Lady Stark appeared in the hall an hour or so after her arrival. Loreon saw the strained look on her face; they had told her, then. The truth was jarring, and had shaken him up a lot more than he had outwardly shown when he was told for the first time, by a grim-faced Jon Snow backed up by both brothers of the Night's Watch and the Wildlings they had captured.

He believed them, not just because these two groups who hated each other so much would never agree on anything unless it truly was dire, but also because of his own experience. Their journey from Eastwatch had been north of the Wall in order to pin the Wildling army between them and the Night's Watch, and though at the time he had brushed the feeling off as uneasiness at being in such an unfamiliar environment, it had definitely felt like there was a dark presence there in the woods, watching them, always there but never making themselves known.

Loreon wondered why they had never chosen to attack, given that the Wildings had been hounded their entire way to the Wall. That in itself was unnerving, that they weren't just mindless beasts looking to kill every man that crossed their path, but intelligent, calculating creatures with a strategy in mind.

Seeing Lady Rosennis walk into the hall was unnerving in itself, having been convinced she was dead for months; having seen what he thought to have been her dead body be taken through the courtyard at Harrenhal. He had known she was alive since she had taken back Winterfell, but part of him needed to see her to believe it.

She did not look like a woman who had survived being stabbed in (near?) the heart. Despite the slightly shellshocked look behind her eyes - which any reasonable person would have, after being told ice monsters from an old children's tale were marching on them with an army of dead men - she looked just the same as ever, dressed in thick furs for the Northern winter with her long hair in a braid down her back.

He wondered what choice she had made with regard to the Wildlings. The moment Jon Snow had even suggested letting them through the Wall after becoming Lord Commander, there had been uproar from the Northern lords, and many from the south too. Even a good number of Black Brothers had vehemently objected, though there were more still who did not. Many of them who had seen the Others and wights first hand; for all they cared, the Wildlings could rot, but not if it meant they would rise again to attack them.

From these talks with the men of the Night's Watch, Loreon also gathered a lot more about Jon Snow. Many had believed him to be a deserter for a long time; Lord Mormont had sent him away on a scouting mission with Qhorin Halfhand, and it had seemed as though he had killed Qhorin and joined the Wildlings, but it turned out the Halfhand himself had told the boy to do just that in order to get close to Mance Rayder. Jon had scaled the Wall with a party of raiders, but once he learned they were to attack Castle Black, he had fled back and warned his brothers.

With all other authority figures dead, the one-armed blacksmith Donnel Noye had been in charge of defending the Wall from the Wildlings, in that first awful night before Loreon's army arrived. When Noye had died, he had handed command of the Wall over to Jon. And Jon had performed admirably. Were it not for his actions, Loreon would have found Castle Black overrun, the Night's Watch defeated.

And then when it came to electing a new Lord Commander, Jon had not put own his name forward; his friend, Samwell Tarly, had persuaded the most influential men of the Watch to vote for him.

Now, Snow appeared as stern and solemn as his father Lord Eddard had been, though Loreon recognised the calculating look in his eye, and had heard the young man make many cold but intelligent decisions. A good leader, was his conclusion, but one who needed to improve his communications with his men. Jon was too closed off, and didn't explain his decisions.

Thus, it had been Loreon who had made many of the lords more receptive to the idea of letting the Wildlings through the Wall. After a conversation that was rather like wringing water from a stone - Snow was naturally distrustful, and didn't have a lot of faith in others - he had Jon's reasoning for wanting to open up the Wall and managed to spin it in a way that the lords would struggle to object to.

Both Ren and Jon Snow had been useful there, at his side to help tailor his words to the values of the North and the individual lords. Loreon found it also helped having both illegitimate Starks at his side during conversations like these; it meant he could be the warm, friendly and convincing one whilst Ren was the intimidating, unyielding presence to his right and Jon was the grim-faced reminder that the dead were indeed advancing on them.

Now, though no one was happy about it, most lords would not start a war over Wildlings being settled in the Gift. None of them wanted to be the one to make the decision, however, in the high likelihood that they ended up regretting it. Thus, though she would've had to have been consulted anyway, Lady Rosennis had to be the one to make the final call, as Lady Paramount of the North and only living, trueborn Stark who was of age.

The entire hall fell silent as she moved to the centre of the high table, near Loreon, staring at the woman who had been dead for months. Who was now rumoured to have fed Ramsay Snow to the wolves and stabbed her husband through the heart, winning back her family's seat. Her nephew Rickon, the wild little Lord Stark, was stood at her side, her pale hand on his shoulder. The boy's direwolf prowled behind them, along with Grey Wind; they might be what held the hall a captive audience.

"I will not take much of your time," She said. "The threat from the North is too concerning to blindly ignore. Tomorrow at dawn, the gates will be cleared and the Wildlings will be allowed through," She raised a hand to silence the growing grumbling dissent. "The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch suggested that children will be taken from each of the Wildling leaders as hostages, and all will surrender their weapons before crossing south. As soon as practicable, the Wildlings will be separated to various castles along the Wall and will work on repairs, escorted by Night's Watch men and soldiers from the Crown's armies. Any of the lords bordering the lands of the Gift who have any reservations about this, I will meet with you in private,"

For a moment, Rosennis stared around the hall, as though daring anyone to challenge her. Aside from some more discontented grumbling from a few, no one did.

She sat down beside Loreon, and conversation slowly started to resume. Whilst she must have been hoping to enjoy a hot meal in relative peace, that was not to be. Many of the Northern lords were approaching the high table, either to greet her after her presumed death and express their gratitude that she had survived, to complain about her decision, or to try and win favour from their new lord.

The last time Loreon had seen the boy, Rickon had been a small, disobedient three-year-old; now he was bigger, with harder eyes and shaggy red-brown hair, having only grown even wilder in the time he was away from home. He met all his lords' greetings with a suspicious expression and blunt words, but they seemed impressed with his fearlessness.

"I was on Skagos," Loreon heard him telling Lord Umber, who had asked where he had been for over a year. "With Osha and Shaggy. I hunted unicorns and bears and could do whatever I liked. Now Aunt Ross makes me sit and do lord's work every week,"

The Greatjon roared with laughter. "A little Wildling Stark," He shook his head. "You've got the wolfblood like your Uncle Brandon, lad. No doubt your aunt will keep you in line,"

Rickon narrowed his eyes, seemingly trying to work out if he was laughing with him or at him.

Lady Rosennis sighed. "He makes himself sound useless," She said. "Rickon, you know you enjoyed helping Ren to organise the army,"

"I did," He said, glaring at her. "But then you said I couldn't go with them, even though I helped. I'm good with a sword, and I've got Shaggy. Edrick's only got one eye that works and he went. And Bran hasn't even got fingers to hold a sword but he got to go beyond the Wall,"

"Well you're here now," She said flatly. "Being a lord isn't all about fighting besides. I hope you listened to what we discussed earlier, with Jon. One day you'll be making decisions like that,"

"I already made the decision before the meeting," He mumbled. "Osha's Freefolk, and I like Osha. I'd let them all through,"

"And how would you appease Lord Umber here, who doesn't like the Freefolk at all because they steal his food and kidnap his people?"

Rickon actually thought on that one.

"I'd tell them to grow and hunt for more food to give back to him," He said. "And tell them they're going back over the Wall if they ever kidnap anyone again," He paused. "Lord Umber can push them off the top if he likes,"

Well, that wasn't the worst thing he could've said. In all honesty, the idea of the Wildlings paying taxes in crops and meat to the Last Hearth wasn't a bad one. Perhaps Loreon would bring it up later.

*

The next day Loreon watched as thousands of Wildlings trudged through the now unblocked gate, looking weary and defeated, but not broken. They were met by Rosennis Stark, Jon Snow, four direwolves and several Black Brothers, who took their weapons and dealt with their hostages. A growing number of children were stood away from the main group, aged from five to fifteen, the sons and daughters of chieftains and well known raiders. None of the children cried to be separated from their parents, simply stood hard-eyed and defiant.

Jon had planned for the Wildlings to either head to Molestown, or to garrison and repair a number of the empty castles along the Wall. Members of the Night's Watch were being sent with them of course, and the hostages were all to remain here. It was a good idea; they would need all the manpower on the Wall that they could get.

Mance Rayder, of course, would stay a prisoner at Castle Black, though Loreon had seen him walking around unchained and unguarded. It was clear Jon Snow had a lot of respect for the man, and he was starting to see why. Though unassuming in appearance, Rayder was very convincing - of course he was, he had managed to unify the Wildlings into a single army of sorts, nothing short of a miracle - and intelligent too.

Melisandre was not present. She had wanted each of the Wildlings to burn a weirwood branch and convert to the Faith of R'hllor as they came through the Wall, but that was of course not going to happen with all the Northerners about. Lady Rosennis had flatly refused when the woman suggested it and threatened that if she heard mention of it again, she would not stop the lords from stringing her up in a weirwood tree. Which had put a firm stop to that idea.

It took an entire day and night to get everyone through, particularly as Loreon's own men were moving through at the same time; it would not do to have the Wildlings outnumbering the soldiers on one side after all, even though the majority of the ones left were not fighters.

Both armies had wagons and supplies with them, but Mance Rayder's men had mammoths and giants as well, which had to go through last lest they block the tunnel. Now as dawn broke, the camp outside Castle Black had quadrupled in size, sparsely dotted with the hulking figures of giants, the mammoths penned in to the side.

Within in a day, however, groups of Wildlings set off to various castles along the Wall and the camp began to shrink. Jon had made the right decision in splitting everyone up; having the Night's Watch, Northmen and Wildlings in such close proximity was a recipe for disaster. The southerners seemed to regard those from beyond the Wall with a patronising sort of bemusement, which went both ways - rather than the outright hatred those who lived further north had for each other - and surprisingly served as a buffer despite the fact they had been slaughtering Wildlings in battle not so long ago.

Both the armies of the North and south stayed at the Wall, to figure out what to do about the Others. Loreon had written to the Citadel asking for all the maester's records of the Long Night, if there were any, for the army of the dead had been defeated - well, driven back for eight thousand years - once before. Maester Aemon had written too; despite being the son of the man who ended his house's dynasty, he seemed to like Loreon, who liked him in return.

Samwell Tarly had also started to delve deep into the records of the Night's Watch, spending days down in darkness surrounded by crumbling scrolls and dusty old tomes.

Aside from that, they had nothing much to go on other than the Others didn't like fire, and could be killed by Valyrian steel and dragonglass. Loreon had sent an order to Dragonstone to start mining it from the large reserves there, and sent smiths to work out how to forge weapons from it.

The situation was looking more and more grim. Loreon hoped that the Wall would do its job and not let the creatures through. They didn't exactly have much more to count on.

*

Ross was woken by the sound of one blast from the horn. Rangers returning. It was early in the morning, not even dawn, and her shoulder was icy cold where the blankets and furs had slipped off it, not that it bothered her. The rest of her was warm, warmer than almost every one of the men of the Night's Watch, and most of the armies too, seeing as she was not alone in her bed.

"Fucks sake," Jaime was awake too, groaning and rolling onto his back. "No wonder all these Black Brothers are so dour, being woken up like this in the depths of winter,"

She would never know how he looked so good having just woken up; her own hair was a veritable birds nest.

"I didn't think any rangers were out," Ross was unable to find the energy to sit up, but did turn over to face him.

"You'd think, what with the whole undead army lurking in the woods," He chuckled. "Perhaps the rangers are returning with blue eyes wanting to kill us all,"

"That would be three blasts," She said absently, yawning.

Jaime had been sharing her chambers with her since she arrived at the Wall. Though they shared no displays of affection outside these rooms - it would be tempting fate too much if she rubbed whatever it was they had in the faces of the Stark bannermen - she knew that most were well aware who shared her bed no matter how discreet they were. Lord Karstark was the most unhappy with it - he still despised Jaime, who had killed his son Eddard in the Whispering Wood - and there was lots of grumbling from most of the others, though it quieted as soon as she was within earshot.

Ross figured that everyone already knew he had sired two of her bastards. The lords would be angered by that anyway, and there would forever be rumours when both of them were in the same place, so she might as well reap the benefits of it. If they truly thought she was incapable of ruling due to her relationship with a Lannister, she would know about it by now.

"I'm going back to sleep," Jaime said. "Whether it's rangers or Wildlings or Others, the sun isn't even up yet, and I don't care,"

Within a minute, he was sound asleep. Ross was jealous of that skill of his. He could even sleep in the saddle, a soldier's trick that no doubt came in handy when riding with an army. She herself found it hard to get to sleep at the best of times, let alone when she'd been awoken so rudely in the early morning.

She was thus still awake when there was a knock on her door several minutes later.

"Lady Stark? Sorry for waking you. Lord Snow asked me to fetch you. He says it's urgent,"

She recognised the voice as Satin, Jon's rather pretty steward who by all accounts had been a whore in an Oldtown brothel before being sent to the Wall. That led to some rather unsavoury rumours amongst those Black Brothers who resented her nephew being made Lord Commander, which she had sternly corrected after they had been whispered too close to her.

Jaime let out a stream of mumbled curses.

Ross spoke over him. "Tell Jon I'll be there shortly," She called through the door to the young man, already sliding out of bed.

"How can you bear to have your bare feet on that cold floor?" Jaime eyed her as she moved to collect her clothes.

"How can you stand to have three pairs of socks on under all those furs?" She countered, sliding her nightgown off and stepping into her clothes; today, a gown so pale blue it was almost white. "My feet would melt,"

"A queen of winter," He declared mockingly from the bed. "You'll blend in with the Wall, Ross. Best hope there's not a blizzard, or we'd never find you,"

She threw his boot at him as she pulled on her own, to which he just laughed and caught. More's the pity.

"I'll see you whenever you deign to get out of bed,"

With those parting words, she set off for the Lord Commander's quarters. Though Ross only had to walk out into the yard to see what was so important that Jon wanted her to awaken so early.

The sun's pale light was slowly rising in the east, still dim enough that torches were lit all around, illuminating the ragged-looking group trudging into the courtyard, arriving from the south side of the Wall. The light was too dim to see their faces at this distance, but she saw the figure of a very large man with a huge pack on his back, a tall slender girl in furs, a small boy and a direwolf.

At first Ross thought it was Grey Wind, but no, this wolf was too small. Lady and Nymeria were back at Winterfell, and all the others were either black or white, not grey. Summer.

"Aunt Ross," Jon strode towards her, smiling wider than she'd seen him smile since they arrived at the Wall. "It's Bran. He's back,"

*

Her nephew was different.

It wasn't so obvious at first. The little boy - who must be about ten, now - beamed to see Jon, running up and hugging him tightly. Then Rickon came running out into the courtyard and threw himself at his brother, who stumbled and fell, to the amusement of everyone watching.

Ross first noticed something odd when Bran locked eyes with Grey Wind for the first time. The boy froze stock still, a distant look in his eyes, like he wasn't quite there at all. Then he nodded once, and the eager smile was back as Ren clapped him on the shoulder, Jon ruffled his hair and even Ross hugged him tight.

"I'm glad your husband is dead," Bran said quietly to her during the embrace. "He was a bad man,"

She frowned at that odd sentence, looking down at him. "I'm glad too, but who told you that?"

He flushed, but before he could answer, Edrick had arrived, barrelling into the courtyard, grabbing the boy away and spinning him round in a circle in glee.

Accompanying her nephew was the enormous but simple stable boy from Winterfell, Hodor, and a lithe young girl whom Bran introduced as Meera Reed. He went quiet then, mumbling that her brother Jojen had been with them too but had not made it back.

Though Ross was delighted to see her nephew - having lost all hope of ever seeing him again - she had to admit there was a glaring issue with the return of Bran in that he was older than Rickon; though she was sure that the small boy wouldn't mind giving up the lordship, if it came to it, it was another issue to deal with. She mentioned this to Bran, later, when they were alone in the chambers he now shared with Ren, Edrick and Rickon, and the boy's eyes went wide.

"I can't be a lord," He insisted. "I can't. Let Rickon have Winterfell, I won't marry or have children or anything like that. He'll be much better than me, trust me,"

She was surprised by his vehemence. "Why are you so sure?"

Bran hesitated.

"I have something to show you," He said carefully. "I - " He broke off. "I can't really explain it," He reached for the huge pack that Ross had seen on Hodor's back, drawing out a long package wrapped in cloth.

"A sword?"

"Well, yes," He started to unwrap it a little sheepishly. "But not just any sword,"

He was right. Her eyes widened at the first sight of the characteristic ripples on the blade, and practically fell out of her head at the beautifully carved hilt in the shape of a dragon with rubies for eyes. Valyrian steel, but built for a woman's hand.

"Dark sister," Bran suddenly sounded older than ten. "The blade of Queen Visenya, Maegor the Cruel, Jaehaerys the Conciliator, Baelon the Brave, Daemon the Rogue Prince, Aemon Dragonknight and Lord Bloodraven,"

"Bloodraven disappeared beyond the Wall," Ross breathed. "But that was... fifty years ago. Did you find his corpse?"

"I found him,"

It took her a moment to recognise what he had said. Before, she would think that the cold had addled the boy's brain, but after the events of the past few weeks she believed him much more easily.

"As... as a wight?"

"As a tree. With a thousand eyes and one,"

Ross had no reply to that, however, simply watching as her ten-year-old nephew smiled an old man's benevolent smile.

"I met the Three-Eyed-Crow," He said, continuing at her silence, his tone somehow different. "I've been having dreams since I fell from the Broken Tower. Dreams that I could fly, and that something was calling me north. When Winterfell burned and Rickon went to Skagos, me, Meera, Jojen and Hodor went beyond the Wall to find the Crow. We were helped by Coldhands - a ranger who died long ago. He rides a giant elk,"

"He died long ago? Was he a wight?"

"I wondered that," Bran tilted his head. "I wondered for weeks and weeks. But now I know. His story is a dark and bloody one. We've both heard it before - heard the version Old Nan told us, anyway. The thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, who broke his vows and married an otherworldly woman, pale as death with skin as cold as ice,"

Ross had the chilling realisation that it wasn't her nephew speaking anymore. "Bran - "

He smiled, suddenly ten again. "Sorry, Auntie. I know it's strange, but I have to tell you,"

Slowly, she nodded. "Alright,"

He continued. "His name was lost to history, for good reason. He loved an Other, gave her his soul and took the lands of the Watch for himself, calling himself Night's King and his icy bride his Queen. Both of them practiced sorcery, and from their union of magic, an unearthly child was born - half Other, half human. An abomination against nature that shouldn't exist.

"Their reign was dark and filled with unmentionable atrocities. Eventually Brandon the Breaker, King of Winter, joined forces with Joramun, King-Beyond-the-Wall. Brandon had delayed as Night's King was none other than his own brother. The Stark in Winterfell rode with the leader of the Wildlings to defeat Night's King, and everyone believed the traitor had been killed. But what is dead may never die. He had already given his soul to his unnatural bride, and so was cursed to wander the lands beyond the Wall forever, as his Queen fled back to the rest of her kind.

"He had over seven thousand years to dwell on his mistakes, and is a different man now, if he can even be called that. He helped us, either way.

"But the story doesn't end with him. Once Brandon the Breaker realised his brother had been making sacrifices to the Others, all records of his name were erased from history. But Stark showed his daughter mercy, perhaps for their shared blood, perhaps for her value to the Others, or perhaps because he was unwilling to kill even an abomination of a child.

"She was eight years old when Brandon Stark took her back to Winterfell. She grew up to fall in love with Brandon's third son, and eventually married him in secret despite his family's disapproval. He was only a third son, so no one thought it would matter. At least until his two elder brothers died childless and the Crown of Winter passed to him and his descendants, who had the icy blood of the Others running through their veins,"

"The Starks are descended from an Other?" Ross' voice cracked as she struggled to form words.

"Every Stark has a touch of winter about them, do they not?"

Bedchamber windows open as snow fell outside. The cold wind on her face, which made her feel alive. The discomfort she felt in the south, the call to ride North ever-present in the back of her mind.

"How - how do you know all this? How are you so certain? And what is the Three-Eyed-Crow? And where does Brynden Rivers come into this, I just - " She broke off helplessly.

"The Crow is a greenseer," Bran replied. "The most powerful greenseer of them all. He was once Lord Bloodraven, who had a thousand eyes and one, but now sees everything that ever was - he's training me, too. He lives with the Children of the Forest," And here his tone abruptly became more boyish, his eyes less far away. "They're real, Auntie! I lived with them, under the ground. They're very small, with brown skin dappled like a deer and big gold eyes,"

He seemed to deflate as he realised Ross was not saying a word, just staring at him.

"Sorry. Did I say too much?"

"No," She forced herself to snap out of her daze. "No, it's just... what you said was very surprising," She hesitated. "Can you - can you really see everything?"

"I did," Bran's eyes went distant again for a brief moment. "But I only remember it all if I think really hard. I try not to remember, really, unless it's useful. I saw some... bad things,"

"Did you see - ?" She broke off, unable to voice the awful question.

He understood anyway. "Yes," His voice was small, though coloured with anger, and her stomach went cold. "The Mad King was evil. I don't know why Father hated Ser Jaime for killing him - he saved the city! The King deserved it, for wanting to kill all those people and... and for hurting you,"

If anything convinced her that this wasn't some outlandishly vivid story dreamed up by an imaginative - insane? - little boy, it was that. Ross swallowed, though one look at her nephew's young face, screwed up in anger and concern, made her expression soften. How was a child meant to cope with witnessing things like that?

"I wish you hadn't seen that,"

"I didn't mean to. I tried to forget it, like most of the other things I saw but I know you, I couldn't just..." He trailed off.

"It's not your fault," She forced herself to smile weakly, changing the subtext. "Are there any other magical things you can do now?"

"Oh, I didn't say!" Bran brightened up somewhat excitedly. "I can talk to Robb, in his head,"

"So that was why you looked like you'd seen a ghost when you saw Grey Wind," That was good news. Though being a wolf was better than being dead, Ross could not imagine how frustrating it was for Robb to be unable to speak to them properly. "Everyone will be glad to hear that. You'll have to write to your mother,"

"I will," He smiled, but then his face fell. "Oh. I just remembered that Mother isn't well,"

"She's getting better," Ross made her tone light. "Sansa and Arya are looking after her, Aileen too. She'll improve a lot when she finds out you're alive,"

"I hope so," The boy still looked a little morose.

"Come on," Ross got to her feet. "Lets get you some dinner,"

The Starks had a private, family meal that night in the Lord Commander's solar. Only Ross, Jon, Ren, Bran, Edrick and Rickon were there, and Grey Wind of course.

Seeming to get over his earlier sadness, or at least put it to the back of his mind, Bran had been eager to share his ability to speak with Robb with everyone. It seemed he was a more skilled warg than even Ren, who was the best of the others. Infinitely more skilled, apparently.

"Robb says you look more dour than ever, Jon," The boy smiled as Jon's eyes widened indignantly.

Grey Wind looked rather pleased with himself.

"He looks like a wolf," The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch sounded like half a boy again, and Ross smiled.

"He is a wolf,"

"What was dying like, Robb?"

"Rickon!" Ross reprimanded him.

"Why would you ask that?" Edrick grinned. "Mother could just tell you, she got halfway there herself,"

She turned her unimpressed stare to her son, who didn't look apologetic in the slightest.

"But I thought - " Bran broke off, glancing uneasily at Ross who raised an eyebrow, shaking her head slightly.

"You thought what?" Jon asked.

"Never mind," He flushed.

Apparently he didn't feel ready to tell anyone else of his abilities. Ross would have to encourage him to do so soon, though. Not that she wished to exploit her nephews gift, but had told her a more accurate version of what happened with Night's King than any of the stories she had heard. He likely had seen how the Others were defeated during the Long Night, and that could be the key to get them out of this potential disaster.

Bran approached her after the meal was over and everyone was heading to bed, Grey Wind at his side.

"Robb says he should have realised the truth about Bolton," The boy said. "He's very sorry about what happened,"

"There's no need to be sorry," Ross turned to the wolf. "How could you think it was your fault? I was his wife, if anyone should've realised it was me,"

Grey Wind made a noise that wasn't quite agreement, but wasn't disagreement either. At least, she thought not.

"He also says that you should tell Jaime Lannister that if he ever betrays you, he'll end up with Grey Wind's teeth in his throat," Bran looked rather abashed to be delivering that message.

She had to smile. "I'll pass that on,"

*

It was twilight when Loreon received the raven.

The contents of the letter made his stomach drop and his blood run cold; even the news of the army of the dead had not inspired such fear; after all, there was a seven hundred foot wall of ice separating them from the Others and wights, along with hundreds of leagues of land. Though the matter clearly had the potential to spell doom for them all, it was an abstract sort of doom that he couldn't quite comprehend, and did not seem like such a direct threat to the Iron Throne as... this.

Ren was the first person he went to, not knowing who else to tell. Even Loreon couldn't begin to explain such a thing, so simply handed the letter over and watched as his friend's face darkened.

"Are they certain?" Ren's tone was hard.

"Unfortunately," He replied grimly. "Now the question is, who's going to tell your mother?"

Ren actually blanched at that, like he had never seen him do before. "Jaime," He said decisively. "I'll tell him, now,"

"I bet he'll take it well too," Loreon chuckled darkly. "After all, he did kill the girl's father. She's hardly going to greet him with a warm smile,"

There was an army gathering on the western shores of Essos. The Golden Company - whose motto was 'Our word is good as gold' - had broken its contract, for the first time in its history. Dothraki hordes stood alongside freed slaves and the Unsullied. All preparing to cross the Narrow Sea to Westeros, with the aid of none other than the Iron Fleet, led by Euron and Victarion Greyjoy.

An extraordinary collection of allies, but all united under black banners bearing a red dragon with three heads. Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar - who had been murdered as a baby by Gregor Clegane, though apparently had never died at all - was at the head of this remarkable army. But already Loreon could see that the real danger was his aunt (and now wife) Daenerys.

The young Targaryen had gone from living in abject poverty in the Free Cities, to conquering Slaver's Bay. She had become Queen of Meereen, and impressed - scared - the Dothraki enough to have them hailing her as Khaleesi, united in a single Khalasar like they had never been before. She had freed slaves, killed their masters and was hailed as Mhysa wherever she went. Mother.

Mother of Dragons.

It would be easy to dismiss this Aegon as the pretender he likely was, with an army of sellswords. But Daenerys was undoubtedly the daughter of the Mad King. There was no questioning her heritage with three dragons at her back.

Loreon had heard whispers of her for years, but doubted most of them were true, and doubted they would matter even if they were. She was half a world away, and not even old enough to be considered a woman. Now, he had been proven soundly wrong, at the most inconvenient moment, when he himself and a quarter of the forces of the south were away at the Wall.

Aegon and Daenerys had married, which ruled out any option of pitting them against each other (although he would certainly look into that possibility even so). He knew his history well enough to realise that trying to fight a pitched battle against a woman who could ride a dragon was suicide. Perhaps they could hold out somewhere like Casterly Rock, but not forever, and he would rather not flee from the Iron Throne; once they lost it, there was no chance of winning it back.

They could find out how to kill a dragon and send someone to attempt it - without the three great beasts, it would simply be an army of sellswords and foreigners against the combined might of the Seven Kingdoms - but say they only killed one, or two, or none at all and got caught? That would escalate hostilities beyond repair, and then they were done for.

No, for now their only reasonable option would be to negotiate. And Loreon did not want to be there when they told that to Lady Rosennis.

*

Edited November 2024

Again, I'm not fully sure on the timelines here. I know Bran should probably still be in the Three-Eyed-Crow's cave at this point, but bear with me - this is fanfiction after all. I've been deliberately vague on how much time has passed (roughly 2.5 years since the start of A Game Of Thrones, ish) so hopefully that helps suspend your disbelief.

Remember here that Bran was never crippled - he lost some fingers from the catspaw but he escaped before Lancel could push him off the tower. He can't hold a sword with his right hand but can walk/run etc. I hated how the show portrayed him as emotionless, so here I've kept his personality but added in a few moments of distantness or appearing older than he seems; he hasn't finished his training yet, it will all be explained in the next few chapters.

What did you think of my origin story for Night's King (not the same as the Night King in the show) and also why the Starks are said to have ice in their veins?

And finally Daenerys has entered the story, almost! And Aegon too, be he real or fake. Ross is definitely going to take this well...

Hope you enjoyed the chapter and thanks for reading, please leave a comment!