Sorry about the delay on this, I've been hugely busy with work recently and I've only just come back from the biggest conference of the year, with a small mountain of work still to do.

Edmure

The arrow thunked into the lower right-hand part of the target and he lowered the bow with a sigh. Gods, he used to be better at this, didn't he? He pulled a slight face, took another arrow out of the quiver by his side, fitted it to the string, drew, squinted, loosed – and saw it hit high and left of where he had aimed at. Shit.

As he drew another arrow out, a voice broke in: "I know a great tavern two miles away, with a barmaid you should meet."

He did not respond, just fitted the arrow, drew the string back, squinted and –

"She's got long black hair, she's pretty and she's got these great big…"

He didn't to look over, he could sense the hand movements. He just kept his irritation at bay, sighted and let fly. The arrow hit the target, about a handswidth away from the bullseye. Hah.

"Patrek, this is more important than barmaids."

His old friend made a horrified noise. "Archery more important than barmaids with great big-"

"I almost got us all killed at High Heart," he snapped, silencing Patrek Mallister. "I was an impulsive fool and I erred. We're going to go to war, Patrek, war against things out of our worst nightmares. And I'm not ready yet. Are you? Is anyone? And I've been a lazy fool, chasing barmaids with big tits. Tully's are supposed to be good archers. Look at that bloody target! One out of three near the bullseye!"

Patrek raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "You'll get better."

"I know I will," he replied. "I have to." He pulled another arrow out it, fitted, drew, squinted, let loose – and it flew straight over the target. Damn it. He was too cross to even aim properly. He let out a breath, breathed in slowly – and then he looked at the nearest flag. There was a breeze. Quite a stiff one. Gods, he was an idiot. He sniffed, picked another arrow, fitted it, drew it, squinted, adjusted for the breeze, loosed – and sent it true and straight into the bullseye. He nodded, pleased.

"Better." He and Patrek both jumped a little and he turned to see that Father was standing in the archway behind him. "You need more practice, but better." Father eyed Patrek sardonically as he hurriedly stood and bowed. "Edmure, walk with me a little."

They strolled in silence for a while as they passed along the bank of one of the rivers that flowed past Riverrun. And then Father cleared his throat. "Stevron Frey arrived this morning. I have just come from him. He has pledged his banners and we have had a long talk. He spoke of his father a great deal."

Edmure smiled slightly. "It could not have been easy to be the son – the leading son amongst so many! – of the Late Lord Frey."

Father smiled himself, probably at the use of his own description of the late and unlamented Walder Frey. "Aye, hard enough. The new Lord Frey spoke of his father's grudges. Some of those grudges were older than I am! Gods, the man was a bitter old fool. He turned minor things into slights, slights into grudges and then insults… fagh! The man could turn a compliment into an insult. I do not like to say it, but we are well rid of him. He had ambitions as well, or so is my guess after talking to Stevron Frey."

"Ambitions?" Edmure asked carefully. Then he thought about it. "Ah. Let me guess – the Lord of the Crossing wanted to be a Lord Paramount?"

"Perhaps," Father said carefully. "But that was Walder Frey and he is now dead. Stevron Frey is a different man. He has bent the knee, so to speak. Spent a lot of his brothers and half-brothers and nephews to the Wall as well."

That was good news indeed, as he remembered his last visit to the Twins and the muttered rudeness that he had endured. "Does that include Black Walder?"

"It does indeed."

Edmure smiled. Oh, this was a good day indeed. "Black Walder in black. There is a certain justice there."

"The new Lord Frey did not follow his father in another way – he did not bring any of his nieces or great-nieces as contenders for your hand."

He sighed a little in relief. Whilst Roslin Frey was a most pretty girl, he had always been afraid that Fat Walda might be sent in his general direction. He might not have survived that. She had once talked to in a corridor of the Twins, whilst getting very animated and almost pressing him against the wall with her bosom.

Patrek had been no help at all and in fact had come close to pissing himself laughing.

"I take it that the ravens are still coming with suggestions of daughters and grand-daughters and sisters for me to marry?"

Father chuckled quietly for a moment, before coughing – a deep, racking cough. Edmure looked at him worriedly. Father was still not a well man. "Aye," Father said eventually. "They are." And then his face changed a little. "One came from Winterfell. Tywin Lannister is there."

He pulled a face. "Is all well?"

"Cat says so. Apparently Jaime Lannister's confession was enough for the Lion of Casterley Rock. Cat also said that there was a good chance that he will name the Imp as his heir."

That made sense, even though he had never thought that he would ever see the Imp as Tywin Lannister's heir. "Interesting," he said eventually, mulling over the possibilities. "He would be a less… intimidating neighbour."

Father stopped and looked at him. "Cat said something else. Apparently the Imp found the ancestral weapon of the Lannisters, an axe called Rocktooth. A weapon of the First Men fit to match the others that have been found, like the Fist of Winter, Stombreaker and Otherbane. She thinks that the sword Dawn, held by Lord Dayne might be another – and the word from the Vale is that the Riverlands once had a shield."

He stared at Father, the words clattering through his head. Then he frowned. "I don't remember any legends of a great shield in the Riverlands."

"Maester Vyman is combing through the records now. He's as excited as he ever gets," Father said dryly as they recommenced their walk. "We need to find it Edmure. It would be a sign of our paramountcy here in the Riverlands. And it would help with this Call."

His scalp prickled a little with the mention of the thing that was roiling the Realm. And then he scowled with thought. "Would the Mudd Kings have had it? Before the coming of the Andals?"

"Perhaps."

"Then it might be at Oldstones."

But Father grimaced. "Oldstones has been stripped over the centuries, there is nothing there of worth. Even the tombs have been robbed."

"Ah," said Edmure, conceding the point. And then a thought occurred to him. "What if the Andals captured it and it was despoiled or destroyed?"

"I do not know," Father said in a troubled voice. "But if the other weapons of the First Men have survived then this shield might have as well. We must look for it."

He nodded, even as a memory prickled at the back of his head. "Wait... Father, I once had a nursemaid who you dismissed because she would tell me tales of the Old Gods and the First Men. And she mentioned once the King who bore the…" He racked his mind. "The Shield of the Rivers? No, it was something else. The Shield of the Trident? Gods, this was years ago."

Father frowned and then pulled a slight face again. "I think I remember her. Your mother wanted you to be strong in the Faith of the Seven, so I might have been a bit overzealous. And I think I recall the tale she mentioned. I will ask Vyman about it. I must talk with you about something else though. I have had a raven from the Foxhold. She is almost ready to travel back to King's Landing. I have thought about this deeply but I am not yet decided on if we should send an escort to assist with her passage there to face justice."

The words were said by a man he barely recognised, who had a face like stone. Gods, he thought, Lysa, how could you? Where did it all go so wrong? What twisted you so amiss?

But Edmure said nothing and merely nodded again – before then looking up as thunder cracked somewhere to the West. Great black clouds were billowing slowly towards them. "A storm is coming," he said, and he knew that he was not speaking of just the clouds. "We'd best get back to the keep."

Robb

The meeting with the Green Man did not go on for too much longer after the revelation that the Others were planning something. Sadly he could not say where or when, just that he knew that they were coming.

It was a shock to know that they were up against an ancient member of House Stark. Who was he? Or rather who had he been? He made a note to look up the records and perhaps to check the older tombs in the crypts, even in the oldest and darkest and coldest section. He didn't like that area, no-one in their right mind did.

And afterwards there had come the surprises. After the Green Man had stood, nodded to the King and left, with a slightly stunned Father and Lord Lannister, after the King had drummed his fingers on the mantelpiece furiously in thought and then left with his brother, then Uncle (well, Great-Uncle really) Brynden laid a hand on his shoulder and directed – not pulled, it was friendlier than that – him to one side. Brienne of Tarth was next to him and he eyed her carefully. He remembered her from the previous life he had lived. The Evenstar's last remaining child, who had witnessed the death of Renly Baratheon and who had sworn herself to Mother after.

"Rob, we need to talk," the Blackfish.

He eyed Uncle Brynden carefully and then looked around. They were alone. "Will here do?"

"It will have to." The Blackfish looked at him with what looked like sympathy. "We both saw a lot on the Isle of Faces. Including your death in that other world that is now lost to us, thank the Gods."

"The Old Gods have touched you," Brienne of Tarth. "Sent you back from a disaster."

He swallowed hard. "You… know that?"

"We saw the moment when you woke up again after being brought back to life. Brought back through time. Brought back with a purpose." The Blackfish smiled crookedly at him. "I'm proud of you Robb. You and Ned – you've done so much. The Call has been heard in so many places. But there's a lot left to do."

He looked at his great uncle and then at the blonde woman next to him. "I know," he sighed. "The King will go to the Wall, and Father to Barrowtown. And Lord Stannis to the Iron Islands. But where should I go next?"

Uncle Brynden narrowed his eyes a little whilst still smiling. "You stay here. There are places in Winterfell that you need to uncover. And you must be the Stark in Winterfell whilst your father is away."

Robb eyed the older man. "Places I need to uncover?"

"You need to talk to the Green Man." Uncle Brynden clapped him on the shoulder and then walked off with his companion. There was definitely something odd about them, some kind of connection almost.

He watched them go and then looked down at Grey Wind. "Well," he said eventually, "It seems I might need your nose. For something."

The direwolf just looked at him. And then he sneezed, shook his head and wandered off. Robb watched him go with a smile, which slowly faded. What had the Blackfish meant?

Catelyn

She had gotten used to the way that the atmosphere in Winterfell had changed over the past months. The Call had shaken the place almost down to its foundations, reminding people about things that they had thought were mere legends. And then the King had come, bringing with him the energy and noise of the Royal Court.

Of course there had been problems. She had expected some of the Court to be snobbish and look down their noses at the North – and Cersei Lannister, may all the Gods rot her black and withered heart, had been exactly like that – but it had not been as bad as she had feared. The Call seemed to have woken the Court up a lot, especially the King.

And now… she looked about the hall as people scurried about to make everything ready for the evening meal. There was something extra in the air tonight. Green Men were about in the North for the first time in centuries and there was a buzz in the air.

She'd asked Father about the Green Men on the Isle of Faces long, long ago, before Edmure had been born, and his answer had been that they were highly mysterious, very old and not to bothered, ever. There had long been a compact about them – a compact that Harren the Black had naturally ignored but had still been some how defeated by. And now there was a group of them here. Including-

"There you are Cat!"

She turned at that familiar voice with a beam of delight and ran to him for one of his hugs. Uncle Brynden had long been a voice of quiet experience that she had listened to just as much as Father. When the two of them agreed on something then it was important. And Tullys had to stick together. Family was family.

As she stepped out of his arms she looked at him and then tilted her head a little, quizzically. Uncle Brynden looked a little different. He seemed more settled, as if that was possible, and unless she missed her guess he was a shade less grizzled since the last time she had seen him. He was dressed in his usual apparel for high table, but he bore a broach that was different, in the shape of an antler. And there something about his eyes that he had not had before, but she could not, for the life of her, put her finger on it.

He looked her up and down with a warm smile on his face – and then he stopped, his eyes narrowed a little, before his smile grew again. "Ah, Cat. You're expecting another little direwolf again?"

She ran her hands over her belly and smiled at him. "I am, Uncle. Oh, but it's good to see you again!"

The smile became a little more wry as his eyes flickered a little. "You too, Cat, you too. Such odd times though."

"The Call?"

He sighed. "The Call." He looked about the hall for a moment and then gestured her to follow him into a room to one side. Once they were both in he closed the door. "Better that there not be anyone to hear this. Aye – I heard the Call at the Bloody Gate." He paused, seeming to wonder what to say next. "Cat, I know about Robb. About how he was brought back. You know, don't you?"

She froze for a moment. "Aye, Uncle Brynden. I know. He told me. Or rather Ned did at first, and then Robb explained further and…" Her words stuttered and died. "And everything that has happened since then has just…" She clasped her hands together.

Her uncle looked at her for a long moment and then nodded slightly. "You heard about Walder bloody Frey dying did you?"

Ah. She thought about the warm feeling of savage joy that had gripped her on the day that the message had come. "Oh yes," she hissed. "And I do not mourn him in the slightest."

The Blackfish nodded with satisfaction. "Nor should you. I was there when he had his apoplexy. He was his usual vile self, insulting everyone around him, doubting everyone and everything, insulting everyone there, even his own kin – and then a man from the Night's Watch walked in and placed a cage on the table in front him. A cage containing the head of a wight. The wizened old bastard pissed himself and had a stroke there and then, pardon my language."

She smiled a little and shook her head as she remembered when the raven had come with that news. Wine had been quietly poured and drunk. And then she looked at her uncle again – and at the broach. "Uncle," she asked hesitantly, "Are you a follower of the Old Gods now?"

He tilted his head back a little and looked at her through slightly hooded eyes. "Let us simply say that I know that they exist," he replied eventually, before sighing. "Cat, you know that I was brought up in the Light of the Seven. But… well, I have seen things, thanks to the Old Gods. I am not the same man that I was, thanks to the Green Man. Neither is Brienne."

Brienne of Tarth. That had been something else to get tongues wagging a bit. Well – not so much in some than others. The Mormonts would doubtless like her a lot, should they meet her. She thought of Robb's tale from that other time, the daughter of the Evenstar who had so obviously loved Renly Baratheon, despite his own… tastes. The woman who had sworn herself to her and then left to try and help to get her daughters back. "I have heard a great deal about her from Robb," she said in answer to the upraised eyebrow of her uncle. "From that other time."

Something unreadable flickered in the eyes of the Blackfish. And then he assessed her. "I hear that the Old Gods have spoken in your presence."

"They have spoken through Ned thrice and Jon once."

"Ah, Jon," said her uncle in a thoughtful voice. "Yes." He looked at her shrewdly and then pulled a slight face. "A talk for another time," he all but whispered. "Family, Duty, Honour." And then he raised his voice again: "So – a banquet! I trust that there's salmon?"

"A large one. The moment I heard that you were in Winterfell I went straight to the kitchens and ordered it myself."

Uncle Brynden clapped his hands with satisfaction and then rubbed them together. "Excellent! With that lemon and dill sauce I like so much?"

"Freshly picked and mixed."

He laughed happily and then extended his arm. She took and then he opened the door and led her back out into the hall, where various people seemed to be awaiting her approval. Tonight was a time for family. And to hold on to precious memories whilst people were still around, because soon people would be leaving again, possibly into danger.