Myrcella

Everything had changed and there were times when she wanted to sit and weep for what she had lost. Most of the servants were gone, assigned to other duties, and those who were left were… more reserved than they used to be, especially those who had the livery of House Baratheon. She was no longer their princess.

No. Now she was just a bastard.

It wasn't a nice name, or a nice term, but it now hung around her neck – and would for all time now.

She didn't sigh as she worked on her embroidery with the others. No, that was for the privacy of her own rooms. Instead she had to put on a brave face, the face of the bastard of House Lannister. Born of… she didn't want to think of the word, it made her skin crawl.

At least Sansa Stark had not stopped being her friend. Lord Stark's eldest daughter had made a point of talking to her, asking her advice about certain stitches, especially those from the South. She liked Sansa – she was kind and cleverer than she had first thought. Certainly cleverer than Mother.

Her thoughts veered away from Mother, like a frightened bird in a room. Mother… scared her at the moment. She had been to see her in her room that morning and the encounter had left her shaking. Mother had assured her of a great many things. That she was still Queen and that Myrcella was still a princess, that this was all just a ghastly mistake that would be rectified soon, as soon as Grandfather arrived. That Joffrey would be King eventually. That Lannisters always – always – paid their debts. And that Father would pay for what he had put them all through.

The look on Mother's face had been such that she had sat very, very still and eyed the door whenever Mother was ranting at the floor or the ceiling.

As for the rest of the morning, well Father – she meant the King – had been his usual awkward self, not knowing what to say at times and trying to be reassuring in a vague hand-patting way. She would be sent back to the Westerlands, she had been told, and he'd make sure that Grandfather took care of her. There had been a sadness on Fath – the King's – face whenever he look at her and she knew that he regretted what had happened.

And Tommen… well, her brother had been thinking a lot and he had come to a decision.

"I am going to the Citadel," he had told her that morning. "I am going to be a Maester. It's the only solution, 'Cella. There's nothing else ahead for me, is there? I'll never be a Lord, or a knight, I don't have the metal in me for that. But I like books, I like reading books. And I want to help people."

She hadn't known what to say, other than to nod uncertainly and then hug her brave, tremulous little brother.

She hadn't asked to see Joffrey in his cell. He was wrong in the head, she knew that now. Mad, bad and cruel, just as in some of the songs about the madder Targaryens. She had overheard some of the guards muttering about the mad little bastard and his bruised… well, she didn't want to think about that. Apparently the wildling girl Val had a 'hell of a foot' on her, and the guards seemed to approve of her.

There was an errant thread in her embroidery due to a slightly shaking hand and she unpicked it carefully. She would not think about Robb Stark. She would not. Her dream was dead.

"Are you alright there Myrcella?" It was Sansa, who was looking at her kindly.

"Just a slight mistake," she said quietly, her eyes misting over for a moment. But a hard blink and a wipe of the finger and all was restored again. She smiled at her friend. "I'm fine."

Sansa smiled back at her with something behind her eyes that spoke of unsaid words. Then she pulled a slight face. "Father says that your grandfather will be here possibly tomorrow. What's he like?"

She paused and pulled a slight face of her own. "Grandfather is… very serious. Mother once said that he hasn't smiled since Grandmother died."

Sansa seemed to mull that over, exchanging a glance with Beth Cassell, who had been frowning over her own embroidery to one side. Rumour had it that she had been keeping an eye on young Torren Rosestark, who had a bright laugh and even brighter eyes.

"So how do you tell when he's happy?" Beth asked.

"His eyes twinkle."

The Northern girls exchanged a glance. "And how does he laugh?"

"He doesn't. Well… not really. The odd bark. He uses words rather than laughing." The words 'You'll see' died unsaid on her tongue. Grandfather was hardly to be happy when he arrived. In fact he was going to be very angry.

Sansa and Beth seemed to exchange a glance that almost read her thoughts, before Sansa cleared her throat. "Your grandfather can't possibly blame you for all of this Myrcella. You never knew the truth."

That was true, but her answering smile was still a sad one. "I just wish I knew what the future holds for me," she said quietly. "I… I think that I will have to wait and see."

"I can talk to Father, or have Domeric talk to Father as well," Sansa said quietly. "If that would help?"

She shook her head. "My thanks, but no. I will have to see what is decided for me."

There was a moment of silent looks and then the others nodded and then they all went back to their embroidery. After a long moment she looked up. "Where is Septa Mordane again?"

Sansa looked a bit flinty at this. "According to Mother she's having a crisis of faith."

She paused and looked blankly at the others. "What does that mean exactly?"

"I'm not sure," Sansa replied, "But Father's nostrils flare every time the Septa's name is mentioned. And that's never a good thing."

Kevan

Dawn came too early for his liking and he groaned as he sat up and then swung his feet around to meet the rug by his bed. The room was not a large one, but then Castle Cerwyn was not exactly a huge hold.

They had arrived the previous day, just a bit too late to keep going for Winterfell. It was just as well, because he was feeling his years. It had been a long time since he had been pushed this hard. The days after the burning of Lannisport by the Ironborn perhaps, or the ride to King's Landing at the end of Robert's Rebellion. Even Tywin looked a bit worn down.

The trip had unnerved him still further. The Kingsroad was well maintained – and it needed to be given the traffic heading North. Not a continuous stream, but a steady flow of men and women heading North and South, going to and from the Wall.

Their arrival at Castle Cerwyn had seen the usual nervousness on his part about what messages they might find there – but there had been nothing new from Winterfell, thank the Seven.

Lord Medger Cerwyn had greeted them at the main gates with bread, salt and wine, along with a very keen-eyed squint at Tywin. "Lord Lannister, be welcome to Castle Cerwyn. Word of your arrival has already been sent to Winterfell."

Tywin had nodded, murmured the appropriate words of response, sprinkled, eaten and drunk the offerings and then dismissed his men with a tilt of the chin before disappearing off to Lord Cerwyn's solar.

Kevan had liaised with the steward of the castle about the men, sunk himself into the nearest hot bath, eaten a meal, had some wine that he sorely needed and then thrown himself into bed.

And now it was dawn and he had to get up and break his fast. As he reached the entrance to the hall he saw that Lord Cerwyn was there, talking to his son quietly. As he approached and nodded in recognition the older man dismissed his son and then joined him.

"Your brother is a man of very few words," Lord Cerwyn said drily. "As I expected from the ravens of late." He looked at Kevan and he could tell that further words of sympathy were unsaid. Which was good. Too many more words and he might fly apart into a thousand pieces, given his rage and grief.

"Aye," Kevan replied eventually. "How long do you think to Winterfell?"

"Half a day," came the reply. "It depends on how hard you ride."

"My brother is impatient to get there," he replied wryly. "We have a hard ride ahead."

This seemed to amuse Lord Cerwyn for some reason. "Aye, well, no-one can ride as hard as Ned Stark. I'm still tired from my own ride to and from Castle Black, and I wasn't even in the party that made Ned Stark's great ride south." His face tightened. "Hard truths were said at Castle Black. Cold reality is never easy to face."

He stared at the man. "I'm sorry – what hard truths? Is this about the Call? We ride to Winterfell to find out the truth of the matter."

This time it was Lord Cerwyn's turn to stare at him. "Surely the cages would have told you of that?"

"What cages?"

Lord Medger Cerwyn turned and directed a look of utter astonishment at him. "You have not seen any of the cages that the Night's Watch have been bringing South from the Wall?"

"No – what cages?"

The lord of Castle Cerwyn ran his hands over his face and then harrumphed. "The cages that prove the Call! Fortunately a party of man from the Night's Watch came in late last night. They have a cage. I suggest that you get your brother your leading lords, like that Westerling fellow, and meet me in the hall behind me."

"I don't understand."

"You'll find out why Ned Stark allowed a hundred thousand Wildlings through the Wall to settle in the Gift and the New Gift this Winter. Get your brother Ser Kevan."

Lord Cerwyn vanished into the hall and Kevan stared at his retreating back for a moment, before turning on his heel and then walking back into the courtyard, which was starting to fill up with Lannister men, most of them yawning. Tywin was one of them, already dressed in his riding leathers and looking flinty.

"There you are," Tywin grated, "We need to be on the road as soon as possible."

"Cerwyn wants a word – he says it's important."

"Doubtless he does," Tywin replied, his nostrils flaring as he pulled his riding gloves on. "I'm not interested in what he has to say however. Let us leave."

"He talked of cages that prove the Call. And then he said that Ned Stark has allowed a hundred thousand wildlings into the Gifts, based on presumably these cages."

Tywin switched his gaze from his gloves to Kevan. "What cages?"

"He said that there is one in the hall and we should see it."

"He also said that Ned Stark allowed in a hundred thousand Wildlings, did he? Really? Nonsense. There cannot be even a quarter, no, a tenth of that number North of the Wall. The place is a desolate hellhole of ice and snow."

"And yet he says to come and see."

Tywin looked at him for a long moment. "Are you saying that I should come?"

"Not me. He is. But I think that you should. We should. The man looks… intent."

There was a long pause as Tywin openly mulled all of this. And then he pulled his riding gloves off reluctantly and tucked them into his belt. "Very well," he snarled. "But this had better be worth it." He turned to one side. "Westerling! Join me."

Lord Westerling appeared to one side, chewing on a piece of bread. "What's amiss?"

"Our host has a 'cage' of some kind from the Wall that he wishes us to see. We will go, look for a heartbeat, and then leave this place. Winterfell calls."

Tywin stamped off with his nostrils flared and therefore missed the look on Westerling's face as the bread all but fell from his hand, before he gathered himself and walked after Tywin. Kevan frowned and caught up with the man.

"What's wrong?"

"My son wrote to me that he had seen something in a cage that he could not explain, something that I would have to see for myself. He said that it would change me, as it had changed him." He looked at Kevan and something cold went up and down his spine for a moment due to the look in the man's eyes. "His handwriting was shaky when it came to those words."

Dread pooled in his stomach and he strode on, into the hall. Ahead he could see Lord Cerwyn, taking to two men dressed in black. On the table to one side there was a shrouded shape that looked squarish.

Tywin came to a halt in front of the table. "Lord Cerwyn," he said shortly. "You wish me to see something?"

The Northman looked at Tywin with a certain something in his eyes and after a moment he looked at one of the men of the Night's Watch and raised an eyebrow.

The older man in black stepped forwards, nodded a half-bow, and then looked at them all. "Alik Snow, my Lords, of the Night's Watch. Newly come from the Shadow Tower with a cage that was found there, with, erm, new contents."

Tywin glowered at the man. "What 'contents', man?"

Snow stepped back from the table. "Best that you see it for yourself, my Lord. We have been told that when men who have not seen a cage ask about them, they must discover the truth for themselves."

There was a pause whilst Tywin flared his nostrils again for a long moment, before he finally stepped forwards. "Very well," he all but snarled. "Let us get this mummery over with." He reached out and snatched the cloth away from the shape, to reveal a cage that contained… a head? Whoever's head it was had been a man, with black hair and a scar across his nose and…

Time seemed to stop as the head in the cage suddenly opened very blue eyes and then hissed at them all before gnashing its teeth.

After a long moment Kevan seemed to unfreeze himself from his suddenly rigid posture. "What is this… thing?"

But oddly enough it was Tywin who answered. "The runes on the cage explains it, brother. 'Proof of wight', or close enough to that." He looked at Snow. "This is real?"

The man of the Night's Watch spread his hands. "You may pick it up to see for yourself, Lord Lannister. It is no trick. No mummery."

To be fair he could not but admire his brother's nerve as he reached out with hands that did not shake to pick up the cage and then jiggle it about so that the head bounced about enough to see the white of the severed spine at the base of the skull. Then he replaced it on the table. "I see." The words were said flatly. And then: "You have my thanks Snow. And you Lord Cerwyn."

Tywin pulled his riding gauntlets from his belt and then turned on his heel. "We ride for Winterfell at once," he told Kevan, but there was something in his eyes, just for a moment, that said that he was shaken.

Kevan nodded, still rooted to one place as he stared at the head of what had to be a wight. His mind was whirling like a sycamore seed from the implications. Wights. Wights were real.

After a long moment he turned and walked from the hall. And as he did so he noticed that Gregor Clegane had followed them in and was staring at the head of the wight with a look that almost amounted to… fear?

Daenerys

According to the songs and legends the great heroes and heroines of yesteryear would roll themselves up in their blankets at night, put their heads on the grass and slept easily.

Given the aches and pains she had on waking up that morning, the songs and legends were nothing but a load of tosh, as old Ser Willem would have said.

She looked out over the rolling hills of Andalos and sighed a little before wincing as something in her neck complained. Well, perhaps the ride today would somehow get the kinks out. That's all they had been doing for some days now. Just… riding. North into Andalos.

It was quite beautiful, in a way. Andalos. The place where the Andals had come from. It was just so… hilly. And empty. Mile after mile of nothing. Apart from the hummocks. The hummocks disturbed her. According to Lord Varys they were the remains of buildings. Farmhouses and other places long since fallen into less than rubble.

The Andals were gone from here. Or rather, almost gone. They had passed through a small village yesterday, which had been a strange experience. Varys had made her pull her hood up before they had reached it.

"Memories of the Valyrians run deep here," Varys had told her. "And of other, darker things."

He had said nothing more and had dealt with the negotiations in the village for more food. From what she had heard the villagers spoke the common tongue, but with archaisms. A lot of 'thee' and 'thou'. And they had stared at her with deep suspicion.

"Few pass through this area," Varys had told her afterwards. "Pentos claims this area, but does nothing with it. So few know what's out here. Illyrio and I were the first in years to start asking questions about it. The people there know me, which is why I did all the talking back there."

She yawned tiredly and then pulled her robes closer around her before walking over to where Varys was talking to the senior Unsullied guard, a tall grey-eyed man called Black Rat. There were twenty of the Unsullied with them, those that apparently Illyrio Mopatis had left to Varys in his will, although from what he had said there might be others somewhere.

"How are you today my dear?" Varys asked. His head and cheeks were freshly shaven and she wondered just why he needed to keep himself so trim. That and where he had gotten the hot water.

"I am still not used to sleeping on the ground," she replied with a yawn. "And I could do with a bath. But you warned me of those things and I am fine otherwise."

Varys smiled briefly and then nodded at Black Rat, who stamped, turned on his heel and left, bellowing orders as he left. A servant approached and handed over platters of ham and bread, along with a flask of what must be well-watered wine and Varys waved her to a pair of camp stools as they broke their fast.

"We will be at our destination by noon," Varys told her. "And there will be ample chance there to rest and bathe. Illyrio liked his luxuries and Bolthole is well equipped and provisioned."

This was the first time that he had told her where they were headed for and she raised her eyebrows at him. "Bolthole?"

Lord Varys smiled at her briefly. "Illyrio was always a man with a plan. And then a backup plan in case anything happened. And then a backup plan in case the backup plan went wrong. Bolthole is aptly named. It was his fallback position in case of disaster at Pentos."

She thought about that and then nodded. "Such as Pentos being attacked?" The memory of seeing that black and greasy smoke on the horizon was a dark one.

"Just so my dear. And Illyrio built it in a place where not even Andals will go."

She paused and stared at him. "I don't understand."

Varys smiled slightly at her as he ate the last of his bread and ham and then swigged from the flask. "You will. I will explain as we go."

That explanation did not come for a while. Once again they all saddled up, once again she fed her dragons and made sure that they were alright before mounting her own horse and once again they set out into the hilly terrain. Here and there she saw a herd of what looked like wild cows, and once again here and there she saw the hummocks.

As the Sun climbed high and higher in the sky and they rode down what might have been the remains of an old road that had been abandoned long before she finally found Varys riding next to her.

"Do you see those… low rises on the horizon?" Varys asked.

She peered at where he was pointing to, westwards. "I do. By the mound?"

"Aye. That's the remains of what was once the largest town in Andalos. All gone now, thousands of years ago. Nothing but low shapes on the horizon. But the mound… You know your history, my Lady? Of the Andals?"

"I think I do," she said cautiously. "But now that I have seen this place I am not as sure as I was. This land is very empty. Why?"

"Oh, many reasons. A lack of settlers for one. But also because the Andals that remain here… remember. They remember dread. And the mound is a reminder. They avoid this place, just as there are certain words that the few inhabitants here… avoid. One is 'Stark'."

She frowned. "I thought that Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf, only raided the shore of Andalos?"

"Oh, he did more than that. A fascinating subject, history." Lord Varys smiled a very odd little smile. "Full of doors opening and shutting, closing off some things that might have been. Oh, what might have been." He seemed to catch himself after a moment and then refocus. "Anyway, there were always things about the Andal Invasion of Westeros, and the North's reaction to it that always puzzled me. Why the North was so defensive at first, before attacking Andalos in the way that it did."

She frowned. "Their friends to the south were being invaded, why would they not attack?"

"Yes, but they were armed with bronze whilst the Andals had iron! And then I realized something. Theon Stark was a man driven to defend his homeland. A man driven by war, a man who knew that you needed every advantage in war. I researched the history of the time. The North dealt with the Andal attacks on its shores not with bronze swords at times, but with flights of arrows. And there are references to prisoners. It makes sense – how else could they have divined the secret of iron, other than from Andal prisoners?"

She thought about that and then pulled a face. "You think that…"

"They tortured people for the secret of iron? Of course. Theon Stark was a man seeking to protect his people, to pass on what he could to his son. I imagine that torture was the first thing that came to mind. And then he needed time. Time to find deposits of iron in the North, to mine it, refine it, work it… and then use it."

Varys looked around at the hills around them. "The histories are wrong, you see. He didn't just raid the shores of Andalos. Oh, so many had left, before then, driven by the thought of plunder and free land, by the fact that the Valyrians were coming, that others wanted to raid other places, and so on. No, Theon Stark came to drive a knife into the heart of Andalos. He went beyond the coast to there – the place where the First Sept stood. By that mound."

She looked at the mound on the horizon. "What is that mound, Lord Varys?"

"When the Hungry Wolf came to Adalos he had his men kill everyone they found. Men. Women. Children. And then he had his men behead the bodies. The mound… that is where they left the heads. And they left, back to the North."

She stared at him – and then back at the mound on the horizon. "But…"

"Oh, they also covered it with sod and grass, and the mound had settled due to, well, rot, but yes. It's 70 feet tall and 300 long. Imagine the numbers. And that is why the local Andals avoid the place. And why the name Theon Stark is a curseword here." He looked ahead of them and then smiled as a long low farmstead cane into view. "Bolthole. We are here."

Tyrion

"Will everything have to have fur on it at the Wall?" Jaime asked as he held up the black cloak with its fur at the collar and peered at it.

"Not everything," Tyrion said with a smile that he did not entirely feel inside. It was earlier in the morning than he was normally awake at, but Jaime was leaving for the Wall with the latest party, and he had no intention of missing a moment of his brother's remaining time in Winterfell. "Smallclothes with fur is a bad idea. Too sweaty."

Something that might have been almost a smile flashed over his brother's tired, drawn, face. He still looked as if he hadn't been getting nearly enough sleep. Not that Tyrion blamed him. He had been discussing the implications of everything with Uncle Gerion, which were horrific enough for their family, plus Father was due sometime today. Jaime wanted to avoid Father.

He held out a fat envelope. "Here."

"What's this?" Jaime frowned as he took it.

"Everything I could remember about the Wall. What it's like, what the people are like, what the temperature is like… everything I could think of from my time there."

This time the smile was a little more long-lasting, if considerably more wry. "Thank you," Jaime sighed eventually. "You're a better brother than I deserve."

"Pish-posh," Tyrion replied with a wave of his hand. "It's the least I can do. Besides, you're supposed to be impressed by my heroics at the Wall."

Jaime tilted his head and look at him. "This is me, Tyrion. You only use the words 'pish-posh' when you're trying to hide the fact that you are upset."

He sighed. "I just… I don't know when we'll meet next." But then he glared at Jaime. "But we will meet again, so don't go getting all maudlin on me! This war that is coming at the Wall… Robert Baratheon is right, it is the great war and it is here."

That ghost of a smile came and went again. "We're Lannisters. We don't do maudlin, brother. We snark at each other and then slap each other on the back." He looked at the cloak again. "Maybe you're right though. We will meet again. Perhaps you'll be married by then?"

He felt himself turn slightly pink. "More than likely."

"Tyrion, there's something you need to know. About-" But he was interrupted by a scuff of the boot on a flagstone and they both looked over to see Ser Barristan Selmy approach, with a certain flinty look about the eyes.

"Lord Tyrion," the old Kingsguard said with a nod. "Ser Jaime." He came to a halt before them and then looked Jaime up and down. "You depart for the Wall. Before you go there you should know that a raven came from King's Landing. Lord Arryn wrote that your tale of wildfire has been confirmed."

Jaime's chin came up, but no smile crossed his face. He was too busy staring at Selmy. "What? What else?"

Selmy cleared his throat roughly. "The numbers were worse than you had stated. More than a thousand barrels were hidden beneath the city. 300 alone were in the lowest level of the Red Keep.

Tyrion gaped and felt almost faint for a moment as he did a swift calculation in his head. "That… that many would have been enough to level the Red Keep. Right down to the bedrock. My gods… and were the same number in the other places that Jaime mentioned?"

"Aye. About 250 each under the Great Sept and the Dragonpit, and 50 barrels under each gate. Other caches as well. Enough to destroy the city. You were right to kill Aerys and Rossart."

Jaime's eyes had widened hugely and he swallowed. "I… knew that they had planned such a madness, but the scale… my gods. 300 barrels under the Red Keep? I thought it was half that number!"

"Aye, his Grace the King and the Lord Hand were stunned as well. Messages are being sent to King's Landing." He pulled out a small pouch from where he had been holding it in the folds of his cloak and then tossed it over to Jaime. "Here. Don't open it."

Visibly confused Jaime looked at the pouch. "What is it?"

"The ashes of your white cloak."

Jaime flushed and glared at the pouch. In response Ser Barristan placed both hands on the pommel of his sword. "I have never understood you, Lannister. You joke and jape and make comments that you think are clever, but you can be serious when it is needed. You are a decent swordsman. And you did the right thing when you killed Aerys. You fulfilled your vow as a knight to protect the innocent, saving King's Landing from an insane king. You did what I could not. You became the best of us in that moment, you broke your first oath to a King for the noblest of reasons. And then you broke your second oath to a King for the basest, most carnal, of reasons."

The old Kingsguard stepped forwards. "Ser Davos Seaworth wears his knucklebones in such a pouch to remind him of what he has. Wear that pouch as a memory of what you once were, the greatest of us all before you fell. Try and become such a man again. The Wall shows the true metal of a man. We'll have to see what emerges." And with those words he strode off again.

Jaime stared at his retreating back and then looked at the pouch again with some distaste. "Well," he said eventually, "I suppose I should be grateful that he didn't smear my face with the ashes."

"Don't lose that pouch though." They both jumped slightly and then turned to look at Uncle Gerion, who had been watching the whole thing to one side. "It's important."

Tyrion looked at his uncle carefully. He seemed very serious. "Why? It's just ashes?"

Uncle Gerion strode forwards and looked at Jaime intently, laying a hand on his right shoulder. "Because Selmy is right. You need to show what you're made of at the Wall. Don't throw that pouch away – I can see that you want to, I see it in your eyes, nephew. You need to keep it. Seeing it will drive you to change. To be the better man that I know is within you."

"Uncle," Jaime started to say with a slight frown on his face, "I-"

"Jaime, listen to me. Keep that pouch. I had a greendream about this. Nebulous strange things, greendreams, but this one was clearer than some others I have had in the past. You were on a narrow path, with fog on either side. When you kept the pouch you stayed on that path. Without it you wandered away into the fog and were lost."

His brother stared at their uncle, his face pale. "You've changed Uncle Gerion," he said eventually. "You've changed."

Uncle Gerion smiled crookedly – and then he pulled his eyepatch to one side so that they could both see the terrible hole in his face. "I had to change," he said. "I'm not the same man who sailed away to find Brightroar. This changed me, as did other things – look at me Jaime, not at your boots! You need to change now. It's time. We'll meet again at the Wall. Be safe nephew." He replaced the eyepatch, embraced a white-faced Jaime and then strode off in the same direction as Ser Barristan.

There was something of a pause as Tyrion waited for Jaime to recover himself and truth be told to pull himself together a bit. After a while Jaime put the pouch away in his robes, turned to Tyrion – and then sighed as he caught sight of something over his shoulder. "One of my new brothers is standing over there and scowling at me, so it's time to go. I'm sorry that I'm leaving you to deal with Father, but frankly I can't face him."

Tyrion nodded choppily. "I'll take care of Father. And I'll keep an eye on Tommen and Myrcella."

His brother looked sadly at him for a moment. "I'm not their father, Tyrion. I fathered them, but I've never allowed myself to think of them as my children. I couldn't." He took a deep breath, looked at Tyrion as if he was about to say something – and then paused and sighed. "Your lady love approaches. Be safe, brother. Take care." He squatted down a little so that he could hug him and then he walked off, his face creased with lines of care.

Tyrion turned to look at Dacey, who was watching him with a slightly worried look. "Dacey."

"Tyrion." She nodded at Jaime's departing figure. "Cat told me that he leaves for the Wall this morning. Are you alright?"

"No," he muttered, squinting at his feet for a moment and then looking back up again. "I will be though, with time." And then something occurred to him. "I have talked to Ned Stark, as you suggested, after you talked to him as well, but I have just realized that I have not asked you the most important question of all. Will you be my wife, Dacey Surestone? I have very little to offer you, save my heart, but I love you."

"And I love you. Of course I will be your wife," she smiled as she leant down and kissed him on the lips. "Was there ever any doubt with that?"

"My father is coming," he muttered as he wondered why her lips had felt like rose petals, "And he might have something to say about that."

She clasped her hands together in front of her and tilted her head slightly. "Then I shall have something to say to him."

And with that they watched as Jaime got into his saddle and then trotted his horse to join a group of men in black at the northernmost gate. His brother turned in his saddle and nodded at him, before they all rode out of the gate. Heading North.

"Ned said that they'll take the old road North of here," Dacey told him quietly. "They won't meet your father."

"Good," Tyrion answered. And then he set his own chin. "There's a lot that my father needs to know."

Robb

Father stalked up and down in front of them all, his eyes hard and uncompromising as he inspected them all. He sniffed a bit as he came to a halt to one side, glared at them all again and then nodded slightly. "Ah, you'll do," he said grudgingly. "Not bad."

He exhaled slightly in relief and swapped a glance with Grey Wind, who looked almost as relieved as he felt. To one side Frostfyre snorted, but if that was in admonishment at Father or at the other direwolves in the room, he wasn't sure. He also noticed that Jon and Theon, as well as their own direwolves, relaxed a little as well. The three of them were all in clothes that rivalled what they wore the day the King arrived.

"Right, now listen to me," Father said, making them all straighten a little. "Tywin Lannister is a proud, prickly, arrogant man who has a mind for intrigue and a very long arm." He eyed Robb for a moment and he nodded a little, remembering that other life for a moment. Father then continued: "And above all he comes after his family has been publicly humiliated. The revelation of his children's incest and treachery will have hit the Old Lion hard – very hard indeed.

"Do not smile at him. Do not make him think that he is a figure of scorn, pity or ridicule. Be as serious as you can around him. Do not give him the slightest reason to complain – and if he is foul-tempered then he might see offence in the smallest of things. So – be wary. Word has come to me that his party contains some rather interesting men. His brother Kevan is with him, which is a good thing – he's a good, solid man. Be careful around him as well though. And there's Ser Gregor Clegane. Yes, Robb, the Mountain is coming. I've warned the servants. I've also warned the Hound."

"The Mountain's coming?" Jon asked, scowling a bit. "Why did he bring him? The man's a monster."

"Aye," Father said, scowling himself. "I remember what he did in the Red Keep. I also remember the reports of the way that he behaves at times, which is why I warned the servants. Your sisters too."

Theon's face twisted a little. "Lord Stark, what do we do if the Mountain does attack someone though, and we witness it?"

"Call for help at once. Scream if you have to. There's no shame in seeking help against a man like that. He's been known for beating women to death after raping them. Be wary of him."

They all nodded. Father swept them all with a gaze and then nodded. "Right. Have any of you seen Bran and the other two members of the Terrible Threesome?"

The other two looked at Robb, who smirked. "I delivered them into the hands of Shireen and told her to keep them out of trouble. The last time we saw them she was organizing them."

Father looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a slightly twitching mouth that spoke of a smothered smile. "Excellent," he said after a while. "I'm proud of you. Bran will sulk mightily, but she'll keep that lot out of trouble. Right – let's get ready."

He swept out, Frostfyre at his side, and the three looked at each other. "Right," Jon said eventually. "So, now we wait. What do we do whilst we wait?"

They ended up just sitting on a bench watching as Winterfell organized itself around them, often thanks to some barked commands from Father. They watched as Arya was chased out of the Godswood by Mother, as Septa Mordane swept past deep in thought and as Maester Luwin scurried about with messages. And they watched as Gendry appeared wearing new clothes and looking as if he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him right there and then.

They looked at the blacksmith as he wandered past them and then looked at each other. "Any word on what the King will do with that one?" Theon asked in a cautious low voice. "I mean, will he legitimize his bastards?"

There was a pause as they all mulled this over. And then a collective shrug. "Father hasn't said anything," Robb admitted. "And the King has to do something. Marry again. Legitimise his bastards. Or stay with Lord Stannis as his heir. But House Baratheon's a bit thin right now. And-"

But he never got a chance to finish what he was about to stay, because all of a sudden there was a shout of "JON STARK!" that made them all jump, just before a furious red-haired figure appeared in a dress. It was Ygritte and she seemed to be extremely angry."

"What?" Jon asked, as bewildered as the rest of them.

"This! This… thing!" She plucked at the dress. "Apparently you mentioned to Mance that my furs had started to smell a bit, so he talked to Lady Stark and she found this fucking thing for me! What the bloody hell is the point of the hole at the bottom! The wind's blowing right up me arse and as for me-"

Jon turned bright red and threw his hands up. "I'm sorry! I never thought that you wouldn't…" He paused. "I thought that you'd seen dresses before?"

"Spearwives do not wear things like this!" She barked at him. "And the breeze around my arse would kill me North of the Wall! I didn't think that there'd be this little to it!"

"Wait, what about your smallclothes?"

She paused, her eyes narrowing. "Nothing like that was delivered."

"It must have! Let me ask Lady Stark for you! There must be more!" And with that he escorted her away, gabbling quite a bit and still red-faced.

Robb and Theon watched them go, both with mouths twitching and the moment that they were out of sight they both dared to look at each other – and then they both howled with laughter, laughing until the tears ran down their faces. And when they heard a faint cry of "I heard that you buggers!" they laughed even harder.

"Gods," Theon giggled eventually. "Do you think that poor bugger has a clue?"

"No," Robb wheezed when he was able to. "That girl has her eye on him! But can you imagine her in charge of a keep?"

"It would never lack for rabbits, she'd always be out with that bow of hers!" And that set them both off for a while again.

When they finally recovered Theon pulled a slight face. "I wonder who Lady Greymist will be?"

"Whoever you want it to be," Robb said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Who knows?"

Theon smiled wryly and peered at his feet. "I like Ros. From Wintertown. But then she's a whore. Might not be the best lady for Castle Greymist, wherever that might be."

"Any thoughts on where you want that castle to be?"

His friend scowled a little. "Aye. The Stony Shore perhaps. You need someone there to keep an eye on those Ironborn buggers. Build a Western fleet for the North. Or a flotilla at least."

He eyed Theon for a long moment. "Aye," he said thickly. "I can't think of anyone better to have there."

The moment was broken by a horn blast from the South gatehouse, a high and clear note. Voices were heard shouting down and up and after a long moment Jory Cassel came into view. "A column of men in red to the South my Lords," he panted. "Riding hard for Winterfell."

He stood quickly. "Their numbers?"

"A hundred of them at least Lord Robb."

"Very well – tell my father Lord Stark and his Grace the King that Tywin Lannister is here." As Jory ran off he exchanged a grim look with Theon. "And now it begins."

Kevan

The moment that the towers of Winterfell appeared on the horizon something seemed to freeze deep in his bowels. The capital of the North, and they were riding in there to see what had happened to his niece and nephew. But there was something else. Was Lancel alright? Had he been harmed? Of course he was alright, of course he was well, this was the North, where Guest Right was inviolate… but there was still the small terrified voice of fatherly fear.

The closer they got the more he could sense the tension amongst the men, including bloody Clegane. Apart from Tywin that is. He was riding with his usual stony face. But he knew his brother and he could see the signs of tension here and there – the set of an eyebrow, the lines on either side of his mouth. He knew that Tywin was strained.

As they approached the gatehouse that the road led to he could feel the eyes on them all. He could also see that Wintertown, the so-called temporary town by Winterfell, was being worked on by large numbers of men and women, whilst what looked like barley and oats were being grown in the fields everywhere.

The banner of House Stark seemed to be flying everywhere, but it was the largest flag flying from the highest tower that made him wince a little. It was the Baratheon stag, showing that the King was in residence. And nowhere was the Baratheon-Lannister flag that Cersei always insisted on.

Approaching the main gate he could see that there was a head on a spike above it and his stomach roiled for a moment as he peered up at it. Tywin did the same, but it was the head of an unknown man who seemed to have been scorched somehow.

Through the gate they rode, and inside the first courtyard, where he could see large numbers of men bearing the colours of Houses Stark and Baratheon. And first amongst them were Lord Eddard Stark, who was standing there with some kind of mace at his hip and his Grace the King, Robert Baratheon – and he stared at the man.

He had been in King's Landing the previous year on Tywin's business, and he had been quietly contemptuous at how Baratheon had let himself go, becoming fat and lazy. But the man in front of him was not that man. No, this was the Robert Baratheon of Pyke again, almost the Demon of the Trident. Tyrion had written that the man had been driving himself hard of late. Well, this was the truth of it.

Stannis Baratheon was next to his brother, the hand pin prominent in his jerkin, and he could see Catelyn Stark and what must have been the Stark children next to her. One looked remarkably like Ned Stark and another looked like a Tully, so based on what he had read of the Starks one must be the bastard and the other the heir. Both were looking at Tywin warily, although there was something about the eyes of the heir that made him pause. As he dismounted and joined Tywin and the others in bending the knee to the King he flashed a quick look at the crowd and to his relief he could see Lancel standing there, very much alive and unharmed. The little voice of fear shriveled and died.

"Rise, Lord Lannister," the King rumbled and as he rose he could see that Ser Barristan Selmy was behind him, clutching a large and ancient sword. "Be welcome to Winterfell." His voice was as powerful as ever, but there was something else. Anger?

Stark stepped forwards, one hand on the head of that mace, and then waved a hand at some servants, who strode forwards with bread, wing and salt. "Welcome to Winterfell, Lord Lannister," said Stark. "Welcome to the North."

Tywin partook on behalf of them all and then turned to the King. "Your Grace, word reached on our way here of certain… events here at Winterfell. We must talk of them before anything else."

"Agreed," the King rumbled. There was something in his voice that he just couldn't put his finger on – was it angry anticipation? "Lord Stark foresaw this and has offered the use of his solar. We'll go there now."

As the King, his Hand and Lord Stark strode off towards a doorway Tywin glanced at Kevan and grunted just one word over his shoulder before joining them: "Come." He nodded back but then quickly walked over to Lancel, who met him halfway. They embraced quickly.

"You're alright?" Kevan asked, looking hi m up and down. "Not-" he looked around quickly at the milling crowd as they helped the Lannister men to dismount. "Not mistreated?"

Lancel shook his head, blond hair flying. "No, Father. Not at all. It's been difficult but Uncle Gerion has been keeping everyone informed as to what was happening. Under control as well. It's so good to see you though."

He smiled, stealing a glance at the doorway through which Tywin was stepping. He'd have to scurry to join them. "Good, I was worried. And-" It was then that the words that his son had said hit him. "Wait… 'Uncle Gerion'?"

"Yes, Father."

"Lancel, your Uncle Gerion died years ago."

"People keep saying that," said a very familiar voice behind him. "But I got better."

He turned on his heel and then felt his eyes widen a very great deal. Gerion. It was Gerion. He had an eyepatch and was thinner, and there were lines on his face and traces of grey at his temples that had not been there before, but it was Gerion. "Good gods," he said faintly. "Gerion."

"Kevan," his brother said with a quirked smile. Then he looked him up and down. "You got fat."

"Gerion. I…" He had no words.

"Gods, brother, don't tell me that you're going to faint like Tyrion did when he first saw me."

He shook his head and then strode up to his brother and hugged him. "Damn it Gerion," he choked out, "We all thought you were dead."

Gerion hugged him back for a long moment and then broke away and held him at arm's length. "I'm hard to kill. And it's all a long story. I'm sorry I wasn't here to stand by the King and see Tywin's face when you rode in, but I had to send a letter. Allarion!" This shout brought up a young man with rather darker skin, but the undoubted look of a Lannister. Gerion laid a hand on the lad's shoulder. "Your mother has written. You have twin brothers. She has named them Tytos and Tyrek."

What looked like tension left Allarion's shoulders and he closed his eyes and nodded, before looking at Kevan. "Ser Kevan, I am Allarion. Your nephew."

He looked at his new nephew for a long moment, taking in his looks, his expression of carefully hidden shyness. "I am glad to meet you, nephew," he said warmly. And then he recalled where he was. "Your pardon, I must get to Lord Stark's solar at once."

"I will take you there – I am due there too," Gerion smiled as he clapped a hand on Kevan's shoulder. "Now, I will bet you a silver stag that Tywin's first words on seeing me will be a simple statement that I am still alive, followed by him asking if I found Brightroar."

He pulled a slight face. "Mayhaps. Did you?"

Gerion's smile faltered for a moment. "It's a long story."

He nodded and started to walk towards the doorway. And then he remembered what was just as important. "Cersei and Jaime – where are they?"

Gerion's smile vanished. "Both alive," he said grimly. "But she's in a guarded room here in Winterfell and Jaime's head for the Wall. He's a man of the Night's Watch now, Kevan."

The doorway loomed ahead. "Gerion – what happened?"

His brother faltered slightly as they passed through it. "Foolishness, selfishness and stupidity, the like of which I have never seen. The King will tell you and Tywin what happened." A sigh. "We Lannisters will be facing the implications of this for years afterwards. For years."

Ned

His father had laid down some Arbor Gold years before the Rebellion. At Harrenhall Brandon had joked that as soon as he became Lord of the North he'd drink it all. After Ned had become the Lord of the North he had barely touched any of it.

Now, however, it was time to use it and he poured out four goblets of it and then handed one to Robert, one to Stannis and the other to Tywin Lannister, who was looking about the solar with carefully hidden interest – particularly in the map.

"My apologies, your Grace, Lord Stark, I thought that my brother was following me more closely than it seems that he was."

Heh. Gerion had been talking to Luwin about something, so he hadn't been in the courtyard when his brothers had arrived. Well, now he was very likely going to see it close-up.

There was a knock on the door and Ser Barristan entered. "Your pardon your Grace but – she's back Lord Stark."

Robert raised an eyebrow took a sip of wine which hid the amused tilt to his lips. Then he looked at the wine, raised the other eyebrow and nodded at Ned in appreciation. "A fine wine Ned."

The door opened fully and Frostfyre padded through and went to Ned's side, where she then stared at the Lord of the Westerlands. He had to give the Old Lion his due, he barely reacted to the sight of the huge creature. Instead Lord Lannister merely nodded slightly. "An impressive beast. Tyrion wrote to say that you had acquired a direwolf."

He nodded – and then the door opened again to reveal a somewhat white-faced Kevan Lannister. He at least stopped and stared at the sight of Frostfyre, until he was apparently poked in the back by Gerion Lannister, who stepped into the room, closed the door firmly and then nodded at his oldest brother. "Tywin."

There was a pause as Tywin Lannister stared at his brother, his eyes just a bit wider than they had been, one hand frozen in mid-air in front of him – and then the hand closed, the eyes narrowed a little and he leant back and took a sip of the wine that Ned had poured for him. "Gerion. Still alive I see. Did you find Brightroar?"

Gerion smiled and extended a hand in the general direction of Kevan, who scowled and dug into a pocket to place a coin into that hand. "I bet Kevan a silver stag that one of the first things you asked me would be about Brightroar. We shall talk of it later. I have it. And…" He flipped the eyepatch up to show the terrible hole in his face. "What it cost me." The eyepatch was flipped down and then Gerion sat firmly down in a chair and with a nod and a smile accepted the goblet of wine that Ned had poured for him.

There was another pause as Tywin Lannister stared hard at his brother – and then the moment passed as he looked at Robert. "Your Grace. I have come to Winterfell to ascertain the truth of this 'Call' that has roiled across the land. But on the way word reached me of certain… allegations about my son and daughter. Your Grace, I must ask this question first – where are Jaime and Cersei?"

Robert's nostrils flared a bit. "You deserve to hear this from me first Lord Lannister. Cersei is in a room here in Winterfell under guard. She is no longer my wife, I have annulled the marriage due to her… behaviour, to put it politely, with her own brother. Behaviour that amounts to treason. As for Jaime, he is on his way to the Wall, where he will join his new brothers of the Night's Watch. He has sworn his vow, joined the Order and left this morning."

Tywin Lannister's own nostrils flared for a moment as his knuckles whitened around his goblet for a moment, but he seemed to ignore Kevan Lannister's groan of dismay. He opened his mouth for a moment – and then he closed it and seemed to gather his thoughts before starting again. "I take it that the accusation of incest that has been made against them is a real one?"

"Both accusation and proof were real," Robert said in a voice like thunder. "I wish with all my heart that they were not, but they were seen engaging in open fornication by my Hand Lord Baratheon. Lord Stark and Ser Barristan Selmy, as well as others."

The knuckles whitened again around the goblet. "There could be no chance of… misinterpretation?"

"None," Stannis said in a voice like iron. "They were both naked, he was inside her and she had her legs wrapped around him."

Kevan gave a groaning sigh again, whilst Tywin's lips thinned for a heartbeat into near invisibility. "I see," he said eventually. "And… I understand the annulment. May I ask about the circumstances in which they were discovered?"

And here was the dangerous ground. He leant forwards slightly. "Jaime Lannister was observed beforehand acting in a highly suspicious manner, taking bedclothes to an unoccupied room in the Broken Tower. Given the nature of the vows of the Kingsguard this was peculiar. When his sister joined him, this was beyond peculiar. A party was formed and they were discovered in the act of incest."

Tywin Lannister's left eyebrow twitched upwards for a moment. "And what of the children?"

Robert pulled a face. "They are his," he said heavily. "I wish that it was not so, but it is true. They are his."

"Says who?" Tywin snapped. "What proof is there?"

"His own word," Stannis snapped back. "Your son Jaime wrote a full confession, recounting his actions. His crimes." He handed a scroll over to Robert, who seemed to weigh it in his hands for a moment.

"Lord Lannister, he did not write this under duress," Robert rumbled after a moment. "He wrote this of his own free will. He was not tortured into it. And he was allowed to join the Night's Watch for two reasons. The first was his free confession. And the second was more… complicated."

"You and I and Ser Kevan there and every man of the armies that we led into King's Landing on the day of the death of Aerys Targaryen owe their lives to your son," Ned said hoarsely. "Because Jaime admitted the true reason why he killed the last Targaryen king. He did not do it to please you, or to curry favour with what were then the rebels, but to save the city."

The Old Lion's forehead creased slightly. "I don't understand."

"Tywin," said Gerion gently, "Did you not ever wonder why Aerys chose Rossart to be his last Hand? The Chief Pyromancer?"

Tywin Lannister froze in place ever so slightly. "Tell me." The words were utterly flat in their inflexion.

"He had Rossart brew a lake of wildfire," Robert sighed as he leant back in his own chair and stared at the fire. "And he was going to have Rossart ignite it when my army entered the capital. Probably thought that the explosion would turn him into a dragon or some such lunacy." He turned his gaze from the fire to Tywin Lannister. "Your son discovered this plot and killed Aerys the moment that he gave Rossart the order to carry it out. He saved a lot of lives. The whole city in fact."

Tywin Lannister sat there and seemed to absorb that, before leaning forwards a little and running a hand over his forehead for an instant. "I see," he said. "Why was this not made known?"

"Because the bloody fool did not tell anyone!" Robert muttered. "Fair enough, he thought it would cause a panic. Which it would. But then he kept silent about it because he thought that the wretched stuff would degrade."

Tywin's eyes seemed to slam shut for an instant and then re-open. "But it does not," he said after a long moment and Ned had the feeling that he was clinging onto his self-control. "Wildfire matures and strengthens with time. And also becomes more… easily… ignited." His voice ground to a halt. And then he seemed to come to life again. "Is it still there?"

"Word came from King's Landing this morning, by raven," Stannis said, passing over a message scroll. "It's still there. Hundreds of barrels of the stuff under the Red Keep, the Great Sept, the Dragonpit, the Street of Steel and many other locations. At least 50 barrels under each gate. Lord Arryn writes that they are trying to remove it with the greatest of care."

The message scroll shook slightly as Tywin read it. And then he carefully handed it over to the white-faced Kevan, before asking, in a voice of deadly calm: "My son's confession if you please your Grace?"

Robert handed the scroll over and then they all watched as Tywin Lannister opened it up and started to read. As he read it his nostrils flared once, twice, and then three times, and then his eyes seemed to blaze for a long moment – before dulling into embers. As he came to the end he looked, just for a fleeting moment, like an old and beaten man. Just for a flash. And then he seemed to come to life again.

"I see," the Lord of the Westerlands said in a hard voice. "So – my grandchildren are now Hills are they?"

"They are," Robert rumbled. "It gives me no pleasure again, to say so, but they are. And I must tell you that Joffrey is in a cell. The bloody fool got drunk and decided that one way to impress you was to try and stab Ned's heir in the back with a Valyrian steel dagger. Fortunately for him he utterly failed, as otherwise his head would have been on a spike over the bloody gatehouse. Fear not about the others, they are good children and are being treated with all due courtesy. But they are all bastards now."

Tywin absorbed this with a nod and a slight wince. And then he seemed to rally a moment. "There is no doubt at all about that?"

"None," said Stannis in a voice that spoke of utter certainty. "They are all pure Lannister. There is not a single Baratheon trait amongst them. No black hair, no blue eyes, no second toe being longer than the first."

"By chance three of my bastards are also in Winterfell," Robert said, his eyes now hard. "And they all resemble me. Black hair, blue eyes, second toe. But Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella – not a single trait. Not a bloody one, Tywin, not a bloody one. One I might be able to accept, but all three?"

The longest pause of all followed, as Tywin Lannister seemed to have a quiet internal battle for a while as he then reread the confession. "Your Grace," he said eventually in a voice that combined many emotions, "I need to talk to my daughter."

"Talk to your other son first," Robert said in a hard voice. "Because he's got something more important to tell you."

"What, your Grace?"

Robert set his face into an expression of total resolve. "The Others are coming for us all and the Call is true."