Sorry for the delay on this. 12 days ago my wife had surgery on her heel to remove a bone spur and life since then has been a little hectic.

Perestan

He drummed his fingers on the ledge of the window that he was staring out of. The Hightower stood there in the harbour, tall and proud and… baffling. The Gate annoyed him. He had been there with Marwyn and Ebrose, he'd seen the spot where the Septon had… Died? Twice?

He'd felt the terror from that… thing. The Gate. He'd heard the sounds. The pounding. What was it? Who was it? They suspected who know, but they didn't know. The Drowned God? Had Lord Tyrell, somehow drained and emaciated as he lay there dying, been right about what lay beyond the gate?

A door opened to one side and Ebrose walked in tiredly and then sat heavily down on a chair before peering at him. "You seem unsettled."

"That bloody gate." He spat the last word bitterly. "I want to know what it is. I want to see what it's made from, I want to know what that noise is, I want to read those runes properly. But the closer I get to it the more I want to piss myself." A bitter smile crossed his face. "I imagine that Marwyn's language is even worse."

Ebrose chuckled wryly. "Oh, far worse." He turned his gaze from the window to Perestan. "Young Tarly is running around a great deal on this matter. Consulting books, returning them to the shelves, getting more down… he's a whirlwind of activity. Reminds me of his father at times. He's also neglecting himself. Needs to remember to eat more."

Perestan snorted. "He can afford to miss a few meals."

"There's less of him than there was when he arrived. His cheekbones are threatening to make an appearance. I'm keeping an eye on the boy. I know that his father is not fond of him, due to his unmartial nature, but he would take it amiss if he died of self-neglect."

"You're not the only one. The kitchens are fond of him for his latest idea."

Ebrose peered at him. "What are you talking about?"

"He's had this idea of a simple foodstuff. Ham and cheese between two pieces of bread. It's easy to make and a lot of the younger Maesters love them. The cooks are torn between affront as such a simple foodstuff and delight at being able to feed so many in the Citadel so cheaply." He smiled slightly. "They call them 'Samswells'. An odd thing, to hear people call for 'a plate of Samwells'."

And for the first time in a few days Ebrose actually laughed. After a moment he sobered a little. "A plate of Samwells. Fame of a sort." He looked at Perestan. "If he solves the riddle he is working on he will have a greater fame,"

Perestan sighed. "He's making better progress than I am. The lad has an eye for the runes. And with every record of the runes that he digs up, he gets closer to the inscription on the Gate. He was right, there are inscriptions near the Isle of Faces, and more in a cave near High Heart. The First Men were allied with the Children of the Forest, or 'those who sing the song of earth', as they called themselves. We know that the First Men could speak their language, Bran the Builder was said to have used what he knew to build the Wall… with magic." He fell silent, his thoughts elsewhere.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Ebrose spoke the very words that he was thinking. "We who seek the truth of the way that the world works suddenly need to comprehend how something as slippery and unreliable as magic 'works'. Gods! It waxes and wanes, it relies on powers that we cannot explain… it makes me want to tear out what remains of my hair. But we must understand it. If Lord Tyrell is right about what his Father said…" He scowled.

"How do you kill a god who is, as the Ironborn say, dead but will not die?" Perestan sighed. "This Fist of Ned Stark's… it must be the Fist of Winter. Another legend made fact by recent events." He snorted. "We might as well rename parts of the Archives the Legendarium! Legends seem to come to life on all sides of us with every day that passes."

A silence fell and he looked over at Ebrose, who seemed to be struggling with something. "What is it?"

"Too much time has passed."

This made no sense. "What do you mean?"

"Too much time has passed." Ebrose made a frustrated gesture with one hand. "I think… I think that the First Men knew that the Others would return, that things like the Gate were vitally important. I think that they must have had a plan, a warning network at the very least, something to act as a tripwire. Signs and portents. But time stifles and kills memories, especially when combined with invasions of people like the Andals."

"Proof of the return of the Others is still-"

"Ravens arrive every day from Maesters who have seen the cages carried by men of the Night's Watch. Cages that contain heads and hands of wights. They'll come to the Citadel soon, it is inevitable. Proof of wights. Therefore, it follows, proof of the Others. Because without one the other cannot exist."

He looked at his feet for a long moment – and then he looked out of the window again at the Hightower. "Everything we thought we knew is being upended."

A grunt came from Ebrose as he stood tiredly. "No. Just… added to. The truth is just… more complex that we had thought." He paused. "I'm peckish. I need a Samwell or two."

Ned

"You're dead." The words came from the lips of Tywin Lannister, who had turned as pale as milk. "You… you're dead. You died at Summerhall. How… how can this be?"

The tall old man looked at him, his mouth working briefly – and then he sighed slightly and strode to the nearest chair, where he quirked an eye at Robert and, on receiving a curt if baffled nod, sat down. And then he shrugged off his cape and rolled up one sleeve – to reveal horrific burn scars on that arm. "I almost died."

Everyone stared at the arm, with the exception of the Blackfish and the odd tall woman who was with him. Brienne of Tarth – the Evenstar's daughter? They were standing next to each other – and then he noticed that both wore similar brooches in the shape of antlers.

The Green Man looked around the room and then sighed heavily. "Very well. It's a tale that I will only tell only the once here, as the memories are dark ones." He paused for a long moment. "It was supposed to be the day that the dragons returned to Westeros. Instead it was the day that dragons of another sort died."

Robert stirred uneasily and the Green Man looked straight at him. "You must let go of your hatred of the Targaryens, Robert Baratheon. They are not a threat to you, not now. And their dragons are important."

His oldest friend went rather red in the face for a long moment, but then nodded choppily – although Ned could not tell if the nod was in acknowledgement or agreement. Stannis also stirred, probably at the way that the Green Man had referred to his brother as merely 'Robert Baratheon'.

"We thought that we were being safe. My King… he was the best of the Targaryens. Aegon the Unlikely. He assembled seven dragons and oh so many of his family. He planned what he thought would be a safe way of hatching the eggs and binding the dragons to the Targaryens. Oh, so much planning. All for naught."

The old man tilted his head to one side, his eyes closed for a long moment. When they opened again there was pain in his gaze. "I always wondered how the fire went out of control. I once thought that it had been a conspiracy in some form, that a Maester had tainted the wildfire somehow. There had always been rumours about how the Maesters had somehow been behind the deaths of the last dragons, especially how pitiful the Last Dragon had been. But from what I know now, it was not the Maesters. A pyromancer wanted to be a bit too helpful, he brewed a batch of wildfire that was hotter than the others. He wanted to help his King. And he doomed him instead.

"The fire went out of control so quickly. All of a sudden there was fire everywhere. People panicked. My King ordered an immediate evacuation and then organised it. I wanted him to lead the people out. But no. He and his son Duncan said they had a duty to get everyone out."

Another sigh came from the old man. "I got the Princess Rhaella out. She was deeply shocked and almost didn't realise that she was in labour at first. I carried her out and as the flames leapt higher and higher to one side I helped her to birth her son then and there on the ground. Rhaegar Targaryen. The moment he opened his eyes and looked at me I knew somehow that fate would not be kind to him. I wrapped him in my white cloak, left him in her arms and then ran back into the burning building."

It was utterly silent in the room as they all looked at the Green Man, who was visibly struggling with dark and bitter memories. "I found him grievously injured, kneeling over the body of his son. My namesake. Duncan the Small. I…" The former Kingsguard visibly struggled for words. "I tried to get to them, I really did. But everything was on fire, even the flagstones in places, the roof above us was starting to collapse and then… Aegon gave me his last command. He said that it was too late for him, that I had to go, now. He told me to run. To leave him with his boy. I didn't want to go, he was more than my King, he was my friend, we had been through so much together, he and I… but he told me to go. He commanded me to go." His face crumpled for a moment, before he ran his hand over his face.

"So I did." He said the words with a flat, almost stark, inflection. "I left my King to die there. Not that it was… well, it hard. In so many ways. The way I had entered was gone – a mass of flame. The roof was starting to go and as I ran to one side I heard a creak and a groan and… then it came down where my King had been and… he was gone.

"I ran through the blazing corridors, choking from the smoke, knowing I had very little time left. I knew of a servants tunnel, where they could bring in wine, and I headed for that, almost getting lost in the chaos and smoke and flames. I had to kick a door down before I could get to it, and it was at least cooler there, but as I ran I realised that my arm was on fire and I tried to beat it out as I ran. I was screaming, I was pulling off my armour… I barely remember any more."

The Green Man clenched his scarred hand as if in remembered pain. "How I beat it out I will never know. All I remember is being outside, in the cool air, up to my knees in the water of the lake near Summerhall, looking at the funeral pyre of my friend and King… and all his hopes."

He fell silent and there was a pause as they all kept looking at him. And then he stirred, and it was as if a spell had been broken. "I wandered after that, here and there. I was half-delirious from pain and loss and grief. I remember passing through villages and trying to help people here and there. The Gods alone know what people thought of me. The Burnt Helper, or something like that. My old life was gone, I knew that somehow, but I did not know what was to come. I think that I must have almost hoped to die. I remember fighting three bandits who had been bothering a small hamlet. I killed their leader with his own broken sword. But something drove me on and eventually I found myself on the banks of the God's Eye, looking at the Isle of Faces. And then a voice to one side said: 'You're late'. And then I met my first Green Man."

He looked at the Blackfish for a moment and seemed to find something amusing. "He told me to get in the bloody boat and the next thing I knew I was being rowed to the Isle by a wizened old man who was spitting nails about something. And there I discovered the Green Men. And I found healing. And now here I am. And here you are. We have a great deal to do. But I imagine you have other questions."

There was a pause. And then Robert stood. "Do we really need the dragons of Daenerys Targaryen?"

"Yes," the Green Man said firmly. "But not perhaps in the way that you might imagine at first. They are more than weapons. They represent something. They are magical – but they are not to be abused. That was the mistake that the Valyrians made. They twisted magic in ways that it is not meant to bend – until it broke."

He stood with not a little creaking of tendons and strode over to the map. "Aha. Your map is accurate." A great finger was placed on Hopemourne. "You know the significance of this place?"

"Hopemourne," Ned said through suddenly dry lips. "The home of the Night King and the Others."

"Home… yes and no. Yes, it is their fortress, but it is more than that. There are ruins there. Old ruins."

"I have seen them," Ned muttered. "The day that the Call was sent out. I had a vision on that day. A vision of Hopemourne. And the Others."

"You were lucky that day," the Green Man rumbled, his eyes keen. "Your ancestors placed protections on the Hearthstone. If they had not then you would be dead now." He looked back at the map and sighed. "Those ruins were not built by men. Nor were they built by the Others. They are old. They were old when the Arm of Dorne was still whole, before the Neck was drowned and when Valyria was nothing more than a few shepherds on a hill. No-one knows who built them."

They all stared at him and he seemed to sigh a little. "The Children of the Forest came to Westeros first. They wandered about the land, they discovered the weirwood trees, they became as one with the air and the land and the water. They carved the first faces on the trees, they learnt to talk to the Old Gods… and they were the first to discover Hopemourne."

His face seemed to harden. "There was something there. In or under the ruins. What it is… the Children do not know. The followers of the Red God say that he battles something called the Great Other, a thing of darkness. Perhaps the thing under Hopemourne is the Great Other. All the Children know is that it is evil. And that it… repelled them, the first time they saw Hopemourne.

"Winter came not long afterwards. And with it came the first of the Others. They were made by whatever lies under Hopemourne. Made in mockery of the Children. The Others are tall where they are short, cold where they are warm, white and blue where they are green and brown. The Children rejoice over a burgeoning bud on a tree. The Others would see it wither. And when the Children returned to look at Hopemourne, to wonder what was there… the first of the Others killed them and drove the others away. And so it remained – the Others protected Hopemourne. The Children stayed away from it. And so everything remained, as finely balanced as a knife on a finger."

"Until something changed?" The words came from Robb, who was watching and listening as intently as Ned was.

"Indeed. Something did indeed change. The First Men came, through the Arm of Dorne. And they discovered the Children. And then war followed. The First Men needed land to plough their crops and feed their herds. They cut down the weirwood trees and killed the Children where they found them. The Children fought back. The Arm of Dorne was smashed. The Neck almost drowned. And then, one day, a man landed on the coast east of Hopemourne and wandered West. He met an Other. Who killed him. And then he discovered that whilst the corpses of the Children stayed dead , the corpses of men… did not."

"The first wight?" Robert asked shrewdly.

"Aye," the Green Man said. "The first wight. And then the balance shifted. As men came North they were killed and turned – and all of a sudden the Others were on the march, using wights to kill Children and the First Men wherever they found them and reanimating the men. That was the start of the Long Night. The Children and the First Men allied with each other, because they had no choice. It was that or death. The Children taught the First Men about magic and the First Men taught the Children about war. And together they fought. They fought the Others. They discovered dragonglass together and together they fought the Others to a standstill. And then they pushed them back, in a rout. Back to the lands that now lie beyond the Wall. Back to Hopemourne."

Another pause and then Ned said the words that had been on his mind for a while. "The Children of the Forest… you have met them? We know that they still exist, Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall, met one who died as it brought in a party of Giants from the other side of the Frostfangs, but are there more out there?"

This seemed to amuse the Green Man. "Oh yes," he said quietly. "They are still out there. They live long lives and they can be slow to have families, but they are out there." He fell silent and his eyes seemed to flicker for an instant in his direction, but it might just have been the light.

"These Others," Tywin Lannister said after a moment. "What do they want? And where have they been – why such a long absence from the world of man?"

The Green Man looked at him. "The first is easy to answer – as I said earlier they desire things to wither and not grow. They want all of Westeros to wither. They would have the land dead, the forests withered and everyone who is not them dead and wighted in a mockery of life. And after Westeros… everywhere else." His gaze seemed to sharpen a little. "You cannot bargain with them, Lord Lannister, you cannot treat with them. You have nothing that they want. They do not care about your life. They merely want you dead.

"As for where they have been… they were defeated grievously at the end of the last war, they lost many of their number and many of the survivors were injured in some manner. You have to remember that they were not born, they were made, they do not heal in the same way that we do – it takes time for them. They slept and regathered their strength. Perhaps they knew that the Long Winter that lies ahead of us was coming? Perhaps they knew that magic was going to sleep for a long time in places? I know not. But they had one advantage. They have something they lacked at the start of the previous war – the Night King."

"Who is he?" Ned asked. "I… saw him in my vision of Hopemourne."

The Green Man turned his gaze to him. "He was a man once. He was the brother of one of the heroes of the last war, one of the greatest of the First Men. He was a Stark. The Others had taken men before, in a bid to try and understand them. They… twisted them. Changed them in terrible ways, but they did not understand them, or realise what they were doing. They made… things that just exist."

Ned felt himself pale as he remembered the things that he had seen in that room with the mockery of a Heart tree.

"And then the Others joined with the thing that exists beneath Hopemourne and they twisted the Stark they had captured into… the Night King. He straddles the gap between the Others and men. He understands us better than they do, but he is still alien in so many ways. And he can do something that the rest of the Others cannot – he can make new Others. If they can get their hands on a human baby boy, just a few weeks old, he can touch that child… and they will grow to become an Other."

There was a shocked silence… and the Old Bear leaned forwards. "There are Wildlings who have been known to give their baby boys up to the Others. One was caught and killed by the Night's Watch a few months ago. Craster, his name was."

"There have always been those who have been desperate enough to worship or try and appease the Others," the Green Man said with a disgusted shake of his head. "It never works, it merely means that they die a little later than their neighbours, but they still die." He looked at Robert again. "Yes, they have been away. They have healed and they have learned and they have refilled their ranks. And they are coming. You should act on the assumption that war will come sooner than you think. And perhaps from a direction you did not expect."

The old man leaned back in his chair, looking a bit tired – and the others looked at each other with growing concern.