Sorry for the delay on this. I finish my old job tomorrow and start my new job on Monday, so everything's been one mad rush recently.

Barristan

The walls of Winterfell were tall and strong and for some reason there were those runes on them. Once you knew what to look for you could spot them easily. He stared at the walls and at the stone and at the runes and then he cursed himself for being a coward and a fool.

He stole a look at the Godswood of Winterfell. Strange things were happening here, fey powers beyond his ken were being employed. Things were happening that had not been seen or heard of for many centuries, and he had to admit that he was shaken deeply by everything.

And now here he was, standing here by the Godswood, cursing himself again for being a coward and a fool. He put a hand on the pommel of his sword, stared at the walls again, noted yet another rune on a stone, and then stared at his feet for a long moment. When he looked up again he could see that Robb Stark was walking towards him from the Godswood.

"Ser Barristan," the red-headed boy said with a respectful nod. "A good day to you."

"And to you Lord Robb."

"The Green Man would like you to join him in the Godswood."

He started slightly. How had the Green Man known he was out here? Had he been looking out via the trees? What kind of powers did the man have?

Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because Robb Stark smiled slightly. "I caught sight of you when I went into the Godswood to pray and mentioned to him that I had seen you."

Ah. He ran a hand over his chin and chuckled lightly. "My thanks lord Robb." And then he set his jaw a little and strode firmly into the Godswood. He'd been in it before of course, but there was something about this place that still made him just a bit uneasy. It was old. Old in a way that made him aware just how young places like King Landing were.

He found the Green Man sitting on a log and looking at the Heart Tree and that eerie face that someone – or something – had carved into it so long ago. As he came to a halt he sighed a little and then peered at the man who had once been Ser Duncan the Tall. The older man was lost in thought, his eyes almost half-closed.

After a long moment in which Barristan considered clearing his throat to announce his arrival, the Green Man seemed to return from wherever he had been and looked up at him. "Barristan."

He opened his mouth to reply – and then he closed it again as his mind swooped like a drunken swallow. "I do not know what to call you," he blurted out eventually. "I always knew you as Ser Duncan, but are you an anointed knight now? What are you? A knight? A priest? A conduit for the Old Gods?"

The old man nodded and then chuckled a little. "I did wonder why you were fluttering around so much, trying to talk to me and then shying away. I suppose that in a way I am all three. I am just the leader of the Green Men, Barristan. I serve the Old Gods, but I am still me, Barristan."

He nodded choppily and then sighed a little. "What you have gone through…"

"Changed me in ways that I cannot even try to explain. But more of that at a different time perhaps. You have not been trying to talk to me for days now just because you do not know what I am. What do you really want to talk to me about?"

Barristan nodded after a long moment and then looked about for somewhere to sit down, before sitting carefully down on a tussock, his sword held out behind him. He stared at the grass beneath his feet for a long moment, seeing the lush greenery there and the little red-leafed saplings.

"I have been charged by His Grace the King with a single task. To make the Kingsguard…" He wanted to say 'what it was', but he had a feeling that those words were wrong. "To make the Kingsguard more effective." The words still felt wrong.

The Green Man sat there for a long moment and then he ran a hand over his face. "You wish to remake the Kingsguard into what it was when you first joined it?"

He thought about the old Kingsguard, in the days of Aerys – and he found that suddenly he had no words. "I… I do not know. I must remake it somehow and I do not know how. I remember the old days, but… those days were not perhaps what I thought that they were." He hung his head in defeat.

The Green Man stood suddenly and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I understand. The original goal for the Kingsguard was that it would be a sworn band of brothers, a group of the finest swordsmen in all of Westeros." The hand tightened for a moment. "That goal was a noble one. And it died almost from the first days of the Kingsguard. The corruption was there, right from the start.

"Too many nobles realised that a place on the Kingsguard for a brother or a son was a wonderful way to try and influence the King. Not overtly, or directly, but it was always there. And then there were the other ways to corrupt the men themselves. Gold. Power. Other influences. Oh, Criston Cole was always the exception – that man's armour should have been black from corruption – but you and I both know that the Kingsguard was corrupt. It was in my day, even if there were those who did their best to try and hide it. I became the Lord Commander to help my King, who was also my friend. I thought that Gerold Hightower was worthy. I was wrong, as Lyanna Stark found out. Yes, I know what happened. They all betrayed their oaths."

Barristan nodded, despair in his heart. "Then my task is impossible."

"I did not say that. Recognise the problem for what it is. Change the Kingsguard. You have an opportunity that I did not. Members of the Kingsguard were appointed by a queen who betrayed her husband right from the start of their marriage. Change is now inevitable. Dismiss the unworthy and seek out and find others that are worthy. And if someone wants to join the Kingsguard look askance at them and wonder why. Choose the talented but genuinely reluctant. Does the Kingsguard have to be for life? What about a year? Two years? Five years? You can change things."

He thought about what the Green Man had said for a long moment and then he nodded slowly. The despair faded a little and a small amount of hope kindled in his heart. "You… you might be right. I will think on it. Think carefully." He sighed and then shook his head. "I cannot imagine doing what those three fools did on the orders of Rhaegar Targaryen. Cruel madness."

The Green Man walked back to his log and sat down on it. "Arthur Dayne regretted it. Of the three, he was the one who most knew that it was beyond wrong."

He thought of Arthur, his old friend. The man had been deadly with that blade of his, but always ready with a smile and a quip. "Arthur… Truth be told I always wondered about how he was defeated. Lord Stark is a mighty warrior, but Ser Arthur Dayne, with Dawn in his hand, was a bladesman like no other."

"The blade… I will not say betrayed him. T'was the other way around. It rejected him as unworthy. No longer the Sword of the Morning. I can show you if you like."

He peered at the older man in some confusion. "I don't understand."

The Green Man stood again, walked over to the Heart Tree and laid one hand on it, before extending the other at him. "Take my hand."

He swallowed. And then he stood and grasped the scarred hand that was proffered in his direction.

Darkness fell and he fell with it. Down he fell, and he had no idea how far or for how long. But then suddenly there was ground beneath his feet again and then light about him.

The ground was burnt red by the Sun, which was going down in the West. There were mountains and hills all around – where was he? It had to be Dorne, or the border between the Stormlands and Dorne. He looked about wildly. The Green Man was standing to one side, looking up at a half-ruined tower that was nearby. It had a door on it and there was a man sitting on a rock not far from it.

"The Tower of Joy," the Green Man said with utter contempt in his voice. "Or so Rhaegar Targaryen named it after he lost both his honour and his wits. Let us see who guards it." And with that he strode off towards the guard. After a long moment Barristan joined him, noting with interest that their feet did not disturb the red earth.

"Are we really here? They cannot see us?"

"They cannot. Few can. Sometimes those who are touched by the Old Gods, or other powers, can sense our presence when we look into the past, but not enough to see us."

As they drew near the man on the rock his feet faltered a little. Arthur. It was Arthur Dayne. Dawn was at his hip but he did not touch it. His white cloak was smeared with red from the earth, his armour was unpolished in places and there was a look of utter despair on his face.

"What is wrong with him?" Barristan asked eventually, but he knew what the answer would be.

"He knows he is no longer a knight," the Green Man responded, confirming his suspicions. "He knows that he is damned."

He sighed and then nodded as he looked at his long-dead friend. And then he looked up as the door in the tower opened and a familiar figure passed through it. Oswell Whent. He too looked a little shabby, but the look on his face was merely tiredness and resignation.

"Arthur, there's food inside," Whent muttered. "Stew."

"I'm not hungry," Arthur replied tiredly.

"You have to eat."

"Why?"

Whent shook his head in exasperation. "If you do not eat then you will die!"

"That would be a mercy."

Feet scuffed on a lintel and as Barristan looked up Gerold Hightower loomed into view. The White Bull looked as the other two did, tired and a little dirty, but there was a look on his face that Barristan recognised. That look of thundering rectitude that only Gerold Hightower could get away with. "Ser Arthur, you must eat. And then we will spar. You must hone your skills."

Arthur's head drooped a bit as he closed his eyes for a moment. "No," he said eventually. "I must not. I cannot. And I am no Ser. None of us are."

Hightower stared at him and then set his chin a little. "More of this foolishness?"

"That and more. We are not knights. Not after what we have done."

"Arthur," Whent said with reluctant misery in his voice, "Enough. We-"

"We did what was ordered by our Prince," Hightower said in a voice like iron. "It is not our place to judge him."

His words earned him a disgusted laugh from Arthur. "Really? You choose to use those words yet again? Do you remember the words of our oaths as knights, Gerold? We were charged to protect the innocent. That girl up there was an innocent. Was. We failed to protect her from a rapist. There. I have said the unspoken word out loud, the word that we have not been able to say until now. Our Prince raped that girl. Forced a child on her. And now he is dead and we are damned. So – yes. I have judged him."

Hightower's face mottled with rage, but then he seemed to force himself to calm a little. "You know nothing of what-"

"Know nothing? We are no longer knights, gentlemen." Arthur stilled. "Not any more." He flexed his right hand. "I cannot spar with you anymore. I dare not." He looked down at his hand and then pulled off his gauntlet. "I cannot." And then he held up his hand and the long red burn mark across his palm. The other two Kingsguards stared at it, as did Barristan.

"Ser Arthur, what have you done to your hand?" Hightower barked, visibly shocked.

"Me? Nothing." Arthur held his hand out. "That was from Dawn. The sword… the sword is rejecting me. It knows that I am no longer the Sword of the Morning." He hung his head for a long moment, before pulling his hand down.

Whent and Hightower stared at him and then at each other. "Arthur," Whent said, confused, "Swords cannot reject their wielders. They are just objects."

"Dawn is not." Arthur ran a shaking hand over his face. "You do not understand. And I cannot explain. The blade is old. Older than anything you can imagine. And it is not… not normal. It was made by the First Men in the days of the Long Winter. And that is all I can say. You would not understand anyway. Dawn is rejecting me. Bearing it is painful. Holding it is even more painful. Should Ned Stark come here after his sister then you two must face him. I cannot. If I harm him then Dawn will… that will be the final straw for it."

"Dayne," Hightower said, pulling a face of strained fury. "Cease your prattle and make sense again. And do not think to give your Lord Commander orders!"

"I have no choice! And do you really think that we are still Kingsguard? We are lost! We are damned! We are walking dead men." He looked down at the sword and smiled bitterly. "Wights in all but name." And then he closed his eyes tightly.

"Dayne," Hightower roared. "We are Kingsguard! We guard the babe! He is our king!"

"The babe is a bastard! And the girl is dying! We have failed her!"

"The girl has played her part!"

And with that Dayne stood quickly, his hand on the hilt of Dawn, a snarl on his face. After a moment he pulled his hand away and then looked down at it again, before holding it out again. The red line was longer, redder and angrier. "You never were a very good knight, Hightower," Arthur said, before looking over at the track. "And now our time is at an end. They come."

Barristan stared in the same direction. Red dust was billowing up in the distance. Riders were coming. Hightower went pale but then set his jaw. "Sers, we must protect our King."

"No," Arthur said with an infinite weariness in his voice. "It's time for us to die. Ned Stark will lead them. It's time for us to pay for our sins." He put his gantlet back on.

"Dayne-" Hightower grunted through gritted teeth.

But Arthur Dayne just shook his head at them both. "I will fight. But we are all going to die." And then, just for a heartbeat he looked right into Barristan's eyes and winced just a little.

Barristan stared at the three men, Hightower pale with fury, Arthur slumped in resignation and Whent torn between the two – and he knew that Arthur was right. Lord Eddard Stark was riding towards them, his face pale with fury, men with hard faces at his back.

The Green Man looked at them all with sadness in his eyes. "And of them all only two will survive. Lords Stark and Reed. We must leave this place and the ghosts of the dead."

And then, with a shocking suddenness they were back in the Godswood. He all but reeled around as he stared at the trees. "What… did Arthur see me?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. He might have seen us as a shadow, a distant shape. Or perhaps he saw me and knew that the Old Gods were touching him in that moment, one last time."

"Arthur was a follower of the Seven though!"

"For the Daynes the matter of the Gods has always been… complicated. Because of Dawn. During the fight at the Tower of Joy it came down to Arthur Dayne and Ned Stark. Dayne's hand was a mass of burns by that point. The moment he wounded Lord Stark the sword was finished with him." He gestured at the pool and for a moment the image of a white-faced Arthur Dayne appeared in it, sinking to his knees, clutching at his right hand, which seemed to be smoking, whilst Ned Stark pulled his sword up and around for what would obviously be the death blow. And then it was gone.

Barristan sat down again, shaking more than a bit. Yes, the Kingsguard needed to change indeed.

Jon Arryn

He was coming to the conclusion that Stannis Baratheon had uncovered a gem in Ser Davos Seaworth. A rough-cut gem, who was far too humble given his undoubted talents, but a gem.

Right now that gem was standing in front of him, next to a red-faced Lord Harys Moxton and his exceptionally ugly son and heir Boros. Seaworth was stony-faced and the Moxtons were squirming with a combination of fear and fury.

"Very well then," Jon said dryly. "Lord Moxton, it would seem that we have something of a situation here. When you and your son arrived back here in King's Landing from your rather lengthy business trip to Essos, the exact details of which seem to be rather murky, your son decided to, erm, shall we say purchase some affection. He seems to have lacked sufficient coin, for reasons that also seem to be murky, there was what I shall describe as a fracas, you arrived at the same time as the City Watch and you then decided that you would try and make the whole thing go away by bribing the guards."

He sighed a little and then continued. "When the guards said no, you announced that you wanted to talk to the Commander of the Goldcloaks, one Janos Slynt. When told that Slynt had been dead for many months now, you lost your temper, berated the guards for fools, demanded to see Slynt at once and refused to co-operate. When Ser Davos Seaworth here happened on the scene and announced that he now commands the City Watch, you told him that he was a liar and a fool and then you tried to bribe him as well with a snarl and a further insult. Whereupon you were placed under arrest, you and your fool of a boy. Is that an accurate summary?"

Moxton came very close to snarling something in reply, before choking it back and then nodded choppily. "Lord Arryn, I am sure that this is all a misunderstanding, caused by my long absence from the capital on urgent business, along with my son's foolishness."

"Your trying to bribe the head of the City Watch is just a 'misunderstanding'?"

Moxton actually curled his lip for a moment. "Ser Davos is not nobly born and he might have misunderstood me and-"

This was a mistake. Jon leant forwards, his eyes blazing with fury and the Moxtons both went pale and stepped back.

"Ser Davos Seaworth may be low-born, as you say, but he has been an exemplary commander of the City Watch and is a vast improvement on his predecessor! And you will not sneer at him!"

The Moxtons directed almost identical looks of baffled terror at him – and it was then that Quill slipped into the room, looking grimly pleased with himself. As he approached him he passed over a small journal marked with a red ribbon. Jon took it with a frown and then opened the book to the page indicated. It was one of Baelish's books and – ah.

Jon looked up and directed a look of very real loathing at the Moxtons, who looked highly uneasy. "Lord Moxton, where in Essos did you travel to?"

The man's eyes darted all over the room, but not in Jon's direction. "Volantis, Lord Arryn." The lie was very near to being a blatant one.

"Lord Moxton, I have here in my hand a book that was formerly the property of the late and entirely unlamented Petr Baelish."

At the very mention of Baelish Lord Moxton went pale and stiffened, his right hand going for a moment to where his sword hilt should have been.

"It seems," Jon said stonily, "That you had a poor choice of friends. Your business dealings with Baelish are laid out in this book. Names, dates, amounts. And your links to Slaver's Bay. That's where you have been, isn't it?"

The elder Moxton paused and then shook his head, whilst the younger man shot his father a look of pure terror. Jon looked at them darkly and then exchanged a glance with Seaworth, who nodded slightly and then made a small gesture with one hand that made some of his Goldcloaks step surreptitiously closer.

"Quill?"

"My Lord?"

"Lord Moxton and his son are to be detained at once. In the Black Cells."

Both Moxtons were seized at once in what looked like a grip of iron by the Goldcloaks, before being marched off. Jon beckoned Ser Davos over. "Separate cells if you please Ser Davos. I sense that the son will tell all before his father does."

Seaworth nodded shortly, a small smile on his face, and then he strode off, barking orders as he went. Jon watched him go and then sighed. Damn it. Would they never get to the end of Baelish's corruption? He stood tiredly, dismissed the people around him and walked off down the corridor to one side, Quill an ever-attentive presence at his right hand and his guards from the Vale behind him.

When he emerged into the courtyard at the far end of the corridor he found Oberyn Martell practicing with his spear there against a straw target that had armour placed onto it. The man had a great deal of skill, the spear flashing in the sunlight, but he did have to wonder just what was on the edge of that blade. The Red Viper of Dorne was rumoured to use poison, which seemed a bit much. He just wiped the edge of his blade against rotted meat once in a while, as his father had taught him. Which, in turn, made him think of Lysa and his mood darkened for a long moment.

"Most skilful, Prince Oberyn," he said after a particularly extravagant flourish of the spear. "You are very skilled with that."

"Meh, there's always more to learn," the Dornishman panted as he finished by jamming the spear in the face of the target. "You are well on this fine day?"

"Yes and no. Yes it is indeed a fine day. But no, I do not like it when Lords are fools and have dealings with slavers."

Oberyn Martell laughed shortly. "Who is it?"

"Moxton."

"Lord Moxton… Crownlander lord, not as clever as he thinks he is, has a truly stupid and ugly son and heir, goes to Meereen a lot. I wonder why?"

"He had links to Baelish."

Martell pulled a face. "Ah, Baelish. The arrogant fool whose appropriated holdings have been most profitable. He seems to have gotten very complacent at the end."

Jon nodded. And then he pulled out the letter that had arrived in the morning from the North, via a fast ship from White Harbour. "In your time in Essos, did you have any dealings with the Company of the Rose?"

The Dornishman raised an eyebrow. "A little. They were the most boring and conservative of the sellsword companies. They never did anything that was too risky, too violent. I always thought that they were, well, a group of Northern exiles who were caught between Westeros and Essos. Both and neither. Of course I have heard rumours now that they seem to have been waiting for something – something like this Call."

He held the letter out. "From Lord Stark. He explains much about the Company of the Rose and their links to the Starks."

Oberyn Martell took the letter with a frown and then started to read it at the proffered page. After a long moment of what looked like very rapid reading, based on the movement of his eyes, he stiffened a little and then seemed to re-read certain parts, before turning to the next page. After a long moment he sank onto the nearest bench. "Torrhen Stark seems to have been a man with a very long-term plan," he said eventually. "A man who wanted the very best for the North." He looked down at the letter again. "I always wondered about what made him bend the knee the way that he did. It seemed… not Northern. Although now I am wondering what 'Northern' truly is. The blood of the First Men seems to sing a great deal."

Jon nodded. "The next page should interest you."

The Dornishman looked at him quizzically and then turned the page and read. When he looked up there was an odd look on his face. "The Isle of Faces. Aye, for his ancestor to have gone there… that does explain a great deal. A peculiar place. Three times I have tried to go there and three times I have been… diverted. I will not say prevented, but certainly distracted away from the place. I wonder why now."

"The Green Men are said to be abroad again."

"I wish that I could talk to one."

Jon nodded. "Me as well." He shook his head. "Well, now. The nobility of the North has grown – thanks to the foresight of the last King in the North. I cannot believe that I have said those last words. The Call. So much has changed because of it. I never thought that the Game of Thrones could be… well, suspended in this way, or most certainly changed beyond all recognition."

"I will be leaving for the North myself soon," Oberyn said with an upraised eyebrow. "Heading for Winterfell. I have a source of my own in the North and I am hoping that I receive a report from that source soon." A troubled look crossed his face. "I hope to meet that source as well. Dorne will need to mobilise to a plan."

There was a long moment of troubled silence and then Jon sighed. "Aye. The Vale too. The King will be sending more orders soon. Instructions for the harvest, instructions for mobilisation. A plan to defend the Wall."

"The Wall." Oberyn Martell shivered a little. "A wall of ice in the far North. It chills my blood just to think of it. Sending any Dornishman there will take some planning in terms of clothing."

He laughed softly for a moment, before pausing when he saw Quill approaching. "Ah, Quill. Are the Moxton's secure in their new quarters?"

"They are my Lord. But I am here for another reason. There is a man here who wants access to the Red Keep's Godswood."

He stared at Quill. "The Godswood? Who wants access to that?"

Quill looked uneasy for a moment, as if he was not sure that he was going to be believed. "he says he is from the Isle of Faces my Lord. And his attire… I think he is a Green Man."

Oberyn Martell stood suddenly, before looking about. "I wish that I had a million dragons in coins!" He looked about again, stared at the sky and then shrugged. "Well, it was worth a try." And then he looked at Jon. "Shall we meet this man?"

They walked up to the Godswood together, Oberyn Martell with a look on his face that spoke of excitement. As they approached the entrance a tall man dressed in dark green clothes and a green cloak with an oddly-shaped hood behind him stood up from the bench by the entrance. He had a grave expression on his face and as they approached he bowed in an oddly archaic way, one hand over his heart and the other extended. "My Lords," he rumbled in a deep voice. "I am Callan, son of Allyn, of the Isle of Faces. And I beg admittance to this Godswood to tend to it and the weirwood Heart Tree."

Jon frowned a little. "The Heart Tree is just an oak tree. No weirwood tree exists in the Godswood, none have ever grown there."

The Green Man nodded in acknowledgement of his words – and then he stole a look at the main body of the Red Keep that for some reason made the hairs on the back of Jon's neck stand on end. After a moment he smiled slightly and then reached down and pulled out something that had been carefully wrapped in a bag, with something red poking out of the top of it. He then unwrapped the lower part – to reveal a weirwood sapling. "This one will thrive here, you have my word on it."

Somewhat bewildered Jon paused – and then nodded. "Very well, Callan, son of Allyn. Enter."

The Green Man nodded back before pulling up his hood to reveal a pair of horns and it was at that moment that the hairs on the back of his neck behaved in such a way that he shivered with… what? Fear? Dread? Anticipation? What? He followed the green-clad man into the Godswood and then watched as he looked about the place, sniffed the air, pulled up a small amount of grass and inspected it carefully and then pulled out a small spade and dug an equally small hole in the ground, into which he almost reverently pressed the base of the weirwood sapling.

"It will do well here," the Green Man said with an odd note of satisfaction that seemed to reverberate a little in the grove. "It will thrive."

"You are sure of that?" Oberyn Martell asked, an odd, almost assessing, look on his face.

The Green Man stood and placed a hand on the leaves as if to reassure them. "Oh," he said with a slight smile, "I am certain of that." And when he removed his hand the tree seemed to have surged upwards at least a foot in height. "Most certain."