The Wall was bloody cold.
Asha shivered as she stood a little closer to the fire, listening as her uncle spoke with the Lord Commander, a tall, grey-haired man who was missing quite a few fingers. Asha was surprised the first time she saw him. She was expecting a big-boned drunk with a wild beard and more holes in his belt than brains in his head. She wasn't sure where she had come up with the image, but her father had never cared for the Watch and so she never cared about it either.
Qhorin Halfhand certainly proved her wrong. He was like Uncle―quiet and deliberate.
The Wall itself had also surprised Asha. Just as she had never cared for the Night's Watch, she had never cared for the Wall either. She, like many others, believed that it had been raised to keep the wildlings in their frozen hellhole, away from the Seven Kingdoms. When she finally saw it in person, she realized just how wrong she and so many others had been. Bran the Builder could have easily built a stone wall, complete with towers and fortresses, to keep out the wildlings. The monument of ice was meant to keep out something much more terrible than some fur-covered savages.
She and a thousand ironborn had arrived at Castle Black a few days ago, and it didn't take long for Asha to develop some respect for the ancient order. To stay so long in the snow and ice, Asha couldn't imagine how miserable they all were day after day. Yet, they still took up their spears and cloaks and stood at attention when it was their shift.
Currently, she, her uncle, and the Lord Commander stood around the roaring fire at the end of the mess hall, talking about the preparations for the war.
Her uncle his dragonglass dagger up to the firelight, examining it. There was nothing beautiful or extraordinary about it. It was a piece of black rock with edges that had been chipped into the edges of a blade and a hilt that had been wrapped with many layers of leather. It was about the length of a good-sized dagger, like the kind that was used by sailors to cut tar-crusted ropes.
"You'll have to get bloody close to use it," Uncle grunted. "How many do we have?"
"Ships arrive at Eastwatch every day carrying barrels of it," Halfhand replied, crossing his arms. "We receive wagons of spears, daggers, and arrows every week."
Harlaw tossed Asha the dagger. The lady of Pyke grabbed the weapon and was surprised by the lightness and balance of the weapon. She nodded slightly as she took a few practice swings. In the cold and snow, she definitely didn't want a heavy piece of steel or iron weighing her arm down. She felt like she could wield the dagger all day.
"If we have these, then you're expecting the wights to break through the Wall," she said.
Qhorin shrugged. "Better to be safe than sorry," he said. "If the king's plan works, the wights may never break through our gates, but I have my doubts."
"The king's plan?" Uncle asked. "What do you mean?"
Qhorin spat into the fire. "His brother has cooked up some idea that the Others will go straight for him. Says that they'll want to "snuff out his light" or something."
Uncle shrugged. "However he phrased it, he has a point. The king is who we've rallied to. He's the one leading us. Think of what will happen if he's lost."
Qhorin nodded. "Fair. Anyways, if we can keep the wights on the other side of the Wall for long enough, perhaps the king can figure out a way to defeat the Others."
"If they're destroyed, so are the wights then," Asha guessed. "Makes our job easier, don't it."
"The fight may be a little easier, lass, but I've seen you shivering ever since you got here. This ain't nothing. It'll get much colder once they Others arrive," Halfhand said grimly. "The elements will be just as deadly as the fucking undead."
"Do you have any advice I should pass on to my men?" Uncle asked.
"Protect your ears and nose or else you might lose 'em," the Halfhand said. "And forget about wearing any fancy plate armor. Ringmail and leather are what's best up here."
"Thank you, Lord Commander," Uncle said.
"Don't thank me yet," Halfhand grunted as the sounds of a fight echoed through the walls. The men of the Iron Islands were a stubborn lot, but so were hundreds of tribesmen from the Vale who had been assigned to Castle Black. When the two groups weren't passing a pitcher of ale between them, they were brawling. "It sounds like you're needed, my lord."
Uncle huffed as he strode out of the room. Asha smiled slightly when she heard him mutter:
"If the cold doesn't kill them, then their idiocy will."
"Have you met the king?" the Lord Commander asked when Uncle had left the room.
Asha raised an eyebrow before shaking her head. "No, never had the honor," she said sarcastically. "His long-lost uncle or whoever captured Deepwood Motte from my men and I. Robb Stark was done south with the Targaryens. Why do you ask?"
"Just curious," Qhorin grunted. "I've never met him either, but if he's anything like his father, then we're in good hands." the older man glanced at her. "Luckily for you, you'll have a chance to meet both father and son."
Asha gave him a thin smile before quickly looking back at the fire. She knew what happened the last time a Stark had encountered a Greyjoy. Her brother had been killed by Lord Stark after he had been discovered in the bowels of the Dreadfort, but that had been a mercy killing. Theon had been mutilated by the Bastard of Bolton and Lord Stark had been right to put him out of his misery.
Before that, it was during her father's failed rebellion when Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon had knocked down the walls of Pyke and took her father's crown.
For a brief moment, Asha wondered what they would do when they met her.
Robb Stark
Winter had truly come. Snow was piled high on either side of the road, standing higher than most children, and still, it continued to fall. Thankfully, Robb's father's idea of sending men with shovels along the King's Road had proven to be a massive success. The armies of the Westerlands, the Vale, and the Riverlands had all reached the Wall in good time. It had taken almost a month and a half, but it would have taken more than twice that long if the snow hadn't been cleared from the road.
Robb, at the head of a long column of mounted men, couldn't help but feel a certain sense of satisfaction. Garbed in steel and leather, with a thick fur cloak, leading soldiers, he was back in his element. He knew war, he knew what was needed of him. It was simpler than ruling.
"You look much happier since we've crossed the Neck." Ser Robar commented as they rode.
Five of Robb's kingsguard surrounded him. Brienne, Robar, Balon, Rolland, and Garth had all accompanied him north. Although Loras was by far the second-best swordsman of the group, just below Brienne, Robb had left him behind with perhaps Robb's weakest knight, Ser Hobber, to guard his family.
The five warriors were armored similar to how Robar, Garth, and Brienne were the last time Robb visited the North. They still wore their unique white armor, but each had a thick fur cloak that had been colored white in lieu of their standard white cape. Their helms hung from their saddles. It was too cold for anyone to be wearing metal on their heads. A hood was much better.
"I believe I should be," Robb said, spreading his hands to the snowy land around them. "This is my home. This is always where I was meant to be."
"Do you hate King's Landing?" Ser Balon asked curiously.
"I have become more tolerant of the city, mainly due to my wife's projects, but the North will always be my original home," Robb explained. "Its beauty lies in its simplicity."
"A poet as well as a king." Ser Garth laughed.
Robb smiled. "The truth often sounds poetic, even if it's brutal."
The four knights laughed, even with Brienne cracking a smile. Robb was happy to see his companions in high spirits. Ever since they had marched out, all anyone had spoken about was what was waiting for them at the wall. Wights and Others, undead giants, and monstrous ice spiders. Men were recalling stories they had been told as children, and with every story told, a new evil was added. Robb had done his best to keep the mood at a tolerable level. He couldn't have his men running off before the fighting began.
Robb slowly brought his horse to a stop as he and his kingsguard reached the top of a slight hill. Before them was Winterfell in all its rebuilt glory. The walls looked as tall and as strong as they were in Robb's childhood. The towers looked no different. Even the Broken Tower was still, well, broken. Near the center of the great castle, Robb could make out treetops, along with a single red tree surrounded by green.
The Godswood.
"Winterfell." Robb breathed as his protectors came to a stop next to him. "Welcome to the ancestral seat of House Stark, rulers of the North."
"A great sight, my lord." Ser Robar praised.
"It is," Robb said, urging his mount forward. They would spend the night in Winterfell before continuing northward.
It was also a chance for Robb to see his family.
Line Break
Robb had flashbacks to the last time a king rode into Winterfell. It was not a pleasant memory. It had been darkened by the terrible events that had happened because of it. The death, the destruction, all and more had happened because Robert fucking Baratheon had decided that Robb's father, the honorable and straightforward Ned Stark, had to be his next Hand.
There was a reason Robb had chosen Tyrion Lannister to be his Hand. Robb had no shortage of friends whom he knew would be forever loyal to him. Smalljon Umber, Garlan Tyrell, Harrold Arryn to name a few. People he trusted more than the stunted son of Tywin Lannister. However, none possessed the intellectual and political capabilities that Tyrion had. With positions of Master of Law or Master of Ships, the Ned Stark's of the world could fill those roles. But the Hand of the King had to be just as politically astute as the king, if not more so.
Bloodraven, a past Hand of the King, had proven such.
Robb pushed the dark thoughts from his head as he dismounted. It took only a few steps before he threw his arms around his mother, nearly lifting her off the ground. He could feel her digging her face into his cloak, blinking away her tears.
"Hullo, mother," Robb murmured, pulling away. "I'm home."
Robb's mother quickly wiped away her tears. "Robb." she sniffled.
The king helped wipe away a stray tear from his mother's face before dropping to a knee before his sister, who had the opposite reaction as their mother. Arya was nearly shaking with excitement. Just as when they had been reunited in Robb's tent outside King's Landing, Arya still wore boy's clothes and carried her sword, Needle. She was still small and lean, but when Robb placed his hands on her shoulders, he could feel muscles there.
"What has happened to my sister Arya?" Robb asked jokingly. "All I see is a braavosi water dancer."
"Why can't I be both?" Arya responded.
Robb laughed as Arya threw her arms around him, hugging his neck tightly. After her, Robb turned to Rickon, who puffed out his chest and tried to look older than he was. Robb grinned and ruffled his hair before hugging him as well. When he pulled back, he saw the small wooden sword that the boy tried, and failed to hide behind his back.
"You have begun your training then," Robb said, glancing at where Ser Mychel was. The valemen gave the king a slight nod, confirming his statement. Robb ruffled his brother's head again.
"You and your sister better protect our home," he said, looking at Arya as well. The young woman had lost her smile and looked incredibly serious now.
"We will, Robb. Promise."
Robb got back on his feet, dusting off snow from the wet spot on his knee. "You both are the Stark in Winterfell, and I know that you will protect our home and our people."
The young king felt a light slap on his arm. His mother was smiling, despite the tears in her eyes.
"They're children, Robb." she scolded lightly. "We're fine here. Ser Mychel has been wonderful."
"I expect nothing less from the man," Robb said, nodding to the valeman. "Ser Mychel, may I have a moment of your time?"
The young knight bowed. "Of course, your grace."
As his siblings ran off and his mother took charge of finding her new guests rooms for the night, Robb, Brienne, Ser Robar, and Ser Mychel made their way to the lord's solar. The two valemen took the moment to catch up. They had known each other in their boyhoods. Not only were their fathers close, but so were Runestone and the Redfort, their homes.
"Do you speak often with your brother?" Robar asked curiously.
"He and I had a good, long talk when he and the men of the Vale passed through a month ago." Ser Mychel replied. "His wife regularly sends me messages, keeping me abreast in the going-ons of my home."
"Do you miss it at all?"
Ser Mychel shrugged. "Occasionally. But I have my Ysilla and Lord and Lady Stark have been very gracious to me." the valemen gave his countryman a wry smile. "I've even grown fond of the cold."
"That fondness will be tested soon," Robb grunted, looking over his shoulder. "This is nothing yet."
When the group reached the office, Ser Robar took up his position outside the room as Brienne and Ser Mychel followed the king inside. When the door was closed, Robb spoke first.
"How many men have my father left here?" Robb asked.
"Two hundred, sire." Ser Mychel replied instantly. "We have enough rations to last two years. That's including food for those in the town and the farms beyond."
"That is good to hear," Robb said. "If the Wall falls, then Winterfell will be our next line of defense."
"What about the northern castles?" Ser Mychel asked. "The Last Hearth? Karhold? Bear Island? What will happen to them?"
"We still have a little time to prepare. If the Wall is breached, the people of the North, the entire North, need to be prepared to take only what they need and run like hell south." Robb explained. "Gods willing that won't happen, but Winterfell needs to be our next line of defense."
As Robb spoke, he began to look through the scrolls that were piled on the bookshelf. He finally found the one he needed and began to unroll it across the desk as Ser Mychel responded to him.
"We'll need to prepare the castle then."
Robb looked up and smiled grimly. "Not yet, but it's better to know what needs to be done now rather than later," he said as he finished unrolling a map of the castle.
"Now," Robb continued. "Let's see how well you think with your head instead of your sword arm."
Bryn Highsmith
'Just as when the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, a green man will always find himself a Heart Tree.'
That had been the phrase Bryn's predecessor had preached to him before his passing. It was a phrase that Bryn had found to always be eerily true. Wherever he found himself, he always managed to find himself a weirwood or a Heart Tree to kneel before and pray.
When the Green Man had entered the Winterfell, he simply allowed his feet to take him to where he needed to be. The king had gone off with Ser Mychel, no doubt to talk about the defenses of the castle, and his lady mother had quickly taken charge of her household, Bryn had silently slipped off to the heavily wooded region.
Now he knelt before the black pool, bowing his head. He could sense everything around him. He felt the wind blowing in from the north, turning his nose red with its chill. He could hear every creak from the branches above as they dealt with the increasing weight of snow on their boughs. He could hear the chittering of squirrels as they burrowed into tree trunks to escape the cold. He was slowly becoming a part of nature.
"Hullo, Bryn Highsmith," a soft, sweet, female voice said.
Bryn slowly opened his eyes and looked up, finding an abnormally tall woman before him. She wore a long black cloak that covered every part of her body, including her feet. Even the majority of her face was concealed by the hood and shadows. All Bryn could see was her chin and mouth. Her skin was as pale and white as milk, and her lips, full and luscious, were upturned into an amused smile.
However, that was not the strangest part about her. No, that honor belonged to the fact that she was standing in the center of the pool.
"My…my lady?" Bryn said curiously, bowing his head. He had no idea how to address a goddess. He could feel her power radiating.
The woman's smile grew slightly.
"Stand, Bryn," she commanded. "There is no need to call me a lady. I am hardly such."
Bryn got to his feet, folding his hands behind his back. "Yes, my….yes."
"Do you know why I am here, Bryn?"
"I'm not sure how you managed to manifest your form on this plane of existence," Bryn admitted honestly.
"You can thank the Wolf King and his uncle for that." the goddess replied casually. "Belief in us has grown quite a bit since the boy has taken the throne. When news of the wight spread, our names traveled with it."
"I am happy to hear that, but that doesn't explain why you are here?" Bryn said. "The gods haven't shown themselves to mortals since…."
Since the last Long Night, yes." the woman said, finishing his sentence. "During that time, we could appear more freely throughout this land. We lost such an ability with the coming of the Andals. As for why I am here; I have come to see if you are truly prepared for what you must do."
Bryn hesitated before nodding. "I am."
The Green Man didn't need to see the woman's face to know that she had raised one eyebrow.
"You hesitate."
"Any man would," Bryn said, defending himself.
"You are not 'any man', Bryn Highsmith." the goddess countered. "The Green Man has always been granted a sacred position by the mouths of the gods. With such a position comes even greater responsibility."
"I know." Bryn sighed. "Did….did my ancestor feel this way as well?"
The goddess gave him a sympathetic smile. "He worried about leaving his family behind, yes, but he did not run from his fate when it came for him. He embraced it and did as he was tasked."
Bryn nodded choppily. "I am not leaving a family behind, thankfully."
"No, but life is not something many choose to leave behind willingly," she said gently. "There have been two times since the birth of this world that we have tasked another with its salvation. The first was the founder of your house. The second is you. We do not give out such missions lightly, nor do we hand them to those who are too weak to see them completed."
A stronger gust of wind blew through the forest, but this time it came from the west. The goddess looked that way and nodded.
"My time has come to end with you," she said. "We have seen you grow and prepare for the role you will play in the war, Bryn, and the gods favor you for it."
"Like a pig who was fattened before slaughter," Bryn grunted with grim sarcasm. "I'm honored."
The goddess smiled as her form began to shimmer and disappear.
"You remind me of Brynden, your ancestor," she said kindly. "You will understand before the end."
Just like that, the goddess was gone, leaving Bryn alone in the godswood once again. He sighed and knelt before the Heart Tree.
"Give me strength." he prayed, resuming his meditation.