Willas

He scratched his head, stared at the map and then leant back. He just couldn't put his finger on what was wrong. The Reach was the most fertile part of Westeros, but it just wasn't quite as fertile as it once had been, once you looked at the oldest of records.

The fall in production was a small one, but a cumulative one. And it seemed to follow a long, very slow pattern. He just wasn't sure why or when. He sighed. Was this it? Was this the way that he had to 'Make the Garden bloom again'?

Prophecy, or whatever this was, gave him the creeping horrors at times. Why couldn't life ever be simple? Well, perhaps young Sam Tarly would be able to find the same pattern and then perhaps even some answers.

Perhaps even an idea about just what the right question was.

He grunted in exasperation and then looked at the list of things to do. One thing was to go to King's Landing and have a word with Jon Arryn about just what in the Seven Hells was going on. Or, if he was back by then, the King. Or his Hand. There was not the slightest chance of them coming to him, so he would have to go to them.

A pile of letters to one side caught his attention for a moment as a slight draft stirred them and he sighed a little. Procrastination would only take him so far. The healing of his leg had had just that one drawback so far.

Boots thumped on flagstones in the corridor and after a moment he realised that he was being observed. Looking up he smiled as soon as he saw the man in the doorway. "Garlan!" He stood up and strode over, noticing how his younger brother watched him walk with a wry astonishment.

"Strange to see you walk without a cane – or without a limp!" Garlan grinned as they embraced. "I wanted to return to Highgarden as soon as I heard, but your raven was very clear that I had to continue my task of inspecting the sea defences."

"And how are they?" Willas asked as they returned to his desk and sat on opposite sides of it. "The last word from the Iron Islands is that Balon Greyjoy was at daggers drawn with The Reader. With the Iron Islands a tinderbox of unrest it's only a matter of time before some minor idiot takes it on himself to go a-reaving off our coastline."

Garlan nodded sombrely. "The defences at the Shield Islands are adequate, but can be easily strengthened. Lord Chester bent my ear several times about the need to take the Ironborn more seriously." He fell silent for a long moment. "The Islands and the coast are all abuzz with word of the Call. Many people are speaking of sending help to Ned Stark and the Wall. Willas… I am glad that you have taken over command of the Reach here. I dearly love Father but… well, many have alluded to him being, erm, rather…"

"Boastful for the wrong reasons?" Willas nodded slowly. "The more I delve into what needs to be done to keep The Reach running, the more I discover that Father was never as good at it as he said he was."

"And he's now on a long hunting trip? I heard some strange tales about it."

"He is." He paused and then pointed at Otherbane. "It rejected him."

His words made Garlan stare quizzically at him. "What?"

"It's Otherbane. The spear of the Gardener Kings. The Tarlys had it, without really knowing about it, and when Father tried to take it off him it… rejected him. It burnt his hand a little. And that was when he went off on his hunting trip."

His brother stared at the spear, then at Willas, before staring back at the spear again. "How can a spear… reject someone?"

Willas shrugged. "I don't know. Magic of some kind. The Call was heard, I found that statue of Garth Greenhand, my leg was healed – why should we not think that we should see magic with this." He fell silent for a long moment as he looked at it. "It was the weapon of the Gardener Kings for centuries, Garlan. The Florents and the Hightowers looked for it after the Field of Fire. And now it's mine. I don't mind telling you that I'm… well, I have a feeling that something is coming."

"You're not the only one," Garlan muttered. "I feel the same. And there's something odd happening in Oldtown. Lord Hightower is apparently being even more reclusive then he normally is. Something odd is going on there, at the base of that tower of his. Oldtown is buzzing that something's wrong and that the Maesters have been consulted about whatever it is. In addition…" Now it was Garlan's turn to pause. "In addition there has been talk of the Starry Sept becoming more… active."

Willas eyed his brother carefully. "'Active'? How 'active'?"

"Taking more of part in spiritual matters was the way that one septon described it. Another more cynical one said that the Faith Militant is raising its head a little and that it needs a leader who can… benefit from its increased profile."

He stared at his brother owlishly. "Absolute rubbish," he sighed. "That said, the latest news is that the Faith Militant has been squashed flat in the Crownlands and the Riverlands, so it's only logical that the zealots would try and make mischief in The Reach as well. So, the Septon of the Starry Sept is going to try and do something is he? Where?"

"Rumour has it that he's seeking a cause to champion."

He suddenly had a slight headache, something that often happened when religious matters became complicated. "It's still Septon Alyston there, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"He's still a pompous little imbecile puffed up with his own importance, isn't he?"

"A perfect description. About as subtle as a peacock, and as cunning as a battering ram. I'm surprised he hasn't written to you yet."

"The letter is probably on its way. My thanks for the warning, I'll treat it as it deserves. Welcome back. Is Leonette with you?"

"She'll be here in a few hours or so." He turned a little pink. "We need to consult a maester. We think… we think that she might be with child."

Now this was excellent news and he beamed at his brother. "Wonderful! I hope that it is true! Let me know the moment that the master confirms it. And then we need to work on something else." He gestured at the pile of letters. "Behold!"

Garlan peered at the letters, confused. "What are they?"

"Well, you know, it's the strangest thing. The moment that word spread that my leg was healed and later that I hold Otherbane, the Lords of the Reach suddenly remembered that I exist and started sending in marriage proposals. I have daughters and sisters of lords in every size, age and shape being dangled before me. Grandmother keeps me in stitches with her comments about some of the offers."

Laughter rang through the room as his brother threw his head back with mirth. "Oh, this should be entertaining! Shall we discuss them over dinner?"

"We shall indeed. Grandmother will be, as will Margaery. Loras too."

Garlan winced a little. "Ah, Loras. Is he still demanding to go back to King's Landing?"

He nodded, sobering a little. "He is. I still say no. That plan that he and Father were concocting with Renly Baratheon… folly."

A sombre nod greeted his words, followed by a sideways look. "Loras has always been… close to Renly and-"

He raised a hand to silence Garlan with a weary gesture. "I know. The fact is that we need to secure House Tyrell on a more secure foundation. Many are eyeing Otherbane and muttering that we are not the Gardeners and that our claim to Highgarden is not as strong as theirs. Therefore I need to marry, and soon. So does Loras. As for Margaery, we need to find her an adequate match. Given her age and what has been happening of late I plan to write to Ned Stark and offer her as wife to his oldest son, Robert."

Garlan's eyebrows rose for a moment, before falling as he thought this through. "Clever," he said eventually. "It would ally The Reach strongly to the North at a time when this Call is reshaping so much."

"Not bad," said a voice to one side and they looked over to see that Grandmother had somehow noiselessly appeared at one of the windows. She looked at them both, sniffed hard and then nodded. "Yes, you'll do. You're both already thinking more clearly than your idiot father." And with that she hobbled off.

Willas sent his brother a wry smile. "We still have so much to learn from her."

Cat

She missed Ned. He'd been away for weeks now and she missed him fiercely. She was already starting to feel some of the familiar sensations around being pregnant and that was starting to make things a little worse.

That said, she was also enjoying the way that life had changed recently. Dacey Surestone had taken Sansa under her wing a little and was educating her about the history of the North. Her daughter seemed to be learning a great deal, or at least that was what she surmised by the expression on Sansa's face at times.

Ned had been right, their daughter had had a lot of nonsense in her head. She blamed herself as well as Septa Mordane. Both had meant well but both had reinforced Sansa's… naivety. There were times when Arya had more realism in her head than Sansa, but that balance was now shifting. Thank the Gods for Dacey Surestone and, in a terrible way, Robb's memories of the future that would now never be.

For one thing Lady would not now be killed by Ned near the Trident. She shuddered a little at that. The direwolf was growing like a weed and followed Sansa everywhere, watching with tilted head and intent eyes. Sansa adored her, as did Domeric, whom the direwolf also liked.

Thinking of the direwolves made her think of Arya and her warging abilities, which made her shudder. However… she had made a promise to her daughter and she would keep that promise. Arya could keep at it and even advise Bran. She didn't know what Ned would think of it all when he came back and she prayed that he would be back soon.

Winterfell was changing a little, or so it seemed. Parties of men and woman were on the move, passing North or returning South. The Wall was on the lips of most, along with the need to send help to the Stark in Winterfell. Party after party came and went from all over Westeros.

There was always more arriving, sometimes for the oddest of reasons. One such example had been the small group of miners from the Westerlands who had arrived ten days previously and who were now prospecting for metals in the hills to the North of Winterfell. One had said that he had a nose for iron and silver and a message had come back from him saying that he just might have found some potential veins to be worked.

The North waxed. But for the most terrible of reasons. A storm was coming.

She sighed – and then she caught sight of Jory Cassel walking arm in arm with his wife, smiling at each other and then at the running forms of the Terrible Threesome. The Cassels looked over them with a great deal of long-suffering amusement. That said, they also kept them in check.

A horn blew, high and pure and far off and she turned to the main gate with a frown. It couldn't be the King, not yet, nor could it be Ned and the others. Voices shouted at the gate and then she saw Jory's uncle stride towards her, a frown on his face.

"A party bearing banners, my Lady. Many banners, from all the houses of the North. House Stark amongst them."

She felt her eyebrows go up at this – and then down again. Ah. Damn it, she had hoped that Ned would be back for this by now. "Admit them Ser Rodrik, if you would. And send Bran to me."

Brown eyes met hers for a moment and then he bent his head in a deep nod. "Aye, my Lady."

As the gates opened fully she stood there, as straight as a poker, awaiting the arrival of the Leaders of the Company of the Rose. After a moment Bran ran up to her, with Edric and Robert next to him, along with Bran's direwolf. All three boys looked curiously at her.

"Bran, the leaders of the Company of the Rose have arrived. As you are the Stark in Winterfell you need to be here to greet them." She looked him over and repressed a sigh. His knees were dusty and there was dirt smudged on his nose, but he didn't look quite as bad as the other two, who were belatedly brushing themselves off. She looked at the gates, applied her handkerchief to her son quickly and then straightened again.

The men and women who rode through the gates had the looks of people who had been kissed by the Sun. They also looked as if they were all repressing their emotions as severely as they were capable of. Eyes flickered about the courtyard, almost as if they were still astonished that they were here.

They were led by a man who bore the look of Ned a little. The hair colour was there, and the chin and nose. The intense look was there as well, although the slight shake to his hands as he dismounted spoke of his true feelings.

A group of the men and women formed up behind the man, who then strode forwards and stopped before Cat and the children. And then they all went down on one knee.

"Lady Stark, Lord Brandon, I am Edric Stark, leader of what was once the Company of the Rose. I know that Lord Stark is at Castle Black, but we are here to pledge our swords to Winterfell and the North, because we heard The Call. Long years have we been in exile, but the Call has brought us back across the Narrow Sea. We have heard it, we are here."

She looked at the faces that were all now fixed on her, those intent faces, before stepping forwards. "Lord Edric, the word of your coming came some days ago. You will have to wait a while to talk to Lord Stark in order to have word on what he will ask of you, but I can say this now – welcome back from the long exile that your families have been on for so many years. Thank you for answering the Call to Winterfell. There is much to do."

The men and women before her bowed their heads and then they stood. Some were now openly in tears and she averted her eyes for a moment, until Bran turned to her and hissed: "Mother, have you seen their banners?"

"No, why?"

He jerked his head at a knot of banners. "Redstarks, Dustins and Ryders. Does Father know?"

She stared and then repressed some words that everyone would probably be shocked that she knew. Oh, this would be a pretty mess for Ned to untangle.

Kevan

Tywin was standing at the window staring. At the Stone Garden, he thought, perhaps. It was hard to tell from his standpoint and he did not want to say anything to interrupt his brother.

The arrival – and later departure – of Randyll Tarly had been the event that had caused this latest crisis. The last time that he had seen Tywin like this had been after the news of the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark, the moment that Tywin had seen the last shreds of his loyalty to his old friend Aerys Targaryen stretch and fray and snap. He'd spent hours staring out of the window then, deep in thought, and he was doing exactly the same thing now.

Whatever Tywin was staring at now, it had caused a massive frown to spread over his face. Kevan winced and then took a quiet step into the room. Ah. The Green Man could be seen in the distance, tending the Heart Tree. Something was odd about that tree. No-one had ever seen the Green Man working on it, but a face seemed to be appearing on its trunk.

"Randyll Tarly is not the kind of man to act on a whim," Tywin said eventually. "Nor is he a man who believes in snarks and grumpkins. Or so I thought. He's a man of practicality, but he brought the weapon of the Gardener Kings to Willas Tyrell, which enabled him to all but depose his fool of a father. And then Tarly sailed for Winterfell with orders to find out how to fight legends. Myths."

Unable to work out if he should just nod or say 'yes' out loud, Kevan eventually settled for saying: "Aye."

The word bought him another silence, an interminable one that stretched out and out. "And yet there is a myth in the Stone Garden," Kevan eventually said, greatly daring. "Tending the Heart Tree."

"He's not a myth, he's a man."

"He's a Green Man. When was the last time they left the Isle of Faces and walked the Seven Kingdoms?"

Yet another silence. Tywin's face was smooth now, the frown gone, but he could almost hear his brother's mind working. Again, he wanted to say something, but he dared not. He sensed that it would not be welcome, but also he sensed that something else was happening here, that everything was balanced suddenly on the blade of a sword. The slightest thing could tip things one way or the other.

He knew that there was a growing tide of worry in the Westerlands. The Westerlings, who were one of the most ancient houses in the region, were said to be sending Raynald Westerling to the North, and the Farmans were said to be sending aid to the Wall. And everyone was watching Casterly Rock.

On and on that silence stretched. Finally Kevan's patience snapped. "Tywin, I can go to Winterfell on your behalf. Tyrion's reports are all very well, but if you do not trust him enough to make a decision on sending help to Stark and the Night's Watch then send me and-"

"No." Tywin bit the word off as if it pained him. And then just before Kevan exploded he added: "We will both go to Winterfell. I will have the truth of this."

The balance had shifted.

Ned

His orders had gone out and now it was time to ride. They had a long way to go and not a lot of time and he hoped that everything would go as he hoped, no, planned, when he met Robert.

But before they left Castle Black there had been two important meetings. The first had come when Ser Alliser Thorne had barged into his room, closed the door very firmly and then folded his arms and glared at him. "Your bastard has a Valyrian steel sword. Why?"

He stared coolly at the man. "I did not give him that sword, another did."

"Who?"

"Why not ask him?"

"Because he's not the Lord of the North, he's just a boy. Where did he get the sword from? Who is his mother? Who is he?"

Ned had thought long and hard for a moment. "And what business is it of yours?"

"He has a Valyrian steel sword that kills Others and their wights. And your brother once told me that he thought there was a chance that the boy might join the Night's Watch."

Ned had looked at him. "And what do you care of my son?"

Thorne had then looked intensely uncomfortable. "I am the Master at Arms of Castle Black. It's my job to train the men here, to make sure that they survive what's coming here – and we both know what's fucking coming here. That boy can fight – by all the Gods, can he fight. Will he join the Watch?"

A pause had fallen. "You dislike him because he's my son, don't you?"

"I shouldn't but… Seven Hells you helped send me into exile here at the Wall, because I was a Loyalist. But thanks to you the Night's Watch is finally getting the help that we've been begging for for years, the castles on the Wall are being restored, we know what's coming, we know that whatever happens we're not alone…" Thorne's face had twisted into some strange expression that combined anger with gratefulness.

Ned had looked at him and then sighed and made his decision. "Only three other people here at the Wall know what I am about to tell you," he had said in a very low voice. "And I am only telling you so that you stop asking about that bloody sword. Maester Aemon gave it to him, and Aemon in turn had it from Brynden Rivers, before he vanished."

Given that the sword could only have been Dark Sister, Thorne had turned a very funny colour at that news, before Ned continued: "You were a Loyalist. This is something that must be kept a secret. I am not Jon's father, I am his uncle. His mother was my sister. Now – think all of that through."

Thorne had sank into the nearest chair, his face as white as a sheet and his hands trembling. "Then… then… he is… I mean some might say that…"

"He is in danger of being murdered by a great many people if his true parentage ever comes out."

"Does… does he know?"

"Aye. Aye, he does. Wants nothing more than a normal life. Wants to live, marry, have a holdfast and found a cadet branch of the Starks that is loyal to Winterfell. He does not want… that poisoned chair of metal. And should, by some evil chance, a day come that he has to flee to the Wall and take the Black because it's that or death, there must be those who know why. Aemon knows, as do Benjen and the Lord Commander."

Thorne had thought all of that through, before running a shaking hand through his hair and then laughing softly. "Gods above. What am I to do with my hate now, Lord Stark? Hatred of you and Baratheon has been the only thing at times to keep my heart warm enough to live up here. And now I hear that you kept alive the grandson of your worst enemy. You're more honourable than most men I know of." His eyes had become hunted for a moment – and had then relaxed a little. "Very well, I know why this has to be kept a secret. Keep him alive, Lord Stark. That boy can fight." And then he had left.

The second meeting had been with Gerion Lannister, a man whom everyone had thought had been dead for years. The arrival of Tywin Lannister's brother, along with his son, had been a shock – especially after he had taken Ned to one side into a room and very firmly shut the door.

"I am not my brother," he had said at once. "I am not as ruthless, nor am I as prideful and inflexible. I listen. I have to, I lost an eye and almost died because I let my obsession with Brightroar get the better of my good judgement. And I have some Greensight. Not as much as my son, but enough to know that your eldest son is the boy who died and fell through time – do not worry, the secret is safe with me! I know that the Old Gods have spoken and I know that strange things are on the wind. I have faced them and killed them for a start. I know what's coming. And I am not my brother. You can rely on me and my son. Tyrion too – he's a lot cleverer than his father ever could be.

"Oh and that young apprentice Maester, the one that keeps vanishing into the background? Her real name is Sarella. She's one of the Sand Snakes, the daughters of Oberyn Martell. I think that her father sent her up here to find out what's going on. Make of that what you will – not that I told you of that."

If he had any more meetings like that then his hair was going to start standing on end with shock.

The gates creaked open to the South and he looked back at the disparate company behind him. Robb, Jon and Theon were behind a picked handful of Stark guards, with the Lannisters in a knot to one side. Then there was Mance Rayder and his good-sister, along with two guards from the Free Folk that included that red-headed girl, the Magnar of the Thenns (who he needed Robert to talk to), some Thenn guards, Jeor Mormont (who also needed to talk to Robert) and finally 'Alleras'. He needed to talk to the latter at some point.

He stood up on his stirrups and gestured at the road ahead. "RIDE!"

Bloody hell, this was going to be fastest he'd travelled since after the Trident.