned. "I heard that it had been… abandoned, but to see it like this…"

"It will be restored, Brother," Benjen Stark told him almost fiercely, before helping him to the Godswood not too far away. There they laid him at the base of the Heart Tree, so that he could look up and see the sky through the leaves, with Thorne's rolled-up cloak under his head.

"I must do this," Coldhands muttered as he pulled off his gloves. His hands were black and Tyrion winced a little as he looked at them. And then he stared. There was a red fire burning in the eyes of the prone man, and as he watched that red fire started to burn hotter and hotter. Little wisps of flame seemed to flicker down to his hands and after a long moment he realised that it was forming a ball of red fire. Brighter and brighter the fire grew until Tyrion could barely look at it as he raised a hand in front of his eyes. Brighter still and then it stopped. Tyrion heard Coldhands say, in a voice like a mountain speaking, "Bind the land again. Restore the links between North and South. The Greenseers must see each other again."

And then the great red ball of fire sank into the Heart tree, or that was what he could see through his fingers and squinted eyes. As it vanished into the tree he saw to his astonishment that it had left no trace on the trunk. There was a long pause and then Coldhands – no, Rickon Stark – lowered his shaking hands. Tyrion was about to ask what that had been about when he noticed that the Heart tree was starting to glow, with a throb-throb that reminded him of a pulse. It did not get as bright as the ball of fire had been, but it was there and – suddenly he took a hesitant step backwards. The Wall. The Wall was also glowing red. The Wall was glowing. The others had noticed as well, from the shocked cries – and then it flared once and went back to its usual colour.

"What in the name of the Old Gods was that?" Robb Stark asked. "Is the Wall alright?"

"Fear not…" Rickon Stark quavered. "North will talk… to South again. My mission, for… the Children of the Forest, is… complete at last. At long last… the Green Men will be able to see where… they could not. As will… the Children."

Something rose in Tyrion's breast, an excitement he had seldom felt before. There were Children of the Forest out there, as Mance Rayder had said.

Coldhands was fading fast now though, as his gestures became weak and sluggish. "It will… take time… for the links though. Be… watchful. The Others will soon… know of this. It is… a great... blow… to them." He reached out and grabbed the hand of Benjen stark, who was kneeling over him. "When I… die… cut my head off… and burn me, Brother. Ashes… take my… ashes to Winterfell. I would sleep… in the Crypts… there."

Benjen Stark nodded, with unshed tears in his eyes, and his nephews nodded next to him. But oddly it was Ser Alliser Thorne who spoke next. "First Ranger, our Brother Rickon Stark has stood his watch, the longest watch of any man of the Night's Watch. He has done his duty as few could. Is he relieved?"

"He stands relieved, Brother," Benjen Stark said, and then they watched as Rickon Stark smiled a little and then went still, his eyes unseeing. "Robb?"

"Uncle Benjen?"

"May I borrow Ice for a moment?"

Robb Stark drew it without a word and handed it over. His uncle lifted it with both hands, stood and then nodded at the body on the ground. "Goodbye Brother." The great sword came down with a thud. "Sleep well."